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  1. #11
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    The room was fairly expansive, just like he had thought it to be from the outside. The majority of the room was taken up by a series of tables that had black sheets lying draped upon them. Nevin swallowed roughly, forcing down the lump in his throat as he realized just what kind of room he had stumbled into. He wondered why he wasn't being overwhelmed by the smell of the chamber - only to see that on the far side of the room, a chunk of the exterior wall had been torn away. The flow of air through that hole had probably kept any smells from building up - a fact that he was extremely grateful for.

    So. Nevin had found a morgue. Considering what he had learned in that journal, he couldn't exactly say that he was surprised by this discovery - whoever owned this place was definitely a man who could obtain what he wanted for his studies, and a few cadavers were probably almost dreadfully easy to come by. Nevin took a shallow breath and held it as he ventured further into the room.

    Far from the door, on an inside wall, were several shelves that he couldn't see the contents of from the ruined doorway. Upon getting closer though, he found that most of them were filled with glass jars that held.. Various organs. With a shiver that ran down his spine, Nevin was able to identify that while some of them were animal in origin - others were not. He could see human lungs, a heart, eyes floating in various jars, and then there were the body parts he didn't have a clue of the unfortunate donor.

    The Alchemist had to suppress his twinned emotions of an urge to study this and learn more, and his desire to get as far away from this room as he could. While he used some animal body parts in his Alchemy, and he was quite partial to using blood… Most of the time, he stayed far away from using blood from a sentient individual. Human blood had had nothing special about it for most alchemical purposes so he was able to avoid it, and he wouldn't use it for his blood magic. So seeing human limbs and organs was a distinctly unpleasant situation.

    But the final shelf contained what he had come in here to look for. A set of three books was tucked away, stashed next to several glass jars. Hesitantly, he reached up and grabbed one - and was very thankful of the fact that they didn't fall apart at his touch. He pulled it down and flipped it open, only now realizing that he had dropped his torch when he stabbed his hand climbing in here. The one in his hands was not a primer on necromancy - and Nevin didn't know whether to be thankful or upset about that. Instead, it seemed to be a log of experiments done here. With a grim expression he flipped to a legible page and began to read.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  2. #12
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    December 17th:
    Experimentation enters the ‘practical’ stages. First subject is healthy Human male, late thirties. Approximate physical condition to recipient. So rejection should be unlikely from what information I could gather. This has to work. My research is not yet done.

    Post Procdure:

    A FAILURE. The blasted corpse had already begun the rotting process, the soft tissues that I NEED have already fallen victim to the decay. No matter. I have other, fresher corpses. They are not as close a match as this one, but maybe that can be compensated for with necromantic magics.

    December 21st:
    Rats, accursed rats! The foul little fiends chewed up three of my test subjects before I could even begin the procedures. I shall have to move the morgue out of the basement.

    January 7th:
    Time is running short. Test subject: living human male, former chef. His use for aid in the experiments has reached its culmination - through him, I shall reverse the flow of time upon my body. Golem constructed to perform the implantation on me, as I cannot do it upon myself.

    January 12th:
    I survived. I am a fool. Necromancy does not care about preventing death - it seeks to spread it, and escape its clutchs afterwards. Rikson knew nothing of the true, darker arts of necromancy, so I have no hope of becoming one of those vaunted creatures, a Lich.

    The procedure went smoothly at first. Chloroform, a potent sedative from my resident alchemist, kept Rikson unconscious as I split him open. His organs were surrounded in more fatty tissue than I had anticipated - it seems he sampled far more of his own cooking than I had ever known. However the removal went smoothly enough - I am glad I long overcame any squeamishness. He woke up partway through and tried to scream, but with his lungs removed it was scarcely more than a wet gurgle. He expired soon after that.

    Problems came with after that, and with the golem. The damnable thing grabbed me almost as soon as I had the last of the organs out, and began cutting me open immediately. I forgot to set precise parameters, so as soon as all of the raw materials were available it went to work.

    The procedure…. I cannot tell if it was a success or a failure. The spasms in my lungs have subsided but there is something wrong. I cannot tell what yet. I have spent the last five days recovering, and if I had not had the foresight to create wards to bolster healing I am not sure I would have made it.

    My research into this matter must continue. I will not die here.

    March 3rd:

    It has been some time since my experiments brought me here. My body has grown frailer since I last worked in these chambers, but my will and my mind have only strengthened. I have come upon a decision.

