Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Fedaykin on Wed Nov 09, 2011 12:07 am

With a deep sigh, Fedaykin leaned against the wall in the staircase. He closed his eyes, in- and exhaling out of habit, trying to calm the storm of thoughts, that roared in his mind. He just had met one of his best friends of the forum. The same guy had also ruptured his heart, gutted Weldar and almost killed everybody else. Hell, he succeeded at getting TJ killed. Scheming and backstabbing was one thing at which Quaetam always had been good at, but in a far more harmless way in the Mafia games. Who would have thought, that he would actually do this to living people? Innocents? How did this fit into his "Life needs purpose" philosophy?

Is the greater good(if there even was one, if Quaetam even told the truth... would he lie to his friends? Was he even the same person anymore?) worth the sacrifice of bystanders? Granted, the Nameless Army couldn't care less and slaughter innocent and wicked alike, but there had to be another way. Wasn't this the mission of the forumites? If Quaetam had succeeded in uniting the world under his banner as the Hierophant, wouldn't he had created something as sinister as the enemy itself? What had happened to Fed's friend, that had changed him so much?

There was another feeling, as strong as the concerns. An almost overwhelming rush of joy, that Q had joined their ranks. A clever guy to the border of genius, apparently a strong magic practitioner, a friend. On top of that, one of the driving powers of Leknaat, meaning that they would be able to leave this rotten place soon.

All this should be resolved soon though, after Quaetam finally told everybody his story so far. Knowing him, this would probably take a couple of hours. The man's a wordsmith after all, if he can't write it down, he'll burrow you beneath them. The thought made the Zombie chuckle. He felt something odd rubbing inside his chest while doing this. As unsettling as this was, at least he'd never have to fear aneurysms or a coronary desease.

Fedaykin shook his head at his own silly thoughts and descended to the impromptu sick bay. Roy's magic hadn't been enough to patch up everybody, like Raya or td. He saw a few beds, medici rushing between their patients. The Lich's presence earned him a few confused looks, but not enough to actually stop them from their work. He could have made their work easier by telling them, that as rugged as his comrades where, they were out of danger. Their lifeforce shone like miniature suns...but one.

Where the others were like little stars, this special one was more like a campfire. Fed could tell, that Weldar had been hit very badly. To his great dismay, it was flickering. Would the next gush of wind ignite it again or snuff it out? A feeling of terror and sorrow made him almost wince in dispair. Damn, you could hardly see Weldar's chest move at all.

Fedaykin figured, that he couldn't actually do more than guard over his friends, so he retreated into a a shadowy alcove, watching his colleagues in the healing profession doing their tasks. As he leaned back again, only the glow of his eyes faintly visible in the dark, his mind calmed, focussing on his new task, ever vigilant.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Avalanche on Thu Nov 10, 2011 11:51 am

Avalanche was all to eager to drop down on a nice bed the moment Q suggested they'd stay the night, and asked one of the servants to show him a couch or a bed he could drop down on. He was impressed with the grandeur of the mansion. Expensive looking carpets, chandeliers and statues decorated every hallway, though Avalanche imagined the mansion being in a better state before their merry party came along.
The servant led him to the east wing, which was just as large as any other part of the mansion. He was shown a hall with several guestrooms, and told Avalanche to pick one, as they were all accomodated with the basic necesities (which Avalanche assumed to be just a bed at this point).

Avalanche settled himself in the room furthest down the hall. It meant he had to walk the maximum distance before being able to drop down and sleep, but it felt safer somehow. If Q or one of the servants held a grudge and would kill them in their sleep, it would at least mean he'd be last.
Despite himself, he found it increasingly difficult to be weary of Quaetam. He had talked a lot to the guy, they schemed their together, working on a game that would probably never see the light of day, and Avalanche would allow him to kick his ass in mafia games time and again, which he'd normally reserve for Raya, Snake, Weldar ---......Never mind the mafia games.
Avalanche sat on the edge of his bed, refusing to sleep just yet. Mindgames had always been a forte of Quaetam......In fact, he hadn't even spoken to Avalanche yet. How could he be sure it really was Q, and not some bizarro mindtrick?
"Granted, I haven't talked to him, but I need some sleep." he thought, now even his inner monologue sounding drowsy."I'll just ask him who was supposed to die at the end of the hack to ease my paranoia."
He quickly inspected the room. As a formality more then anything he told himself. He looked trough the shelves, under the bed and under the coffeetable. (in a manner that would be silly for anyone comedically walking in, accompanied by sitcom laughter). Beside some books on the shelves, and a bronze coin under the coffeetable however, there was nothing suspicious about the room at all.

He dropped down on his back and closed his eyes, feeling the warm embrace of sleep.
ding ding dingading
"That fucking jingle is becomming the bane of my existence......" he thought to himself. He started to hate the fact that he would autoheal instead of sleep proper. His bruises were gone and he had some energy again. He looked over the table and saw his cloak was dry and complete again. Part of him wondered if this meant TD lost his bandage. The other part just wanted to go back to sleep.
He burried his head in the pillow again and attempted to sleep. And after a few minutes, he actually managed to fall asleep.
He was swimming, completly submerged. It was a familiar feeling and he briefly touched the bottom before going back up for breath. When reaching for the surface however, his hand met with a cold ceiling. Avalanche looked around himself in panic, looking for a way out and saw a TJ's corpse floating next to him.
He shouted in panic and saw the precious air leave his mouth.
The water became brighter, and warmer. It happened so rappidly, as the cold of the icey water made place for the intense heath of white fire.
He looked next to him and saw TJ's corpse as it turned to ashes, before looking at his hand as it caught fire. It somehow felt as if it had to be, but he didn't want to agree with it. He struggled, trying to get away from the flames, but they caught up instantly and ingulfed Avalanche in scorching white fire.

He shook awake, instinctivly looking at his hands. No burns. No traces of water. He sighed and layed back on the bed.
Why were his eyes teary?"Fuck it....."
He got up and stretched. Surely he must have slept quite a bit now, he thought, turning his head to the window."Oh you got to be fucking kidding me." outside was still dark."It's still fucking night!?"
He quietly wondered how long he actually managed to sleep. He groaned frustrated as he tried to sleep again. He twisted in his bed, trying to get comfortable, wrapping the blankets around him like a messy coccoon.
ding-ding-dingading
"All of my fucking hate!"
Avalanche sat down frustrated on the bed. He just wanted to throw his hands up and shout in frustration at a god he doesn't know. But others might be sleeping, so it would be impolite. He would try to remain civil.
He sighed. If sleeping wasn't an option he could check the books on the shelf. There were only 3, but he hoped he'd find something interesting. The first one he imideatly dismissed, as it was written in letters he was unfamiliar with (he had doubts Q would read it either). The second was a cookbook of all things (seriously, who normally uses these rooms.), and the third one was entitled; "Sephirans Journey."
Avalanche frowned at it and briefly glanced trough the first pages. Word's like prophet, redemption and holy were among the first page he scanned over."Aaaand I'm the one to get a religious text in my room. Just my fucking luck."
He decided to take it with him anyway, to study once he actually felt like it. He knew enough generic fantasy to know that white magic was usually connected to religion.....somehow. But as he put it under his sash, he wondered what to do now.

.............

.............

"Yeah, let's just check how Weldar and TD are doing." he mumbled annoyed. If he had to do with powernaps, he might as well put them to use.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Quaetam on Mon Nov 14, 2011 1:19 pm

"Cerril, prepare rooms for my guests," Quaetam said, ignoring his butler’s aghast expression, "Summon my physician as well. We are in need of some healing."

Cerril stood agape, completely unable to understand what had transpired. His servant’s hesitation was just another sign of what Quaetam knew so well; that he’d have to pull some serious strings to cover this up, that his plans would likely be set back several days, perhaps more. But right now, faced with the sheer weight of what had just occurred, he didn’t care.

"I won't ask again, Cerril,” he said, his eyes cold, his expression hard, authority radiating from his words, from his being, his emotions locked shakily behind the façade he had worn for so long. Cerril nodded meekly in understanding, recognizing his master’s apparent fury, and scurried off.

Quaetam turned around, looking at Raya, at the others who stood behind her. He registered the rage in their eyes, the shock in their expressions, but knew they needed rest, knew he himself didn’t have the time to face it all, knew that he couldn’t afford to let his emotions take hold of him, not now. His expression still hard, still cold, he addressed them.

"My house is your house,” he said quietly, “If you are in need of anything ask the servants and they will fulfill it."

He bowed his head as, silently, the others pushed past him and entered the house, dispersing, following the beckon of one of his servants as she welcomed them in and up the stairs. Raya still stood silent on the threshold, and Quaetam could tell from her gaze, from her mere presence, that something was on her mind, something she was trying to find words for, and something, that for some unknown reason, she had waited for privacy to voice.

"Q," she said "Out there in the garden...if you hadn't recognized who we were, you would have killed us, wouldn't you?"

Quaetam looked up, and opened his mouth, the thought of self-defense crossing his mind, but his expression settled, and he knew there was no point in lying.

"Yes," he said in a quiet voice, "Yes, I would have."

Raya turned away, her head angled slightly downward, "And I would have done the same to you."

He stared at her, silent, thoughts racing down dark alleys. She looked towards him again, her expression a multitude of emotions, an amalgamation of many possible notions. There was a hint of rage in her look, there was a trace of disgust. Yet at the same time there was something softer, a glimmer of empathy perhaps, of something beyond the fury she so plainly held towards his actions, reinforced by his recollection of how she’d silenced Camilla. Was it understanding? Was it sympathy? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t read, he couldn’t focus… His thoughts were too marred by the turmoil he now felt, by his guilt, his anger, for such a task.

After a moment of silence, of locked gazes, Raya spoke.

"Good night, Q."

He didn’t respond, his gaze staring past her, out into the sky, as she entered the house and moved up the staircase to join the others.

For a short time Quaetam stood, silent, his thoughts held back as he stared over the landscape. He looked out onto the garden below. The battle had indeed taken its toll, and he’d have to find a way to repair the damage if he was to somehow avoid suspicion. His eyes traced the ornate pattern of channels that stood low, the statue into which he’d thrown one of his attackers smashed and fallen, the fountain broken and spilling out onto the grounds. Several other statues were shattered by the force of his own attacks. The faun’s axe stuck out of the head of one of the few left intact. He saw the water that coated the grass, the frost that matted it, the blood…

In a terrible instant the faces of the two he may have mortally wounded flashed across his eyes. TD260, slashed across the chest, bleeding out on the grass by the fountain. TD, who he had helped through so much, who had listened to him, talked to him, whom he had hoped to meet for so long. He would live if they got him to healing soon enough. But was there time? He closed his eyes.

And Weldar…

Quaetam leaned against the doors, hands raised to his head. His thoughts were interrupted as a servant approached. He collected himself quickly, raised his hood to obscure his troubled visage.

“What is it, Shane?” Quaetam asked, recognizing the page. Shane bowed and then delivered his report.

“I have been sent by Cerril to inform you that rooms have been prepared for our guests in the manner you requested, my lord. Do you need a healer?”

“No, I can wait; my injuries are damaging but have been stemmed. They will not worsen; I can get a healer in the morning. Our guests are wounded, many of them worse than I. See to it that they are tended to by the physicians,” the Heirophant said flippantly, “These are my friends, and I expect them to be treated with the utmost respect.”

But even as Shane bowed and dashed off, even as Quaetam was again left alone in the grandeur of the entry hall, he felt a pang of sadness, of guilt and anger as he remembered Raya’s words.

They’re all my friends.

Her meaning could not have been clearer, Quaetam thought as he made his way up the staircase, as he passed through the ornate double-doors at the top and entered a long, red-carpeted, portrait lined corridor above. What companions tried to kill each other? What monster terrorized his friends with words of a bitter death before a crowd of thousands, reaching for the darkness even as the light ensnared them, devoured them, as a blunt rope slowly choked their life away? Quaetam shook his head. He was that monster. He had struck down so many with his own hands, he shredded one of his friends’ hearts, he tried to drown Avalanche, he had nearly killed td260, he may have succeeded in killing Weldar…

A vision of the look of shock on the Australian’s face as Quaetam hardened the flow, felt his magic pierce his foe’s chest, crossed his mind. He saw the light leaving his friend’s eyes, the visage of anger and intent fading into horror and then the blank stare of mortality. It was the same vision he’d witnessed countless times before, the same sight he’d repressed for so long knowing that it was necessary for the greater good. He had been able to cope with it before; he had been able to suppress the feelings of guilt and self-loathing that the act of slaughter aroused within him.

But now?

Now, when the ones fallen at his hand were ones he’d felt so strongly connected to, for so long? Who he had killed and been killed by countless times in such a trivial online setting? Who he cared for like a family, who he had confided in, who had confided in him? It was impossible to ignore for the sake of his goals, impossible to fight the guilt, the dread.
They’re all my friends.

