Roleplay Logs!

Torinn

Damn that was a good log

Farrah

Torinn said:

Damn that was a good log

Makes you want to come back, right?! 

Torinn

You aren't wrong!

Jiraishin

Torinn said:

You aren't wrong!

WELL LOG IN, YOU JERK.

Gosh.




( )  

Jiraishin

Yesterday there was a big Rite in Targ and Jir made a new friend. Here events are recorded with the proper level of detail for their relative importance.

A colossal armoured war bat begins to follow you.

[speechifying by important Targossian]

You have emoted: Jiraishin carefully extends a hand towards a colossal armoured 
war bat.

You have emoted: Jiraishin gingerly pats a colossal armoured war bat on the
head before retreating hurriedly.

[more speech] 

A colossal armoured war bat lifts her head abruptly to stare into your eyes,
then inches over to sniff your hand.

You have emoted: Attempting not to appear pleased, Jiraishin gently pats a
colossal armoured war bat.

After investigating you thoroughly, a colossal armoured war bat settles down on
the ground, resting her head near her foreclaws.

The frosty tones of Sister Jayden al-Mu'allima, the Insightful Harbinger sound
nearby, "Praise be unto Their names, They who blessed us with Their holy city!" 

You have emoted: Jiraishin silently bends and commences gently scratching a
colossal armoured war bat behind her large ears.

[more yelling]

You have emoted: Jiraishin murmurs soothing words to a colossal armoured war
bat, too low to hear.

[another person gives a speech, third speech gets underway]

You have emoted: Jiraishin commences scratching the base of a colossal armoured
war bat's wings.

[more speech]

You have emoted: Jiraishin stands up, giving a colossal armoured war bat a last
fond pat.

You say with a harsh Western accent, "I'll speak after Archaeon."

A colossal armoured war bat raises her head at the removal of your hand,
glancing around at the crowd, and you with wariness.

You give a colossal armoured war bat a pained sigh.

You see Prophet Herev Si'Talvace, Herald of Redemption yell, "For our cause is
a Righteous one!"

You see Weaponmaster Itkovian Otanthalian, Blood Born yell, "Hail the
Bloodsworn Divine! Through You are we guided to Righteousness!"

You have emoted: Jiraishin crouches back down and re-commences petting.

A colossal armoured war bat settles back down comfortably.

Jiraishin

Mezgharp.

Mezghar tells you, "We are quite good at communicating, are we not?"
 
You tell Mezghar, "Maybe."
 
Mezghar morosely tells you, "Well, fine. I thought it went very well."
 
You tell Mezghar, "I do a lot of communication with you, and neither of us have
sworn to kill each other yet. As far as I know."
 
You tell Mezghar, "By my standards, this is unusually good. Especially since
I'm actually honest with you."
 
Mezghar tells you, "Perhaps one of us took a secret oath."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Yes. There's always that chance."
 
Mezghar tells you, "That would be awful."
 
You tell Mezghar, "I'm confident I haven't made such an oath. So it'd have to
be you."
 
Mezghar tells you, "You wound me with your accusations, brother!"
 
You suspiciously tell Mezghar, "It wasn't an accusation. It was a possibility.
Should I be accusing you of something?"
                                                  
Mezghar tells you, "I am confident I did not make such an oath, either. Unless,
of course, I made it, and was assaulted by Proficy's amnesiac dingo and forgot.
But then, perhaps you were assaulted by such dingo, too. We return to the
original problem."
 
You tell Mezghar, "This problem could be solved by Proficy's dingo swearing
allegiance to me."
 
You tell Mezghar, "I also want the daemonic jackal."
 
Mezghar tells you, "I do not think you want them. They are, after all, demonic.
I am sure they would get smited."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Just in case you needed ideas for my 300th birthday gift."
 
You tell Mezghar, "I could reform them."
                                                                                               
You tell Mezghar, "Micaelis has his synix, after all."
                                                    
Mezghar deadpan tells you, "I was thinking of getting you a chain that doesn't
rip your flesh off."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Hmmm. What -does- the chain do, then?"
 
Mezghar tells you, "I am not sure yet. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be
fabulous."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Excellent. I shall look forward to it with bated breath,
even if it turns out not to be a giant daemonic canine."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Dikeia is better than Proficy's dingo, anyhow."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Smarter, too."
 
Mezghar tells you, "Yes. I much prefer her somewhat friendly canine visage to a
demonic canine visage."
 
You tell Mezghar, "She has grown into a fine murderdog."
 
You tell Mezghar, "A fine and well-directed murderdog."
                                                                         
Mezghar tells you, "The term murderdog fills me with a somewhat reasonable
concern."
 
Mezghar tells you, "But it is unsurprising, so ah well."
 
You tell Mezghar, "...wardog?"
 
You tell Mezghar, "Deliverance-dog?"
 
Mezghar tells you, "Perhaps she can hunt spiders and be a gooddog."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Every time I see you riding a phantom spider I silently
condemn you for the hypocrite you are."
 
Mezghar tells you, "Ah, but brother, that spider is already dead! I ride it to
celebrate its vile existence coming to a conclusion."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Oh, is that what you tell yourself."
 
Mezghar tells you, "Yes."
 
You tell Mezghar, "You are riding an -undead- spider."
 
You tell Mezghar, "For shame."
 
Mezghar grumpily tells you, "Yes, well. That does not alleviate the numerous
crimes of YOUR spider."
 
You tell Mezghar, "My spider has committed no crimes. All it has done is kill
rats and look like a spider."
 
Mezghar tells you, "One of these is a crime."
 
You tell Mezghar, "If killing rats is a crime, we need to cast out our novices
and also Hakhim."
 
You tell Mezghar, "If looking like a spider is a crime, we need to cast -you-
out for fraternization. Spider-rider."
  
Mezghar tells you, "Oh. Particularly devious, aren't you."
 
You tell Mezghar, "Always."
                                                                                     
Mezghar tells you, "Well, let me tell you. Right now, I have no particular
retort to this. But you give me a month or so and prepare yourself for a
scathing, witty riposte."
 
You tell Mezghar, "I shall gird myself."

[Deleted User]

Naram best doggo.

Amunet

Pyori said:

Naram best doggo.

Dunn

God look at all of those filthy Babelites touching paws.

Jiraishin

After Farrah and co. qq'd for the night but before I did:

You say with a harsh Western accent, "They are expected to hold their own in both areas." 

Ashai nods briefly and scratches absently at her arm, briefly revealing some sort of mark.

You say with a harsh Western accent, "Does this clear things up?"

Ashai presses her lips lightly.

You say sharply with a harsh Western accent, "What is on your arm?"

Ashai glances down at her arms and blinks, then looks up again.

 

Ashai says in a soft, dulcet voice, "The armband?"

 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "What were you scratching at?"

 

Ashai says in a soft, dulcet voice, "I wasn't? Was I?"

 

You raise an eyebrow at Ashai. 

Ashai narrows her eyes at you suspiciously. 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "You were." 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "Now show."

You say with a harsh Western accent, "Show both arms if you don't remember which one."

You say evenly with a harsh Western accent, "Now." 

Ashai blinks a little again and moves her cloak over her shoulders, holding both arms out.

You have emoted: Jiraishin's eyes scan quickly over both bared forearms.

The wind briefly whistles through the alcove, its passage meted out in lingering, wordless whispers.

You have emoted: Jiraishin's eyes narrow. 

A glance down over her own arms shows Ashai's confusion, but she holds still that way all the same, wrists twisting back and forth. 

Ashai says in a soft, dulcet voice, "Unless something came back with me from the isle... I don't even remember doing it." 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "This is probably not good." 

Ashai says in a soft, dulcet voice, "Ah."

Ashai says in a soft, dulcet voice, "That is not comforting." 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "It shouldn't be." 