    I shall construct a new vessel for my soul. This one can no longer contain me so I must move on from it. Alchemy has constructs called ‘Homunculi’, one of the pinnacles of the art. Artificial bodies, meant to swerve as replacements for golems - they can contain far more information than a simpler construct.

    But but but no no no that won't work will it. The artificial flesh cannot contain a real soul. Hence my coming here. Alchemy must be combined with necromancy - I must bind the real to the unreal, and use the once living flesh to anchor my soul. I need… Magical flesh and bone.

    April 7th:

    Another blasted FAILURE. None of these pathetic excuses for magical beings possess what I need! While they continue to house magic, their dead flesh cannot channel it, merely act as a reagent or a deposit. I need the flesh of a powerful, sentient magical being. Beth. I shall question her further.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  3. #13
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Nevin closed the book with a snap, staring at it in shock. This was… Exactly as he had feared it would be. The log of a madman who was performing necromantic experiments. Nevin had nothing against the art personally - he thought it would be rather hypocrite of him if he did - but what appalled him was the lengths the man had gone to.

    Human experimentation. Worse, he had sacrificed one of his own companions, the man who guided him in necromancy, to do it! That was unbelievable - to kill one of your companions simply because you were doing an experiment? If Nevin didn't already know the depths that people could sink to, this might have stunned him more. As it was though, it just disgusted him.

    There was something else there, too. Something that was in that almost entry was bothering Nevin, but he couldn't place what it was or why he was perturbed. Unsure of why he was unsettled - aside from hey, a guy cut up someone who probably thought of him as a friend - the alchemist began taking down other journals, flicking through them. His dark red eyes scanned back and forth along the pages, quickly taking in the information.

    These texts were much drier and had none of the personal ramblings that the first one had had. They were almost clinical in their discussions of dissections and the attempts at revivification that the writer was performing on a regular basis. The writer seemed to be primarily focusing on restoring the lungs to life - but the necromantic arts were rarely that precise. Somewhere along the way there was a set of notes dealing with bringing oneself back to life after death, with ‘Lich’ written several times in a hasty scrawl before being crossed out.

    Nevin shuddered - Liches were destructive forces. Something about crossing the gap between life and unlife seemed to unhinge them, and they almost all ended up bent on creating empires for themselves, or on becoming living nightmares, blights upon the world. Thankfully whoever was working here had decided against going down that route from what he could find.

    Then he found the section in one, near the end, that made him pause. ‘I need to replace my staff. They're growing too suspicious. Cheap alternative - zombies. I now have the knowledge of how to create them, cobbled together from my experiments on bringing lungs back. Kill servants, make them into zombies. Simple. Then they can't judge me any more, can't see my spiral into worse health. Rikson first, I can attempt to use his lungs,and he has outlived his usefulness to me.’

    Nevin closed the book with a snap and threw it back onto the shelf, suppressing a shudder as he turned around to look at the three tables with black sheets draped across the prone figures on top. He took a step closer, reaching out to examine one, and peeled the sheet away to reveal a mottled corpse, of a rather rotund man. The alchemist looked down at the sheet in his hand - the corpse was not as decayed as it should have been after years, and -

    Oh dear Crimson. Those were necromantic runes on the sheet. Nevin’s eyes shot back to the cadaver in time to see its eyelids shoot open, revealing hollow sockets that glowed with pinpricks of a baleful light. The corpse tried to get up - the zombie tried to get up - and fell off the table. This would have reassured Nevin, if in its fall it hadn't ripped another sheet off of another corpse, revealing a middle aged woman with hair hanging in limp strands. This corpse too awoke, but when she stood up, her movements were more fluid than the first’s. Those hateful eyes locked onto Nevin, and a terrible moan rasped out of its lips as it began to move towards him.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  4. #14
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Nevin bit back a vehement curse as he dodged out of the way of the female zombie’s first lumbering charge. While this thing was nowhere near as fast as the mutated dear that he had fought outside, Nevin found himself only barely able to avoid the attack. It didn't make sense - he could see that this thing was moving slower than the deer, hell it was moving far slower than he was. So why was he only just capable of ducking past an angry swipe from one of its arms?

    The zombie turned furious eyes in his direction and let out a loud, rattling groan that sent a chill of fear through him. The alchemist swallowed, trying to work past the lump in his throat - and his eyes widened as the thing lunged for him. He threw himself backwards, barely saving his throat from the rotted, jagged teeth of the zombie.

