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  1. #1

    EXP: 111,887, Level: 14
    Level completed: 53%, EXP required for next Level: 7,113
    Level completed: 53%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,113

    Philomel's Avatar


    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    30 (+10)
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Female (+ Male)

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    Hodekin (Not Moderated Kobold Quest)

    NOTE: This is not the moderated quest for making diplomacy with Hodekin. Please refer to the thread called Diplomacy with Hodekin for that.

    Deeps in the bowels of the earth, a dark, scaled man sat curled upon a throne. His face, which was akin to that of a stunted dragon glared out with burning, golden eyes. His skin was a mottled Persian blue, segmented by azure and deepest black. Grey lines of pattern ran over his scales, were they grew down his back, arms, legs and were sprinkled to the end of his long crocodile tail. Humanoid in stature, but reptilian in style he was a truly remarkable example of a kobold; the race over which he was king.

    Shadows flowed around him, in this dark cavernous throne room. Little light was needed for the creatures who had long before been chased and banished to the world beneath the world. Just a small fire warmed his cruel-toed feet, and it uplit the two long lines of six and twenty kneeling soldiers before him. All their heads were lowered in respect to the ruler before them, whom they respected above all. Their eyes stared to the floor, roaming amongst the darkness, and still they kept as they waited for his command.

    But for now he remained silent, his eyes downcast to the ground, as if waiting for something. The only sound in the room was the gentle click, click of his clawed finger as he tapped on the arm of his gnarled, granite throne. It had little comfort on it, aside from a simple pile of rags that were as much his clothing as his seat. Slowly he breathed, his hardened chest rising with each click and the world extending second by second as apprehension built.

    Just what had he summoned them for - the six and twenty generals of his entire army. What was on his mind, this old but strong leader who had many heirs and a dozen wives? Why this silence, why this demand for respect as he tapped continuously - click ... click ... click.

    The silence extended, growing like the gradual rise of a pregnant woman's abdomen.

    Just what -

    "We are going above," the gnarled voice of the kobold king finally spoke; deep and unchanging, a tone that was marvellous to every ear hole in that vicinity. Eyes suddenly lifted from the floor - six and twenty pairs to be precise - that affixed on their ultimate lord. No words, or gasps rang out, only gazes dedicated to obey every word that he said.

    "We are going above," he repeated, "To conquer what was long denied to us. To take what is ours. We are going ... to conquer the surface."

    And with that, a war began.
    Last edited by Philomel; 04-23-2018 at 01:08 PM.
    *admin at your service*

    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

    The family triplet: Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine.
    The god and kenku triplet: Stare, Avin and Vixen.
    The Primordials: Professor Charles and Moros.

  2. #2
    Senior Member

    EXP: 8,121, Level: 3
    Level completed: 79%, EXP required for next Level: 879
    Level completed: 79%,
    EXP required for next Level: 879

    Yvonne's Avatar


    Yvonne Mythrilmantle
    Grey Dwarf

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    Ettermire, capital of the dark elven empire and the beating, mechanical heart of Alerar. Yvonne had wondered whether the name of this machine-driven metropolis was appropriate any longer. Mayhap in the beginning, when the exodus led to this place and the Sel Darthirii were marking their territory like a wandering dog pissing on shrubs it could have been a storm-drenched swampland. 'Etter', as the dark-skinned dwarf understood it, meant border. Fence. Perhaps, way back when, this place had been a neck-deep bog that travellers wisely skirted and took the long road around. That wasn't the way of it these days.

    Storm-drenched, certainly. Scarcely a day elapsed without the pitter-patter spatter of rain drops thrumming metal rooves, ankle-deep puddles an occasional obstacle for Alerarans roaming an untold number of roads. Railways for every destination you could ever desire, without need for long detours. Ettermire was efficiency, straight on to where you're going and there before you know it - any stormwater coralled down sewerage drains designed to keep your ankles relatively dry. Sewer drains that rid the surfacers of unwanted secrets, kept to their depths, swept beneath the city-spires above to a world of filthy, churning canals below.