The Heirophant rounded a corner in the upstairs corridor, ready to head towards his own chambers, lost in thoughts and moving on autopilot, when a voice called out tentatively from behind. He turned to see a brown-haired youth looking his way from an adjoining passage, mouth open, eyes bearing an odd expression. While the man had not participated in the garden brawl, the tentative look he bore transcended the usual fear many in the city felt at his presence, instead containing a note of slight trepidation alongside what seemed like a cautious desire to approach without truly knowing what to say. Quaetam could tell instantly that this was another forumer, though he did not recognize him.

“Could I maybe have a quick bite before bed?” the forumer asked, his gaze still dark, though Quaetam again noticed a tone of curiosity amidst all the confusion and hesitation in his voice. There was that hesitation in this man, that hesitation to condemn him just as much as to trust him.

“Sure, you can have whatever you want. I'll have some servants sent to your room later,” Quaetam said, letting out a laugh inconsistent with his mood, a dark sentiment he knew had shown on his face, in his demeanor. The man walked off without another word, and Quaetam was again left alone. For of course he was alone—who would dare to approach such a man? He was surprised to have even been met with this one request.

The Heirophant, after a brief word with another of his pages, wandered towards his chamber through the well set passages, past countless paintings and statues that had been requisitioned at great cost. It was a small part of the rather significant fortune he’d built himself. And none of it seemed to matter now. The sheer reality of the fate Weldar faced was stark, was absolute. It was a reality against which nothing seemed to have value.

Quaetam entered his chamber after a climb up a short staircase. The room within was itself a small beauty; a king-sized bed set regally against the far wall, its four-poster drawings pulled back at present. Channels of water ran below glass on the floor in a rectangular pattern pierced with diagonal concentric cross-lines, radiating out from his bed. A similar pattern was repeated on the ceiling. Both were illuminated with the same crystal that backlit the channels in the garden. Two potted plants sat in either corner across from his bed; off to either side large windows overlooked the city, currently covered by their curtains at this late hour. In the far end of his room was the door that granted access to a balcony. Quaetam disrobed, changed into more comfortable nightwear, hung up his sword on a nearby rack, and turned in.

As he prepared to lie down to sleep, Quaetam flipped a toggle in the tiled floor by his bed. These days there wasn’t such a thing as too safe. It wasn’t mere paranoia that drove him to protect himself, no: He simply recognized that, in the end, should he die at this point, his efforts would have been for nothing. He couldn’t afford to snuff out.

Funny thing, that all those plans now seemed so trivial in the face of his guilt, how in an instant he had realized his own futility.

But had he realized it? He lay in the bed, flat on his back, staring aimlessly into the darkness above. He knew what had happened hadn’t really hit him yet, knew that while he understood his actions, understood the implications of what he’d done, he was merely dumbstruck, he was in shock. The despair hadn’t set in, the racing thoughts and over-analysis, and he intended to stave it off for as long as possible. A man in his position couldn’t afford to let his emotions show, not to his enemies, not to his friends.

His friends…

They’re all my friends.

And she was right. None of them had dared approach him, save the one, and even he with nothing beyond a simple request for food. It was possible that their meeting had been happenstance, even. That he had sought out a servant and instead found Quaetam, and spoke simply to avoid an awkward silence.

But he remembered the subtle interest he saw in the forumite’s gaze, the feeling apart from rage and disgust. There was something else there, after all, some slimmer of curiosity or compassion. Raya had, too, held traces of a softer sentiment. Perhaps they were simply curious, or perhaps they didn’t know what to make of him, weren’t sure they could trust him.

Quaetam laughed to himself; that much had seemed obvious.

But Raya’s meaning had been so clear, her intent and her disgust so plain.

They’re all my friends.

Again Weldar’s visage seemed to swim before Quaetam’s eyes as he closed them, attempted to shut out all these thoughts with the cool embrace of sleep. Again he saw that face in shock, the fire leaving the eyes of the companion slain by his hand, fallen and bleeding on the ground as he let the ice dissolve and continued his onslaught. It had never truly left him, not even in the midst of battle, what he was doing. But he saw the stare of death now across the face of one of his companion, across the face of the one he’d once valued.

His hand grasped the crystal king from his bedside, held it up in the darkness, felt its cool shape, its well-crafted contours...
All these people who he had been so close to, who he had been ADMIRED by, even, he had been prepared to dispose of them just as he had rid himself of so many others. What would they think of him? How could he repair the damage done? How could he look them eye to eye? Camilla, who he had always been so friendly with him, looked towards him with nothing but hatred; she’d exhibited none of the hesitation Raya and the other man had held. How many of them would have that anger? How many of them could possibly forgive him?

He couldn’t take it all, not right now. He couldn’t afford to think too much, lest the despair set in, lest his mind race and his thoughts dive into darker places. Quaetam slowly got out of bed and changed into a new set of ceremonial robes, pocketing the crystal king. Taking a quick look back, lost in thought, Quaetam disarmed the toggle and left the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The infirmary was dark, and Avalanche’s hands shook with the strain of his magic as his eyes drooped with exhaustion. To his left three priests, in the garbs of Leknaat, bent over the bodies of others; their main focus on td rather than the Heirophant’s soldiers.

His teeth gritted as he maintained his focus, the soft glow of his healing magic radiating from the staff he now held down towards Weldar’s chest. He swore in frustration, and one of Q’s sages looked on quizzically. He’d arrived in the sickbay to see the three working over Weldar themselves, their powerful staves slowly stitching together the hole in his friend’s chest. They’d offered to finish Weldar but Avalanche demanded he handle it, said he knew what he was doing. He wanted to save the comrade he couldn’t protect, he wanted to keep alive the companion who had fallen while he stood and watched helplessly.

But for some reason his progress was minimal. The wound was gruesome, and he’d lost a lot of blood. The hole was much smaller but still gouged deep into his body, still shredded through enough of his upper chest that if left alone Weldar could die within hours. And he was still cold… His chest rose and fell in short bursts, in a mere mimicry of breath. Despite his best efforts, Avalanche could not tell if his friend would live. He again cursed himself for panicking on the battlefield, for being unable to do what was necessary on the spot to at least stop the bleeding.

And for that he pushed harder, strained himself past the limits of the magic he cursed for being so feeble. Yet he made little progress as morning hours wore on. To hell with sleep… Like he could get any anyways with that damned auto-restore, those fucking nightmares. It wasn’t natural, the way things worked in this world. His all-too-human body rejected it.
For an instant his concentration slipped, his staff flickered, and blood began to flow again from the wound. One of Quaetam’s mages glanced over.

“You should let up, you know,” the physician said, “I can see the strain you feel just from concentrating on the wound. Get some rest.”

“No!” Avalanche said, louder than he’d intended, “I can’t leave him, not here.”

“But you’re collapsing on your feet. Here, let me handle it.”

“I can take care of this!” he said in anger.

For an instant the healer watched as Avalanche continued to struggle, as the light from his staff wavered with his ability to concentrate, with his fatigue. Fuck, he really was collapsing. But he couldn’t be weak! He had to stay strong enough! How else could he protect his friends, how else could he prevent another TJ?

At the thought of his lost friend, his staff again flickered, and Avalanche cursed and reformed his resolve. He felt a hand at his shoulder and turned, letting his staff light go out, to face the older sage. The priest looked at him with a softened expression.

“I admire your dedication to your friends, but please, let us take it from here,” he said, and Avalanche made to protest, but was silenced, “And If you keep going you could lose control of your spell and injure both yourself and your friend. You’re still a novice. This man was pushed to the brink of death. Another handful of minutes and we’d have lost him. By all means he still might. Goddess willing he may perhaps pull through, but in the meantime get some rest. You’ve done well holding on for this long, but this is a task beyond your scope.”
And Avalanche, with one long look into the sage’s eyes, capitulated. He walked off, cursing his own weakness, hoping to all hell that he’d find some way to sleep in this godforsaken land.

For an untold time the sage concentrated, frowned, as his magic laced through the wound, slowly stitching skin back together, but he too felt difficulty at this task, he in all his years of magical tutelage was strained. It was the order of the Heirophant that these men be tended to at all cost, but this one seemed almost beyond saving.

The sound of soft footsteps echoed and the physician turned around.

“How is he, Markus?” the Heirophant asked, his voice revealing a small hint of concern that the Markus found peculiar.

The sage bowed. Markus had always been on good terms with the Heirophant, their relationship remarkably friendly. He was one of the few to have had a rare glimpse beyond the shroud, beyond the avatar of power and manipulation, and to the man beneath. But he had only been shown a mere glance at the depths of the enigma that was his master. There were some things he didn’t dare ask, and this was one of them.

“I am not sure, my lord,” Markus replied, continuing to subconsciously channel his mana into the spell that slowly worked at Weldar’s insides, “but this is a task on the brink of the impossible.”

“Your…” Markus paused as he looked again at his master and considered his wording, “acquaintance here was brought to us on the verge of death. There’s a good chance he won’t survive the night. Our magic is powerful, but by the Goddess we can only do so much.”
The Heirophant waved for Markus to step back, and the sage did so, keeping his concentration on his patient, his focus channeled through his staff. Quaetam pulled down his hood and fell to his knees by Weldar’s bedside, his mind adrift in an ocean of terror, his head and neck bowed.

“You’re wounded still” said Markus, his eyes darting with concern to the cauterized injury on Quaetam’s neck, “Let me tend to that!”
Quaetam shook his head, his thoughts away from his priest, burning with anger towards the heavens, towards the bitter irony of the world. And it seemed that everything finally began to crash down atop him. Some part of him now transcended the state of shock that still largely enveloped him, and was engulfed with absolute, encroaching horror.
His friend lay there before him, his wound trying desperately to stitch itself shut. His mouth was wide in a look of horror, his eyelids closed over the blank oblivion Quaetam had seen etched onto his face, the emptiness Quaetam had himself carved there.

His hands clenched into fists, one grasping the crystal king. The despair hadn’t set in, but standing there, seeing Weldar dying before him, his world knew nothing else. And he let out a sort of quiet,m indescribable protest as his mind screamed towards the sky. If there was one thing he could undo, it would be this. If there was one mistake he could possibly recant, this was it. If there was one less string he could have pulled to prevent reaching this point, he would do it.

He hoped beyond all hopes, he prayed beyond all prayers, that Weldar would pull through. He didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t. Even now, knowing he hadn’t yet felt the full weight of his actions, knowing he had only begun to comprehend his own remorse, he doubted he could survive it.

Let this be a mistake I can still recover from, Quaetam thought, standing, staring at his friend, Let this not be the end. Don’t make this permanent, let this be something that can be fixed!

Several minutes passed, Quaetam standing, looking down at his friend. He was unable to cry, unable to help, unable to do anything but hope.

“Don’t die…” Quaetam said. He turned and drew up his hood, hiding his emotions behind the great façade, becoming the Heirophant once more, and departed the room, leaving Markus to his work.

And from the shadows, the lich watched on.


Last edited by Quaetam on Sat Apr 14, 2012 10:48 am; edited 2 times in total
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Ansem on Mon Nov 14, 2011 1:56 pm

Ansem walked trough the halls of the Mansion. Alone. Feeling quite alone as well.
It was supposed to be his big entrance. Coming in, drenched in Blood and Power. Going all out, balls to the wall with this Hierophant guy. He ended up dissolving his spell, knocking him aside and then, turned out to be Q.

Fucking Q. It was unbelievable. Who else would be here? Were Surge and Smash here too, but somewhere else? What about JGH? DF? DRTJR? Hell, even fucking Avos could be here.
For a moment there, Ansem's world stood still. But as the crowd went inside, so did he. They all went to different rooms, Ansem preferred to take a walk. He only got into the fight at the end, he didn't have any injuries. Plus, the power he sucked out of the guards was enough to keep him going trough this night.
So he walked. And walked. The mansion seemed endless. Servants scurried off the second Ansem entered a corridor. Maybe it was the robe. The blood stains? The claw? Maybe the look of sheer anguish. Ansem felt horrible. As he walked, he thought of what happened. How Weldar could very well be dead. How Q must be feeling. What a jackass Q really was.

Speaking of jackasses.

The Hierophant himself stalked this particular corridor as well. As the two robed men walked towards each other, Ansem could feel the tension. He wanted to say something. Something nice? Something mean? He didn't know. Q was coming closer, did he want to talk? Why was his hood on? Shit, these thoughts are time consuming. As Q walked by him, Ansem rapidly thought of something to say.

"I'm Ba...I'm Ansem, the one who threw that spell at you...just so you know...Ah fuck it...."

With that, Ansem rapidly walked away, not wanting the conversation to last any longer. He turned another corridor, and found himself standing in a room. On the bed, there was a figure, clearly sleeping. She was wounded, pretty bad. Stupid girl.
In a flash or stupidity or brilliance, Ansem walked up to her and held his hands above her wounds. The taint was building up, but it had to be benevolent this time. Like with Snake. Only now, without Fed. He could do this. For the next few minutes, the room was filled with numeral green flashes. After that, the room grew silent again. Raya's breathing turned regular, and the face of the now sleeping Ansem was as white as Roy's robes.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Doctor Shulk on Mon Nov 14, 2011 4:32 pm

The tears kept falling down Camilla's face. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't keep her thoughts quiet. She chewed at her nails, tugged at her hair, scratched at her skin. Everything was falling apart and she was going crazy, she felt. She needed her medication. She needed alcohol. She couldn't cope. She tried to scream, but her voice was gone. The tears simply kept streaming quietly, as a few strangled sobs made their way out of her mouth.