    I can't keep this up. I have to figure out why I feel like I'm swimming through molasses - the zombie let out a strangled moan as it pushed itself to its feet from where it had fallen in front of him. The change in the noise was almost comical, and against his will he felt a terrified laugh force its way from his mouth.

    And for a moment, Nevin moved smoothly again, easily avoiding the grasping bony fingers of the zombie. Unlike the last attacks, this one didn't even come close to hitting him, and Nevin let himself think that the strangeness had passed - and then the monster groaned, enraged and glaring at him, and the blood mage felt that thick resistance in the air again.

    It's a magical effect! How on earth is a zombie - There was a digging pain in one leg, and Nevin looked down. He had completely forgotten about the first zombie that had woken up. Its legs didn't work so it had had to crawl towards him - but in his focus on evading the second zombie, this one had managed to reach him, and had sunk the claws of one hand into the meat of Nevin’s calf. The man let out a strangled scream, choking the sound in his throat.

    Crimson threads burst from his leg above and below where the claws were buried. They snapped together, weaving into a spiral that was wrapped around the arm of the zombie, obscuring it from sight. There was a sickening squelch - and the zombie pulled back a stump of an arm, roughly crushed just below the elbow. Nevin felt a painful tugging in his leg, and a glance showed that his threads had pulled the zombie hand out of his flesh.

    He shuddered, and turned his attention back to the female zombie. It had shuffled toward him while he was reacting to the crawling zombie, and when it saw him looking at it again, it let out a shrieking groan and lunged for him, hands raised and bony fingers outstretched.

    This time Nevin reacted quickly, apparently pain broke whatever the magic was doing to him. Threads slid from beneath his skin and wrapped around his arms, and he almost contemptuously brushed the lunging zombie aside. He drove his fist into its side, feeling and hearing ribs crack as his punch knocked it to the ground. One hand shot down to pull out his whip, and he snapped it out to wrap around the zombie’s neck.

    With a powerful pull and a loud crack, the zombie’s head lolled to one side. The mage kept pulling, his threads boosting his strength as he wrenched the zombie’s head from its body with a sickening wet tearing sound. The barbs of his whip had helped in this - cutting and tearing through flesh as he had pulled on the whip.

    Nevin jumped to the side to avoid another attempt from the crawling zombie to surprise him, though the blood mage did let out a gasp of pain as his injured leg gave out under him as he landed, and he collapsed to the ground.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  5. #15
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    The redhead forced his body to roll, his injured leg protesting the motion. But he managed to avoid the clawing hand of the zombie that was still alive. Instead, he ended up rolling into one of the tables, and he braced his back against it and pulled himself up with his empty hand.

    It was only when he was on his feet and black cloth was pooling by his legs that Nevin realized his mistake. With no idea what was behind him, the Alchemist threw himself to the left, ignoring the fresh flare of pain from his leg. It was a close thing to - almost unnaturally fast a hand speared through where he had been standing just moments before. If he hadn't dodged when he did, that hand would have plunged into his back.

    He didn't have time to deal with the crawling zombie as this new one was getting more active. Threads wrapped around his legs, reinforcing the injured one as he brought his good leg back and kicked out, hard - and did his absolute best to ignore the wet, sucking feeling around his foot as his boot caved in the first zombie’s head. He ripped his foot free and focused on this new zombie - and froze, his eyes widening in shock.

    Staggering to his feet was.. Was.. A male Ezra. Paler, decayed, a zombie instead of a Homunculus - but so painfully familiar that Nevin had to fight not to retch in shock, fear, pain and disgust. Even the eyes of this male were purple like his apprentice’s, etched with golden sigils. And littered across the pale, deathly pale skin, were the same alchemical and necromantic runes that he knew were on Ezra.

    But there was none of his friend’s intelligence in those eyes, just a mindless hunger as the strangely wrong male version of his apprentice let out a rattling groan. None of the dry wit or sardonic amusement, none of the confusion at social cues that made no sense to her. This - this place - had Ezra - no, she had to have come from here. There was simply no way that there could be a zombie mimic of his apprentice anywhere else.

    Nevin knew, as a Homunculus, she had been made somewhere. The fact that his usually bright, inquisitive, friendly apprentice was made by a madman who had literally experimented on people he had known disgusted Nevin on a very visceral level. He would not, could not, leave this abomination, this mockery, alive.

