MQ: Blood Red Blossoms

[Skie and Avery]

Skie refused to look away or be ashamed at Godhand's comment. Of course she wasn't a leader; she wouldn't dare ask people to follow her along the path that a dan Sabriel must walk. Something pulled at her conscious; her father would have jumped into the fray and taken his chances with Cydonia, she felt. Her actions weren't those of a heroes, but of a Moontae. Natamrael had been a woman who knew when she wasn't going to contribute anything to a fray and felt no remorse at doing what she could to survive first, and then lend a hand. It was Natamrael at work in Skie today, the woman who looked so much like her, a woman who Godhand had once loved, in some form.

Kahlina had begun to usher the students into the Spire, and before she knew it, Kross' blade began to glow. Skie watched, transfixed as Cydonia screamed into the day, cut down as easily as if she'd been a child. What impressed her was that even as she stood by Godhand, keeping him, in her mind, from being foolish, the librarian stepped up and finished the task that she herself would have been useless at. Her fleeting thought, before turning from Godhand and moving into the Spire was that perhaps she had doomed Eluriand by taking defenders too great for such a small task as escorting a bunch of quaking students.

The moment she entered the Spire, she felt it. The sword at her side seemed to weigh more heavily than normal. It wasn't much, just enough to remind her that it was there. Her heart pounded as she approached the staircase, her hand resting on the hilt of her family weapon to soothe her. Had her father felt like this when he first came to slay Aesphestos and ultimately save the world? Had he felt the storm of danger rolling in? Something seemed wrong, she turned her head to catch a glimpse through the open doorway of the demonic Kross. His form should frighten her more than it did; but then again, who was she to judge based on demonic physical appearance. There had been a time when Moontae wings graced her back.

She had climbed several flights when something caught her attention. She fled up the stairs, pausing at a window to gaze out onto Lindequalme. Through the trees, she saw it, still in the distance. A shudder of familiarity it her. It was much like the feeling, with the smell of blooming apple trees all around, that she had in Eluriand. In the distance, she could see a small army advancing. They weren't heading for the cities in the north, however. They doubled back, clearing Carnelost, following a trail of hacked vines and trampled grass. They were heading for the Spire, and the strange amalgamation of warriors and scholars within. Twisting to peer down the staircase, Skie cried out to the others.

"Get to the top of the Spire now! The Scourge comes for us!"

Post conclusions, and we'll end this chapter. As soon as all conclusions are in and I submit the thread for judging, I'll put up part 2. Any questions can be focused towards me on AIM.

[Slayer of the Rot]

With a vindictive smile, Kross watched Cydonia die.

She shook and howled as Lillian's strange black threads did their venomous work on her rotting body. The Saraelian stared right into the fallen Queen of Undeath's eyes as they begin to gray with the touch of the Antifirmanent. A skinless hand locked on his ankle, even as he heard the marching feet of soldiers advancing through the forest. And like inside of him, and all over the trembling Cydonia, he felt the Black. It rose up strong behind him and pressed on his body, surrounding him with cold comfort that sent a tingling sensation like cold spider's feet up his spine. Kross dropped his blade and drew dirt up into his other hand, and even as he pushed the impurities out of it, turning it rich and black, the glowing Bhidyate vanished. He packed the black dirt against his torn flesh, making the soil one with his unusual body. Slender tubes of flesh rose out of the dirt like worms as it began to reknit, the pain began to was out of him. Kross turned his gray eyes towards the Spire in time to catch Skie staring at him.

End game. The fleeing students and their guardians had lost. Kross and Xem'Zund had won.

The Saraelian moved forward, bits of black dirt crumbling off his regenerating wound. The clothes he had summoned fluttered in a gentle wind, and now, Lillian only could see the dark red embroidery in the open mandarin collared coat he was wearing. She would be able to see, all too terribly, the sigil of Xem'Zund.

Kill one of his soldiers, and another rose to take it's place.

His smile as he reached her was mocking, but only somewhat so; the rest of it conveyed arrogance. It had been a test by the Necromancer, he was sure of it now. A test to see if he would betray innocent lives for his own selfish means, a test to see if Kross was capable of killing one of his stronger undead servants. And he had passed one of those conditions with flying colors, and was now moving to pass the other brilliantly. Stopping mere inches from the little librarian, he looked back slowly over his shoulder, at the still form of Cydonia. "Nice work, girl." His gaze climbed upwards, towards the small army advancing through the Red Forest.