She needed to get out of here.

Although she had hardly rested, she couldn't sleep. She felt bad for the way she'd treated Q, but she just couldn't help but be furious. Though, deep down, she knew she wasn't furious at him.

She hated herself.

Quietly, she slipped outside of her room and outside of the house. Fresh air would do her good...maybe. Or maybe it would remind her of how much of a failure she was. Weldar was dying. All her friends were seriously injured - even Q, and it was all her fault. She'd insisted on going on this mission. She'd failed to protect the others. And no doubt everyone hated her for being so useless, so horrible, such an utter failure.

Sitting down on the ground, Camilla stretched her legs out in front of her. Her thoughts, her tears, her feelings, everything was weighing her down. It was almost as though she could turn to stone, with how heavy she felt. Her heart ached. It was like a dark pressure was squeezing her chest, forcing her to fall to the ground. Sinking in to the ground was an option, but the power to do something like that was far beyond her.

"What good is being a shapeshifter anyway? I'm so useless."

She gave a small shudder, feeling a strange spasm in her chest. Like a force of destruction, waiting to get out. The tears fell harder now, and she felt like Alice in Wonderland. Like she could drown herself in her own tears.

She wished she'd been the one dying. It would've been better for them all if she had just died. There was no point even having her around.

Her legs twitched, and she looked down at the granite encasing about them. Stone, indeed. It seemed her powers were granting her wish of just simply turning to stone and giving up. Slowly, slowly, the granite edged up her body, to her waist, to her chest, to her shoulders. It was heavy. Far too heavy. With a gasp, she fell backwards, unable to support her own weight, as with the last of her strength, her head was completely changed to rock.

The statue of the girl would not move again for a while.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Omicron Austin on Fri Nov 18, 2011 3:10 am

"Right this way, please."

The two servants led Omicron down an obnoxiously long flight of stairs, one of them still carrying a second tray of food, as he devoured what he already had in his hands. The staircase was lit by periodic torches, but it still had an eerie aura about it. He was beginning to wonder whether asking to be led here was a good idea, and that maybe he should just head back and go to sleep.

Before deciding to change his mind, however, the staircase took a quick turn and led to a door; behind it, a long corridor, as ornate and ostentatious as the rest of the mansion. The change of pace took Omicron by surprise, but the servants weren't phased, as expected. It was difficult to imagine there being much reason for such decor somewhere this far underground. Staring straight down the long corridor, there was another door, and along the side of the corridor was a set of large stone double-doors. "The room you're looking for is through here. This is where our master trains and hones his abilities. I hope it suits your needs." Omicron raised in eyebrow in surprise as she unlocked one of the large doors. Q's training room? And the servants knew about it? For whatever reason, he simply assumed his powers were kept secret from those he didn't plan to kill. In hindsight, having such incredible power with no noticeable weakness would do nothing but assist him in his goals, so there wouldn't be much reason to keep knowledge of it hidden.

The door was unlocked and the young woman pushed open the large, extravagant door; Omicron expected a dramatic creak or groan from the hinges, but it opened with a perfect, welcoming finesse as he walked in. "We shall return in an hour to check on you. Do you require anything else?" He turned around, "no thanks, I'll be fine. Just leave the food with me, I suppose." The servants nodded and closed the door behind them.

The room was enormous, simply a giant chunk taken out of the earth's depths; enough to fit a house for a healthily sized family. The walls were simply stone all the way around, and the floor covered in white and gray tile. Along the walls were a number of unusual, ornate torches that flickered healthily, and at the other end of the giant room was a large, rectangular pool of water. But what stood out the most were the statues, scattered across the room in an ordered array. More specifically, they weren't just statues; they were chess pieces. Giant, beautifully crafted chess pieces. There were 32 total, making a full set of black and a full set of white pieces. The King and Queen stood proudly over the rest, nearly twice Omicron's height, if not more, while the rest were mostly the size of a typical person. Were these what Q practiced on?

For some time, Omicron completely forgot his purpose for coming here. He was far too enamored with the statues; each one, up close, showed incredible craftsmanship, and not giving each one a close examination almost felt disrespectful to the figures themselves. Examining the pool of water revealed nothing special, and the unusual torches could not be inspected because they were too far out of reach.

After satisfying himself with thorough investigation, Omicron walked into the center of the room and sat. Now what? He wasn't even sure what his intentions were, he just knew that he didn't want to do nothing.

Okay, brainstorm. What do I think I can do already? I can heat up. Yeah, I started to melt that one guy's armor that one time. Not sure if I could practice something like that here, though. What else can I do? I can light arrowtips on fire. That's cool, but not all that useful. Can I catch everything on fire? Do I just need to touch it, or brush my hand over it? Does it have to be flammable?

He look down at the ground and felt it. The tile was smooth and cool, without a speck of rock, gravel, or dust tainting the perfect surface. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Omicron held out his hand and ignited his finger tips in the same way he would do when lighting an arrowtip. Then, he traced his finger along the ground.

Nothing.

Then, his whole hand.

Nothing.

Just candle-flame on fingertips sliding along a hard surface.

Okay, concentrate. Your hand needs to be on fire, not just your fingers. Maybe it has to do with breathing. Slow down, make it forceful.

As hard as he concentrated, his palms would not light. He knew it was possible; he even threw a fireball once, without any object in his hand. He felt it release, as if flowing from his core, through his arm, and out the palm in a fluid, comfortable motion. But that was at a time of dire need, of panic. Adrenaline enhances physical abilities, so it would make sense that it could enhance magical abilities as well. Was it even possible to replicate without that feeling?

He jumped to his feet, yelled at the top of his lungs, and thrust out his palm like he remembered, trying to recall that feeling. That warm feeling flowing through his body, that horrible feeling of a sword threatening to pierce your chest. Nothing. Would words help? He did it again, "HADOUKEN!" ... "FIREBALL!" ... "FLAME ON!" Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing

"FUCK!" He kicked the nearest statue as hard as he could, an action he quickly regretted.

What a shitty power. He could shoot things with a bow, and cook food faster than anybody else. Great. Plus, he had the magnificent ability of not being able to touch water of any kind for fear of excruciating pain or death. This, while his friends were all monstrous beasts, powerful mages, skilled warriors, or could simply use their magic to levels already exponentially better than his own. He was nearly useless when it came to any sort of serious battle; a man doomed to pick off the lackeys and the henchmen. Perhaps Omicron was a low-tier character, the one that nobody put in their party because the other classes all had more effective abilities to offer. Having anything other than mastery in archery was simply taunting and meant to drive him insane.

He stood up, running his hands through his hair in frustration, and jumped as he heard a familiar voice. "It's been an hour, sir. Do you need anything else?" With an extremely heavy sigh, Omicron glanced around the room and looked back to the servant. "I'd like to go back to my room, I suppose. Thanks." She nodded and led him out the door as he picked up the tray of food he left and shoved a handful into his mouth. He didn't require water, but sleep could never hurt. Already shrugging aside the frustration, he decided to come back again tomorrow night if at all possible. Omicron wasn't a quitter. He knew he could achieve more than that, more than what he achieved today. It was simply a matter of finding out what he had to find out to make it work.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Raya on Fri Nov 18, 2011 1:56 pm

Exhausted from the events of the past few days, Raya's dreams were insubstantial little things that faded into oblivion on waking. There was heat and cold and the taste of copper, snapping and tearing and burning emotion, then it all faded away into a warm green glow, punctuated by myriads of emerald fireflies. Her consciousness roused from slumber just enough to appreciate the comfort she was in. Soft, down-filled pillows, silken sheets, a cozy and fluffy quilt...she let out a little growl of contentment and rolled over, snuggling up to the other person and nuzzling into his neck. Yes, this was nice, snug and warm and-

Wait, what?

She opened her eyes to see a sleeping Ansem literally right in front of her. She shrieked and punching him straight in the nose.

"ARGH!" he clutched his nose in pain, now rudely awakened "The fuck are-"

"What the HELL are you doing in my bed, Ansem?!"

"Trying to heal you, that's what! Why are you-"

A pillow embedded itself in his face "Get out of my bedroom you pervert!!"

"Ack, I'm going, I'm going!" Ansem staggered as he was unceremoniously kicked out of bed, stumbling to the door and pausing at the threshold "Aren't you even going t-"

He ducked as a chair hurtled overhead and smashed into pieces against the wall behind him. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour and beat a hasty retreat back down the corridor.

Crazy-assed women. Do a good deed and they punch you in the face. He gingerly rubbed his sore nose. Screw it, he was too drained to bother with an explanation. He kicked open a door, made a cursory check that there were no ungrateful Brits lying in the bed and flopped face down.

Still, he thought right before he crashed headlong into sleep again, at least he got some half-asleep physical affection out of it.

_________________
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King Avalanche:
Spoiler:

FUCK YOU RAYA.

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

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AND

FUUUUUUCKKKKK YOOOOOUUUUU

the one time I trust you with my back and you plant a dagger in it.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Sahrimnir on Tue Nov 22, 2011 9:32 am

The Hierophant is Quaetam.

Sahrimnir was lying on a bed trying to collect his thoughts.

Quaetam tried to kill us. I need chocolate. Quaetam sent the soldiers who killed TJ. I really need some chocolate. Those two soldiers I killed in the tavern. What did they die for? Ever since we got here, this has all felt so unreal. I've killed people. But still, Quaetam tried to kill us. That beats anything else I've experienced so far. I should find one of the servants and ask for some chocolate... Do they even have chocolate in this world? I don't think I've seen any. Also, I should go to the infirmary to check on Weldar and TD.

Sahrimnir stood up and walked out of the room. As he walked down the corridor, his thoughts continued.

I wonder if any of the servants are still awake. What time is it? It's really dark outside. Am I going the right way to the infirmary? I think this is the right way, but I don't really trust my sense of direction.

As he keeps walking, he suddenly notices Quaetam is standing in front of him.

Oh... I should say something, but what can I say? I wonder... Did he know who we were? If not, I wonder how he's feeling right now. He did try to kill us. Finding out a bunch of people you tried to kill are actually your friends must be one heck of a mindfuck. Friends... Are we friends? He did try to kill us, but he didn't know who we were. Does that matter? I don't know... But he is one of us.

After several times opening his mouth to speak and then closing it without saying anything, Sahrimnir finally asks "Are you okay?"
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Raya on Tue Nov 29, 2011 12:55 pm

Spoiler:
Sorry this is a little rough; have a splitting headache but I wanted to get this up tonight since otherwise I wouldn't be able to until Thurs/Fri. Skipping time forward a little.

As the hours ticked by one by one people drifted off to their beds and the welcome respite of sleep. Although the new day was quick to dawn for most of the forumers the morning hadn't existed. Exhausted both mentally and physically the majority didn't stir from their beds until midday. Sometime in the early hours Quaetam had made himself absent, leaving a message that he would be back for dinner and be ready to talk then. Some of the more suspicious amongst them thought this was an excuse and he was taking the chance to march back in with half the town guard to take his revenge. The more practical realised that Quaetam's job didn't exactly allow him to pull sick days at short notice...that and he had a hell of a lot of covering up to do.

The rest of the day was spent recuperating and lying low. After everything they'd been through it was a relief to finally get clean and rested, though nothing could shake the nervous energy that was in the air. The servants, to their credit, said nothing at all about the unexpected guests, bewildering as the situation must have been. They also steadfastly refused to be drawn into conversation, deftly avoiding every attempt at finding out more information about Quaetam. At most they got nothing but neutral statements; it was clear the servants were doing their best to remain non-committal, or at least say nothing that could get them into trouble. The fear didn't go unnoticed.

The day soon passed, the hours spent resting, exploring, training or (in Perry's case) causing further damage to the garden. Weldar's situation had improved but he was still weak and was yet to regain consciousness. After all, Markus had patiently explained to all those that came to see him, white magic could do nothing without giving the body a chance to recuperate. Let him rest for now.

Before long the servants summoned everyone for dinner. The dining hall was as opulent as the rest of the mansion, the long mahogany table laden with a huge variety of mouthwatering dishes. They took their seats as drinks were served. Someone leant past Camilla's shoulder and poured her a cup; she turned to thank them and froze as she realised it was the serving girl whose face she'd borrowed earlier. The girl recognised her too and the two stared at each other awkwardly for a very long moment before embarrassedly looking away.

Finally the master of the house entered and took his place at the head of the table, the servants silently melting away to give them privacy. Quaetam looked like he hadn't slept a wink, the stress and emotional turmoil of the past day and night taking a heavy toll. Though no longer that terrifying avatar of power he still held himself with a dishevelled dignity, a testament to the sheer mental strength it had taken to simply be here before them. He held his hands wide.

"Please, don't wait for me. Help yourselves."

There was an awkward silence, everyone in the room conscious of how uncomfortable the situation was. It was broken by Omicron attacking the plate of roast beef in front of him like ravening wolf. Everyone began helping themselves to the food, conversation going from stilted to more easy as they ate their fill of the delicious fare. Quaetam smiled and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I'm sure you have plenty of questions to ask. Please, feel free to, and I'll endeavour to do my best to answer."

