Tal's Cloak [OLD - RP Only]

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vrmn
Posts: 6
Joined: Fri Jan 05, 2018 2:53 am

Tal's Cloak [OLD - RP Only]

Post by vrmn » Fri Jan 05, 2018 3:27 am

Around his middle years, Tal was gifted a cloak of living flesh by the emissaries of Logor -- and they say that demons aren't generous! The imm who orchestrated this was/is a tremendous roleplayer, and I struggled to keep up with him. Tal also kept a dagger he received during this visit for the rest of his days -- well, pretended to, anyway.

Some of the potential spoilers have been censored, in case the thing still exists.

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A swarm of tiny, flickering shadows zoom into the hall, swirling and buzzing
loudly in tight, coordinated circles.

The tiny shadows suddenly converge, forming into a shadowy figure.

The Hall of the Shunned
From the archway in the far eastern wall a corridor of high granite
pillars march down the length of this great hall, supporting the series of
lofty vaults which rise, ever greater, to the magnificent dome above the
dais to the west. Beyond the two rows of pillars, to the north and south,
the high walls of the hall rise, lit by brightly burning braziers.
Offsetting the ancient, quartz-streaked stone, hangings of fine fabric and
deep, rich colours, emblazoned with a multitude of arcane symbols, drape
between the pillars and hang high on the chamber walls. Here in the center
of the hall is set a circle of five high-backed stone chairs, each
emblazoned with a different symbol.

[Exits: north east south west]
A shadow-cloaked being crouches low near the ground, grasping a thin dagger.

A shadow-cloaked being rasps 'My Lord and Dragon.'

Tal inclines his head, offering, formally, in arcane, 'N'jeth Atthagh... my
greetings.'

A shadow-cloaked being quivers with energy, voice low and taut 'We bring word
from Logor, my Lord.'

A shadow-cloaked being rasps thinly 'And...other places.'

Tal curls his fingers about the unembellished armrests of the chair, prompting,
in arcane, 'What from the City of Iron?'

A shadow-cloaked being notes 'A rare convocation of the greater Lords, or their
Wills, is upon Us. The Chosen of Tzet-Ashkari is not unheeded during this
congress of thought.'

A shadow-cloaked being steps uncomfortably close, talons bared. Empty eye
sockets peer into yours.

A shadow-cloaked being rasps 'Will you see?'

Tal drums his fingertips methodically on the armrest, meeting your gaze, in
arcane, 'I will see.'

A shadow-cloaked being seizes you in an iron, razor grasp!
Blood flows down your arms, and the world spins about you...

A Tall Spire, High Above the City of Logor
A red glow emanates from everwhere and nowhere atop this spire, which
seems to be but one of many such hole-riddled edifices in the general
vicinity. The spires bristle upward in their thousands from a vast mass of
viscous magma and burning black slag. The lower parts of the great spires
are, particularly towards the rim of the city, heated to a molten glow,
while their upper reaches vary in texture from twisting bundles of glassy
fibre to thick, reflective slabs of rock. Rust-coloured iron bridges
connect adjacent spires, or in some places leap high above the surface of
the city in precarious highways. The myriad denizens of the city, the
thousand breeds of demonkind who are the citizens of the void city Logor,
travel across these bridges and through the spires, their actions masked by
distance.

The immediate vicinity appears to be more structured than the others. In
the surface of the volcanic glass is a pentagram, perfectly formed and
flawless. Each line of the pentagram extends deeply into the surface of the
glass, and each bit flows into the others endlessly.

[Exits: none]
A shadow-cloaked being crouches low near the ground, grasping a thin dagger.

Slowly, you emerge from unconsciousness.

You are naked, and it is unbearably hot.

A shadow-cloaked being rasps from somewhere behind you 'Witness the grandeur...
and might...of Logor.'

You think '... and this is Logor.'

All about you, fumes and smokes fill the vast, spreading landscape.

Tal clambers to his feet, beads of sweat forming across his smooth countenance.

You stand up.

A shadow-cloaked being gurgles quietly 'Many of Our past forms are bound in the
planes of the damned, my Lord. Physical bodies, tied to their torment.'

A shadow-cloaked being twitches, shuddering 'Several...here...'