You say with a harsh Western accent, "I think the Mad God is trying to play with me." 

[further rp]

*Girlish squealing*

Jiraishin

Jir's impromptu Mark of the Twin removal from two nights ago. This is the edited version I made for an IC record, so all my emotes have been changed to proper second person.
Sadly it loses the pretty colored godmotes, can't figure out how to do text color on forums.

Mezghar stretches forth his hand to the Divine Conflagration and a small, fiery wisp leaps to his hand.
 
Mezghar says to you in a rumbling, basso voice, "Let me see your arm."
 
You remove a clawed gauntlet.
As you remove your hand from the awkward interior of a clawed gauntlet, the scale-skin black gauntlet extends and contracts back into its original size and shape.
 
You remove a clawed gauntlet.
As you remove your hand from the awkward interior of a clawed gauntlet, the  scale-skin black gauntlet extends and contracts back into its original size and shape.
 
You remove steel scale gloves.
 
You roll up your right sleeve and extend your arm, revealing a spiralling scar from wrist to elbow interrupted by the Mark of the Twin.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "This is the scar made by Suffering's chain, from which they formed the Mark. If you were wondering."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "If I act against you, just kill me. I'll get over it. Or not, but either way I won't succeed in acting against you.
 
Farrah creases her brow in a frown.
 
You grimly hold out your right arm.
 
Mezghar nods at Farrah.
 
Mezghar stretches forth his hand to the Divine Conflagration and a small, fiery wisp leaps to his hand.
 
Farrah steps behind you, holding your arm steady as she nods at Mezghar.
 
Mezghar grips your wrist firmly in one hand, his other hand hovering over the scarred flesh as he focuses.
 
With effort, you breathe evenly.
 
Mezghar frowns resolutely, as the wisp of flame slowly uncoils from about his wrist, drifting down to alight upon your arm. With focused intent, it begins to spiral over the scarring upon your flesh.
 
You stare grimly straight ahead.
 
Mezghar holds your wrist firmly as the flame continues its work, another wisp drifting from about his arm to join the first in its searing progress across the limb.
 
Searing lances of incredible pain jolt up along the entire length of your arm!
 
Your eyes widen.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "...Impressive..."
 
You continue to stare, gaze slightly unfocused.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Continue."
 
[after a pause where nothing happened]
 
You say forcefully with a harsh Western accent, "CONTINUE."
 
Farrah looks slightly uneasy as she continues to hold onto your arm and shoulder, her grip tightening.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And for His sake, hurry."
 
Rivulets of blackened blood seep from the flame-deluged wound, dissipating into faint wisps before the cleansing heat of Primordial Flame.
 
Mezghar's grip suddenly tightens with crushing strength as the flame reaches the top of the scarring, his expression tightening as he focuses intently.
 
Slowly, the wisps uncoil from their consumption of your flesh, drifting upward to twine about Mezghar's arm once more.
 
A wisp of primordial flame disperses from Mezghar's hand.
 
You shudder.
 
You say muzzily with a harsh Western accent, "Thank the Lord. Let this be the end of it. Let Him triumph over the End. Thank the Lord."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Let me be the stronger."
 
Mezghar releases your wrist, stepping back on slightly shaky legs.
 
You numbly attempt to wipe the blackened blood off your right arm with your left hand.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "That hurt rather impressively."
 
Farrah releases her grip on you, eyeing your arm.
 
Farrah says, "Can you feel it?"
 
Farrah looks sceptical and says, "Is it all gone?"
 
A wisp of primordial flame disperses from Mezghar's hand.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I feel pain. I am bleeding. This is good."
 
Betwixt the affronting stench of charred flesh, only an ashen coating of oddly white ash presides over the former Mark, little hint of its previous shape visible.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I do not know if it is gone. But it certainly suff... Oh Gods."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Yes, I think it is gone."
 
Mezghar says reverently in a rumbling, basso voice, "Praise be unto the Righteous Lord."
 
Farrah stares at your arm.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Thank the Lord, thank the Lord, thank the Lord."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I think it's destroyed."
 
After a very long pause, eyes fixed on the former Mark to see if it moves, Farrah finally nods.
 
Mezghar shakily falls to his knees, looking exhausted as he reverently presses his forehead to the floor, murmuring under his breath.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I think I'm all right. So far. Thank you."
 
Farrah drops to one knee.
 
Farrah whispers, "Praise the Righteous Fire. May His Flame always cleanse and protect."
 
Farrah stands up.
 
You say softly with a harsh Western accent, "Praise the Lord. Praise..."
 
Mezghar whispers in a rumbling, basso voice, "Praise the Righteous Fire."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Praise the Righteous Fire."

Jiraishin

I know I'm triple-posting (ugh) here, but a few people have asked for this and I don't -think- I'm giving anything away by posting it.

I don't usually post pastebin links, but this time I am because it's 10+ pages long... But its 10+ pages of AWESOME.

This takes place a couple days ago after Farrah's truefavour from Babel faded and before Jiraishin's did.

https://pastebin.com/nXmjXGa1

Ygia

Message #1471       Sent by Achaea
2019/4/27/12:16 Lii has ceased acknowledging you as a mutual friend.

---

2019/04/27 11:22:03 - [---] declared Lii to be a formal enemy. Reason: Oathbreaking.

2019/04/27 11:22:30 - [---] > Lii has been slain.

---

Her expression flat and unchanging, Ygia looks to the setting dusk light. One hand rests on the pendant hanging from her neck.

(Targossas) Ygia says, "Hail."
(Targossas) Yen says, "Hi, Ygia."
(Targossas) Kieli says, "Hello, Sister Ygia."
(Targossas) Ygia says, "Did Lii mention anything to any of you before she left?"
(Targossas) Yen says, "I spoke to her afterward. She said: 'Let's be honest. I've always been a loner anyways.'"
(Targossas) Ygia says, "Mm."

Ygia gives a half-sigh, before stepping off down the road.

[A bit of travel later]

A feeling of weightlessness grips you, and your consciousness is thrown skyward, traveling at dizzying speed up the cliff face. When the sensation subsides you find yourself in a man-made cave.
Man-made cavern. (indoors)

You step down off of Volst, a dawn-golden pegasus.

Ygia allows herself to settle to the cold bedrock below, her cloaks and robes a mess about her form. Foregoing taking the time to brush the creases down, instead she settles straight to meditation as though a necessity - her palms gripped close, her expression rictus and dour. Behind her, her charred wings settle to a folded position.

You adopt the pose: Sister Ygia al-Mu'allima, the Ivory Agent sits meditative here, her eyes closed shut.

You whisper monotone in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "Lord, give me the strength I need to stay on the Righteous Path. Lord, I plead, may these losses so endless and painful not cause me to falter. Lord, may I bolster under Your guidance, Your word. May I maintain my Purity, the actions of the Faithless far from influence."

(Devouts): Micaelis says, "What happened with Lii?!"

Ygia flinches briefly, a break in her stoic expression noted. She bites her lip hard to distract herself - blood begins to trickle. Shaking her head, she scrunches her eyes shut tighter, moisture evident at the edges of their pressed-in lids. With a moment to compose herself, she continues.

You cease listening to the city channel.
You have turned your House newcomer channel off.
You have turned your House channel off.
You stop paying attention to this clan's channel.

You whisper pleadingly in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "Lord, may I remain on the path of the Righteous. May I remain a figurehead of Faith, a beacon to guide those after me, laid by those before. May I know in these Sacrifices the true meaning of adherence to Good."

Ygia allows her eyes to open as she continues to intone her quiet prayer to herself, her eyes slowly drifting to focus on a wisp of eternal flame atop an unadorned stone cylinder.