_________________
HG/SS Friends Code: 2364 8721 9695   B/W Friends Code: 2193 7770 9554   X/Y Friends Code:1805-2682-3033
"Foxes never lose their tricks, do they?" - Quaetman
"We'll be going about our business one day and then someone will be like "hm, where's Barda" and Raya will all suspiciously be like "WELL DON'T LOOK AT ME"..." - Rocket Admin Camilla
King Avalanche:
Spoiler:

FUCK YOU RAYA.

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

AND

FUUUUUUCKKKKK YOOOOOUUUUU

the one time I trust you with my back and you plant a dagger in it.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  TD260 on Wed Nov 30, 2011 6:48 pm

So... cold...
TD shivered in bed.
It's so... cold... I don't want it to be cold...
He reached for the blanket, and drew it up over his head.
... where the hell did I get a blanket?
TD opened his eyes and looked around. Everything was stark- white. Like an infirmary.
Alright... so... I've been healed? By whom?
He sat up, wincing.
Damn... My chest...
He looked down at himself- through the loose collar of his shirt, he could see a scar- but instead of the bleeding wound he expected, all he saw was some discoloration.
Definitely been healed. Still don't know who did it... And I don't have my equipment. Damn.
He swung his legs off the edge of the bed, and looked mournfully at the blanket.
I wish I could stay in bed... but knowing my luck, that would have me stabbed or something...
TD shook his head as memories of the fight drifted to the surface of his mind.
What the HELL was I DOING? That guy was WAY out of my league... and I rushed him like a freaking moron. I'm no tank... That's perry's job... I should just stay in the back and not get in anyone's way... and make them waste their healing on me...
Grimacing, he stood up. Almost immediately, his knees buckled, and he gripped the bed for support.
What the... gah. That healing must've taken a lot out of me... Where's something I can use... There!
In the corner, he spotted a cane. Or, rather, a stick. Either way, he took it, and staggered out of the room.
Down the hall, he could hear voices. He slowly moved towards it, and the sounds got louder- the sound of conversation and something else... something that could only be people...
eating...
TD's stomach let out a growl, and he glanced around.
Best not to let anyone know i'm here, seeing as I have no idea where I am.
TD crept up to the door that the sounds and light were coming out of. Poking his head around the door, he saw the figure of the Heirophant.
SHIT. What the hell is he doing here? And... who's with him?
Risking another glance, he poked his head around the door and saw next to him an unmistakable blonde figure. Retracting his head again, he felt his heartrate quicken.
Raya's eating dinner with the Heirophant? But... no, she couldn't have betrayed us... since minby was sitting next to her... but then... What are they doing here...?
Just then, he heard a voice speak up.
"I'm sure you have plenty of questions to ask. Please, feel free to, and I'll endeavour to do my best to answer."
The voice could only have belonged to the Heirophant. The voice was strangely calm, and somehow... familiar, to TD.
... Well, I still don't think I've reached my stupidity quota yet... so...
"Yeah. I've got a question."
TD walked into the doorway.
"What the hell is going on?"

Raya looked up, and a strange look crossed her face. She looked uncomfortable.
"Ah. TD. Glad to see you're awake. Now that we're not all trying to kill one another, I'd like to re-introduce you to our... er... gracious host... Q."

TD stared at Raya.
Q is... but... I... TJ... and... But he... and we... forum... bu...
Raya looked back at him, her face unreadable.
"I suggest you eat something. You've been out for a while, and you're going to need the strength."
TD numbly walked over to an empty chair and began to eat mechanically, his thoughts a storm of emotions.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Avalanche on Fri Dec 02, 2011 1:34 pm

Avalanche looked tired and a little grumpy. The lack of good REM was incredibly annoying, and he never realized he'd miss normal sleep this much. He was thankfull for a decent diner though. It feld as if he hadn't eaten in days.
All things considered, he wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't eaten in days.

He was glad to see alcohol, and asked for wine eagerly. Q seemed pretty tired himself, either in seeing things got done during the night, or laying awake after inviting his would-be murderers for the night. Avalanche only saw his room, the hallway and the improv medbay, and he didn't recall seeing Q in any of them.
Then again, he had a big-ass mansion.

"I'm sure you have plenty of questions to ask. Please, feel free to, and I'll endeavour to do my best to answer." Q said, sipping his wine like a proper gentleman. Along with the fancy choise of words, Avalanche couldn't help but grinning a little. It was Q alright.
The table seemed to fall quiet for a moment. Avalanche sighed and raised his hand."How the hell did you become Hierophant anyway? We've only been here a week or so."
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Quaetam on Sat Dec 10, 2011 9:04 pm

The Heirophant stalked the halls, his mind adrift in an ocean of confusion, his soul shrouded by a miasma of pain and frustration, his visage hidden once more under the hood of his ceremonial robes. Outside the darkened sky gradually gave way to dawn as Quaetam strode towards his quarters, his inner turmoil suppressed with all the depths of his skill as he focused on what had to be done, as he tried to rein in his scattered plans and tumultuous emotions and think of where to proceed from here. But his efforts were fraught with discord, his thoughts wandering perilously through the abyss as images of despair floated to the surface of his mind. He saw Weldar, flat on his back, his wound attempting to stitch itself together. TD, alive but unconscious, struck down by his hands. And above all else he saw the hate in his friends’ eyes, the accusing, distrusting glares of those he’d valued so strongly, for so long…

No. Not in his friends’ eyes, he recollected, Raya’s words again floating to the forefront of his consciousness. And he grimaced despite himself, despite his façade. Nobody could be friends with such a man, such a monster.

Quaetam cursed under his breath and shook his head. His thoughts were wandering in circles. There wasn’t time to dwell on this all now, there wasn’t time to focus on what he couldn’t change.

Because it was true, really. He couldn’t change anything, not now. They’re all my friends.

Quaetam pressed a hand to his face as he walked onward, visibly working past his emotions, for once not shrouding himself in a façade. His mind wandered down distant alleyways, past fallen corpses, frozen hearts, through all the pain he’d wrought to reach his current position.

Usurping the throne of heaven…. How often had he used that phrase in his narration, in the creation of stories he once held in high regard? How often had he written tales of betrayal, of machinations, of manipulation? They seemed so trivial now. Oh, by what irony he now found himself playing the part of the Chessmaster…

And play that part he must.

Quaetam turned right at an intersection, rounding the corner and entering the corridor that led toward his chamber, when his thoughts were interrupted by a swishing sound behind him, a nearly indistinct rustle of a cloak in the darkness.

He sharpened his focus, all thoughts cast aside for a moment as he allowed the flows of magic to surround his mind, to envelop it. He did not react visibly, but merely stopped, pretending to gaze out a nearby window. But he saw no further signs of movement. All was still. The would-be-assassin didn’t seem to have his heart in the job. Quaetam stood, the floes of magic enveloping his mind, and for an instant silence reigned between them. Then the man spoke,

“Are you okay?”

Quaetam’s demeanor softened, and he let the magic slowly ebb away as he turned and, while unable to recognize the man, immediately realized he was speaking to another forumite.

Hood still raised, he bowed his head. Was he okay? What a tumultuous question, bathed in an ocean of uncertainty and doubt. Was he okay? It was like it pierced his façade, reached straight past his barriers and questioned his very mindset. Because he was not okay. He was a wreck. He had nearly slaughtered his friends, one of whom might not live through the night. They’re all my friends. But there was no time for that, he realized. He couldn’t allow his resolve to be questioned; he couldn’t let his mindset be cast into doubt.

“I’m fine,” Quaetam said softly, smiling slightly beneath his hood, “thanks.”

There was another pause, and the Heirophant walked off, entering his quarters, mind racing, already planning how to face the morning even as he fought to subdue the swallowing tide of emotion ravaging his inner being. For there was work to be done, lest it all be in vain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late that evening when the carriage bearing the Heirophant rode up the cobbled walk and came to rest before the glistening manor. Two pages dashed up to the side doors, holding them open and bowing as their master stepped to the stones. The Heirophant, exuding confidence and authority, departed the carriage and walked straight inside.

Quaetam sighed, exasperated, tired after a day’s hard work. He had, despite rumors of a host of brigands assaulting his manor and creating a massive upheaval in the city, managed to set things straight with Claudius and the other members of the Council. Claudius himself had been rather easy to persuade, as was his wont: Quaetam had more or less assured him that the rioters had been crushed by his own hand. Given past events, Claudius didn’t doubt him for more than a brief instant. The rest of the council was slightly skeptical, for reasons untold. Once more Ashvald had exhibited a level of awareness far beyond his intellect in his questioning of the Heirophant.

“So these madmen, they come out of nowhere calling themselves the chosen ones, choose to attack you, Claudius’ little pet, and then vanish overnight?” Ashvald had inquired, laughing, “I have some trouble believing that. A pack of wolves, gone mad in fervor, is not so easily silenced by the spoken word and the sweep of a hand. Although, I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time little friends of yours have vanished so conveniently, without a trace.”

Quaetam had avoided responding, allowing Claudius to again speak on his behalf, but once more Ashvald’s inquiries had slimed their way deeper into his stature than they should have, and he was disquieted.

The High Justice was no genius, Quaetam knew, so…

His thoughts were interrupted as his butler ran up the entrance hall to great him, bowing, and awaiting his instruction. Quaetam turned to Cerril, and his mind snapped back into the present. He had guests to entertain, he recalled, a heavy weight settling on his heart as the situation seemed to snap back into focus. He remembered the note that he’d left for each of them, the promise that he’d sit down with them, face them, give them answers…

“Cerril, have my guests notified that it is time for dinner,” Quaetam said, “and ensure preparations are prepared for our feast in the dining hall.”

Cerril bowed and dashed off. Quaetam proceeded through the maze of halls towards his chambers. Yes, he would have to give them answers. Quaetam knew that was his only option, the only way he could explain what he’d done, the only chance to redeem himself. But how could he possibly atone for it all? How could he justify falling so far as to, in a pathetic blindness, strike at his own friends?

He wasn’t sure how he could face them. Memories of the battle the night before crossed his mind again, as they had so often throughout the past day. As he struck viciously at his attackers, as he overwhelmed them one by one, as he bared his teeth in a savage rage at each injury they inflicted on him. Then, as Avalanche cried out for their fallen friend, Raya, and how in an instant his world seemed to flip, and the ghosts of days long past swam before his eyes. He had nearly killed the lot of them. With Weldar, he may have succeeded. He couldn’t look them in the eyes after what he’d done.

Quaetam’s hand shook as he entered his room, as he changed into a fresh set of ceremonial robes. He looked in the mirror and saw not the Heirophant, not the image of terrible authority that he’d built up over this time, but a shadow. The past day and night had gone by without any sleep, and it showed in his visage. His hair was messy, his eyes not bloodshot but clearly sore and bagged, although this fatigue was hard to notice. The scar above his right cheek was visible, and his face seemed more than slightly disheveled.

For a brief second a terrible thought crossed his mind, one of surrender, of giving in, breaking down, allowing his inner turmoil to surface. The moment passed, and Quaetam laughed at himself. What was the use of that? To lessen his stature among them, among any servants who may be watching? To render himself a pathetic, fragile being in their eyes, in their minds?

Even if they wouldn’t acknowledge it, he knew that seeing him break down would do nothing but that. They deserved the truth, not an appeal to ethos. Even if he chose to succumb, could he do it? After living for so long under a façade, his emotions sealed behind an iron wall, it wouldn’t be possible. And even if it were he couldn’t allow himself to crumble, not now.

He again focused on the work that had to be done, on the plans, the machinations, the schemes that lay ahead, and on the goal that had lingered on the forefront of his mind. To there he channeled all his mental energy, but his focus was as shaky as ever. He couldn’t see anything before him but the friends he had to answer to, their judgment, the burning accusation in their gaze. He couldn’t focus on his plans, all other thoughts seemed to flee before him.

No, he had to face them. He couldn’t let himself be overcome by his own emotions. He had to face them, or he’d never be able to face himself. Quaetam laughed at that last, incredibly cheesy and clichéd line of thought. With a quick thought gathered the water from the air around him and cleansed his face and hair, allowing the flows to dissipate thereafter. He’d at least be presentable when he faced them, if not looking his best. It couldn’t be helped.

Quaetam, at long last, affixed his robes and headed downstairs. He could see servants scurrying about the dining hall, carrying trays of their best cooking, ready to serve his friends to the best of their abilities. He appreciated their obedience, and was gratified to notice his words still carried their full authority. None seemed to dare to question him, he recognized.

Cerril approached him and bowed.

“The feast has been set as you requested, and your guests are seated and awaiting you,” said the butler.

“Thank you, Cerril.”