"But not good enough. Think you can do that a hundred some-more times? Then do you think you can take me down?" Kross snorted, then laughed shortly. The laughter had no humor in it; it came in a few short barks, flat and rough like tree bark. Then, he walked past her, putting his bark to her in utter disrespect for her skill and power against Cydonia. More and more of the black soil fell away from the wound on his stomach to show shiny pink scar tissue, the drying rivulets of blood on his hand one of the only reminders of the brutal wound the ghoul had dealt him.

"Damn, it feels good to drop the act. Pretending to give a shit was starting to get at me." Kross ran his hand through his short auburn hair and roughly shoved his head to the left and right, working the stiffness out of it. The black mark 's power had begun to flow unhindered. Though not visible, the change was evident in him; in his eyes, in his very presence. More of the black dirt crumbled away from the wound, and Kross's boot heels clicked sharply against the spire's stone floor. Vestiges of his master's power pressed against the walls, feeling the presence of the mark, and the Saraelian felt incredible comfort wash over him the deeper he moved into the spire, the higher he climbed the stairs.

Maybe Skie already knew when Kross appeared behind her and the students, turning away from a window to shout a warning down at her charges. He knew from their glances they all had their suspicions, but the triumphant smile, the murderous, black aura that bled from his body surely confirmed their glances. Kross vaulted over them all, landing right in front of Skie to let the students, Kahlina, and Godhand get a nice eyeful of the necromancer's sigil on his back.

"The Scourge is already here," he said mockingly through a wide grin, and launched a flat palmed blow to her mid section to throw her into the wall of the landing at the top of the stairs. Kross approached her again, taking his time with a blatant swagger to his walk, and reached down to pull the daughter of the Starslayer up by her hair.

"For a dan Sabriel, you're awfully fucking pathetic. Then again, your father probably couldn't have stopped us this time. We're going to swallow the world." The Saraelian looked back towards the students and Godhand, ignoring Skie. For a moment, the certainty of his actions faltered as he stared at the silver haired mercenary.

"Not trying to stop me? Good idea." None of the students would be able to pose a single problem, but even with all his newfound power, he still wasn't sure that he'd be able to put down Godhand. He knew nothing about the man's own growth. With so many of Godhand's motions in his own combat, the mercenary wouldn't have much trouble anticipating his actions. Not to mention, those big guns of his, which he was reaching for past the pain in his ribs. Kross knew well enough the size of a hole one of those hand cannons would put in him, and he'd rather not suffer through the regeneration of such a wound.

The Saraelian threw back his head and let out another of those humorless, sharp laughs, and raised a hand to the wall. A clean, thin vertical crack appeared in the black stone, then it parted, creating a simple doorway. Grabbing at Skie's hands, Kross summoned up thick bands of obsidian from the floor to try and bind her wrists and ankles, and with a second thought, one to wrap around her mouth. Slinging her over his shoulder, he stepped out of the formed doorway, and hung there in the air for a moment. He looked down at the ranks closing in on the spire. Then, he turned his cutting gaze on his captive, smirking.

"Looks like you failed."

Kross soared across the canopy of the Red Forest with Skie in tow, laughing all the way.
_____
Spoils:
Saraelian Branch Form - Increases size and mass.
Gains centaurian form.
Triples strength from base amount (before any transformation).
Allows Dan (Kross) to change his arms to adapt to different situations, must be in the Root form for two posts before activation.
More details will be meshed out in level update.

Xem'Zund Uniform - A mandarin collared black vlince coat with dark red embroidery. Features the necromancer's sigil.

[Godhand]

Watching Cydonia finally go down was a relief for Godhand. Even on his best day, perfectly healthy and knowing what he knew know he wouldn't have lasted long against her. No chance with a couple of busted ribs. She was quick and vicious and she didn't get tired. She was too much. Too much woman. It somehow seemed right that it was the librarian that had finished her off.