You whisper in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "May my actions continue to show my Faith far more than my words ever could. May I allow my psyche to remain stable, that I stay a paragon of Good, my judgements unmarred by bitterness, by hate, by disappointment, by disrespect. May I--- ...May..."

You give a pained sigh.

You say in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "...None of this is going to change anything."

Ygia pushes herself to her feet, walking with purpose over to a stone pitcher, reaching out one golden gauntlet to rest at its side.

You whisper sourly in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "I can't change the path of those around me. I need to accept that. It's... It's bad luck, that those who have left are those I've loved. Trusted. That's all. It's bad luck. ...It's just bad, bad luck."

You touch the flame emblem on the pitcher, causing it to glow briefly. Within a few moments, the stone jar fills itself with oil.

You whisper in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "I can try, try, and try again, but how can I expect to pass guidance on those who are supposed to guide me?"

You pick up the pitcher and say a prayer to the Lord of Righteousness. When your blessing is complete, you upend the jar over yourself, covering your body in fragrant oil.

You say firmly in Targossian with an archaic, Eastern accent, "May I trust in myself and no other, then."

You calm your mind and concentrate on the Axioms of Righteousness, focusing on the intent to purify yourself. Your nerves steeled, you thrust your hand into the floating flame. The fire immediately spreads across your oily skin, quickly consuming your flesh. Your thoughts fade to black as the hazy visage of Lord Deucalion fills your vision, stern approval upon His face.

You have been slain by the purifying flames of Lord Deucalion.

When will this girl catch a break? Every mentor she gets, I swear...

Tesha

I had a super touching interaction with @Halos the day after Cyrene. It almost broke Tesha considering the timing, she was super down and doubtful, so she sought one of her role models and mentors (also for an additional unspecified reason), only to find him in a similar state.

You have arrived at your destination!

You give Halos a compassionate hug.

Halos gives you a grim look.

You say in a quiet voice, "It will all work out. You taught me that."

Halos nods dumbly, hesitating a moment before returning your embrace tightly.

Halos says in Targossian, "This is."

Halos says in Targossian, "..this is like. It is happening again."

Halos says in Targossian in a trembling voice, "Shallam."

Halos' eyes widen and his dark gaze seems very distant, as if captured by terrible memory.

Tesha offers a gentle nod, and a comforting touch on Halos' shoulder.

You say in a quiet voice, "We'll make it through this."

Halos says haltingly in Targossian, "The ... the Cyrenians then arrived then, behind desperate letters for aid and calls for help under a bloody fire-torn sky.. And ... and they fought as best they could, even when the waters rose. I remember... I remember."

Halos says in Targossian, "They fought for us....for Shallam..."

Halos says in Targossian, "They were allies then."

Halos says in Targossian, "I do not know what they are to us now."

You say in a quiet voice, "And we fought for them. We gave everything we could."

Halos says in Targossian, "And now they are like we were."

Halos says in Targossian, "Refug--refugees."

You say gently in a quiet voice, "There are similarities."

You say in a quiet voice, "But the Tsol'teth were defeated back then. And they will be defeated this time."

You say in a quiet voice, "We'll stop them. I will see them burn, if it takes every fiber of my being."

Halos tears his gaze from the middle distance and looks at you.

Halos says in Targossian, "We cannot let what happened to Cyrene happen to Shal--."

Halos says in Targossian, "--Targossas."

Halos says in Targossian, "I mean, we have changed, haven't w-we? For the better? We are better. Stronger? More unified? Battle-tested? S-smarter? We will stop them won't we?"

Tesha remains quiet for several pregnant moments, the silence deafening. Finally she parts her lips, hesitates, then speaks.

You say in a quiet voice, "We have. We are."

You say firmly in a quiet voice, "We will."

Halos nods. Halos nods.

You smile softly.

Halos' hands, which he has evidently been wringing all this time, still themselves and he takes a deep breath.

Halos tilts his head, listening to the keening sound of splintering shrine in the distance and nods again.

(NO @FARRAH IT WASN'T "So, uh. Oops the other month?" "Yeah. Oops."")

Jurixe

I still go over the per-post character limit, so I hope you guys won't mind if I split this in two posts. After a bit of mystery, I presented this at the Theatron Meropian. Once again, I vastly underestimated how long it would take to write! 

As those who attended can attest, seeing it in person was very different but if you missed this, don't worry, there will be other things planned in the future.

Striding to the centre of the stage, Jurixe pauses in the middle, surveying all gathered before she inclines her dark head slightly. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "Welcome, one and all, to the Asterian Restoration." 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "As our name suggests, we have always championed the restoration of lost knowledge. Memory and experience are inevitable casualties of time's inexorable passage, but we strive to preserve and teach anew what we can." 

Jurixe clasps her fingers together, grey eyes scanning the crowd. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "This month, I am about to speak of a subject divisive in more ways than one. Centuries ago, it nearly eliminated all overland life and was half the reason that sundered one continent in twain. Now, we see the beginnings of history repeating itself as it splits the Achaeans of the Modern Age in opinion, if not - yet - in terrain." 

Jurixe says decisively in a low, silken voice, "I speak, of course, of the Tsol'teth." 

A faint quirk to her lips, Jurixe holds up a hand to forestall any restless movement or muttering. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "I expect that most here this month have opinions on the Tsol'teth, strong or otherwise. My city does, and so do I. But while any can have an opinion, how many of those can claim to be informed?" 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "Ask yourselves: are you truly aware why you support or defy the Tsol'teth? Many here have seen their homes and comrades destroyed by Tsol'teth hands. Others have pledged their support and earned distinct benefits. Either is reason enough to have a stance, yes." 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "But the recent actions of the Tsol'teth are single stitches in their vast historical tapestry, one that stretches back across thousands of years. Who are they, as a whole? What have they done? What do they desire? If you have a stance on them but cannot answer these questions, how will you defend your views if they have no factual foundation?" 

Jurixe says firmly in a low, silken voice, "Here at the Restoration, no opinions are invalid so long as they have a basis in fact. We do not seek to change anyone's stance. We ask only that you are diligent in seeking the truth, instead of cloaking ignorance under assumption. The answers are there, writ in history for those who know where to look. Even lost knowledge can be found again." 

Jurixe spreads her slender arms wide. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "We are all here this month in the pursuit of knowledge. Perhaps, peripherally, also to search for answers." 

Jurixe says simply in a low, silken voice, "So let us find them." 

Billowing in from unseen origins, a dense silver fog rolls ponderously through the amphitheatre, quickly obscuring both the diminuitive Mhun and the expansive stage from sight. 

Echoing through the silver fog, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "We must look back through our history. Back to when humanity was merely two infants cradled to Mother Maya's bosom. Back to the time of warring Divine and Their loyal Aldar." 

Echoing through the silver fog, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Back, indeed, to the beginning of the mortal races. For that is also where we shall begin our tale of Tsol'teth history, and the first Black Wave." 

Slowly, the silver fog recedes just enough to hover over the surface of the stage like a shifting, gleaming carpet. Jurixe, however, is nowhere to be seen. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Many millenia ago, Lord Ayar created the Elder Gods and split Himself into two aspects, Ayar and Proteus. Unaware of His origins, Lord Proteus and another Elder God, Lord Phaestus, experimented with the creation of life forms until - finally - They created the first sentient race." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "The Tsol'aa." 

Without warning, plants and flowers burst into verdant life upon the stage, joined by an assortment of small animals and insects that occasionally scamper off into the crowd. 

Last to materialise in the centre is a pair of tall, fair-haired Tsol'aa, who look about themselves with wonder. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Settling where we now know as the Aalen Forest, the Tsol'aa developed magic and fought off goblin hordes from the Vashnars. They earned the favour of the late Lord Daedalus, God of Balance, Who gifted them with giant spider steeds." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "As a result, when the War of Humanity began, legions of warrior Tsol'aa fought on spiderback at Lord Daedalus' side upon Nishnatoba. They called themselves the 'Qui'anar', or 'men-at-arms', and battled the Triumvirate forces so ferociously that Lord Thoth would later name His Order after them." 