    The mage dropped his whip to the ground as dozens of threads shot from his arms, weaving together into snapping cables. With a cry of disgust, and pain, Nevin charged forward, meeting the lumbering lunge from the zombie with wet cracks as his crimson cables lashed out, whips that tore rotten, barely preserved flesh from bones.

    Fury drove a relentless assault as Nevin flayed - no, not flayed, he literally flensed this thing, ripping meat apart all the way down to the bone. For a moment the foul magics that wrapped around the undead creature kept it going even as it is as ripped apart - and then three coils of blood red tendrils wrapped around the head and wrenched it from the body.

    Nevin's sides heaved as he stared at the quivering pile of meat and bone that now lay at his feet. Any mockery of his apprentice’s appearance had been completely abolished - and now, fury drained, Nevin sagged down, pulling his threads back inside of him as he recovered from adrenaline and rage.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  6. #16
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    “This… this place.” Nevin’s voice, unused til now, rang out in the still air of the morgue. His tone was full of disbelief as he stared towards the pile of meat and bone that had been… had been a zombie at one point. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of what it had resembled. The redhead swallowed, forcing a thick lump of tension down.

    “This place is.. Where Ezra was made. I… I can’t ignore that anymore.” Which meant that he had to figure out just what the COBALT had gone on in this hellhole. Running, fleeing, was no longer an option - no, he absolutely had to get to the bottom of this. Just how had - how had this madman gone from making zombies that were mindless abominations, to making a person - because Nevin was fairly certain that Ezra had her own soul at this point. And the alchemy - that was another reason he was here, he couldn’t forget that. No - clearly the master of this place had picked up alchemy part way through learning his necromancy - that was why it only showed up on the final zombie.

    Slowly he straightened back up and turned his gaze back to the doorway that he had come into the morgue through. Moving as swiftly as he could - the injury to his leg did slow him down a fair amount as he limped along - he climbed back over the rubble, back into the main hallway. No - the master’s workshop was up above - he could not take the time to examine the other room on this floor. He had to find out just what on earth the master of this place had been doing. Grabbing a piece of wood from the ruined frame, Nevin made his way over to the stairwell, and paused to stare at it in trepidation.

    The obstacle of climbing up these stairs for a moment seemed insurmountable. Nevin’s leg was throbbing in fresh pulses of pain with each beat of his heart - though he did note that the pain was diminishing slowly, and a glance downward showed that threads were slowly weaving themselves across the injury. They weren’t negating the fact that he had been hurt, his leg was still weak, but at least the burning pain was lessening. So, with a deep breath and a clench of his jaw, Nevin slowly made his way upward, practically hauling himself up with the piece of rotted lumber in his hands.

    The top floor was clearly exposed to the elements, and Nevin felt a brief pang of despair as he realized that almost nothing was left on this floor. Whatever had been done that blasted open the tower - it had originated here, on this floor, and more than half of the roof and the walls were gone. He let out a scream of frustration as he began dragging himself around this floor, trying to find anything of value - a journal, scattered notes, a ritual circle - anything that might clue him in to what the master of this tower, Ezoreth, had been doing when he died rather spectacularly.

    But there was nothing. Just rotted wood and the nests of various birds. Whatever knowledge might have been here at one point, it had been lost to the elements and the passage of time. Nevin came to a stop near what looked like the shattered remnants of a table and he had to bite back another cry of frustration - no, there was nothing here either. Wait. What was glowing beneath his feet? Nevin barely had time to think that he had fucked up when a blinding light engulfed him -

    And the top of the tower was empty, save for a piece of wood that fell to the ground with a loud clatter.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  7. #17
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Nevin fell to the ground with in an undignified sprawl, bloody in his nose and one hand as he hit stone. Thankfully he managed to keep from injuring himself worse, but having blood leaking down his face was rather annoying. He pushed himself onto his back and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

    Wherever he was, he was surrounded on all sides by stone. It was a fairly small chamber - and Nevin felt a heavy chill run down his spine as he realized that the room was clearly divided in two. One half had alchemical reagents and devices adorning the walls, and there was a small writing desk tucked into the corner. The other side of the room was filled with occult paraphernalia that Nevin had no chance of recognizing.

    What he did recognize though, was the summoning circle smack dab in the middle of the room. He might not have recognized it, if it wasn't for the fact that there were alchemical runes dealing with containment and shielding etched around it - trying to contain something, though he had no idea what.