A shadow-cloaked being reaches out, in a gesture of longing and lust and desire.

Remaining motionless, Tal casts a lingering gaze over the broken topography and
blasphemous architecture. He licks his thin lips.

A shadow-cloaked being states in a high, fluting tenor 'With this meeting of
wills...of things Greater...We are permitted to make a Gift.'

With a faint *puff* of black fume, a syndic of Khamurn erupts into existence.

A shadow-cloaked being nods at a syndic of Khamurn.

A shadow-cloaked being rasps 'It approaches time.'

Tal does not break his gaze, responding, in arcane, 'It would only be
appropriate.'

A syndic of Khamurn chitters in agreement 'So we are ready.'

You notice a small spring at one corner of the pentagram.

Tal threads his fingers together, dipping his head in a nod. He answers, in
arcane, 'We are ready.'

The stream of brackish water turns foul and opaque, congealing in putrid lumps.

Like a weeping wound, the water wells up, forming a pool of filth.

The putrescence congeals, leaving behind a shapeless form of tentacles and shadow.

The Tide of Bahhaoth shudders and convulses.

The Tide of Bahhaoth opens an orifice and seems to speak, though no voice
reaches your ears.

'We come as bidden by the Queen.'

A shadow-cloaked being nods gravely to the tide.

A shadow-cloaked being gurgles, voice grim with fear 'There is no sense in
delay, then.'

A shadow-cloaked being yells 'Ia Logor!'

A shadow-cloaked being yells 'Bring forth those who are Punished!'

A syndic of Khamurn yells 'Let them serve the Master!'

The Tide of Bahhaoth writhes in on itself.

'Their flesh shall be rent from form, that their agony may be complete and their
use even Greater!'

A shadow-cloaked being steps to one vertice of the pentagram.

A syndic of Khamurn positions itself at the second convergence.

The tide...shifts, covering the third.

A shadow-cloaked being throws its head back, baying into the sulfurous air.

A shadow-cloaked being yells 'Ia Logor! Let them be brought forth!'

Tal lets his eyes drift from one vertex to the next, purposefully assuming a
position on the fourth.

A shadow-cloaked being nods at a Logorin taskmaster.

A shadow-cloaked being inquires in a high, gibbering tone 'You are prepared,
then?'

A Logorin taskmaster simply nods, stepping to the fifth vertice.

A Logorin taskmaster raises its arms.

With a shriek of pain, the Scorpion, spreads its arms wide.

Through the air about you, tiny pieces of shadow flicker and spin as before.
This time, however, they seem to be far more substantial.
Each piece, a piece of flesh and bone.

The Tide of Bahhaoth convulses hungrily.

With the passing of midnight, it is now Endenday, 30th day of The Setting.

A syndic of Khamurn chitters 'By the Will of Khamurn, I bind the Fallen to this
place.'

The pieces shiver and swirl together, numberless.

A shadow-cloaked being cries 'Let the Damned serve their master! Come forth,
fallen!'

The pieces converge, slowly shaping a horrific amalgam.

A Logorin taskmaster barks 'In the name of the Iron Throne, we call the Fallen
from our city, from one servitude, to the next.'

You can suddenly...no longer move.
Pain surges through you, white-hot.

Tal parts his lips to howl in pain, but the sound is squelched before it takes
form.

The Tide of Bahhaoth stretches forth a tenebrous appendage.

'And let them be....FLAYED!'

The last word is a howl, an agony to your mind.

The last of the flitting pieces is bound to the central form, a woeful mishmash
of flesh and muscle and bone.

Shapeless, the form's skin is a patchwork of bleeding flesh, random appendages
and shards of bone bound up with eyes, organs, and other viscera.

The mass quivers before you.

A shadow-cloaked being rasps 'Let the embassy of Tzet-Ashkari have the first.'

A syndic of Khamurn nods 'So shall it be.'

You can move, though the agony threatens to overwhelm your senses.

Through the red haze of pain, you find a razor, long and wickedly sharp, in your
hand.

A Logorin taskmaster gives a booming, echoing cough 'So... let... them... be...
Flayed!'

A Logorin taskmaster cracks a razor-tipped cat'o'nine-tails.