Heralded by the cacophonic anthems of warfare, a bloody scene asserts dominion over the fog-covered stage. 

Legions of warriors, both familiar and alien, clash fiercely upon a shattered battlefield alongside their Divine commanders. Most prominent among them are a disciplined group of fair-haired, spider-mounted fighters, which wield both sword and spell to devastating effect. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "The Qui'anar were instrumental in the war, particularly against the undead. They returned to their homeland after it ended." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "However, drunk on pride and bloodlust, they began to believe themselves superior to the then-fledgling humanity, whom they considered fit only to serve them. It was not an opinion shared by the others of their race." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Disdaining the gentler views and lives of their brethren, this group of Tsol'aa descended beneath the earth and began a new life with a new name: Tsol'teth." 

Rising from the floor, the silver fog arches over the back of the stage in an approximation of a cave. 

Several fierce-looking Tsol'aa warriors march resolutely into its dark centre, the last of them turning to bestow a disdainful sneer upon the crowd before he, too, steps through. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Their new abode was a lightless place known as the Underrealm, an enormous network of caves that was the ancestral home of hobgoblins, goblins, ogres and more. The Tsol'teth enslaved them all, but it was not enough." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "The Tsol'teth faded into obscurity until many centuries later, during the time of a man named Nikolas - later to be known as Nicator." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Around the same period, the Tsol'teth had rediscovered the overland - or Tezlari-tarin, 'World of Light', as they call it - through the efforts of Agith'maal, most powerful of the Tsol'teth. He, along with Terrin'ukia and Gattan'lier, longed to slaughter all overlanders and began training armies to do so." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "To ensure success, the three sought to divine the future via summoning creatures who possessed the ability to do so. One of these summonings brought forth the demon prince Pazuzu, who bestowed upon them the barest thread of insight." 

The fell figures of three tall, pale Tsol'teth rise up from the fog, a large blood-filled cauldron between them. 

Eldritch chants fill the air, falling abruptly silent as a demonic form materialises into view before the trio. Before they can move, it utters a single word before vanishing. 

A harsh, otherworldly voice resounds, "Seleucar."

Jurixe

And the second part!

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "After much investigation, the Tsol'teth Masters realised that Seleucar was a nation, founded by Nikolas, that would resist them. As sunlight was anathema to them, they attempted to prevent Seleucar's creation from afar, sending beasts and disease to befall Nikolas and his followers." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Their strategy succeeded in eliminating two-thirds of the would-be Seleucarians - and might even have achieved complete annihilation - were it not for the intervention of Lord Sarapis Himself." 

The very air thickens with humidity as lush jungle foliage flourishes into existence onstage, a simple wooden altar at the heart of the dense vegetation. 

Before it stand two men: the younger of the pair looks at his companion with a weary yet incredulous expression, while the other, clad in simple grey robes, holds a golden staff that glows as though lit from within. 

Charged with unfathomable power, a deep voice says, "You must gain dominion over all the land, Nikolas, and you must build the most powerful army the world has ever seen, for the Black Wave is even now rolling in toward the shore, and one hundred years from now it will strike, with a force you cannot imagine." 

Charged with unfathomable power, a deep voice says, "Only your preparation can save the continent of Sapience. Will you do this? Will you conquer in my name?" 

With a tinge of uncertainty, a man's voice replies, "I am not a conqueror..." 

Charged with unfathomable power, a deep voice says, "Who is better suited to conquer wisely than one who does not wish conquest? Will you conquer in order to save this world?" 

Conviction clear in every word, a man's voice rings out, "If it is your will, I shall!" 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "The Black Wave, of course, was the Tsol'teth. The Logos had foreseen their arrival, and gave Nikolas - whom He renamed Nicator - His Staff to unite the lands and prepare to face them." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "While Nicator laboured to fulfill his holy charge, the Tsol'teth were not idle. Finding their original armies vulnerable to sunlight, they slaughtered all of them and manipulated their biology to create new, bloodthirsty warriors that could resist the daystar." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "A hundred years passed, and the Black Wave did not manifest during the remainder of Nicator's lifetime. His son, Emperor Piraeus, steadfastly maintained the army at great cost, earning the displeasure of advisor and citizen alike." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "But, as prophesised, the Black Wave came." 

Three portals of glowing light open side-by-side upon the stage of silver fog, each facing a miniature representation of either Ashtan, Shallam or Seleucar.  

Armies of tiny, grotesque creatures begin to stream from the portals towards the cities, each led by a tall, commanding figure in a dark cloak. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Each of the three Tsol'teth Masters was tasked with destroying one city. Of their many tactics, the dreaded Litany of Obedience was proven to be the most effective, seizing control of unprotected minds and turning friend against friend." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "With much of their forces mind-controlled, the Staff of Nicator vanished and Agith'maal destroying the Logosian shrines, the Seleucarians were in dire straits. It seemed like the Tsol'teth could not die...until the fateful betrayal by Matic Ridley, former 'greatest thinking servant' to Agith'maal." 

War rages all around the imposing, cloaked presence of Agith'maal as he stands among the rubble of a destroyed shrine.  

His maniacal laugh reverberates around the area before it cuts off abruptly into a gurgling choke: eyes blazing with vengeance, a hobgoblin has pulled off the Tsol'teth's dark cloak and buried a long blade in his back. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Incredulous at this unlikely source of aid, the Seleucarians moved swiftly to rescue Matic Ridley. In return, he offered up the secret to defeating the Tsol'teth once and for all: removing their cloaks of shadow and destroying their hearts." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "This piece of crucial knowledge was disseminated quickly - not just to the Seleucarian forces, but to Ashtan and Shallam as well, who were also mid-battle with the Tsol'teth. Each city swiftly devised a battle strategy to get to the Tsol'teth's hearts." 

As Tsol'teth forces meet the Seleucarians in deadly battle within the jungle, towering Agith'maal is felled by a powerful axe strike. Quickly, a scarred Occultist bends down and rips the heart out from the Tsol'teth Master's still-twitching chest, before consuming the bloody organ wholesale. 

Smoke and fire engulf the beleaguered streets of Ashtan, but a resolved force of soldiers advance into the heart of the fighting, where Gattan'lier stands. Their attack is a success, but with his dying breath, the Tsol'teth causes a great earthquake that collapses half the city and crushes the majority of both armies. 

Desperate battles rage between the Shallamese and the Underrealm horrors all through Shallam's shining walkways. Terrin'ukia fends off numerous Shallamese alone before an eagle-eyed swordmaster finally fells him with his scimitar; the Tsol'teth's final act is to unleash a blast of raw power that decimates all in its way, building and mortal alike. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Many able leaders were sacrificed, including the Occultist Demiurge Adchachel, who lost his sanity after eating Agith'maal's heart; Ashtan suffered an enormous earthquake that reduced buildings to rubble as Gattan'lier perished; and Terrin'ukia's dying strike wrought similar havoc in Shallam." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "But despite the heavy toll, the prophecy had been realised. Seleucar and its cities had won their battles, and broken the Black Wave." 

The cities and the glowing portals reappear upon the fog-shrouded stage, but this time the soldiers wear city livery and stream from the cities' walls. 

They cluster around the portals, killing the remnants of the Tsol'teth army with ferocious efficiency. Finally, they turn their vengeance upon the shining gateways themselves; even these eventually collapse under the combined efforts of the determined armies. 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "This was, of course, only the first of other Black Waves. But Seleucar did not know it then, and the Empire enjoyed peace and prosperity for four centuries." 

Resonating through the amphitheatre, Jurixe's silken voice intones, "Much, much later, the Tsol'teth returned..." 