    He slowly forced his way to his feet, keeping his distance from that circle for the moment as he made his way over to the writing desk. On top of it was a somewhat thick book - with a giant Alchemy rune embossed on the front. With trembling hands, he reached out and flipped the book open, not noticing the way the room began to glow.

    To whatever ragamuffin has their grubby hand on this book, I congratulate you. You hold in your hands THE premier text on the grand art of magical Alchemy. I have seen in my age, that the world is suffering from a notorious deficit of truly trained magical Alchemists - the paltry guilds that exists are little more than glorified herbalists. So I have decided to devote my time to spreading this glorious art - and you hold in your hands the cumulation of that devotion.

    I cannot live forever even with the wonders of Alchemy - Philosopher’s Stones are not worth the sorrow - and so, I must turn to text to pass my lessons on. By following the lessons I have outlined here, you will find yourself inducted into the ranks of Alchemy, a proud and noble group of elite individuals. Do me proud, and you will learn my name upon completion of your work with this book.


    Nevin’s hands shook as he gripped the text tightly. This, this was what he had come here for. Now he just had to - what was that light? And that voice? With a sudden tightness in his throat, the Alchemist turned around, to see that the circle in the middle of the room was glowing brightly. A figure, screaming was coalescing above it.

    “Oh, thick flow.”
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  8. #18
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    The figure that came shrieking and sobbing into existence above the circle was beautiful, even in her furious grief. Even in her faded, ethereal state, partially translucent, she was a sight to behold. Thick red hair framed a delicate face with sharp features, and then fell down her back in cascading locks. Vibrant green eyes pierced Nevin, stabbing right through the man, the color or a forest enraged. She was small, only a little larger than Fenn, though her features were clearly those of an adult. With a start, Nevin realized he was looking at another Fae, though this one was definitely of a different race than his small friend.

    Furious eyes latched onto his as the ghostly Fae screamed at him, her hands curling into fists as she glared at the alchemist. “Fantastic. Another human here. What more can you take from me!? Have I not suffered enough already!? Your kind has done nothing but curse me into slavery and abused my body. And for what? To defy the very laws of nature itself in order to prolong your feeble lifespans. Begone, child, or I will…” The ghost trailed off, looking down at her transparent hands, as Nevin stared at her with his mouth slightly agape.

    The cadence was wrong, the inflections ones she would never use - but that was Ezra’s voice, full of more emotion in those few words than he had ever heard his apprentice show. His mouth went dry as he tried to swallow, his muscles clenching but no moisture being produced. He had a terrible, terrible suspicion. “Mi-Miss. I…” His voice was a rasp as he tried to find the words to speak.

    “Miss. I… I am sorry, but I - I have nothing to do with the one responsible for your state. I… Didn't even know you were down here, and only came because of a trap. I'm sorry. I - your body, it was -” combined with what she had already said, Nevin had a terrible feeling he knew what had happened. Somehow, Ezoreth had gotten his hands on this Fae, holding her captive somehow - and mutilated her body to use as parts for his crowning achievement, his attempt at escaping death.

    He was looking at Ezra’s past. And he felt a deep shame, for being even loosely the same species as the monster responsible for twisting nature like this. He bowed his head to hide his face. “I - I think what the mad man attempted failed him in the end. The tower here is destroyed, and I have met the individual he created - there are no signs of his madness within them.”

    “His work still lives!? DESTROY IT. BANISH IT FROM THIS PLANE!” The voice distorted, layers of high pitched shrieking and low guttural tones meshing horribly as the spirit’s form distorted. “That… that thing is an abomination! He stole from me, lied, defiled a spirit of nature! That fool damned me to suffer, and now has given one of those foul nightmares even more power! If that man’s soul is still within that body, you must end it. You must end it now, before things can get worse!” She paused, her rage subsiding as soon as it had flared. She began to sob, ethereal tears streaking down her cheeks.

    “I have lost too much. He is a monster! Your kind is filled with nothing but greedy, ravenous beasts who love nothing more than to prey on the unaware! I curse your kind to an eternity of misery and woe and damn the consequences of my words! I HATE YOUR KIND, YOU FILTHY LITTLE CRETINS!”
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  9. #19
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    The sorrow on Nevin's face had vanished by the time she ran out of steam, her sides heaving as she tried to right herself. No, instead there was an anger, a trembling rage that was building in his spine. This - this thing tried to tell him to kill one of his few, precious friends? His apprentice?