Quaetam pushed aside the doors and entered the dining hall. All eyes turned towards him as he strode towards the ornate chair at the head of the table, servants silently scurrying aside, his guests going quiet and focused. He saw the accusations in their glares, just as he had seen it the other day, and noticed there were quite a number he did not recognize. But of course, he had known them online, not in reality. So many here he’d never seen, could only guess at. He saw Camilla, seated to his left and partway down the table. Raya, her gaze fixed upon him. Someone else… Snake, perhaps? He noticed with a pang that neither td260 or Weldar were there, but pushed such thoughts aside as he realized they were waiting for him.

After a moment of silence, he spoke.

“Please, don’t wait for me,” Quaetam said, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture, “Help yourselves.”

One of the forumers, whom he recognized from last night, broke the silence by breaking into his dish, engorging himself. The others shortly followed, aware of how long it had been since they’d eaten so well, quickly striking up casual conversation.

Quaetam sat at the head, silent, calm, and couldn’t help but notice Raya was similarly quiet. He was apart from the group. He wasn’t one of them, of course, for how could he be? He noticed small glances cast in his direction, and realized they were waiting for him: They were not merely uncomfortable around him, they were eager to ask but at the same time afraid to hear his answer. He sipped his wine, and cleared his throat. Again the conversation died down, and again he realized they had been waiting for him.

“I'm sure you have plenty of questions to ask,” Quaetam said, “Please, feel free to, and I'll endeavor to do my best to answer.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a question. What the hell is going on?”

Quaetam turned around and saw to his immense relief td260, alive, if not entirely well. He opened his mouth to speak, but Raya relieved him of the difficulty of explaining. It was clear she found the quest

“Ah. TD. Glad to see you're awake. Now that we're not all trying to kill one another, I'd like to re-introduce you to our... er... gracious host... Q.”

For a moment all was silent. Quaetam could tell td was uneasy at best, indignant even.

“I suggest you eat something,” Raya said, “You’ve been out for a while, and you’re going to need the strength.”

After another pause, td complied, and sat down, helping himself to an exquisite entrée. Avalanche raised his hand, and Quaetam glanced his way.

“How the hell did you become Hierophant anyway? We've only been here a week or so.”

He had known this question was coming, but his reaction nonetheless was one of light surprise.

“A week? How interesting. You see, my arrival was something like three months ago by my reckoning,” Quaetam said, and paused, allowing his words to sink in. Some of the other forumers’ expressions darkened, confusion dawned on their visages.

“I was stripped from our world amidst that mafia game,” he chuckled, “You know, the one that never finished. My world dissolved around me into a blinding light. I was enfolded in its radiance, swallowed... It felt like every fiber of my being was rent apart by that light, like I was dissolved into nothing. I emerged atop a mountain, on an old stone altar beneath some makeshift shanty constructed of animal hides strewn up atop some loosely assembled sticks. It collapsed as I entered Dragnia; I think the energy released from my summoning tore it asunder.”

“Turns out I was summoned by a Wyndian mage, Gareth, and two apprentices. I suspected their motives from the beginning, but saw no purpose in remaining on my own, shaking, weak, in the darkness of an unknown land. So I followed them, keeping watch of their actions, of their demeanor, analyzing their motives I didn’t have to follow them for long. They took me to Wyndia, introduced me to their King and their Princess. They told me of some great prophecy, some great destiny that awaited me. Told me I was the one who would lead the forces of light against the Nameless Army, I was the one who would vanquish the darkness.”

Quaetam paused for a second, realizing all eyes were trained on him, unsure of exactly how to continue.

“It was too much for me. To have my world broken, to have everything I’d ever done in my life suddenly rent unto nothing. Everything I’d accomplished was shattered, was stripped away. The core of my very beliefs stood questioned by their admonitions of fate, and the very meaning of my existence seemed to fade away before me. It’s not a sensation easy to describe. I’d felt hopelessness before, I’d felt despair unmatched by many, and now I felt something deeper. Even the purpose to which I’d channeled my life was gone, and every ounce of happiness I’d achieved discarded. And I was alone.”

I couldn’t have it. I was alone, worthless. I left Wyndia, wandered the land, searching for something, anything, to guide me. And soon something came to mind…
I had to get home. I had to find some way back. If magic got me into this world, magic would allow me to depart it. Eventually I came to realize the power I held, the ability to manipulate that magic, and hints of something… deeper to my power. I wandered the lands, searching for an answer to that depth, searching for what it really meant. Even now I haven’t found that answer, even now I haven’t found what it truly means…”

Quaetam paused, sipped his wine. So much had happened, he couldn’t convey it all. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t possibly explain it all to them. They had experienced this world for three days, he had been here for just as many months. What he’d seen could not be unseen, and right now, with the reality of his deeds pressing in on him, he just couldn’t face it all.

“I went from place to place, aimless, unable to make sense of my own continued existence. It was, by my reckoning, a few weeks after my summoning, that I arrived in Mousillon. I settled there for a time, made a life for myself in the cursed province, though like the one whose shelter and tutelage I so graciously accepted, I refused to take part in their depraved practices. Nevertheless, I made a name for myself there. They still speak my name in whispers, I hear. I carved a life for myself out of that land even as I sought a way back, as I sought my answer under the guidance of my tutor. I became someone of import, of significance. But that life wasn’t to last, nay. The Army ravaged the land, and everything was lost, my beacon of hope a candle snuffed out by the fog of despair. The demon Ernstrad took the territory apart, the dead and the living made into his weapons. The horrors he unleashed were untold. The province was already cursed, but it was nothing on what he had created... I stood against him, my friends and I fought him. We tried where none had succeeded.

But I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t beat him, I couldn’t defeat him. Again my world was shattered, and again I lost everyone I had. The purpose I had carved myself out of the rubble of a shattered dream was again lost. I was left with this as a reminder of what had happened, and I fled, again hopeless, despairing.”

Quaetam brushed aside some of his hair, turned his head slightly so the scar above his right cheek caught the light. It ran at an arc from above his right eye to near the bottom of the corresponding ear, a mark his healers were unable to fix, a mark made by an assault of the darkest magic. As he did this he stopped, considering exactly what to say here, measuring his words carefully.

“My hopelessness was resplendent upon itself. I fled here, to Leknaat, and lingered among the commoners, destitute, for I had lost it all. I was a drifter, almost a beggar, even, barely surviving.

Eventually I came to see the corruption nested so deep into the city’s heart. This beacon, this light, this holy land was a joke, a mockery of justice. And I saw the devastation gnawing at the horizon, saw the darkness gathering, and knew there was no time. I had to do something. Everything had been stripped from me, not once, but twice, and I saw no end to it. So I decided to shape that end with my bare hands. I set my sights on the throne of heaven, so to speak, and to that seat I have aspired.”

Quaetam faltered for a moment as the events of the past month passed through his mind in a blur. So much had happened... He fell silent, lost in thought, as the others considered what he had said, as his words fell upon them, and silence lingered in the room.


Last edited by Quaetam on Sat Apr 14, 2012 10:58 am; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Fedaykin on Sun Dec 11, 2011 4:25 pm

Fedaykin almost hadn't noticed the time passing by, caught in his thoughts and his self-elected duty, watching over his friends. To his great relief, td woke up and didn't feel too bad, especially in comparison to Weldar. The spark of life was still flickering in him, though not as bright as the Lich wished for. Finally, word reached him, that there would be a grand banquette for the forumites, Quaetam presiding as their gracious host. The Hunger was demanding satisfaction, though eating among other people would alienate them. The stares he had gotten after consuming Meneon came to his mind, he didn't need that again. Hopefully, there could be something arranged when things settled down. Fed's heart had been shredded a couple of times in his life, but never that literally. Time wouldn't heal this wound, but another sacrifice of life... the thought alone made him snort in utter disgust of himself. He pushed the thought away, replacing it with curiosity about Quaetam's story. A young servant showed him the way to the place. Very disciplined one as well, as she didn't twitch or showed any signs of fear.

The Zombie entered, as td was asking his question. There was seat vacant between Ansem and Requiem, quite a fitting spot for an Undead. Fed claimed it without hesitation, also noticing Ansem's rather battered status. His essence was not as strong as usual... curious. Knowing some of the dutchman's abilities made Fedaykin look around more closely. Wait... what was that? There was a tiny bit of grey intermingled with Raya's lifeforce... she seemed to be a lot better now as well. Looks like they met during the night... but there were more important things to focus on than this. Like Quaetam answering Avalanche's question.

Fedaykin sat there in silence, carefully listening. The images of the former Hierophant standing next to Weldar fresh in his mind, adding this background to the whole picture he had of Quaetam. He had seen the fierce battlemage, the manipulator, but most importantly, the caring friend. The young man with a vision, the friend he had talked to for hours over the most diverse subjects. This was one of Fed's best friends here, but what had this world done to him? The Zombie had heard the "Life needs purpose"-mantra often enough, but was he really following it? Q mentioned the usurpation of heaven... well, he had some experience in this himself. It was now his turn to ask the next question, as the silence stelled in.

"First of all... I am very sorry to hear, that this world didn't treat you nicely,please excuse the understatement. Getting ripped out of the place you call home and be stranded a foreign world, that is working on totally different mechanics as ours... We have all been there. But you had to endure these chores all on your own, the nightmares you faced... A lesser man would have collapsed under all this weight. For this, you have my respect. You did not succumb to despair." Fedaykin paused, to let his words sink in, catching Quaetam's gaze with his own. He felt the attention of the others as well. "You saw the corruption here in Leknaat and decided to do something about it. This is a noble cause, don't get me wrong. What worries me, is the path you took. You left the path of rightousness. What I have been once in your fiction, you have become yourself: a Fallen Angel. You did this for the greater good, right? Life needs purpose? You sacrificed innocent lives to get here. Was that the only purpose those lives had? To be sacrificed?" Another pause.

"I am seeing one man standing in front of me here, but I see to personalities as well: Quaetam, the caring friend, who is willing to give absolutely everything to change the world to the better. And then there is the Hierophant, the dark counterpart. Willing to go over bodies, rutheless, disregarding life the second it stops having use for him. Who are you going to be?"
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Sahrimnir on Sun Dec 11, 2011 6:24 pm

When Sahrimnir woke up, he was feeling hungry and curious. Luckily both of those needs were about to be fulfilled. Sahrimnir listened intently to Quaetam's story while eating. He was about to ask the next question when Fedaykin suddenly spoke.

Well, my question is related to Fed's so Q might as well answer both at the same time.

"Speaking of purpose, what was yours? Why did you do all this? What is your plan? I noticed you didn't really give a clear answer to that in that story you just told us. Also, did you prepare that story or do you actually talk like that in normal conversation?"
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Raya on Mon Dec 12, 2011 3:56 pm

Listening to his voluble reply to Avalanche's question Raya couldn't help but smile inwardly; yes, this was definitely Q alright. She picked at her food- it was impolite to eat whilst the host was monologuing but she was starving and at the rate Omicron was going he'd be clearing half the table in short order. She glanced to the side and saw Fedaykin looking at her curiously; he quickly averted his gaze back to Quaetam as though nothing was untoward. Hmm.

Something about Quaetam's answer made her pause. Two things, in fact. Seeing the flash in his eyes at the directness of Fed's question (and perhaps an ironic smile at Sah's) she interjected with her own.

"You say you've been here three months, taken during our mafia game? That was only a few days ago for us Q. I spoke to you not six days ago about the game. Also..." she casually traced the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, keeping her voice perfectly non-committal "They took you to Wyndia, you were unhappy and you left. When we arrived in this world our summoners did everything in their power to get us to the city safety. Even if it was the ultimate price." Her eyes shifted to Perry for an instant and back again "In the city itself they constantly expounded on how vital we were, how we were their only hopes. They let us into the armoury, sent their most loyal captain to accompany us. I somehow doubt they'd just let you leave like that, let alone with no allies or protection. And why didn't they mention you when we ourselves arrived?" She fixed him a stern look "Q, what happened when you left Wyndia?"

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King Avalanche:
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FUCK YOU RAYA.

FUCK YOU

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the one time I trust you with my back and you plant a dagger in it.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Perry on Mon Dec 12, 2011 5:05 pm

Perry sat at the table, grumpily munching on the rump of meat he'd stuck his knife in and claimed for his own as the eating had started. Any protesters had been met with a snarl from the horned man, exposing the clearly not so much herbivoric canines he wore.
His mood was, to say in the least amount of words, foul. Apparently he had been carried inside the house once he was recovered from the rubble outside last night and he awoke in some fancypants guest room which didn't look so fancy pants anymore now. The night's rest had mostly closed up the open skin on his fist, and his head still seemed to be intact, but his frustration hadn't been properly vented yet.
Most of his day was spent in the garden where he, once he retrieved his missing axe, commenced redecorating the place thoroughly. Perry really wasn't the kind of guy to resolve things with violence, but there was a simple mindlessness to destroying his surroundings which he could take comfort in.
Alas, statues and plants can only take so much redecorating and once that blasted butler fellow told him to get over to dinner, all the mindlessness was gone instantly.