As though drawn by an inexorable force, the silver fog flows to the centre of the stage and rises into a six-foot-tall pillar of shifting air. 

Without warning, the pillar collapses in on itself to reveal the slight form of Jurixe as she steps forth, the remainder of the fog dissipating quickly into nothingness. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "...but that is a tale for another day." 

Jurixe quirks her lips upwards, surveying the crowd as she clasps her hands once more and inclines her head slightly. 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "Thus ends the story, told in brief, of the origins of the Tsol'teth and the first Black Wave." 

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "My thanks to all of you who have witnessed it this month, and it is my hope that it was an enlightening experience. When you choose your sides, do so with conviction - only acquired through true understanding."

Jurixe says in a low, silken voice, "If you wish to read further about the founding of Seleucar and the Black Wave, seek out the second book of the History of the Seleucarian Empire within our Ingram Cairo Memorial Library. Though I do, of course, hope that you will peruse all three tomes." 

Jurixe bows her head slightly to all present, signifying the end of her speech.

 
Thanks to everyone who turned up and to @Crixos in particular, who had to listen to me chatter continuously about this. I had fun writing this and hope people enjoyed it!

Stheno

https://pastebin.com/5JKmQvtp

She is a beautiful siren, artfully decorated in the style of an apsara or nymph from the classics. Her tall, willowy body is a sculpture unto itself, cut from marble and refined through years of grace and discipline. The sharp curves and angles of her form draw the eye to a golden ratio: the perfect symmetry of a Sireni heritage. Her silken hair, the white-blonde of bleached bone, sweeps off her shoulders and twists up into a chignon, with most of its length secured by a gilt needle. Loose curls frame the edges of her unnervingly calm face. A smudge of dark, sooty kohl rims her eyes, caught between the spokes of her long lashes. The colour beneath them is a bright shade of amber, as hard and as cold. Draped in antique cloth and finery, the selection of smooth, pale skin she bares between her silks drips with gold, glittering at her throat, her ears, her wrists and knuckles. Cut away, her sari reveals the small of her back and the vicious scarring that laces it, crossed over and over like the lattice of a net. A wheel-shaped scar follows the crest of her left shoulder. She carries herself with elegant certainty, her head held high and her strides measured by the economy of her movement. Fine golden chains fetter her ankles, bells chiming with her every step.

I promised to keep a record of this, and I'm pleased with it. A dance to close out a truly fun 500th anniversary! "Seven Dances" in Castle Enverren was the biggest solo performance I've pulled off, and I was fortunate to have a polite and enraptured audience. I wanted to draw on a few styles of dance and channel a wordless Evil theology through them. The dances that inspired me were Bharatanatyam (Indian classical), Bedouin tribal dance, ballet, and some acrobatics and urban street.

Thanks to @Palusa for letting me borrow her blade and for practising with me! I'm glad @Mezghar made the contentious decision to show for part of it. There was a good discussion afterwards between Mhaldor, Cyrene, and Ashtan. All in all, a delight.

Skye

So... since this chapter of the event is over... I think it's probably time to unveil the mystery that is "How did the Order of Neraeos persuade the lake spirit to flood the city?"

Well, this is just the partial of it. Arguably the most important bit. The taming of the Muurn:

An underground beach. (indoors)
Abruptly, the tunnel ends, expanding into a large cave. Brilliant white sand spreads out underfoot, the fine grains sifted into piles and mounds, and the walls glow faintly with a luminescent moss. Tranquil and deep, a placid lake stretches out to the far cave walls. The ceiling far above is dominated by great stalactites, which provide the music of a thousand droplets falling to the lake below, sending the otherwise calm waters shivering across the surface. Some irid moss gives off dim light. A bloodroot plant is growing here. A patch of lumic moss is growing here. Sir Voc Desmijr, Voice of Neraeos is here. He wields Shard of Seisichthon, a nacreous warhammer in both hands.

You say uncertainly to Voc with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I'm not really uh... confident about this."

Voc closes his eyes and lowers his head, taking a few long moments in silent prayer.

Voc says to you in a gruff, baritone voice, "Whatever happens, we will adapt."

You have emoted: Skye slaps her cheeks with both hands.

Voc says to you in a gruff, baritone voice, "And I'm confident in you."

You say with a muddled Thalassian accent, "...right."

You have emoted: Working by the pale glow of the moss, Skye begins to make her preparations. Seven small braziers, in truth no more than bronze bowls filled with sand and a single banked coal, are placed to encircle her while leaving a gap where one only need cross to step into the lake.

You have emoted: There are no grand gestures here, only a sense of reverence tinged with urgency. Working in a clockwise direction, Skye brushes away the sand and breathes each coal back to life. Each time she does so outlines her features in the faintest hint of flame and is followed by a rustling whisper of dried kelp that she sprinkles into the bowl.

You have emoted: Skye pauses at this juncture, straightening to face the water as she begins a sing-song chant. The ritualistic tritonic tongue is a familiar refrain; the same words meant to ward off spirits, usually delivered as thundering threat and punctuated by screams are now a poisonous whisper.

Hailqas'an tells you, "We require your key so that ineffective stock can be replaced. Comply."

You have emoted: Skye grits her teeth, flinching at a sudden interruption.

You tell Voc, "That bitch is asking for my damn stockroom key!"

Voc tells you, "...that bitch."

You have emoted: Skye takes a moment to recompose herself.

You have acted: Seven ribbons of sacred smoke rise and mingle amongst the dripping stalactites so that each drop now falls infused with a pleasing scent. So shrouded in the fragrance, one could almost forget the greasy smell of the scrags. Skye then places two more rather curious items in her set-up. A large piece of tile reminiscent of the city's streets set in the middle of the circle, and a bucket-handled cup of sea glass candy by her feet. From the cup, she takes a single sweet and uses it to close the gap between the braziers. An invitation, or a bribe.

You have emoted: Retrieving one last item from her pack, Skye exchanges a glance with Voc against the backdrop of artificial rain pitter-pattering from the shadowed stony sky. For a moment, standing in the midst of stand and smoke with a child's bouncy ball held in both trembling hands, she looks both embarrassed and uncertain.

You say to Voc with a muddled Thalassian accent, "If you would, perhaps a glamour might help. Of the city..."

A glamour takes shape in the hand of Voc, contours and imperfections smoothing out before your eyes.

You have emoted: Skye nods at Voc in thanks.

You have emoted: Awkwardly, Skye closes her eyes. Her fingers tap smooth surface of the ball in a rhythm against the erratic sounds of the water, finding a common beat within the chaos -- and lets go.

You have emoted: The ball drops, bouncing on the tile with a hollow sound before rebounding upwards into Skye's waiting hands. Catch, release, catch, release, for perhaps a full minute, she repeats the action in perfect counterpoint to the falling water. To any who might observe, standing as she was in the midst of the glamour, she was, by all appearances, having a perfectly ordinary day in the Cyrene of yesteryear. Peaceful, unravaged, untainted, and the furthest thing from threatening in a world whose only current certainty was death and danger.

You have emoted: Skye takes a deep breath...

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I..."

You say with a muddled Thalassian accent, "..."

You crease your brow in a frown.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "It..."

Small bubbles begin to rise from the depths of the underground lake, slowly at first until after after a long minute the normally still waters roil furiously. A stinging, copper smell fills your senses, and waves of blood begin to lap at your feet.

You have emoted: Skye recoils a step back.

You have emoted: The single strangled note sticks in Skye's throat. Her naturally big eyes look like they're about to pop out of her head as the blood visibly drains from her face. Her mind a panicked blank, she turns to Voc with a sickly look that says it all: In her distraction, She Has Forgotten The Words.
 
You say uncertainly with a muddled Thalassian accent, "Um..."

