Hallows Eve The Veil Falls

For the Halloween event 2020

Colette

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Colette’s eyelids closed tightly as her blade came alive in a wave of light and blistering energy. A second, more natural looking, Farzad had come from beyond the grave and was standing beside her.

Her sword exploded with so much energy that it filled the once dim room with heat and illumination. These six, strange individuals were all attached to long muscular tongues that led directly back to a fat blubbering Epigone.

The Anirian gritted her teeth, ”are you OK? I think now is our only chance.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. The electricity and magic that ran along her blade might be temporary and she couldn’t risk that. In a blur she pulled her sword to one side and then rushes forward, slicing horizontally in a wide arc.

It cut all six adversaries and they erupted into flames from the lightning spell that Farzad had imbued her weapon with. Three of the Epigones acted reactionary and pulled their tongues back into their grungey bodies. In an instant three of them lit their internal organs ablaze and hobbled backwards whilst emitting the most gut wrenching screams Colette had ever heard.

The remaining three beasts began slamming the tips of their tongues against the walls of the room in an effort to extinguish the fires.

”We have to strike now,” she said with new found vigor as she moved towards one of the beasts.

They would end this. Here and now.
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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Electricity shimmered the air. Corpses rolled on tongues of fire. And the Epigone was vulnerable. He could see it. The cut marks gorged into the side of it's flesh, the leftover reside of a La Fournae Dar severing muscle and bone. This was it. Farzad's chance. A broken beaten man who was only a few minutes ago a corpse. He already used his most powerful spell to escape.

But a utility spell...

Bel Bicote Xar
Magic flared and formed at his leg, incantations of ancient colour bursting and popping with shuddering form as he reached out his fingertips. The flaming forms had moved, the Epigone a shuddering mess of movement as Farzad took a closing step forward, eyes fueled by fury. Wrath and rage flared and bubbled. He had to, he had to follow the rules of Empathy. He had to empower this spell with everything he had and as the spell was empowered. So too was the beast. It didn't backfire. It worked perfectly as Farzad swamped the beast with arcane touch, it's size growing larger, fatter, heavier. The floorboards creaked under it's massive weight as slowly it began to consume the room in mass. Farzad wasn't making things better. He was making the problem, bigger.

But to the smart eye, the Wizard was doing the right thing. The room was cramped, and those walls didn't bend easily. It's expansion was detrimental as wall's of wood and cobble pressed against it's skin, it's horrid breath leaving out a horrid wheeze as it needed more and more. The room was becoming vacuous to it's gorging lungs. Until Farzad made a pop.

Farzad's body illuminated in glowing glyphs and stupendous light, colour saturated the room as he stared death itself. It's mouth a gateway and Farzad was it's keeper. A keeper with a lock and key that had no intent of letting it re-open.

"Bel Junarude Vicinio".
His fingers caressed the wood and floorboards. There was calm. Focus. Tranquility. As the room slowly became anything but that. The wood and wall became jagged and cruel, large jutted spikes of wood forced and pillared itself out in overt gesture. It didn't take long before that sound appeared. The sound of flesh ripping against wood. For the sound of weeping and willowing breaths of punctured lungs to come out in crude mannerism. The beast was expanding. But more pressingly. It was expanding it's wounds and expanding into more and more vicious teeth that this room had turned into, biting and chewing into it's quarry.
 
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Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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He rose to his feet and took a couple of steps back, looking upon Lazule with a pensive gaze. There was no prayer; the reflex left him years ago. He simply stood and hoped for any sign of success, eyes boring into the motionless metal warrior for a stir. A shift. A flash of light. For any sort of sign of restored autonomy from the the odd amalgamation of man and magic he had toiled to restore. The seconds dragged on, with nothing else to do but stand idle.

The armour came to life with a shudder, giving him an anxious but brief pause of breath, soon followed by another of relief as Lazule promptly righted himself. The dull scrapes he made as he did broke the silence in the hallway; sounds of triumph to the ears of Kiros.

His full attention was on Lazule when he spoke.

What happened? Do you know where the others have gone?"

"Those stairs gave way shortly after those...things were beset upon us. The trap sent the others back downstairs." He explained. He'd no idea what had become of them after.