But she wasn't done. Afterwards, helpful angel that she was, she had walked over to Godhand and helped him steady himself. This little mouse that had once seemingly wished him ill now looked at him with such unsure delight that it mitigated the pain in his chest. The swordsman started to feel pretty good about himself and life in general. He thought about how God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. That was probably a bit much but they did what they could. In the end that was all anyone could ever do.

Leaning on his new charge for support, he made his way over to the Obsidian Spire. With Cydonia gone nothing prevented them from seeking shelter in it and Kahlina had already ushered most of the students inside. They'd need to rest for a while; they couldn't travel like this. Godhand was battered and Lillian would be coming down from her battle high soon. Curiously, the only one who seemed none the worse for wear was Kross. It was a bit unsettling but after that little display he had earned his stripes, at least in Godhand's eyes.

Godhand was wondering why he hadn't approached the Spire. He turned around, however, and there it was. The face of their true enemy. Kross stood there, attempting to emulate some measure of regality as the uniform of the Cursed fell upon his shoulders. The mercenary now understood that everything up until this point had just been the thresher: something meant to wear them down and identify the pivotal members in the group. It was a good con and Godhand was impressed the thrall was able to run it from as far back as Eluriand. That took determination and, if that little trick that had deposited them in the Red Forest was any indication, quite a bit of power. The swordsman wondered what other tricks he had up his now-embroidered sleeve.

He didn't get much time to wonder, though. As soon as he revealed his true colors he was nothing but motion and cursing. He took the time to insult every member of the group except for Godhand. This seemed a little interesting to the mercenary. Was it some indication of respect? Or did he know he was going to have to go through him to get to Skie and was saving it for afterwards? Whatever it meant, Godhand was on. He was ready. Even in his crippled state he was still formidable, and wether he showed it or not that fight had to have taken something out of the traitor.

But just as the mercenary was about to lunge forward and lock up with Kross, his former ally leaped over both him and the students. Almost as a second thought Godhand bent his knees to match his bound but the sharp pain that cut into him let him know how unwise that was. He stumbled forward, pushing his way through the students that were too scared to make way. Kross had already manipulated the Spire into binding Skie. Godhand instantly unholstered his gun as Kross leapt into the air, calmly aiming for the bridge in the skull located behind the ear. One bullet directly into the brain and it wouldn't matter what he was or who he served: he'd go down. The gunman lined up the barrel, whispered an admonishment to the creature and pulled the trigger.

Click

All his confidence drained away, leaving him with a horrible sense of dread. Guns didn't work in the land of the elves. As the air became thick with the sounds of the approaching undead, Godhand regretted chastising their leader and silently admitted she was right.

He should have let him die.

((Spoils: None. Please take any gold I would have gotten from this quest and dump it into my exp.))

[RumpleGrumblePuss]

I felt both brows rise at the rather anti-climatic demise of Cydonia. I had almost expected well I wasn't entirely sure of what I expected, maybe an explosion or a scream or three. Oh well, at least no one is dead. I stood my post in the door way as Skie entered, waiting for the others. If I were truthfully and brutally honest I was a little hesitant to enter. Just standing in the doorway I could feel something from the Spire. It was a cold as if all warmth had fled, rendering the structure behind me absolute zero. Frankly, it set me on edge.

Great, they say no good deed goes unpunished. I thought as Skie's warning echoed down the Spire to me. Watching Kross pack his wounds with dirt, I vaguely hoped that he caught a really nasty infection. It seemed like fate the Kross' true colors finally appeared. As Godhand's gun dry clicked I raced to follow Kross, shoving everyone out of my way. What I thought I would or could do, I didn't know. I only knew that a tense situation has just gotten much worse and we were completely boned.

Kross' attack on Skie didn't seem to make much sense. It would have made more strategic sense to take out Godhand while he was wounded or to cut down Lillian while she was burdened helping out Godhand. Then I remembered long ago conversation I had had with Manda. Long talks about Skie and Avery's parents and deeds among giggled plots for our silly threads. Starslayer blood ran through Skie's veins and if I remembered correctly Devon had once defeated The Scourge’s master, Xem'zund.