The Tide of Bahhaoth seems to look at you.

Tal leans on his staff, letting the ebony haft bear his weight. Glinting in the
flickering, red glow of magma, a wicked blade curves in his left hand.

'What of the flesh shall Tzet-Ashkari's voice choose?'

Ethron, ch'taren, human...all are bound together in the bleeding, oozing body of
bodies before you.

Methodically, Tal approaches the quivering mass of flesh and bone, eyes drifting
over its formless form. His left arm hangs languidly at his side, fingers
curling about the blade's hilt.

A syndic of Khamurn cradles a sharp, bladelike claw.

Tal brings the blade to level with his face, eyes observing the demon-wrought
steel. He blinks, seeing no reflection.

Overhead, a trio of small fire imps wing their way into the distance.

A shadow-cloaked being watches in an agony of anticipation and suspense.

Tal intones, murmuring over the wickedly curved blade, before lifting it high
overhead, in arcane, 'I choose the Clay, the wretched ones, the Breakers of
Oaths and Breakers of Worlds. I choose to remember.'

A Logorin taskmaster grins evilly.

A syndic of Khamurn chuckles drily.

Tal lets his hand fall, wicked blade seemingly an extension of his slender arm
as it strikes the quivering mass.

A shadow-cloaked being throws its head back, a screaming howl tearing its way
from its throat!

Suddenly, the other demons descend upon the mass of bodies, hacking and flaying
in an ordered frenzy!

Blood spurts and whips past you, demonic blades slicing and flensing away strips
of skin with immortal accuracy.

A shadow-cloaked being screams, and screams, and screams.

Gradually, the orgy of violence ceases, and the flayed mass of flesh puddles to
the ground.

A syndic of Khamurn steps back, four arms draped with strips of bleeding skin.

A Logorin taskmaster carefully picks patches of skin from its flail.

A shadow-cloaked being clenches its shapeless jaw with great effort.

The Tide of Bahhaoth trembles within its own shadow.

A shadow-cloaked being murmurs 'It is done. Let the bodies return to their...
tasks.'

A Logorin taskmaster nods at a shadow-cloaked being.

A Logorin taskmaster cracks its flail, and the body of bodies vanishes in a
cloud of ichor.

A syndic of Khamurn chants 'And so let us make a vessel for the mortal,
unified.'

A shadow-cloaked being lays out the still-twitching pieces of skin and flesh on
the ground in the center of the pentagram.

A syndic of Khamurn clatters forward, carefully, adding its own choice pieces to
the pattern on the ground.

With a surge, the tide passes forward, and back again. Where it was, more skin
has been added to the work.

A Logorin taskmaster stoops, swiftly and purposefully placing its own selections
in the remaining spaces.

You notice one space, left in the center.

A shadow-cloaked being nods at you.

High overhead, a great flock of fire imps dips and swirls its way towards the
spire.

Tal lets his gaze dart from the demon-wrought blade hanging loosely in his hand,
to the crumpled, silver-char flesh at his feet. He picks it up, not
relinquishing his grasp on the knife.

The column of wheeling, darting imps descends lower and lower, their shrieks
audible over the continual ebb and flow of the furnace-air.

Tal adds the scarred, silvery sheaf of flesh to the patchwork.

A syndic of Khamurn chitters 'And it is completed. Let the Will of Khamurn be
bound in the design.'

A syndic of Khamurn steps forward, holding up a small piece of jewelry for all
to see.

A syndic of Khamurn places the brooch at one corner of the pieces.

The Tide of Bahhaoth quivers, speaking.

'The Queen sends a token, as well, simple though it may be.'

With another movement of a shadowy arm, a second, silvery brooch appears at the
second corner.

The cloud of imps descends to the spire, whirling about the top in a deafening,
burning cloud.

The fire imp shrieks, leading the head of the column!

A Logorin taskmaster bellows 'And let Logor bind these gifts together, with
Order and Fire...and Steel!'

A Logorin taskmaster draws a great length of fine, thin steel wire out, tossing
it to the cloud of imps!

The imps shriek and wail, descending on the bits of flesh!

With a roar of heat and flame, the skin is obstructed from view.