"The children," he continued, "were of false form. When the wizard and guardswoman approached them they took true form as a tongue and pulled them within the room." Kiros gestured to the now sealed doors that the two had been whisked beyond.

"And your weapon, for reasons I'm unaware, was catastrophically surging with arcane energy. To Benjamin we owe our lives as he was able to quell it before detonation.”

“Alas, he was struck unconscious by the very feat – and I can do naught for injuries not physical."
he concluded, in reference to Thorne. Migraines were the favoured punishment of the priest's deity; She'd never allow the blessing to undo such effect.

"It has been a few moments since these events took place. You were not lacking awareness for long."

“Further....”
He added, tone shifting into one of concern. “I am unsure if you have noticed, but the process likely inflicted injuries I did not intend. My initial attempt at healing failed as you appear to be...bound by undeath?” Kiros posed the question, speaking the last word as if he might be mistaken.

He doubted he was; but he did not want his inquiry to come across as vile accusation.

Lazule Thorne
 
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Caliane Ruinë

Angel Nuke
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The house gave a sudden groaning shudder as though it were alive and had merely been in a state of slumber until that moment. Floorboards creaked and split, pried apart from one another into jagged teeth that gnawed at the ankles of the heroes who stood upon them. Stone disappeared as walls reinvented themselves and staircases flattened themselves or split into two to link the new house arrangement.

Whatever the house was it was not a friend of the heroes nor the creatures inside of it. Sneezies suddenly fled and let out a screech when they found themselves trapped within the walls; their noses protruding from the brick as though a mounted stags head in a nobles manor. Other monsters fled and likewise found themselves a part of the mortar of the house or otherwise found safety in the shadows.

The remaining heroes would find themselves pushed and shoved towards a new space where a lone throne stood within its centre. A scythe was propped up by its side and dripped blood onto the vacant seat. A lone candle lit the throne and discarded toy but threw the rest of the room into dark shadows that seemed to shift and move though whether it was the house or monsters lurking it would be hard to tell.

Suddenly more lights appeared from the ceiling shining spotlights down onto the area around the stage revealing figures coupled up. Music drifted from the rafters and the Phantom Cabaret began their waltz.

The only exit appeared to be on the other side of the odd dancefloor.
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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He done so little as to pivot his body as he watched the Epigone grow bloated and fat, bending wood and cracking cobble fought with the beast before they started to consume it. That wasn't quite as he planned. In fact, what came next wasn't either.

The world was warped and flung forward.
Farzad stumbled.
He was on his knees now.

And his gut spilled onto the floor.
The scene was something of disturbance as Farzad whined. He was bloodied, Epigone mucus still licked and laid claim to great swathes of his clothing and now he looked at what he had eaten the night before. Or maybe two. He wasn't quite sure now how much time had passed. All he knew was he had been flung to a new room and he hadn't quite the effort to muster where others might be. All he saw was a dripping scythe palleted atop a throne like a poorly prepared dish. He looked at his incense sticks. They were drooled and slobbered and produced about as much scent as a snail covered distance. The room stunk of dead flesh, vomit and an Epigone insides and none of it was great to imagine.

And as he slowly pulled himself up, almost tripping in sick. The lights flashed to life and the mob of colours and brightly decorated deceased flesh began a waltz and dance. One of them was cute. In that sort of ethereal dead way.
 

Lazule

The First Slayer
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A large quantity of events had transpired during Lazule's incapacitation.

The one thing that was discerned beyond doubt was that within this mansion were housed numerous varieties of monsters. This sole fact brought clarity to Lazule's purpose, bringing something at least into sharp focus among the murky reasons for why he followed the Pstyxia.

I am the Hunter. I am the Slayer.

When Kiros mentioned the name of "Benjamin," Lazule had stilled--frozen in mid motion of standing up for a solid second before resuming and standing tall. His helm dipped down slightly, and the eyes behind it went low with reverence for the name as well. He felt great love for his creator, and great sorrow for what he had done to him.

But Kiros spoke not of Father. He spoke of the other man. The one unconscious.

Lazule shifted the gaze of his visor to his right, to Kiros, when his uncertain inquiry was posed. Having repaired him, Kiros had some discernible level of insight into Lazule's true nature. It perturbed him, but not enough to bring him to hostility, as it had with others; for this Lazule was grateful. An explanation--even if succinct--was in order.