As shimmering stone wrapped itself around Skie's captive body I caught one of Skie's ankles with a whip. Suppressing a winch at the sharp smack of leather against flesh I pulled back on my whip, dropping the other to hang on with both hands. My feet slid across the smooth stone floor a few inches as Kross flew through the opening he created, Skie in hand. Feeling the whip's grip loosen on Skie's ankles I yanked on it in one last desperate gesture, hoping that the sudden jerk would pull her free.

I closed my eyes a moment before I would have crashed into the wall and instead found myself painfully seated on the ground. The whip lay on the floor, coiled like a sleeping snake. Not trusting the opening in the wall I ran to the window and looked out. The first ranks of the undead were appearing at the edge of the clearing when I turned back to the rest of the group.

"Damn. If anyone knows a good teleport spell now would be the time to use it, other wise we have another fight ahead of us. Battle stations people" I glanced down at the nervous faces of the students and suddenly wished I could laugh. Afraid that if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop I shook my head instead. "Lillian, can you place those dark threads you create to surfaces or are they useable when they are attached to you only?" I asked as an idea for defense slowly built itself.


((Spoils: Calming song, it creates a soothing effect on thoes listening. ))

[Ataraxis]

Lillian walked away from a pile of crumbling dust, the red glow in her eyes smouldering bright with the embers that had burned the corpse to ashes. Her arms swooped crosswise, fingers darting to the washed out skies, and her weapons were fished out from the grave dirt in six bursts of smoke to gently land in her open palms. Stowing them away, she padded along the broken pathways between cursed forest and cursed spire, falling to one knee at the side of Godhand. For some odd reason, his close proximity no longer riled up the emotions that had so often put her to shame, this day.

He was a big idiot, she thought to herself as her eyes fell on the titan, chiding at first but softening like a mother’s before a troublesome son. She had done hard work replacing his rib and patching up his lungs, but all that was wasted work after his spectacular yet downright reckless leap; he had wasted it all, but he’d done it to help her. ‘A big, old, idiot of a caring oaf.’ The librarian squeezed herself beneath his arm and got him up to a wobbly stand, letting him use her as a little crutch. At the same time, she had sneaked her fingers onto his chest, and the same black glow enswathed her hand. “I should charge you for the hard time you’re giving me,” she finally said with a timid smile.

While they made their way to the Spire, Lillian heard the tap of muffled steps on the stone. Thinking that Cydonia had somehow risen from her ashes, she turned and steeled herself, as did Godhand with the best of his ability. Greeting their sight instead was Kross, the grin that tugged at his lips fraught with mockery aimed at the girl. It was, however, the symbol upon his summoned vestments that had pulled the wool off her eyes. She was all too familiar with the sigil of the Black, so often depicted in ancient texts and scriptures with ink like blood as a caveat. Kross was a conniving traitor after all. The only joy she had was of never truly trusting the man himself, but that meant nothing now. Trust or not, he had played them all. Trust or not, he had won.

And The Scourge was coming to congratulate him.

Even through the thick clusters of boughs and boles, of crawling vines and blood drop leaves, she could feel them come like a lone and baleful wind that roused the Red Forest awake from its years of slumber. The traitor was right, she could not even hope to repeat the miracle, not against a thousand, not against him, and certainly not against Xem’Zûnd. He crossed them both, climbing the winding staircases of the dark tower as the girl let her head slump. But it wasn’t tears that she was trying to hide. “We have to stop him,” she murmured, keeping a seething rage from bursting through her teeth. No more words were exchanged. They only hustled.

Kross had hurdled over the amassed students, landing face to face with Skie dan Sabriel. While he took a perverse pleasure in talking the leader down, Godhand decided that he wouldn’t listen to that drivel and do nothing. Plowing through the frightened sheep, he pulled out a dire-looking gun from his holster and aimed for the Dark One’s newest goon as he slung a manacled Skie over his shoulder and leapt through the rift on the obsidian. She heard the terse click, but heard none of the bang nor seen any of the fiery smoke from the cold barrel. The strange, eldritch field that swathed these lands had counteracted with technology, causing the weapon to misfire. Ironic, how Raiaera herself worked in favour of her own demise.