A small girl enters from the east, trailing bloody footsteps.

Voc nods calmly at you, his eyes snapping from the blood to the appearance of the small girl.

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen pulls a sharp knife out from behind her back, holding it menacingly as she bares her teeth.

In an uninterrupted motion, Voc slides Shard of Seisichthon, a nacreous warhammer into a skeletal baldric.

You have emoted: Skye's jaw drops. She exchanges a look with Voc, having the last presence of mind to shake her head furiously.

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen exclaims, "Come to blind me? More blood? No more blood!"

You say faintly with a muddled Thalassian accent, "No."

You have emoted: Another pocketful of seconds ticks by and Skye struggles to produce more than a frightened croak or protest. But as her despair and terror, fueled by the unexpectedly sudden appearance of the spirit, reaches the terminus, her eyes squeeze shut and an entirely different note rings out.

You sing shakily with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I went to the Last City, to buy a gift or three..."

Voc listens for a few moments before adding a faint, soft hum of harmony in support.

You have emoted: Rather than the innocuous children's skipping rhyme that was planned, strains of the bawdiest tavern song rings out, just the kind of song Skye would know prances merrily from her lips against her conscious will. Somehow, just somehow, she manages to modulate her pace in perfect beat with the bouncing ball.

You sing nervously with a muddled Thalassian accent, "For nothing else on Sapience would make you smile for me."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I strolled down Centre Street and felt no eyes upon my pack. "Don't worry," said the guardsman, "We've always got your back.""

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "The sweetshops were exquisite, I bought some candy blocks, and then I saw the lollies and thought--."

You have emoted: Skye mumbles over an ostensibly obscene bit, all but leaping for the next verse.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I doubled back to Bard's Way, to order you a v-vase and asked the potter to shape it just like your pretty ars--."

You sing hastily with a muddled Thalassian accent, "FACE!"

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "What fun! What fun I'm having, cavorting 'bout Cyrene. The worst thing you could say is, they've a tendency to preen."

You have emoted: Sweat beads on her forehead, but Skye presses onward, spurred by the metronome of her hands keeping beat on automatic.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "So many stores surround me, I wonder what to choose. Some lady flashed her...dimples and I just couldn't refuse."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I visited the Lyceum to buy a nice bouquet. But then I saw a couple engaged in some horseplay."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "What fun! What fun I'm having, cavorting 'bout Cyrene. The worst thing you could say is, she's just turned eighteen."

You have emoted: Skye darts her eyes at Voc to the spirit and then to Voc again.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I ducked into the Ram's Horn to have a break and tipple, and then the dancer Shadya smiled and showed her--."

You have emoted: Skye's voice trails off at a loss for impromptu rhymes before rallying again.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "I escaped out to the brewery, what did I come here for? I'm sure it was important, well I don't care anymore!"

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen points her dagger at you, murderous intent heavy in her eyes as she merely listens. Suddenly startled she takes a step back into the waters, but relaxes her grip as she does so.

You sing desperately with a muddled Thalassian accent, "What fun! What fun I'm having, cavorting 'bout Cyrene. The worst thing you could say is, the beds aren't very clean."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "And so piss drunk I stumble to the Prophasia, belatedly remembering they'd lost the haughty diva."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "They kicked me out quite promptly, so I went to Blu's Delights. The siren kawhe server, slapped me with all her might."

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "What fun! What fun I'm having, cavorting 'bout Cyrene. The worst thing you could say is, they like to make a scene."

You have emoted: Clearly running out of lyrics, Skye shoots Voc an increasingly frantic look. Trying to mouth an 'Is she calm?' between verses.

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "You know, I'm sure I'm walking, but the guards have got my arms. Don't know why they're so angry, I din't mean any harm!"

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "Here comes old Verrucht and he's looking kinda stern. He said "Time to get you sober." And he chucked me in the Muurn!"

You sing with a muddled Thalassian accent, "What fun! What fun I'm having, cavorting 'bout Cyrene. The worst thing you could say is, the Imperiate's kinda... MEAN!"

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen moves her hands down to her sides and frowns at Voc.

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen says, "Did she lose her marbles like me?"

And then...

Bairn Muurn, the Crimson Numen walks cautiously over to you and kicks you in the ribs before jumping back.

Auria

You know, ever since that happened I've been wondering how you managed it. So glad to finally have that question answered XD

Sothantos

I was looking at old emails and found these coded letters. This is from 2012, when Soth was passing information to Shallam from Ashtan. I'd completely forgotten about this. I think there were more, but these are all I could find.

I have no idea what the Sirocco hounds line is referring to.

My Lord,

I have been discussing the seeds we planted recently with a few of my colleagues. There are some concerns about the fertility of the ground where they have been sown, and we would appreciate if one of us could speak with you about the issue at your convenience.

Respectfully,
Adanno, the gardener

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Maynard,

I am writing to inform you that I have received your letter of inquiry. Our business headquarters are currently closed due to inspection -- however, with your standing as a valued repeat customer, we would be pleased to refer you to one of our other locations to drop off your package.

We would like to offer our sincere apologies regarding the inconvenience, and hope that you will continue to use Moghedan Transportation for all of your delivery needs. Please send correspondence stating the branch most agreeable to you.

Yours sincerely,

Aetos Thanir
General Manager

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear uncle Silas,

So much has happened! I'm sorry I didn't have time to tell you last time you visited. It's been so hectic between all the housework and my studies -- I wish Mayan break would arrive already! I have so many scrolls I have to read for my upcoming Seleucarian history exam, and no time!

Thanks a ton for the new crochet kit you sent us, and the vials -- they've helped a lot, with what's been going on. Ma didn't want me to say anything, but things at home have been a little rocky. I wish you would come home. Sir Kinzer has been visiting, and he's been spreading awful rumours about Ma to the village and trying to get her to quit the council. She's so distraught! I don't know what to do. One of the other girls, Acinla says it's because he's still upset about something that happened years ago, but she says she'll only tell me if I'll take her chores on for her and water the cucumber plants.

Oh, please don't tell Ma I told you! I'd get in so much trouble. I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's all just so dreadfully convoluted. When are you coming to visit? Please make plans soon, and tell cousin Dannyl that I'm sorry I broke his telescope.

Lots of love,
Your dearest niece.

P.S. Sirocco hounds are so cute! Ennabell brought one to Tekura classes the other day!

I'll post translations if anyone wants them, but it might be more fun to try to decipher them.

Jiraishin

Kinzer and Acinla, lol.

Sothantos

Jiraishin said:

Kinzer and Acinla, lol.

I am trying to figure out who the hell Ennabell is.

Jiraishin

Maybe Ennabell is nobody and you just really wanted to inform Silas about Sirocco hounds.

Jurixe

Putting this here as it is, after all, a roleplay log. There is already a log of my Siege of Vengeance presentation for the World's Fair, but I felt it would be nice for those who missed it to see it in colour. I feel having colour really makes a difference for immersion.

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

Log edited to remove unnecessary movement/actions and behind-the-scenes machinations (you'll never know...). I made one crucial error in this presentation, but decided to leave it in anyway...see if you can catch it.

All participation by other people in this log was unplanned beforehand, so big kudos to them for coming up with such great actions on the spur of the moment, I loved it.

Torrent

Jurixe said:

Putting this here as it is, after all, a roleplay log. There is already a log of my Siege of Vengeance presentation for the World's Fair, but I felt it would be nice for those who missed it to see it in colour. I feel having colour really makes a difference for immersion.

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

Log edited to remove unnecessary movement/actions and behind-the-scenes machinations (you'll never know...). I made one crucial error in this presentation, but decided to leave it in anyway...see if you can catch it.

All participation by other people in this log was unplanned beforehand, so big kudos to them for coming up with such great actions on the spur of the moment, I loved it.