"I am not human. I am a Life Fire. The body I inhabit is undead, but I am not," he said. Then, as it struck him to engage in normal social protocol, he added, "I thank you for rendering aid to me. I would have been unable to continue my sacred mission without your intervention."

Lazule looked then to the closed door that Kiros had pointed out. Gave a nod of his helm.

"We must not linger. There are others with whom to reconvene."

Lazule strode past. Up to the door. Lifted his foot and made ready to kick it open. Then, upon a second thought, lowered his leg. Glanced back over his shoulder to Kiros and said.

"When last I forced open a door in this house, it led to...unfavorable results. I posit that the stairs will prove the superior option."

Yet they had no time to find out. The very mansion itself shifted, and they--like the contents of a beast's stomach--shifted along with it. Floors became walls became ceilings and it did nothing to try and grab for purchase upon anything. Lazule fell.

When at last Lazule landed on unshifting ground--one knee and one fist planted solidly on the floor--the surrounding environment had changed. This new room was large, terminated in a gradual eclipse of darkness, and featured prominently a peculiarly lit stage where geists danced and a throne with two loose items upon it.

Lazule stood up cautiously. Shifted his helm to again look to Kiros. Said, "I have noted that even the mere attempt also produces unfavorable results, and I will refrain in the future."

Kiros Rahnel Thorne
 

Kiros Rahnel

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His eyes eyes locked onto the metal facade of Lazule, digesting his words. Undeath. Foul magic enabling the manipulation of innocent souls, denying those who have ended life’s journey their deserved final rest. To the Annunaki souls were a sacred thing, a belief only cemented by his own life’s quest to restore his own. He mused his own damnation was at least deserved; his own actions lead to such punishment. That necromancy places such power in the hands of mortals who ought never wield it however, was a sin most foul to the Kaliti priest.

Yet this metal encased warrior was not seemingly working towards selfish ends. His degree of undeath was curiously reduced, and those that knew him better than Kiros had made their trust in him vocally known. It was a final relief that Lazule expressed himself with candid honesty – bearing no pride in his condition. An attitude Kiros could empathize with fully.

“It is to my great relief as well, to see you restored.” he replied, polite tone concealing understatement. Despite the tactful dip of his head and the genuine tone of his words – the gratitude itself was difficult to swallow. Had he been more attentive at the battles beginning, he initially believed, there would have been no need to have restored Lazule in the first place. In hindsight, his blessing would have carried no benefit to his unliving ally; though he knew better now, the sting of perceived failure was still slow to shake.

“I can fully concur.” came the priest’s approving words, returning the nod solemnly. Stepping back with staff held at the ready, he remained in standstill stance while Lazule prepared to destroy the door with another front kick. He remained still in body, though his head turned to him at the word of wise concern; after all, the less they’d have to interact with this accursed place, the better. A nod in gesture of agreement would prelude his own words of response.

“Apt concern-” was all he could speak before the house began to shift and react on its own. He did his best to maintain his balance, an impossible task the actively moving interior would simply not allow for. Falling off his feet, the priest plunged through the air until landing front first on the floor with a thud, followed by the loud clatter of his staff bouncing off the hardwood soon after.

Kiros rose slowly to his hands and knees, reaching for his staff to brace himself as he stood up in pain from the fall. Upon stumbling back to his feet he took a breath before hacking out a cough in response to the foul odour invading the air. By the gods, it was a horrendous stench. Stifling another cough, he turned his head to the source of the malodorous smell – the wizard whisked away earlier. He could only wonder what had happened to him, but by all appearances he was in little better shape than he smelled.

The dutiful healer wasted no time in preparing the needed blessing – though the strain of his heavy use of magic previously had taken a notable toll. This would be a strain on both mind and arcane energy; albeit a necessary one. Taking another couple of seconds to focus on the blessing, he spoke the holy words and gave a subtle wave of his staff; exchanging a dull throbbing ache of his own mind for soothing relief of Farzad’s wounds – internal or external.

Too tired to make statement or comment afterword, Kiros spent the seconds it took to recover with his hand on head to assuage the ache.