So there sat the goatman, silently trying his best to ignore the conversation and most of all the corner where Raya and all the other hypocrites sat. He'd want it to be perfectly clear that just because someone happened to be someone they knew through the internet, he'd suddenly turn happy go lucky and be best buddybuds4evah now. The hypocrecy of it all reeked, and his improved sense of smell did not like the stench.
Nonetheless, trying as he was, he still could not ignore the gist of the things asked and told.
He listened to Q's story and it immediately bugged the fuck out of him hearing the guy talk. The melodramatic self pity of it all, even if it was just Perry's bias set on disliking him, made him almost hurl if this damn meat wasn't so delicious. Oh woe him, he had it so tough.
But one thing bugged him even more than anything else, aside from the ridiculous amount of achievements made in only 3 months which also just sounded like bragging to him. He waited through the story to see if there was any reasonable possible answer but, as he had expected, there wasn't.
Not even letting his normal reflex of letting other people speak first, Perry frowned and spoke up, his voice throwing over the rest.
"Wait a fucking second. You heard the same cliché quest crap as us and you didn't even once stop to fucking think "O WOW, these guys are saying the exact thing I've been told when i got here! they might be like me and trying to find a way out tooo!", when Raya and whatshisface", he said with a gesture towards Omicron. "Showed up at the palace."
"Sorry dude, no offense",
he said quickly to the forumer he hadn't really acquianted himself with yet.

"And don't give me any of that bullcrap that you've been here so long you forgot. You make yourself look so smart, so you can't give dumbass reasons."
To be honest, perry wasn't even waiting for an answer, he just wanted to point out the sheer ridiculousness of this fellow so that they could get back to shoving an axe down his throat.
"What the fuck is wrong with your head man."

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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Quaetam on Tue Dec 13, 2011 4:06 pm

Quaetam’s eyes flashed briefly, and he furrowed his brow ever so slightly. The lich, whom he now understood to be Fedaykin, and whose state arose a great feeling of pity within him, had spoken without restraint, and Quaetam understood that. The depths of his assumptions, the extent of his condescension, and the direct, almost rude nature of his ultimatum helped contribute to a spike of frustration, indignation even, in the Heirophant. However, he understood the depths of his own actions, he recognized that it was warranted, if insulting, and thus that spike was dulled.

Before he could answer he was redirected by someone he recognized as the forumite he’d been approached by last night, asking the question he’d expected to hear, of his plans, of his motives. He was pressed further by Raya, questioning his escape from Wyndia and his summoning into the world, and then by the faun, who in a state of quite noticeable rage and what he read to be bloodlust, asked him the thing he’d wondered about all day, one of the things that had been most eating at him since he realized the identity of his attackers in the battle the prior night.

Quaetam raised his left hand.

“Friends, friends. One at a time, I implore you.”

The room went silent. Two others, who had opened their mouths to speak, closed them again briefly.

He turned his attention to the second questioner, he who had asked for his motives.

“If you find it acceptable, allow me to first explain myself to the others before answering you,” he said, and added with a brief smile, “Although, yes, I will say that I can speak well, I can articulate in eloquent tongues. The quality of my speech waxes and wanes with my mood.. That story wasn’t prepared. I’ve thought about how to explain it for a while, long considered my options, but never outright rehearsed it.”

The forumite did not respond, and Quaetam thus continued after a brief pause.

“I will say; I am quite surprised at the temporal disparity between the times we entered this world. When I spoke of being here for months I spoke the truth. You saw the extent of my power: You saw the influence I hold in this city. That doesn’t come out of the blue. If you wish to prove my identity, you need only ask about something only I would know. But only a few days? This is intriguing. Time seems to flow differently between the two worlds, something I had not thought of previously…”

Quaetam frowned, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. It certainly changed things. All the plans he and his tutor, his friend, had come up with, the whole theory, the examination of the altar of his summoning, all to assist in the creation of a magical technique one could use to cross worlds… He was lucky they had not attempted them. If the two worlds weren’t even temporally aligned, the consequences could have been quite dramatic had they somehow found enough magical energy, and devised a sufficient technique to attempt any of their plans.

He noticed the others were waiting for him to continue, snapped out of his train of thought, and thus obliged, at last saying, with a slight grimace,

“To your other question, Raya, I will confess that I was not able to leave Wyndia peacefully.”

A nasty expression crossed the face of a few of his guests, namely the faun, at this, but he continued before they could utter a retort.

“They were, as you stated, vehement in lauding me as the hero of fate. I was the one who would lead the army of light against the forces of darkness. I was the one who would lead the charge of the righteous against the scourge of evil. As I said before, it was too much for me. I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t accept the idea that everything I’d ever done in my life was worth nothing. And to top it off they told me this was meant to happen. The loss I was experiencing was meant to be. It was inevitable, beyond my control. I couldn’t accept it, I wouldn’t.

I tried to leave, but they wouldn’t have it. They were insistent upon my staying. Eventually things got violent. I, in the end, found the chance to escape, and I seized it. I stole a sword from the armory, found myself exceedingly proficient in its use, and escaped. At first I was able to run, unharmed, and stick to the shadows, distract the guards, you know the like. Eventually, however, I had no other option. I fought, dueled, and killed a pair of guards.”

Quaetam grimaced slightly, “I can still recall the look in their eyes as I slew them, their lives fleeing into the darkness, consumed in the oblivion heralded by my blade. It’s a look I haven’t yet forgotten, and one I fear will stay with me for time untold. To kill a man… It’s not an easy thing, when one can look at their foe’s face and feel their emotion, can place themselves in their foe’s shoes and imagine the loss that their blade is causing. My first kills were a horrifying moment. Only through my desire to escape, to break the chains of fate and prove that I was still in control of my own life, combined with the sheer adrenaline inherent in such an endeavor, did I manage to keep going.

Eventually I was indeed cornered—in a village near the southern border of Wyndia to be precise. I couldn’t hope to outmatch the force arrayed against me, and in my desperation unlocked something deep within me, some power I had never seen before, something deeper than my water magic. I felt their life-force before me, felt their energies holding their beings into focus. And I struck at that very intrinsic power, I cut at the raw floes of magic binding them to this world. Their souls were eviscerated, their bodies and their minds separated, and they fell to the ground. I didn’t kill them; rather I severed their ties to the material world. Their souls will drift indefinitely apart from the world unless someone anchors them down again, a task nigh on impossible by my understanding. Theirs was a fate worse than death.”

Quaetam closed his eyes sagely, took a sip of wine, and continued,

“It’s a horrific ability to consider, and one I have not been able to replicate. I’m not sure how I did it, but right then I knew I had to follow this power. I knew then as I know now that I have to grow to understand my new abilities. If I have somewhere, deep within me, the ability to affect something as quintessential as the tie between the body and the soul, perhaps I have the means to bridge the gap between this world and our own. I had no idea how to do it then. Even now I only have theories, albeit increasingly concrete ones, and none that are within my power.”

He paused, and looked towards Raya. She was at attention, the look in her gaze calm, but he thought he read a hint of something else inside her, some sort of suspicion perhaps, or even anger. It was, he knew, warranted, given what had come to pass between him and the Wyndians, and he anticipated another question out of her about this. Quaetam’s hand, near his wine glass, clenched. He would answer for his actions, he had to. That much he understood.

The Heirophant turned towards the goat-man, affixing his gaze with a hard stare.

“You tell me to give you an answer as to why I didn’t realize who you were, you ask me how I could make such a mistake, and yet you deny my ability to do so in your very question. The simple fact of it all is exactly what you had said. Yes, I had forgotten, and yes, part of me feels I was realizing it before I had consciously accepted it, truth be told. The Wyndians told me I was their only savior. I was the one who would lead them into salvation. I have been through so much since then. I am not infalliable; despite my actions I still remain a human being, perfectly capable of being distracted and of making mistakes. It just so happens that my mistake was of incredible severity.

I will say, however, that in hindsight, it was all painfully obvious. Something about the Council meeting in which Raya had presented herself had felt amiss, but I didn’t bother to consider it then, not when the next stage of my plan is so near fruition, not when I didn’t recognize Raya for who she was. In the end it was exactly as we experienced, as we all know: Avalanche called Raya’s name during our conflict, and my own sheer foolishness was laid bare before me. Everything clicked.

Believe me, I understand the depth of my folly. Your very question has been eating away at the back of my mind since the battle last night. I myself have been kicking myself in the shins over not noticing, despite the scrupulous attention I give everything that goes on these days. The thought of others like me was alien, and never even crossed my mind. The talk of prophecies was troubling, but until I realized who you were it was nothing more. In the end I was distracted by my own goals, and blinded by the solitude I’ve become accustomed to.

Beyond that, I can’t give you an answer to that question because I have yet to answer it myself.”

And at last Quaetam addressed Fedaykin. The undead never ceased to perplex him. How different Fedaykin was from the ones he’d encountered in Mousillon. An autonomous lich…. Such was unheard of. However, it was not too surprising, Quaetam reflected, that one might have undergone such a transformation, given his own powers, given the apparent differences in some of the others. (Invisibility? A faun?)

The zombie’s question had struck deep, but its confrontational, assuming nature had aroused indignation and anger in him, the former emotion dulled and the latter stymied by Quaetam’s knowledge of what he’d done and understanding of how much more he deserved than a brash statement as was made by the lich.

“I appreciate the compliment on my willpower, Fedaykin. You remain, even now, an understanding man. And just as I appreciate that compliment, I understand your question, and I understand the criticism and condemnation you have levied against me. But do not be so quick in your judgment; do not be so quick to make such an ultimatum. You say I merely set about fixing the corruption here in Leknaat? Nay. The recognition of the souring of justice was a great contributor to my effort, and to the path I chose to took, but my ultimate goal is nothing short of the salvation of this world. The Nameless Army is coming; I see the black tide about to engulf all creation as it gathers on the horizon. I have seen the horrors to be unleashed beneath their banner.

When I first arrived in Leknaat I sought to champion the cause of the disquieted, to lead the people to greatness and overthrow the corruption that sits atop the gilded throne of the Goddess. But I soon realized the costliness of a civil war, I soon understood the sheer destruction my actions would unleash. And I soon understood the gravity of the situation, the inevitability of our defeat if we are to enter this conflict a shattered nation, a fractured people.

So I did what I had to. The progeny of my initial struggle became my pawns as I rose to power by any means necessary. I became the Chessmaster, yes, I became the Upriser. But I seek not to rule, I seek to save.

You say you see two personalities?

That, my friend, is a statement made well beyond your ken.

I am one man, one man driven to the brink by the desperate situation he has been thrust into, doing all he can to make things right, ironic as that may sound to you. I am but one man who has seen no other way. I am not ruthless. I do not disregard life. The face of every man I’ve killed swims before me as I lie down to sleep each night, just as the faces of the two Wyndian guards will never leave me, just as I’ll never forget the fate of that troop, their souls shredded from their bodies, cast adrift in the void, apart from the world for all eternity.

I never forgot the consequences of my actions, and I’ve never forgotten what I’ve done. In a way, Fedaykin, I still am willing to give absolutely anything to change the world for the better: I have damned myself. I have done things for which I know not if I will ever be redeemed. Things for which I know not if I can ever truly forgive myself,” Quaetam said with vigor, speaking the penultimate word with a passionate strength, his eyes set hard as he looked about the table, addressing them all, “Seeing you all here, I realize that maybe there is another way, maybe there is another path to salvation. Maybe I have been foolish this whole time. I cannot excuse myself for what I’ve done, nor can I undo any of it. What I can do now is fight for the future of this world. All that I can do now is hope that it was not in vain. All I can do is hope that by my actions the world will yet see a new dawn.”

Quaetam then finally turned back to the other former, to he who had questioned his motives.

“It is here that I may answer your other question. For I have done this with a reason, I have done all this with a purpose, do not doubt that. As I said before, I seek nothing short of the salvation of this world. I have not risen to power for my own sake, not in the slightest. I have not sought the usurpation of heaven to impose my own will upon the people, as the Upriser did in my fiction. No. I seek to unite the lands under my banner, to make a stand against the Nameless Army before it is too late.

I have the zealots in this city under my thumb. I have the devout followers of the Goddess all but in my pocket. And with them, I had intended to bring the neighboring lands under my control. Don’t be mistaken, I had no intention of ruling over the people. What I have hoped for, what I have planned for, is to present a combined front against the Army. I, ironically, intend to set out to fulfill the task that was once set upon me in Wyndia. I’ve seen a lot of what they can do, and I intend to do all I can against them.

With you all here, things have changed. Maybe there is an easier way to unite the lands than manipulation and conflict. But before that, there is something else…”

Quaetam paused, sipped his wine, and continued.

“Something stands in my way. There is a man among the Council who still opposes me, who does not follow me despite all I’ve done, and who not only doubts me but has been inordinately successful in opposing me so far.

His name is Reginald Ashvald. He is the High Justice of Leknaat, and he epitomizes the corruption laced deep into this city’s heart. Yet despite his blatant hedonism, his disgusting corruption, and his rather obtrusive stature, he cannot cease to horde the power in this nation. Everything he does is too precise, too planned. And he has managed to throw hitches into all my efforts as of late, he’s managed to cause just enough havoc in my machinations as to hold me off from stepping my control any further. And he’s playing it well, not leaving any room for doubting his actions, not leaving any opportunity to decry him.