    Yvonne was haggling with merchants at day's end, merchants weary of bartering with unscrupulous elves all day long that would rather close up shop for beer o'clock. It was the ideal opportunity to buy low, when the traders were tired of trading and yet had goods they'd not managed to move. When patience grew thin, when reasoning expired, that was the time to loosen your purse strings. She'd cornered a leatherworker between quality of rivets and how flexible the armour was, convincing him the cuirass she was interested in wasn't as reliable as he originally thought. She'd have to have the piece fixed, that would cost her more coin and was it really worth the trouble after all?

    "Wait, wait, come back. Please," the old elf pleaded, "My apprentice worked on the riveting. It's not my finest piece, I admit." He rubbed his balding forehead uneasily, heaving a bit of a sigh. Considering, reappraising the worth of his product and reevaluating how profitable this wily mongrel would be to him in the future. She had a fine eye for tiny details, and given half a chance to show her what he was capable of, perhaps she would pay handsomely for masterwork in the long run.

    "Take the cuirass for twelve cogs, that's cost price," he relented. Yvonne stopped short of walking out the door at that, turned around. The leatherworker smiled hospitably as she returned to the armour rack.

    "Twelve... I don't know, if yer going ta take a hit wouldn't ye rather be wearing something strong? This piece be a jerkin," Yvonne jibed.

    "Now, now, that's not fair. It's serviceable armour. Tell you what, wear this for the time being and give me a day or two to create a cuirass you would be proud of, fit to your specifications," he measured her lack of height, broadness of bosom and waistline-girth with his eyes, offering to jot down her details correctly with a tape measure.

    Yvonne rolled her eyes and nodded her agreement, allowing the old crafter a moment to quantify her dimensions. She folded her arms as he surrounded her hips in tape, hands out to her sides as he measured her chest, quickly penning the numbers into his notebook.

    "I'll give ye three days. If ye work be mastercraft by then we'll deal in more than this pittance, " the dwarf-hybrid stated, flicking and discarding twelve coins into a clinking pile upon his counter with a casual finesse.

    Yvonne had barely left the leatherworker's shop and stepped out onto the wet, dreary street, mediocre purchase in hand, when she was swiftly mugged. Before she could even try it on for size the leather was snatched away by a fleeing, scaly critter, knocking her off her feet in the process. The reptilian allowed itself a raspy cackle as it hurried away down the street, disappearing left into an alleyway through the grey rain.

    "What in tha flame-forges... Ye can't go about toppling dwarves!" The dusk-dwarf managed to right herself soon enough with nary a graze, though wetter for the fall. Always with tha running, ugh, why must ye make me run? Arriving at the alleyway turn she stopped, already feeling the puff in her breath. Peering into the darkness she swore she noticed the manhole cover close, but nothing else moved or could be heard.

    "Get yer scaly tail back here, thief!"
    Last edited by Yvonne; 04-14-2018 at 07:55 PM.
    So I’m cutting that branch off the cherry tree.
    Singing this will be my victory.
    Then I, I see them coming after me.
    And they’re following me across the sea.
    And now they’re stinging my friends and my family.
    And I, I don’t know why this is happening.
    ~ Thrice, Black Honey.

  3. #3

    EXP: 119,100, Level: 15
    Level completed: 1%, EXP required for next Level: 15,900
    Level completed: 1%,
    EXP required for next Level: 15,900

    Shinsou Vaan Osiris's Avatar


    Shinsou Vaan Osiris

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    Tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap

    Metal ground upon metal. Oily pieces of precisely engineered machinery interlocked and seperated in a perfectly timed sonnet; their song one of both harmonious existence and chaotic contrast. Gears clicked in matrimony, pulling rods and hydraulics that together created a cacophony of clanging.

    This room, to me, was hell. But it was supposed to be. It was supposed to distract me. It was supposed to irritate me.