Thorne Lazule
 
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Sylvian

Snow White
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When the red haired elf agreed to stand, the pale woman gave a nod of relief. The injured and wounded were a liability and in this situation of unknown danger, fenced in with strangers whose intentions she did not know Sylvian could not afford to tend to someone and sacrifice her own resources any further.

Much to Sylvian’s dismay, the Avariel wasn’t given more time to contemplate her next steps as the house – once more – took a deep breath and made all that was inside move around according to its desires. Entirely creeped out by this event, Sylvian did not fight the occurrence, but simply observed with wide eyes as she found herself, along with her companions, inside a new room.

A throne stood in its center and amidst an eerie silence, dark shadows stretched from one end to another. Sylvian’s lips turned downwards at the grim sight of a bloodied scythe and the Avariel caught herself helplessly searching for a window she could flee through.

No more of this, she thought and uttered a sigh.

Sylvian was torn from her self-centered trance by a rather disheveled looking Farzad Oldsummer and his sight both disgusted and surprised her. “Oh.” A gasp fell from her lips. “Oh no, ew. Would you like a towel?” Without much hesitation, the angel tore a piece from her long, white dress and offered it to the mucus-covered wizard.

She was a little selfish, yes, but by no means heartless.

The others appeared as well and the she-elf almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the priest. He looked reliable, that one. Still, there was someone else missing.

“Where did you leave the little girl?” Sylvian asked Farzad with a small voice.

OOC: Hi, sorry for the delay. I have no excuses. ;-; Also, Sylvian is referring to Colette as the "little girl" (and not the creepy monster girl) fyi!
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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Relief...

Agonizing relief...

Thump bump ouch...

Faded...

He wanted to do the same...

Become...

Faded.

He dragged a hand along his chin, as slowly, as if the house had a flair for dramatics popped into reality another three compatriots. The Titan Lazule, the Wise Kiros and the Kind Sylvain. And than there was himself. Someone who now amounted to more of a bearer of plague and ill than some dungeon deep adventurer. He could recognize the touch of the Divine with it's melancholy soft relaxation, his muscles unwound just a little. He had to be careful to not allow himself to fall to deep into relaxation or else slumber a little too long those his arms started to struggle he was shaken for sure as he looked up to Sylvain.

"Dead."
He wiped off a large bulb of pus and mucus from his shoulder, the arcane light no longer fizzled through the mess of green and sickly colour. "I swelled them to the size of the room and let the walls crush their ever expanding size... I still don't know where Collette is..." He replied using the gifted shred of silver to wipe his brow and made his vision a little more clearer. The dancers were slowing down, their gazes looking to the gathered quartet. "So... Yall just going to not inform me we have the dead lounging about us?" Farzad inquired catching sight of that undead beauty once again as a small smile slipped across his face. He dug out his Opera mask and placed it in a not sticky pile of sick and squirm.

The dance was slowing.

The gaze was shifting.

They would soon become stars.
 

Colette

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Eyelids clamped shut. Tighter and tighter as the wood and mortar and brick of this house twisted all around. Colette found herself clinging to her blade as she pressed knees up to her chest and buried her head into her lap. She sat there in a rigid ball until the movements faded.

Music.

Light.

Cautiously she dared to lift her gaze and take a look only to immediately shut them again. In that brief second she saw the floor of a glorious ballroom adorned with phantoms dancing. Had she not been fighting for her life and covered in Epigone blood the sight would've been breathtakingly beautiful.

And it was breathtaking. But not for pleasant reasons.

Huffing in air she peaked out from her fetal position and saw a group of non-ethereal beings beyond the stack of chairs she had happened to fall into. Colette stumbled upwards and sheathed her blade, keeping her arms crossed as she shambled towards the group.

"A-are you ok...?" she asked of Farzad. She had seen him die and now she smelled the foul stench of his lunch. "What is happening?"

Colette's voice was ragged, frightened, and the blood of the beasts she had slain with Farzad dripped upon the floor underneath them. At least Farzad Oldsummer was being tended to by the priest, so far as she could tell, and the spectres were still on their dancefloor. Minding their own business, dancing away. Surely these ghosts were just an unsettling nightmare and no actual threat.