As cold sweats beaded profusely from her forehead, Lillian difficultly weaved through the helpless crowd, this burdensome flock now without a shepherd. Kahlina came into her line of sight, the only student here who’d had the presence of mind to react at their leader’s capture. Through the gap in stone, up ahead in the distance, she could see forms roil beneath the sea of blood, see dead-grey blotches forming into phalanxes as they came nearer and nearer to the black heart of Lindequalmë. For an instant, her mind wandered far off in helpless rage, bone-chilling dread and all-encompassing uncertainty, to finally end in a soundless vacuum, unable to hear in that moment the ophidian woman’s call to arms.

Only when her name was called did she stand to attention. “My… my threads,” she repeated absently, the red of her eyes slowly focusing on the chimeric form of the student. Breathing harder than before, she looked down to her sweat palms, then gave her a deliberate nod. “Yes… I can detach them from my body, and give them a highly-adhesive quality. Give… give me a moment.” Instead of asking how much the woman wanted, or what exactly she had planned for them, Lillian simply started her seamstress’ work. Ten lengths of strings fell from her fingers in a continuous stream, looping and circling as they tumbled down as fast as unfurling spools, and though they were sticky, they would not tangle upon themselves. The girl could have no moment’s rest, but she couldn’t blame any of them for relying on her. Everything she had accomplished this day, no matter how great, had suddenly become nothing more than trifling deeds in her mind. There was so much to be done now, so much that she had to do, that only she could do. “Just…just tell me when to…”

The ends of the thin black ropes fell loose from her fingers. Her eyes went wide as her body seemed to freeze. Without a warning, her knees slammed against the cold black stone, the girl squirming on all fours. A few of the students, for once, had moved toward her in worry, but were quick to move back at what followed. The librarian jerked back her head, then threw it down again as blood burst from her mouth like water from a broken dam. It splashed loudly, flecks and specks tainting her arms and white dress a deep, dripping red, stopping only when all the colors had been robbed from the girl and thrown out revoltingly to paint the stairway. The florid hues of her skin were blanched to a sallow white, the vivacity in her expression watered down to a sickly look of absent confusion. Her eyes buzzed with her ears as colors faded into ghostly blurs, as the cries of students blended with the loudening thunder of the undead walking, until her senses all spiralled as one, into nothingness.

Lillian had been at her limit long before the battle against Cydonia, and the forced absorption of Godhand’s physical might had taken its toll on her feeble body. She had cast countless spells, to heal and to hurt, and had continued to the end, weaving her threads to help those who could not help themselves. It was all such a pity, and the third and final irony of this day did not escape the last lights of her waking mind. Of all the people here, she was the only one who could save herself. There she lay, unmoving and bathing in a mere of red, eyes turned up to a still and lifeless blue, the girl trapped in a tangled web of her own blood and weave.

“I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t even hear herself speak, couldn’t even feel the tears upon her cheeks.

She couldn’t feel anything anymore.



((Spoils: Considering I’ve more than halved its original effectiveness and substantially restricted its use, I hope this skill will be granted without adverse effects on anything else. Also, as the second spoil is the direct consequence of a skill I’ve had approved, I hope it won’t cause anything to be deducted. Three of the daggers she used aren't in her profile because I forgot to add them from Saved. I also don’t know if the minor magical item must be requested here or if it is granted at a later time.

Gargantua’s Might - The second power produced by the Welkin Body. By sipping the blood of a mercenary named Godhand, with his permission that is, Lillian has, on top of gaining nigh-immunity to his specific pheromones, made his sheer physical strength into her own. Though upon the first use of her newfound might, her body was capable of the same extraordinary feats as the man, she is no longer capable of drawing from it at the same level of potency. At most, she can lift up to 3000 pounds and can, with effort, bend Delyn; in this state, her running speed can as much as double, and she will also gain impressive stamina. Currently, Lillian cannot call upon her strength by will, as it only activates under situations of high emotional stress or duress and at varying degrees of effectiveness.

The equivalent of 4 shirts or 2 jackets in her magical black-silk cloth, as stated in her ability, Seamstress of the Sinister.))

[Call me J]

Well, the big problem here that I saw was while there were a bunch of good writers who showed me some good writing in this thread, for whatever reason, not all of you finished strong. With the exception of Ataraxis and the smaller cameos, every one of you had a large amount of variance in the quality of your posts. The best posts in this thread are Judges’ Choice material, but the thread, overall, unfortunately is not.