Don’t get me wrong,” Quaetam added at the skeptical looks of a few forumers, “I understand too well the extent to which one can plan events, the extent to which one can slither his way into the workings of events and influence them as he sees fit. With everything I’ve done, I’ve exercised each iota of intelligence available to me, used my powers and my mind to their fullest. I’ve put efforts into my plans. High Justice Reginald? He sits around, toying with his favorite concubines, growing lazier and larger by the day, and yet has eyes and ears where he should not. He has the ability to influence events he should not even know about.

I have reason to believe he’s been tampering with powers that should not be tampered with; he’s consulting with spirits, demons even. I have not the evidence to prove these claims, but I shall assure you of their legitimacy. Something is wrong with the High Justice. And that something must be corrected for my plans to come to fruition. Whether he must be convicted, tricked, or nothing short of removed from his station, things cannot continue as they are now. That is what is to come next.

With the events of the past two days taken into account, I thought I’d been set back weeks, but perhaps this can be done with greater ease. At this point, I’d prefer to prevent further bloodshed, but if nothing is done about Ashvald, everything I’ve done up to this point will mean nothing.”
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  TD260 on Tue Dec 13, 2011 7:33 pm

"Q..." TD spoke up, from down the table.
"I have a question. So, you're the Q we've all known- or, rather, thought we knew, through the forum. And as far as I can tell, you haven't changed much. You've gotten colder, more dangerous, but... Still the same Q. Q, the word smith. Q, the chessmaster. Q, the puppeteer. What if we're playing the puppets now? What if you're pushing us against this guy because you're sure you're right- y'know, the way you were sure you were right to not believe us? Because I'm tired of watching people get hurt. Tired of people dieing. And I know- I KNOW that we're going to have to fight. I just don't want to just jump in over our head at the whim of a friend known for manipulation who just tried to KILL us. Q, you were a great person, and you may still be- but at this point I'm very reluctant to just immediately trust you and act as your hit squad."
Looking around, TD realized he had stood up and had started yelling. His face flushing red, he sat down again and began to pick at his plate.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Quaetam on Tue Dec 13, 2011 9:37 pm

Quaetam grimaced slightly, imperceptibly. He had seen this coming a mile away. After the betrayal his friends faced, of course they would not want to take up this task. Why would they trust him, how could they? Why would anyone trust him, after what he'd done, after the mons--No. There was no time for such thoughts. He shook his head, a solemn gaze crossing his features, his eyes shut for a moment before he replied.

"I do not ask you to be my personal hitsquad, td. I have the entire city's worth of assassins at my beck and call, and I can assure you that they would be all too happy and all too capable to undertake such an endeavor. Frankly, his elimination now would not be very challenging. However, he is my staunchest opposition, and any who are of keen eye and sharp ear will undoubtedly suspect me. This is something that should be avoided. If I am right, and I suspect I am, finding evidence of his crimes could vindicate any effort to remove him, concurrently supporting my cause, solidifying my power, and enhancing my position and influence over the others of the Council.

If he remains, I could see these minor efforts continue. I predict that his unearthly knowledge will be the undoing of all I’ve worked to accomplish. I predict that he will first stymie my efforts, he will inhibit every chance I get to ascend further in the Leknaat hierarchy. He will keep me where I am now, on the verge of true control, and eventually he will go further. He will try to deconstruct me before the Council. It will become a chess game, not against Ashvald, but against the demons he has been following. And that is a match I have little confidence in winning.

So he must be removed, certainly, and he must be removed in such a way as to leave no room for doubt, and no possibility that his removal will cause me harm. What I'm looking for is evidence; sufficient evidence to convict Ashvald, for the consulting of demons is a crime in almost any land, let alone one as filled with fervor as Leknaat. I need a reason to lead a charge against him, one backed by the Council if possible, one they can understand, forgive, and laud me for later on if not. I need evidence sufficient to oust him. Once that evidence is acquired, his capture, or, if that is not possible, his elimination, will be quite a simple task.

Now, I see before me, a group who managed to break into one of the highest security buildings in the city virtually undetected and attempt to assassinate a high-ranking official,”

His eyes glanced towards one he recalled to be the man who had stabbed him, who with a sudden shock he recognized. He smiled. Invisibility suited SnakeInABox well indeed.

“And frankly, had Snake been more confident in his blade, more skilled in his technique, or even simply more lucky, you would have succeeded. Let me tell you that such is not an easy task. I’ve become rather good at thwarting assassination attempts, although as of late I will confess to a bout of laziness brought on by the simple fact that I am currently in control of all professional assassins in the city. This only highlights my point: You guys have been here for a few days, you claim, and yet did a better job than any professional in managing to break into my mansion. Your ability to snoop around and gather evidence is essential. I think a stealth approach may be necessary. We could tail the High Justice. Follow him, set someone, invisibly, to spy on him in his estate. Figure out what dark arts he has dabbled in, and discern a way to exploit that. If you all could think of better ideas, or have qualms with this, I’m perfectly open to discussion.”

Quaetam paused a second, looked around. Aside from one forumer who continued to gorge himself, clearly exhausted after the events of the past few days, all eyes were trained upon him again, waiting, accusing, listening for an answer to td’s true question.

Again his emotions peaked the wall he’d erected around his consciousness. Again they fought past the façade and threatened to engulf his being. The sheer reality of his deeds stood before him. He, who had prided himself on living a life of passion, was certainly doing so, but at what cost? At the cost of his empathy? At the cost of his humanity?

No. Quaetam’s hand clenched again. He could not let himself break down, not now, not in front of them. He had to maintain his focus. He sighed, shook his head, trying to relieve a little of the tension that had built up in his mind.

“You ask how you can trust me? I cannot answer that, and I will not claim to be able to. I myself can’t properly forgive myself, so why should you? That sentiment I fully understand, td. However, I will again say that I will do everything I can from now on to earn your confidence. I will do everything I can to redeem myself if possible, and I will do all I can to fix what I've done. You can choose whether to trust me or not. I am pushing you against this guy because I’m quite convinced I’m right, yes. I won’t deny that. But I don’t intend to play any of you for fools. There won’t be any games between us, no manipulation. On that, I implore you to trust me. On that I swear on my life. Also…”

A small smile crossed Quaetam’s face, and his voice softened.

“For what it’s worth, as insignificant and insufficient as it may be, I’m sorry for trying to kill you all.”

He again focused, returning to his original tone.

“And I will say this: Should we succeed, should I eliminate the final obstacle to my securing unopposed power here, I will, when the time comes, commit the full might of this holy city to your cause—to our cause, as I will call it, for our goals are in the end one and the same.”



Last edited by Qod on Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:21 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Requiem on Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:14 pm

Requiem had listened quietly. He had come to terms with the fact that Q was there quickly. Nothing really surprised him now, and if Q was there, then he was there. He wasn't trying to kill them now, and besides, everybody makes stupid mistakes. His had cost quite a lot, and he knew that eventually the price would have to be paid, and he didn't believe that it needed to be anyone in their group that did the deed. Once he'd accepted the situation, things started to make sense. He had been summoned in Mousillon and had heard rumors of a man who had tried to redeem the dead land. Of course, he had no idea it was one of the forum members at the time, how could he have? Even up to their arrival at the Hierophant's mansion and discovering his identity, the two never correlated.

Focusing, he returned his thoughts on the matter at hand. Each of the members brought up excellent points, and Q in natural fashion responded flawlessly. Well, nearly. There was something he'd said that was bothering him, and he questioned whether or not he should bring it up, when TD shot up in his chair with his own questions.

Hearing these, Damian brought himself free of the glove "Finally! One of you with reason!" He growled, annoyed still. "Did you forget that he killed me?" He paced back and forth, not really able to do much of anything in his present state, his body glowing a dull red that was steadily getting stronger, turning to become more of a blood colored mist surrounding the spirit. "You need to kill him before he betrays you like he did me! He'll kill you all without a second's thought!

"Damian, that's en- Wait a minute... What do you mean, 'like he did me'?" Requiem asked. He knew that Damian had tried to kill him, and that Q had defended himself, but how then would...

Then it clicked, something Q had said earlier rushed to his full attention causing him to sit forward and raise his voice to be heard "Q, I know we haven't spoken since we fought earlier, I'm Requiem. You threw me pretty hard." He remarked "But that aside, something you just said has been bothering me..." He paused momentarily in an attempt to decide on how to say it "You said something about your progeny becoming your pawns, you recall this? What did you mean by this?" Requiem was afraid he knew the answer already, it made sense now. Everything was coming together to produce an extremely unpleasant picture.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Weldar on Wed Dec 14, 2011 2:39 am

Weldar slowly came to, darkness surrounded him on all sides puntactewd only by a slow irregular beating sound. He couldn't quite remember what was going on, it all felt fuzzy and surreal. He glanced down and caught sight of his wounds bringing it all flooding back, the Heirophant, the failed assassination, the battle. Before he could ponder any further he was interrupted by an intense light white light suddenly illuminating half of the void. The background beat sped up frantically as the hole is his stomach flared with unbearable pain. He flinched in shock and agony as the void slowly faded away.

Weldar couldn't tell how long he'd been here in this whatever it was. An unconcious dream? The afterlife? Some sort of limbo between worlds? Between the worlds of life and death? Between the real world and this fantasy world? Who could say? The light had come back several times, always bringing it's pain. It had made the background beat more regualr now but still, it was slowing fading. He caught a glimpse of the light out of the corner of his eye. This was the time to make a decision and do something. But how, what, where? The beat was growing fainter and fainter, the light was gone, it didn't matter any more, there was nothing left to be done, just go with flow. There was one last weak beat and then he was gone. Silence. Darkness. Nothingness.

Spoiler:
Goodbye

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[quote="Quaetman"]
There was a flash of lightning, and the figure’s visage was illuminated for a moment, a single, terrifying moment, a revelation that seemed to stop the world dead.

“Checkmate,” said Weldar, and fired his bullet into JGH27’s heart.
[/quote][quote="King Avalanche"] I doubt any of our craniums will come out of this game a virgin cause Weldar is gonna fuck them all.[/quote]
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Perry on Wed Dec 14, 2011 3:50 am

It seemed the man was dead set on being a complete drama queen and simple answers weren't to be looked for in this conversation. As he apparently tried to dictate the conversation by going by everyone one by one and calmly telling his entire tale just expecting everyone to be quiet, Perry started to grit his teeth.
He knew that it was the only way for the man to handle all the questions fired at him, but what the hell was up with his way of talking. Not a single sentence croseed his lips without some kind of self-loathing to invoke pity, or to remind himself of how awesome he must be and how everyone underestimates him. And the rest just awe-fully following along didn't help Perry's frustration with the group.

Out of respect for the rest of the group, he sat idly there so that Raya could get an answer to her question. But as soon as he was adressed, his position changed, leaning forward staring Q straight in the eyes. Perry wasn't looking for answers he just wanted the man to feel like the dumbass he was. Perhaps the man had more to say after his first few lines about how he was just human, but perry didn't care.
"Ofcourse I know you're just a human, something you and the group often seem to overlook. I'm just saying you're a raging fucktard with that aswell.", he said as he stood up and slammed a fist on the table.
"You fucked up, directly ordered the kill on one of our own, and just simply think that you can sit there and calmly explain it all?!", Perry roared, and in his rage didn't let anyone interrupt. He needed to say this. "I don't need your answers, nor do I need to be one of your awed followers like the rest of these sheep. I need your head on the floor, or to see you grovel in disgust of yourself."
He threw his plate away, smashing it against the wall as he had completely lost his apetite.
"Now, if you'll excuse me. I seem to have lost my apetite.", he said in a hollow tone as he walked away from the table. His own anger scared him, and he did not want to deal with this now.

"I'll be outside when you lot are done with your fuzzy reunion."


His fist shook as his knuckles turned white outside of the room. He hated being like this. With a deep breath and sigh, he tried to release the tension. He breathed out deeply... Much better. Sure beats smashing your head against a wall....
Perry started walking down the halls of the mansion he was destroying just a night ago. The servants steered clear of him as his expression showed he was still not to be spoken to. Thinking back of the night before, he realised he hadn't checked up on Weldar all day in his rage. He really ought to check up on the little guy.
As he walked around the corner, a servant bumped into him and fell to the ground. Terrified of the towering faun, he crawled back before getting up.
"Hey, what's the hurry?!", perry grunted, brushing off the area the servant had ran into.

"I-i-i-i-it's your companion, sir. He's...."
Perry didn't need to hear anything more. In a giant leap, he darted through the hallway to infirmary. He barged through the door and walked straight up to Weldar's bed.
"Sir, you shouldn't be here right no-", with a large sweep of the arm, the servant was interrupted and thrown against a wall.
Perry stood bedside to Weldar, still warm but quickly cooling. There was no movement anymore, and his face started growing pale. It almost looked unreal.
A shiver struck through Perry's back as he stood lurched over Weldar's deathbed and his entire body tensed up. A crackling sound was heard as he gritted his teeth so hard his gums started to bleed. He didn't particulary know TheTJ, or spoke much with Spont. But Weldar had been a friend. He had been a good kid and was always good to talk to.
Perry breathed heavily, trying to fight back the tears and the rage he had just subdued a moment ago.