A timid whisper was raised, "are we safe?"
 

Lazule

The First Slayer
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There they were. Some, but not all of the others. Lazule did not know if their fortunate reconvening was the result of purely random chance or by design of the house itself. The house, or whoever was controlling the house, yet this latter possibility did not have to it much accrued evidence, and it was not so strange that the house was a discrete being in and of itself.

“Where did you leave the little girl?”

Some, but not all.

... I still don't know where Collette is..."

Nearly as soon as Farzad had stated that he did not know where the woman in armor, Colette, was, she--the last to tumble down into this odd dance room--made her appearance. Landing on the floor and curled into a ball. Lazule glanced to Colette. Glanced to Sylvian. Said matter-of-factly, "I have inadvertently located her."

Now they were five. Good. It was always good when the righteous gathered, and could unite in common purpose. Here, one purpose surely shared among all of them was reaching the exit on the other side of the dance floor populated by the geists. Problem. It was unclear to Lazule what kind of geists these were--there were both monstrous and docile varieties. Unnecessary instigation could be detrimental to their common purpose.

A timid whisper was raised, "are we safe?"

"No." And Lazule flexed his hands, a coalescing of light from the obscure sources above gathering in his palms, preparation to fire barrages of Needles of Light if need be. And as the cabaret looked their way as the dance slowed, it might well be so. "But I have readied a viable solution."

His helm and visor shifted as he looked left and right, to the edges of the crowd of the phantom dancers. "I do not see a way around the geists."

Kiros Rahnel Sylvian Colette Farzad Oldsummer
 

Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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He paced around with a pained breath through his teeth and his gaze towards the ground, walking off the mental pain that his incantation had caused him. A sign that his arcane energy was nearly expended – he would need to be careful in how he spent it going forward. Still uncertain of what injuries had afflicted the wizard, the holy glow of light and relief on his expression told the exhausted priest that his spell had worked true.

During his own efforts to alleviate his own pained state, he overheard Farzad’s response to the elf’s inquiry about the guardswoman Colette, who had evidently perished during their battle with whatever beast was owner of the tongue back in the hallway. No sooner did the thought cross his mind than the metallic clunk of armour striking floor alerted him to the presence of a new arrival; none other than Colette herself, in a state as shaken as Farzad. Kiros was internally grateful that she seemed physically healthy at least; he did not relish the thought of having to suffer through the ache that another blessing would inflict upon him.

In relief of his own pain, he’d overhear Farzad’s inquiry next, looking to the ethereal dancing figures on the floor before returning a brief stoic look to the wizard who pointed out what had been obvious enough to them at least, with eyes obscured by rancid muck.

Moving his hand from his head to his chin in thought, he took steps back towards the group. Farzad had an odd smile on his face, causing Kiros to turn his head to the cabaret that had seemed to be the source of the expression. Some of the figures made gestures beckoning the priest to join; he simply looked on in continued endeavour to plan some solution to the problem before them.

Lazule answered Colette’s inquiry with brevity, before making his intent more clear and giving Kiros cause to reply.


A timid whisper was raised, "are we safe?"

“I too doubt they are benign. Naught in this accursed place is. Yet they do not appear immediately hostile; we may plan and coordinate our action.” he added, looking to Lazule as he spoke. He didn’t have a better plan himself – in his present state of weariness he would struggle to kill one or two before he’d pass out. Clearing their surroundings from the ethereal undead would solve their problems and allow their exit – should nothing go wrong. Kiros preferred to hedge that bet, if possible.

“I have a incantation that might aid us – a luminant barrier. It should provide protection from these phantoms if needed. I hold concern they shall turn to aggression once we smite the first of their brethren.” Kiros added, referring the same curtain of light he had invoked in the hallway during Lazule’s lack of consciousness. Any safe passage would have to be against the wall, well away from any of the curious items or the throne itself. It would be less of a strain than healing, but a strain nonetheless.

But then he thought to what he had recently learned of the metal warrior and his affinity for light. If Lazule could absorb the curtain, it could empower his abilities and enable the smiting of many more than Kiros could by blessing alone.

“Or perhaps it might empower you, wielder of light.” he spoke, sharing these recent musings with Lazule.
 
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