Old July 26, 2018, 05:48 AM   #61 (permalink)
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To say that the Sylrosian was less than comfortable with the tableau before him was an understatement. Seeing the death of the young monk, then his ghost and now this mask wearing oddity wrestling with another monk who should - by all accounts- be dead what with the dagger protruding from his eye socket.

Suppressing the churning in his gut that such a sight provoked, Calanon did not dare draw his eyes away from the centre of the chamber, so his friend became an afterthought.

An enchanted slumber? Clearly the masked man had decided the way to wake someone from such a sleep was to murder them where they lay? It did not make any sense. But, in that regard, it seemed a good sign that the man, with his curious dead eyed mask, had decided that Calanon himself was not to be counted as one such dreamer.

“Why don’t you tell me who you are?” was his reply, voice wavering only very slightly in the face of such a macabre and unsettling scene. And then because he wasn’t certain that Moss’ presence had been noted, he went on. “ I sought to find what had become of the brothers. And here I find you, and them….they sleep you say?”

Too dark to look for signs of breath, signs of life in the bodies that lay about the chamber, but the monk the man held certainly lived, somehow, for he spoke, accusatory and it only heightened the suspicion Calanon felt towards the masked man. What had he walked into?

And then the stranger had twisted to position the speaking monk between himself and the elf, and Cal felt the fizz of frustration that it would be difficult to hit the man with a direct spell now. But as he considered that, it gave him the spark of an idea. It was a moment then to pull together the the threads of force energy and to target the relocate spell at the monk now being used as a shield, as the sorcerer attempted to teleport the injured holy man out of the grasp of his masked captor.

Barely was there time to release the magic before a fall of debris from the ceiling had Calanon glance up and take a faltering step backwards, a sudden and very real fear kicking in as he was reminded on the feeling of all that earth pressing down on him. Was the ceiling coming down ?!
Grim & Your Mum :Cal can't possibly be all that prissy, seeing as he's going around propositioning people :<
Hoskuld & Walt:...and he was drunk.
charybdis >> grim :And crying.
Hoskuld & Walt :...and it was a weird time.
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Old August 12, 2018, 09:30 PM   #62 (permalink)
Mister Jorel's Girl
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When in doubt?
Run, Run, Running Away!
Was, t’was almost entirely how the young Jorelite had managed to live to survive another day for so many Unusual and Strange situations,
Sure, fine! Undead Puppies and Dust Demon Thingies?
Uh. No. No thanking you very much!
Tossing her head,
Scanning for the Escape Route,
There was a mess of coffee-brown tresses spilling out from the crimson ribbon that usually bound Éclair’s hair back; uncertain. Bedrooms? Usually safe! Here? Far less Interesting given that a.) Everyone seemed to be Dead or Missing and b.) Éclair had learned that Priests weren’t really worth her while after the Iori-Ex.
Definitely downstairs! Better than being trapped somewhere,
Wait. Waitasec.
Undead-Demon Thingie?
There was a pause,
A neat little pirouette as Éclair eventually managed to move from instinctive panic,
To, oh, right. Right. Necromancer.
Command Undead!
“Bad Priest! Sit! Heel! Stop that right this instant!”

Belated, apologies for the delay!
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Old September 15, 2018, 02:33 PM   #63 (permalink)
Down the Rabbit Hole
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Barthelme, Moss, Calanon

Barthelme's sudden move startled the monk, and the Twisted was able to swing them around, with Father Quintus ending up mostly between himself and the newcomers as his arms were twisted sideways and his grip on the Pinnacle crystal and Glinnaur slipped. The monk howled, blood trickling down his face from the wounds where his eyes had been as his mouth twisted in response to Barthelme's words: "I don't believe you, Beast! You look to break the divide between this world and the next...?" His words ended in a grunt as the two men's dark robes tangled (not exactly combat-ready wear...) and they almost ended up on the ground as they twisted, and then toppled entirely as Calanon's relocate met Barthelme's nullify and the natural physical forces they'd been exerting sent Barthelme staggering, and then outright falling, backwards while Father Quintus pitched onto the ground forward. Barthelme's thought to use a suggestion on Calanon had come too late.

At the same time as the mystic fell on his tailbone, Moss' tentative question reverberated into Barthelme's skull.

The ghost of Xavier, meanwhile, had come out of his stupor and as the multi-sided conversation circled around the fate of the other monks turned his attention to them rather than the fight.

Instead, he knelt down beside one of the prone monks and hovered over him, his shapeless form almost going through him. "They're not dead." He marvelled, swinging his wide-eyed gaze over the rest of the group. "But... their breath is very faint."

He seemed to be about to say something else, eyes darting to Father Quintus, who had ended up in a semi-sprawl close to Moss' and Calanon's feet, but all that ended when a sudden crack and hailstorm of rocks and debris heralded Sylaphormes' furious arrival. The lamia was still currently invisible, and the lower half of her body was still stuck in the hole as she continued to twist and attempt to make her entry into the cavern, but everyone below could still feel her.... a deep, visceral feeling of animalistic fear heightened into terror by the lamia's bloodlust. Focused on her goal - blood - Sylaphromes no longer cared who stood in her way, or how unstable her forced entry was making the ceiling.


The little pools of dust that had quickly grown to the size of large anthills stopped growing and the door stopped shaking as the Jorelite issued her command.

Thing was, Éclair almost immediately felt that things were a bit wierd in this case. Granted First Abbott Emmet was definitely of among the dead, but then there was the matter of him currently inhabiting the body of a very-much-living dog, and also the fact that he had also been re-animated (or re-scentientized, given his lack of physical form) by unknown powers whose source Éclair was not at the moment aware of.

Powers that were not giving up easily... the Jorelite could feel the tenuousness of her hold, even beyond the tension in the air that spoke of a spell that hadn't quite gone the way it was supposed to. From behind the door Éclair heard the dog yipping and then a drawn out whine of... maybe apology?... from behind the door: "You don't know who you are messing with, girl..."

The anthills of dust shuddered and flattened slightly, sinking closer to the floor, then went entirely inert. A silence that was not at all confidence-inducing fell over the hallway.

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