    I sat, cross legged and still, on the iron mesh floor of this collusion of Alerarian industry. My eyes were shut. Enpera's smooth, beautiful blade lay across the bridge of my lap, glinting in the ambient light. I tried to regulate my breathing to cope better with the humidity created by the soulless machines that surrounded me, but each lungful of air felt like inhaling magma. My legs ached from sitting on the hard floor. My back ached from supporting my rigid body in the same position for almost two hours now.

    Meditation was usually easy, but this was pure hell. A neccessary evil. The objective here was to learn to commune with Enpera in the harshest of environments. A Telgradian could never truly be in tune with the soul in his sword without forging unbreakable bonds with it, and like any kind of training, physical or otherwise, results were rarely gained without pain or sacrifice. I had grown apart from Enpera in recent times; the Brotherhood had taken over so much of my life that its voice had dulled to the point where I would barely recognise it calling me.

    I had relied too much on flesh and faith to protect me when it mattered. Enpera, being sentient and my most important partner, had disconnected. So now I worked harder than I ever had to re-establish that bond.

    I could no longer depend on anyone but me.

    As I focused the entirety of my energy into the blade across my legs, an un-naturally loud clang boomed around the boiler room of this former Brotherhood training complex. It was enough to force me fully from my meditation, and sever my connection to Enpera. Angrily, I slammed my fist into the iron grating and growled, each breath burning and serving only to irritate me more.


    Another loud, unnatural bang. Like a piece of iron smashing into stone, or a heavy metal grate being dropped nearby. This time I was convinced that it wasn't a machination of the room, but a disturbance outside the heavy, rusting door to the chamber.

    What the hell is going on?
    Last edited by Shinsou Vaan Osiris; 04-23-2018 at 05:26 PM.
    They are rage, brutal, without mercy. But you. You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done

  4. #4
    Ride The Lightning

    EXP: 152,179, Level: 17
    Level completed: 1%, EXP required for next Level: 17,821
    Level completed: 1%,
    EXP required for next Level: 17,821

    Storm Veritas's Avatar


    Storm Veritas
    Ettermire had made a fine second home for Storm Veritas. Progressive, technologically advanced, with all the trappings from his homelands of Corone, the elf-ruled empire was almost everything a traveler could want. The dark elves were also a bit of kindred spirit to him; they were somewhat elitist by nature, and didn't believe the nonsense of equality. "Equality" was an excuse for the lazy to ride the coattails of the doers in a society, and the magician was a doer. He had hardly been in town a month before he had set up trade lines from Corone, moving fine furs in and shipping out tempered steel. The allure of making homes that could be durable beyond one's life would appease the wealthy of Radasanth, and his electromagnetic proficiencies made physically loading the steel no more difficult than a wave of his hand. In short order, he had built a plan to become one of the genuinely wealthy people upon Althanas, and saw himself a mogul in the making.

    All of these wonderful developments made for the sour rumors floating through evening taverns all the more reprehensible. The electromancer had heard whispers of a frogman invasion, but it wasn't until he saw the little scaled atrocities in a pub with his own eyes that he believed it. These little mongrels were fixing the take over factories, warehouses, and move through Ettermire to claim it as their own. They were armed, and although small they were also quite powerfully built.

    They'll roll over this city. The Dark Elves haven't been tested in a generation. They're soft now, their dominion over this place has grown a great deal of complacency. They have no idea how to actually fight anymore.

    His stomach swirled relentlessly these days, as he waited for the coming war. Smoking was the only thing to settle his stomach acid, as he let the tobacco fill his lungs and warm him from within. A fine mist laid over him as he walked the streets, spying the rare citizen here and there that shuffled back and forth between the multiple shops that fronted the street. Ettermire was a city built for commerce and trade, not for war. His eyes shot down countless alleys and blind spots; the whole place was rife for surprise attack. He noticed that he was not the only one peeking relentlessly at the manholes, which divided the street from the complex sewer system that ran beneath their feet.

    This is going to go sideways f*cking FAST.

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