A shadow-cloaked being looks on in triumph.

A shadow-cloaked being yells 'Ia Tzet-Ashkari!'

A Logorin taskmaster yells 'Ia Logor!'

A syndic of Khamurn yells 'Ia Khamurin-an!'

'Ia Bahhaoth!'

Suddenly, the imps scatter and vanish, pelting away with demonic haste!

Where the mass of imps was, a cloak now lies.

A syndic of Khamurn mentions quietly 'So let the mortal see our handiwork.'

A pale cloak painstakingly stitched together from strips of skin lies here.

A Logorin taskmaster chortles 'It is done. I will continue my work, as bidden
by the Throne. Such sweet screams, you provide me, Scorpion.'

A Logorin taskmaster vanishes in a dark cloud.

The Tide of Bahhaoth convulses briefly.

'See, and take, mortal.'

Tal lets his eyes move from shadow-cloaked form, to the patchwork robe laying
near his feet.

Tentatively, Tal lifts the cloak off the ground, unfurling a tapestry of sinew
and flesh, painstakingly conjoined by threads of steel.

You get a pale, billowing cloak of living skin.

A syndic of Khamurn looks on, bemused satisfaction in its composite eyes.

A shadow-cloaked being murmurs weakly 'If you suffer it fitting, Lord, let it
adorn your shoulders.'

Tal holds the billowing cloak in his hands, eyes washing over its blasphemous
perfection.

Purposefully, Tal swirls the cloak around his form, a chorus of dissonant
shrieks wailing from the spire-top as it falls over his slender shoulders.

You stop using the Robe of Ages.
You wear a pale, billowing cloak of living skin about your torso.

The Tide of Bahhaoth seems to almost chortle, dark and purposeful.

A syndic of Khamurn states 'You bear two symbols. One, of the Magistrate.'

Tal threads the length of ch'taren sinew, fastening the cloak to his form, eyes
moving over the two brooches.

A shadow-cloaked being says 'Bound in it is power given from the Magistrate
himself. You need only touch it to awaken its power.'

A syndic of Khamurn chants '"****"'

Tal traces a fingertip lightly over the iron brooch.

A syndic of Khamurn states 'Once primed, these words shall open the power to
your will, Chosen.'

A syndic of Khamurn urges dryly 'Taste it, mortal, for it is a sweet thing.'

Tal sinks his head into a low bow, touching the iron brooch.

You reach up and touch the iron and onyx brooch.
The iron brooch stirs with power beneath your fingers.

Tal intones, as instructed, in arcane, '****'

A haze of power swims through your head, and a demonic voice growls an arcane
command.

After a long moment, you feel the dreamworld at your fingertips.

A syndic of Khamurn gives a silent, chitinous nod.

The Tide of Bahhaoth trembles, surging forward.

'The red Eye, you also bear.'

The iron brooch draws on your energy.

'Stroke Her symbol into arousal, and then...speak: '

'"****"'

You reach up and touch the silver brooch.
The silver brooch stirs with power beneath your fingers.

Tal chants in a low voice, in arcane, '****'

The eye at the center of the silver brooch seems to widen...and then blink.

With a disorienting swirl of dark energies, your soul is thrust into alertness!

The Tide of Bahhaoth flexes several appendages in an odd nod.

'So it is completed.'

A syndic of Khamurn says 'So it is made.'

A syndic of Khamurn gives a jointed, fluid bow 'And so I depart. Fare thee
well, mortal.'

A syndic of Khamurn casts a bemused glance over you, disappearing.

Tal inclines his head to the syndic's chitinous form as it disperses.

Wordlessly, the tide melts back into the pool.

You are alone on the flat tip of the spire, infernal winds breathing past you.

A shadow-cloaked being gurgles in a deathly whisper 'I shall return you, my
Lord. Then I...must rest.'

Tal draws the folds of the cloak around his slender frame, casting a long glance
over the infernal landscape.

A shadow-cloaked being turns, seizing you once more by the arms.

Once again, you slip into nothingness.
Slowly, you stir, and emerge, and awaken.

Tal looks across familiar surroundings once more, moving his eyes from the
sumptuous tapestries, to the impossibly smooth, ancient stonework.
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