    “You are not the only one who has suffered.” He spat the words out, choked on rage. “I am literally the child of sacrifice, two people killed for mad men’s desire to bring a God to this world. Do not think you can try to command someone who has suffered to do your bidding, ghost.” Nevin’s empty hand had curled into a fist, clenching hard enough to drive his nails into his palm and make blood drip to the ground.

    “And I will never hurt Ezra intentionally. She is nothing like the psychopath who was terrified of death who once lived here. She is sweet and innocent, and too blasted naive for her own good. Whatever that bastard tried, failed miserably. Ezra is one of the few people I consider a friend, and I will not let your grief injure her.” He drew himself upright, his eyes scanning the circle. If this ghost had only hatred left, he would not let it stay in this world any longer.

    “You’re the naive one, child!” Her mood flipped once more, back into a high pitched screech. “That thing carries his soul! His very essence! Sure, it may be kind now, but for how long? He will take control eventually, and then what? AND THEN WHAT!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, BOY!? Will you let your so-called ‘friend’ live on, even though they’re an actual monstrosity?! That corpse, modified with magics to hide its true appearance? That corpse, brought to life once more through necrotic touch and deals with demons!? They are nothing more than a countdown to madness, and once he is in control, you cannot stop him. I could not stop him. What hope do you have against a man who bested the Fae?”


    Nevin stilled, staring at the ghost. That was it, the true crux of the issue. The ghost was scared, scared of her death being truly in vain and Ezoreth returning. He gave the pitiable ghost a crooked smile, no mirth in the expression.

    “I have faith that Ezra is stronger than he is. But if that madman did win somehow, and killed my friend in the process? I would rip him to shreds. Do not mistake my faith in my friend for blindness or weakness, Fae, and do not mistake me for a human. I do my best to ignore it, but I am most definitely not normal. And I do not have to abide by rules and restrictions as you did - he cannot trap me, and does not know I am watching and waiting for him.” He drew himself upright, and stared into the ghost’s eyes.

    “But. I do not like the fact that any part of him is inside of her. So. I offer you a deal, and a chance for vengeance. Will you listen?”
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  10. #20
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    She raised a brow, then let out a sigh. “It is not like I say no. I cannot leave this place, and the desire to ruin Ezoreth is far too tempting of an offer. Very well. What is your deal, human?”

    “When I can, I will bring Ezra here, and work with her to expunge the part of that bastard’s soul inside of her if there is any. That will put it on a plane where you can affect him once more - and, with the passage of death of both involved, any agreements he had you bound to have surely dissolved. Can you stay your rage from her, and wait for your true target?”

    She paused, eyes narrowed at the man. Her arms crossed over her chest and she only let out a small huff. Moments passed, and she finally began to speak. “...I suppose I do not have a choice once more. But I do have conditions. And these conditions are non-negotiable. You will accept these or there will be no agreement, and I will do everything in my power to end this so-called ‘Ezra’s’ life. Are you prepared to accept?”

    “You will have to tell me this condition before I even think about it. Even dead, you are a Fae, and I am. No gullible idiot to agree to deals with your Kin without knowing exactly what is going on here. Choose your words wisely - I can either vanish you or entomb you forever in this pit with no hope of ever seeing the light of day again. Ezra is my apprentice and I will protect her. Now, your condition?” He folded his arms over his chest and stared at the ghostly image before him.

    “You’re adorable to think you have enough power to banish me. And it’s conditions, as in more than one. First, if this plan of yours supposedly works and the body returns here, there is a very good chance that it will die. Not because of anything specifically that I would cause, but due to the attempted refusing of myself to the body. It’s… complicated. Regardless, ‘Ezra’ has a very likely chance of being eradicated anyway. But! On the off chance they-we-it survives, if it even has a single speck of Ezoreth’s soul remaining, you must destroy them. Period. No exceptions. You claim to know the Fae, well, you would also know the consequences of crossing us. Do you accept this?”


    “On that first condition, I accept - but it means I will only bring her here if it seems that Ezoreth’s soul is winning over her. And I can ensure she has none of him remaining - I have a boon friend who can see souls. And Fae - I know one of the other Court, who owes me for saving their life. I can deal with you if you try reneging. I extend this opportunity as a victim of a ritual of sacrifice to another, but do not mistake me for a fool or one without connections.”
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

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