Aegoth set off a ton of holocausts and there were no deaths on Mhaldor's side from it? JK

Proficy used the shrine to Sartan but  Sartan wasn't around during that time as he was still split between Shaitan and Apollyon. It was only after this fight that Pentarian killed Apollyon for Shaitan to acquire his essence.

Jurixe

Torrent said:

Jurixe said:

Putting this here as it is, after all, a roleplay log. There is already a log of my Siege of Vengeance presentation for the World's Fair, but I felt it would be nice for those who missed it to see it in colour. I feel having colour really makes a difference for immersion.

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

Log edited to remove unnecessary movement/actions and behind-the-scenes machinations (you'll never know...). I made one crucial error in this presentation, but decided to leave it in anyway...see if you can catch it.

All participation by other people in this log was unplanned beforehand, so big kudos to them for coming up with such great actions on the spur of the moment, I loved it.

Aegoth set off a ton of holocausts and there were no deaths on Mhaldor's side from it? JK

Proficy used the shrine to Sartan but  Sartan wasn't around during that time as he was still split between Shaitan and Apollyon. It was only after this fight that Pentarian killed Apollyon for Shaitan to acquire his essence.

You are actually correct on this, but neither Proficy (I believe) nor I did that illusion. I think someone else did it! None of what I did used actual adventurer names.

You're on the right sort of track, though!

Torrent

Jurixe said:

Torrent said:

Jurixe said:

Putting this here as it is, after all, a roleplay log. There is already a log of my Siege of Vengeance presentation for the World's Fair, but I felt it would be nice for those who missed it to see it in colour. I feel having colour really makes a difference for immersion.

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

Log edited to remove unnecessary movement/actions and behind-the-scenes machinations (you'll never know...). I made one crucial error in this presentation, but decided to leave it in anyway...see if you can catch it.

All participation by other people in this log was unplanned beforehand, so big kudos to them for coming up with such great actions on the spur of the moment, I loved it.

Aegoth set off a ton of holocausts and there were no deaths on Mhaldor's side from it? JK

Proficy used the shrine to Sartan but  Sartan wasn't around during that time as he was still split between Shaitan and Apollyon. It was only after this fight that Pentarian killed Apollyon for Shaitan to acquire his essence.

You are actually correct on this, but neither Proficy (I believe) nor I did that illusion. I think someone else did it! None of what I did used actual adventurer names.

You're on the right sort of track, though!

Oh yeah I caught when it was presenting with the Ugrach, as Curator of Death, as Maya was a goddess at the time so death would have taken you to the halls of Maya instead.

Jurixe

You're quite correct! Well done. This was pointed out to me after I'd done it and I had a moment but it was already too late, so oh well! I'd totally forgotten it was supposed to be Maya.

Gold star!

Jiraishin

Arpees and character development, woo

Welcome back @Daeir!

[context: this took place just after today's events newsposts went up, and a bit after Jir told Daeir that if he was going to get a drink as he'd said earlier Jir would like to come along and get one too]

Daeir strokes his chin.
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin cocks his head to one side questioningly.
 
Daeir frowns and says, "This is all very concerning."
 
You say tiredly with a harsh Western accent, "No, really?"
 
Daeir says, "Doubly so if you're being driven to liquor, of all things."
 
Daeir says, "Though, I can scarcely argue against it."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Eh, it was more of a joke."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I needed company more than anything."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin waves a hand dismissively.
 
Daeir says mildly, "Do you find yourself a pariah of sorts, lately?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Less that. I've already worked through
that, with the Aarashi."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "More that Farrah and Mezghar were the two
people I was closest to in the city. Farrah recruited me, and Mezghar was my
adoptive brother."
 
Daeir frowns slightly.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "So I've been in the situation of trying
to keep everyone on track and on their feet with two pillars of the community
missing, without support."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "It's all rather tiring."
 
Daeir says, "A troubling exodus, then. Do you find yourself wanting to follow
them?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Not in the slightest."
 
Daeir raises an eyebrow questioningly.
 
Daeir says, "Not even a little bit?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Why would I? They betrayed us."
 
Daeir says, "They betrayed the city, yes. But did they betray you personally?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And over the past couple of years, I have
come to truly -hate- Darkness."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "They betrayed me personally by betraying
the city."
 
Daeir says, "From what I've heard, Farrah took a grave leap into this murk in a
vain attempt to shield you from it."
 
Holding a bronze traveller's flask carefully, Daeir squeezes the cork from the
neck. Bringing the mouth of the plump container to his lips, he takes a sip of
the liquid within, before replacing the cork.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I'm honestly still unsure what she did or
didn't do in that regard. She would never tell anyone. And she certainly didn't
hesitate to rip into me in the city news when she left."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Either way, the people I cared about were
servants of Righteousness."
 
Daeir says, "Of course she would. She is shrewd, for all of her failings in
stature and oath-measure."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "These people are servants of Darkness. My
friends are dead to me. It just so happens they're still walking around."
 
Daeir frown openly at you.
 
You raise an eyebrow at Daeir.
 
Daeir says, "That is very stalwart of you, to decry them so instantly despite
your bonds. I probably couldn't do that."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I've had practice."
 
Daeir snorts softly.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Fyr. Tvistor."
 
Daeir says, "Easier, perhaps, but no less painful."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Quite painful, yes."
 
Daeir says, "I turned to liquor and snowblossom tincture to ease the burden on
my shoulders. What shelves yours, I wonder?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Right now? Occasional conversation with
Israyhl and absolutely nothing else."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Apparently my temper has grown rather
short of late as a result, which I am now making a conscious effort to check."
 
Daeir clucks his tongue thoughtfully.
 
Daeir says, "You tread along a dark, lonely path, Jiraishin. That much even I
can see."
 
You shrug helplessly.
 
Holding a bronze traveller's flask carefully, Daeir squeezes the cork from the
neck. Bringing the mouth of the plump container to his lips, he takes a sip of
the liquid within, before replacing the cork.
 
Daeir says, "I was in similar shoes to yours, once. Mayhaps minus the public
association with the Dark One."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin tilts his head to one side, listening.
 
Daeir says, "It nearly cost me everything. My soul, my being, the lot. It drove
me from Him."
 
Daeir says, "The scars I bear to this day. Look at me."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Yes, I see."
 
Daeir says, "And when I returned home, I was not met with applause, but frowns
and scorn, and a cursory warning from the Lord that I would have likely been
more useful as a soulless thrall. But only just."
 
Daeir says, "Yet, here I am, a hundred and fifty years later."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Indeed."
 
Daeir chuckles long and heartily.
 
Daeir says, "My point is thus, we've both dallied with duty. We're clearly both
men of it. But at some point, something *will* give. Who will you turn to when
it does?"
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin considers a moment.
 
Daeir smiles and says, "We are not stoic, indomitable creatures that exist
alone as much as we wish we were."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Israyhl, Olisaphet, possibly you if you
stay and prove yourself, or most likely I will stay down till I have strength
to stand, then stand."
 
Daeir taps his pendulum about his chest knowingly.
 
Daeir smiles faintly.
 
Daeir says, "Good. That's something."
 
Daeir says, "I will not abandon you to the Dark unless you wish it for
yourself. Neither will the rest of us."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "My thanks."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "As I said. I have come to truly,
personally hate Darkness."
 
Daeir says, "You musn't. The hate of it is a hook that secures the veil about
your eyes."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin cocks his head to one side questioningly.
 
Daeir nods slowly.
 
Daeir says, "It is what it is - the machinations of an entity greater than us,
attempting to turn us to its will. And it will attempt to do that through any
means that it can."
 
Daeir says, "It may follow you for the rest of your life."
 

Jiraishin

And here's another good srs RP log from yesterday, featuring @Israyhl. It's best summarized as 'Jiraishin attends court-ordered therapy'.
Some content has been cut out to keep still-current story developments as much off the ooc grapevine as possible, and because this log is really long.