Slowly he bent over, and lifted the dead body from it's resting place. He turned around and stared with an intense glare at the servants surrounding him, as they already did not dare speak. Slowly he walked. He walked back to the dinner, ready to show everyone what their new 'friend' had accomplished now.
Conversation had probably continued on, or not after his outrageous outburst, but nonetheless he kicked down the door as he stood there in the opening. Their dead friend lying silently in his arms.
Perry didn't speak, but his look told enough.

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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Ansem on Wed Dec 14, 2011 4:56 pm

Spoiler:
This one is after Perry left, but before he returned.



After Perry left, Ansem felt the urge to stand up and go after him, but he resisted. He and the faun made a good team, His strength and Defensive abilities, and Ansem's Magic and speed were a great combo. But he needed to get closer to the rest of the party as well. After his...eh, outbursts, he might have alienated them a bit. So this was a great way to start anew.

"Eh, what the hell. Q, hi. Euh, first things first i guess. I agree with Goatman, you suck. Seriously, you shoulda thought this trough, just like you thought everything else trough. You fucked up, you deserve a whole shitstorm over you, worse than any hell anywhere."

Aaaand exhale.
Fucking long-ass sentence without breathing is a bad idea.

"But, on the other side, people make mistakes, and when i hear about you motives, i can't help but feel that if i were in your place, i might have done the same thing."
Ansem smiled at Q, and with that, he felt the rage burning in him, the Taint cooking up a storm. Dark green specs filled his vision, and he slammed his fist on the table.
"And then i remember, i'm not a fucking Douchebag who puts his own little ideal before the fate of several Races. And before anyone dares to say otherwise, i'm fucking here right? I'm helping you guys get the nations together, right? What have you done, Kyle, except get rich and powerful in a city full of fucking idiots?! The idea is good, but you've turned from a guy wanting to lead these people, into a guy who commands them into submission."

The specs disappeared, and with them gone, so did his foul mood.
"I'm sorry about that, the whole things...it's just madness, and i'm a little tired, i didn't get much sleep last night.." He eyed Raya for a minute, who's stoic face was as British as you could get.
"Oh, right, yeah, question. What was that magic thingy you used to make my big ball of pain go away? It took me the lifeforce of probably 3 or 4 guards to make that thing, and i was hell bent on throwing it in your face...."

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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Quaetam on Sun Dec 18, 2011 4:41 pm

As Requiem spoke, Quaetam went cold. This was something he hadn’t wanted to touch on, not yet, not until things among them were a little less irate, if not warm. This was one of the largest regrets he held on his path to power. Yet they deserved the truth. He’d have to correct a misconception he could feel, one he could see building in Requiem’s mind, a false idea that he knew his own poetic, wordy speech had fashioned.

But he was unable to speak, for the faun stood, slamming his fist down on the table. Quaetam could hear the wood bend ever so slightly at the force of the blow, cracking around the area of impact. The faun’s eyes were filled with rage as he spoke.

“Of course I know you're just a human, something you and the group often seem to overlook. I'm just saying you're a raging fucktard with that as well. You fucked up, directly ordered the kill on one of our own, and just simply think that you can sit there and calmly explain it all?! I don't need your answers, nor do I need to be one of your awed followers like the rest of these sheep. I need your head on the floor, or to see you grovel in disgust of yourself."

The faun stood, threw his plate against the wall, and stalked off.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have lost my appetite. I’ll be outside when you lot are done with your fuzzy reunion.”

Quaetam found himself silent. Guilt and sadness were welling up inside him, at such a strength he could hardly bear it, yet a certain degree of indignation as well, brought on by whatever dignity remained beneath the scattered shards of his mental state. And yet something the faun had said, something in those words—

“"Eh, what the hell. Q, hi. Euh, first things first I guess. I agree with Goatman, you suck,”

Quaetam looked up, eyebrows raised at the slight sarcasm in the voice that had interrupted his thoughts. He recognized it, he knew, but hadn’t yet acquainted with the darkmage who spoke with him, the one who had thrown his way the ball of sheer chaos, something that had felt unusual by the standards of magic.

“Seriously, you shoulda thought this trough, just like you thought everything else through. You fucked up, you deserve a whole shitstorm over you, worse than any hell anywhere. But, on the other side, people make mistakes, and when i hear about you motives, i can't help but feel that if i were in your place, I might have done the same thing."

Quaetam raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden sympathy. Then something changed about his guest. Something in the mage’s demeanor darkened, and his face, while smiling, became contorted with rage. Quaetam felt a touch of the dark magic from before, and he slammed his fist down, madness in his words. His entire visage had shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, but lined with anger.

"And then i remember, i'm not a fucking Douchebag who puts his own little ideal before the fate of several Races. And before anyone dares to say otherwise, i'm fucking here right? I'm helping you guys get the nations together, right? What have you done, Kyle, except get rich and powerful in a city full of fucking idiots?! The idea is good, but you've turned from a guy wanting to lead these people, into a guy who commands them into submission."

The man was shouting at him, berating him. And at last some sense of pride had been awakened in him. His indignation at the goatman evolved into irritation. To evoke his real name, something he hadn’t heard in months, symbolic of a life now lost, a life he could only pray he’d one day become powerful enough to return to? To use that name, and speak with such condescension… His irritation had evolved into an anger only tempered by his continued, descending, spiraling state of misery and rage at himself, the emotions he still managed to subdue, the emotions he was more confident at containing the longer he spoke.

"I'm sorry about that, the whole things...it's just madness, and I'm a little tired, i didn't get much sleep last night.. Oh, right, yeah, question. What was that magic thingy you used to make my big ball of pain go away? It took me the lifeforce of probably 3 or 4 guards to make that thing, and i was hell bent on throwing it in your face...."

Quaetam at last spoke.

“That was something known as a counterspell. My power, I’ve found, extends to something far more intrinsic than mere manipulation of water and ice. I was able to analyze your spell and shape an appropriate pattern with the mystic floes to erase it utterly. But right now, I wonder exactly what this power of yours is. It does not seem quite bound to the laws of normal magic; something was unusual about it. And I wonder,”

Quaetam paused for a second as indignation built up a little inside him. He felt, for the first time that evening, slightly confident in his words, slightly indignant and almost angry. He searched his thoughts, as he considered the voice he recognized, and as he wagered a guess at the forumer he now addressed,

“I wonder how,Bas, you can insist that all I’ve done is kill and dominate when you so flippantly address the lives of those who work as mere soldiers? I regret every man I’ve slain, I know fully well the price of each heart I freeze, each life I extinguish. You? You throw away lives as casually as you come across them. You worry more about your great big ball of pain. Your path, just as much as mine, is lined with bodies. I don’t deny what I’ve done, I don’t seek to make excuses for myself. I don’t expect forgiveness from you all, for it is understanding I ask for, not amnesty,”

Quaetam’s voice had been kept level the entire time, and only now it lowered slightly, containing a hint of rage,

“And I show you my motives, I surrender to you the sum of all my efforts, and you call me a raging douchebag? I’ve sacrificed my humanity for what I’ve done, and you—”

SLAM

The door fell open, smashed apart on its hinges, flung down to the floor and shattered. There stood the goatman, a fury beyond words etched onto his face. Somehow Quaetam knew what he’d see before he looked down at the bundle in the faun’s arms. Somehow Quaetam knew it would be a body.

There stood the faun, and there lay Weldar.

Dead in his arms.

All thoughts stopped. Whatever anger he’d felt at Ansem, whatever rage had built up inside him was gone, adrift. And in an instant his pride was stripped from him. All his thought, all his focus, was lost. Every iota of his being was channeled towards the man who now lay, forever still, before him.

Weldar was dead, and he had killed him.

A chill came across the room. Nothing seemed to exist but this moment, this very instant. He was laid bare as he stared at the inevitability that lay before him, at the very irrevocability of the eternal surrender that awaited Weldar, that awaited them all.

And it was he who had brought this about. It was he, Kyle, who championed passion, who championed dedication, who had always sought a higher purpose, who had been brought into this world. It was he, Quaetam, assuming the identity he had used so frequently in his fantasy just as he had used it online, who had lost it all, again and again, and done all he could to change things, even as he saw nothing but inevitability before him, who had tried to shred the darkness with his own strength, with his own blade.

They’re all my friends.

Again Raya’s words came to him. But this time they were accompanied by something else, something deeper, something he had created himself as the epitome of human survival instincts, as a single phrase epitomizing one of the utter truths behind mortality.

Pain is death.

Death is irrevocable.

Every layer of his being was stripped bare in that instant, and even as he continued to maintain his façade, to hold himself apart from the torrent of the world, to maintain a stoic face, his focus began to waver.

It was he who had done this! All his efforts, all that he’d done to strive towards a goal that he now saw was futile as ever, hopeless as everything else he’d ever tried to accomplish. All he’d sacrificed, all he’d given, and for what? To become a monster, to become someone beyond saving. To become a MURDERER! To kill one of his close friends with his own hand…

Pain is death, death is irrevocable. He’d made those words the mantra of one of his greatest fictional creations for a reason: They were two indubitable truths, two unquestionable realities everyone would have to face, two facts that drove the basic instincts of fear and survival: To avoid that pain, to avoid that death. But there had been another part, something else the naïve Zero had thought without thinking, had known without knowing, but he himself seemed to have forgotten. Do not succumb to the absolute. For death was absolute, as was what he’d done, as was his mistake.

This was something he could not overcome. This was something he could not face. Weldar was dead, and it was his fault. It couldn’t be over.

The air in the room cooled, their breath came in clouds. With a slight crackling noise the fluids in their cups froze over. Quaetam sat silent at the head chair, his face stoic, but with one fist clenched, and the fork still held within frozen and cracking. His left hand gripped the chair’s ornate handle with an intensity that whitened his knuckles.

NO!
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

Post  Raya on Sat Dec 24, 2011 4:24 pm

Spoiler:
Thanks to Perry and Q for their input.

There was complete and total pandemonium. The air grew frigid, chairs clattered to the floor, Camilla threw herself shrieking at her friend's body and above it all stood Perry, filled with complete silent fury, his harsh glare burning holes through Quaetam.

"You see what he's done?" hissed Perry "All his bullshit talk about a higher purpose and the greater good. Weldar's dead because of him. He killed him in cold blood!"

"Perry, please-" started Fed.

"He's a murderer, Fed!" roared Perry "He's a complete fucking monster! Don't you dare defend him!"

Fed looked round in despair towards Raya, hoping that their leader would diffuse the situation before things got out of hand. Instead she was sitting there silently, head bowed and eyes closed as though deep in thought, pinching the bridge of nose. To his alarm the orange of her lifeforce was seeping tendrils of red as though her very aura was bleeding. He made to speak when her eyes shot open and she lunged to her feet, slamming her hands down on the table.

"GET OUT! All of you, get out!!" She thundered with a snarl of command "You," she whirled and pointed at Quaetam, the venom unmistakable in her voice "Are staying here."

There was a stunned silence, nobody expecting such a reaction from the normally placid Brit. Some of the more timid members began to shuffle cautiously towards the door, but Perry was having none of it.

"Oh what, now you're suddenly miss leadership?! Fuck off. I ain't going anywhere. You're a fucking hypocrite, Raya, and you can go-"

Fed placed a hand on his shoulder and the faun whirled, ready to verbally retaliate, but something in the look Fed gave him dissuaded him. His own expression faltered, then he snarled and spun on his hoof, storming out the room. With a nod from Fed the others followed suit.

The door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the pictures on the walls. The silence that followed was deafening. Quaetam remained where he sat at the head of the table. He was holding himself together by a thread, teetering on the edge of a breakdown. He stared straight forward, his gaze fixed, his face set, but there was a tremble in his fists and in his gaze she could see something building. Deliberately Raya slid her chair back and moved towards him. He didn't respond. She stood beside him and with a snarl pulled her arm back as though to strike him, but paused and slowly lowered it.

There was a long silence, and then Quaetam spoke.

"Kill me."

"No," she said.

"Why not? I deserve it."

"Because...I couldn't possibly inflict any more pain on you than what you're feeling right now."

Quaetam looked up at her and saw, rather than anger, her expression was one of immense pity and sorrow. And something finally gave way. For months, years he had maintained a bastion around his emotions, keeping himself completely in check, revealing only what was beneficial, but now, faced with everything he'd done, everything he'd become, with the constant trauma of the past day, the harsh but deserved words of his former friends, and the monstrous, unspeakable act he'd committed on one of their number...

The Hierophant slumped down in his chair, hands clutched to his head, the shimmer of a barely restrained tear in his eye.

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"Foxes never lose their tricks, do they?" - Quaetman
"We'll be going about our business one day and then someone will be like "hm, where's Barda" and Raya will all suspiciously be like "WELL DON'T LOOK AT ME"..." - Rocket Admin Camilla
King Avalanche:
Spoiler:

FUCK YOU RAYA.

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

AND

FUUUUUUCKKKKK YOOOOOUUUUU

the one time I trust you with my back and you plant a dagger in it.
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Re: Dark Before The Dawn- RP thread

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