Total Score- 75 This is one time I'm really happy how the rubric came out. It scored the thread just as how I'd want a thread like this to score. Very high, but not exemplary, which is what this quest, in its entirety was.

• STORY ~ 22.5/30

Continuity (7) ~ If there was a post hall of fame, I would put Madison’s first post in there, solely on the basis of the way he described the battle at Carnelost and the woman whose hand had been reanimated by Xem’zund. This little bit of continuity really brought me into this thread in a very good way. However, as strong as the beginnings were, I can’t really say the same about the end.

Setting (7.5) ~ Though this gets at action as well as at setting, Godhand’s use of a gun in his final post was absolutely brilliant. I really loved it and felt it brought a jarring image at the end of the thread. In general, I felt the setting was underused by the majority of the people in this thread, both as something that your characters could have reacted to, in addition to something to help create ambiance. There were good moments, Skie and Avery’s mention of the changed behavior of the Dur’Taigen was one of them, but there could have been so much more.

Pacing (8) ~ For a thread with so many people, you guys definitely did a good job at pacing this adventure. There were a few issues that dealt with brevity that hurt you guys, but for the most part, I found this thread an enjoyable read.

• CHARACTER ~ 20.5/30

Dialogue (6.5) ~ I don’t really want to get in to too many specific comments here, because there were a lot of different styles that the people in this quest took with regards to their character and dialogue. However, with the exception of RumpleGrumblePuss, I felt that all of you could have benefited from a little bit more dialogue in your posts.

Action (7) ~ I really didn’t get how Skie could have been reminded of Dan by Kross’ strength. Granted, they are the same person, but what about Kross’ strength would be any more reminiscent of Dan than say Godhand or any of the other muscle heads we have running around Althanas. I understand this was done as a literary device, but it was one of those things that jumped out to me and made me say “what?” and I really don’t like having to do that. Otherwise, this was very strong. Godhand, if you haven’t already, take note of my setting comment.

Persona (7) ~ With a thread this huge with this many PCs, did you really need to throw so many NPCs in it too, especially in the earlygoing? This thread really suffered from character overload. While there isn’t a max length a story needs to be if it includes a certain amount of characters, there is a minimum length for this, and I’m not sure if this thread achieved it. That said, there were some brilliant character portrayals in this thread, Findelfin had a great cameo, Leon had a solid one. Godhand showed a lot of character, though at the expense sometimes of Brevity.

• WRITING STYLE ~ 24/30

Mechanics (9) ~ There were periodic minor issues that cropped up, the wrong word used occiasionally, “conscious” vs “conscience” as one example, but for the most part, I can’t really complain here. In a thread this big, there are going to be mistakes despite yourselves. Then again, you have a lot of eyes for peer editing.

Technique (8) ~ Godhand has this wonderful way of putting a great deal of meaning behind mundane words. His ability to do this really shone in this thread. Slayer of the Rot’s use of imagery was also a treat.

Clarity (7) ~ This suffered because of a lack of brevity.

• Wild Card (8) ~ Pulling off a large multiperson quest must have been difficult, but you did a great job pulling it off. You all should be pleased with yourself, and the wild card score is to reflect this strong showing.

Spoils
Note, the EXP values have been modified based on importance of character to the plot, in addition to your relative writing skills.


Skie and Avery 5626 EXP and 675 EXP
Slayer of the Rot gets 5409 EXP and 600 GP
RumplegrumblePuss gets 2577 EXP and 525 EXP. Spoil approved.
Godhand gets 4526 EXP and 525 EXP
Ataraxis gets 3480 EXP and 600 GP. As for the spoils, I approve them, but I want you to run the exact specs past someone in RoG. I suspect they will be a bit excessive, given your level. Also, to that end, I request that you do not use them until after RoG approval.
Farsight gets 1094 EXP and 150 GP
Findelfin gets 2617 EXP and 150 GP
Artifex Felicis gets 1835 EXP and 150 GP

[Karuka]

EXP/GP added! Skie and Avery, Slayer of the Rot, RumpleGrumblePuss, Godhand, Ataraxis, and Artifex Felicis all level up!