Warning: this contains way more than the recommended daily value of angst-calories. Consume with care.

Israyhl tells you, "Will you please join me outside the Harbinger's House
hall?"
 
You tell Israyhl, "As you wish."
 
The Plaza of the Faithful.
 
You incline your head politely.
Israyhl lowers his head respectfully.
 
Israyhl beckons you to him.
 
You begin to follow Israyhl.
[we go to Israyhl's office]
You follow Israyhl west to The Herald's Redemption.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And what can I do for you, Herald?"
 
Israyhl taps his tongue against the point of one incisor, his brow furrowing in
thought.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "I have been charged by the Dawnlord to
ensure continued cohesion between the Lumarch council and the Advisors, namely,
the House leaders."
 
You nod your head at Israyhl.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I am interested to hear your views. And
any suggestions, even if I do not agree with them."
 
Israyhl breathes inward slowly, his expression softening as he moves to lean
against the wall with the lack of furniture in the office.
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin watches Israyhl curiously.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "How long are you intent on holding
yourself accountable for the choices of your brother?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "As long as other people hold me
accountable, plus at least five years."
 
You say uncomfortably with a harsh Western accent, "Not to be flippant."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But that is how it is."
 
Israyhl's lips curl into a pleasant smile, the expression unlike his usual
stoic features.
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin eyes Israyhl suspiciously.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "There will always be someone to hold
you accountable, no matter how long it has been. That is the nature of mortals,
to grasp to the failings of others around them."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Quite true."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Do you hate yourself for what happened
with Mezghar?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Well, yes. And what happened with Farrah.
And what happened with me."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Do you find hatred to be conducive to
your duty?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Not really, except I suppose it blocks
any bonds of affection that might remain, and keeps me on my feet."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Anger can be energy."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I asked Atalkez and Alasiel how they felt
about my actions chastising them, incidentally."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "What did they say?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I -was- the one who got Alasiel back on
her feet. By her own admission, and I did not ask leading questions. And I
suspect the same of Atalkez. At the very least he was emphatic that Mezghar and
Farrah leaving was not my fault."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "As Atalkez and I were never close, he had
more reason to castigate me than lie for my comfort."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin shrugs one shoulder, face expressionless.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I spoke to them as I did for a reason,
knowing I would be potentially seen as a villain. I do not regret that, of all
my actions."
 
Israyhl considers you with a slight crinkle to the corners of his two-toned
eyes.
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin frowns as he cants his head to one side.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "It is easier to be the villain than
not, I imagine."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "In some ways."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I -could- have just been silent."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And risked losing them both."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And others, who saw their behaviour."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Issam told me to back off Mezghar and let
him grieve. So I did."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Didn't work out well."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "I do not mean them. Someone has to be
harsh sometimes when people are falling apart. You were to them as cold water
can be to others. This instance you did well."
 
You say dryly with a harsh Western accent, "My thanks."
                                                       
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "How much of what happened do you
attribute to Mezghar and Farrah's own choices? Or, conversely, do you feel they
had choices that were not manipulated into the illusion of choice?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I'm not sure those are converse,
honestly. They had choices. They may have been manipulated into feeling their
choices were actually different ones."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "This is especially true of Mezghar. He
was always... very literal, very naive. When something demanded a more twisted
viewpoint, he handed it over to me. He called me his 'favourite thug'."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "This is part of the reason his affliction
by Twilight hit me so hard. Normally when he couldn't handle something like
that, I'd just take it over. But now I couldn't."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin shrugs one shoulder.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "He always had trouble keeping more than
one image in his head at the time."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "In the end, he trusted Farrah more than
me. Or anyone. Not all that surprising."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Farrah... I think she was proud, and
restless."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And perhaps lonely."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "She was idolized. She thought she was
above the standards that were applied to everyone else."
 
You frown and say with a harsh Western accent, "And I think she was also
idolized to the point no one approached her as a person, and she could not let
them do so for fear of losing authority."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But I'm not sure how much actual use my
thoughts are here."
 
Israyhl smiles and says in a gravelly basso voice, "They are useful. I'm
enjoying listening. Continue."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Choices are always shaped by environment.
I was part of the environment."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Honestly, I think I was more to blame for
Farrah than for Mezghar."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And Farrah... confuses me."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Even now."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Why?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I cared about her, but to this day I'm
not sure if she cared about me, or how she viewed me."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "She bargained for me, apparently. I did
not expect this, and found it touching. At the time."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But then when she left, she threw scorn
on me in the news."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Why the one thing? Why the other? Who
knows."
 
You frown and say with a harsh Western accent, "I certainly don't."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Ivory towers are erected from the
inside and out, unfortunately."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "The Suffering God's home was called the
Ivory Tower."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Not without reason."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Do you feel you did the best you could
in the circumstances?"
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Yes. I also feel my best was sorely
lacking."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "And it had better be... better."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Otherwise I -won't- be worthy of the
positions I hold."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "The Voice of Light told me that nearly
every Eminent Master has suffered similar problems with Darkness."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "This.. startled me."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But I -do- think I can overcome it, as
they can."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "As they could, that is."
 
Israyhl's lips quirk in the corners, a gleam briefly flashing within his gaze.
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin's eyes narrow.
 
You say suspiciously with a harsh Western accent, "What."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "You are very passionate when you allow
yourself to be."
 
You say dryly with a harsh Western accent, "That is not a word often applied to
me."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "It is not a word that applies to the
mask you show the outside world."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin shrugs one shoulder.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Emotion hasn't exactly availed me much."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "One of the reasons that Darkness works
so well upon your seat is the very mask that, at times, I understand is
necessary for you to wear. Deceit is necessary for espionage, I know this, but
your duty requires you to often practice the very traits that the Dark Father
teaches as His tenets."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Oh, quite. Which is, according to
Micaelis, the reason the Eminent Masters are such frequent game to Him."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But I am fairly sure the only reason I
retain my position is that I stayed on my feet and useful when others
collapsed."
  
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "But it also means that you need learn
to separate yourself -from- the position. You stayed on your feet, but you run
the risk of the mask replacing your true self."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Nevertheless. I serve. And I apologize
for my temper... But I wish it would be recognized a -little- that I have done
my duty when no one else would, and all I showed was a certain shortness with
others."
  
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "And you have done your duty, aye. One
thing that can be said for you is that you stood before Him, cursed by Him,
engulfed in His power."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Yet here you stand."
 
You have emoted: Tiredly, Jiraishin dips his head in acknowledgement.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "Your fortitude and dedication to Them
should not be discarded."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I always thought of Mezghar, Farrah, and
myself as a trio."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "But somehow I never thought I'd be the
last one standing."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin shrugs uncomfortably.
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "One thing you always have that others
fail to see is a certain level of humility. I think Suffering taught you that,
and I understand that Evil, while it teaches pride in many ways, also enforces
humility in many others."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "In a sense. It also helps that I failed
repeatedly. I didn't leave the City of Evil because I saw the Light."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I left because I broke, and joined the
Nihilists."
 
Israyhl says in a gravelly basso voice, "So we were close to the same place
before Targossas."
 
Israyhl smiles impishly and says in a gravelly basso voice, "At least, in being
amongst the Nihilists."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin inclines his head in acknowledgement.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "There's a bit of a pattern. I fail, I
break, I get back up."
 
You have emoted: Jiraishin shrugs one shoulder.
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "Gradually the breaks get less and less
destructive. I think."
 
You say with a harsh Western accent, "I like this place. This is my hill to die
on, I think."
 
Israyhl smiles impishly and says in a gravelly basso voice, "You mean to say
you learn from your mistakes and grow?"
 
You say reluctantly with a harsh Western accent, "I suppose."