[RP] Denlhor talks to Ataasyia about removing the sigil of the Wrath of the Gods

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Wendell
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[RP] Denlhor talks to Ataasyia about removing the sigil of the Wrath of the Gods

Post by Wendell » Sun Apr 28, 2019 1:38 pm

[Initial Note:]

Mistress Zielistala,

I hope that my reaching out to you does not offend you, as I am given to understand that you may be a source for information that I seek. If you do not know me, I am Denlhor Cuyeren, the Twice-Cursed, as they have come to call me, hoping to humble me before Gods and men.

For more than a decade now I have felt the Wrath of the Gods, but have refused to bow to Their disdain. I will not rescind my words that we are all better off without Them, nor will I beg Them for shelter. However, I am hoping that a way can be found to separate this Wrath from my body. I am told that you likely know more of this sigil than other mortals, and thus I write you this day. If you can spare the time, I would appreciate learning if there is anything to be done, that you know of.

[signed General Denlhor Cuyeren]


# You open the heavily-reinforced door.
#
# west
# A Fortified Library
# This large room is cool and dark, a stark contrast to the Wastes
# outside. The western and southern walls are lined with dark wooden
# bookshelves; in addition to books, a number of pouches, bags, and boxes fill
# them. The floor is meticulously clean, with no sign of sand, dust, or dirt
# from the outside visible at all. A strange white sigil is set into the
# floor, covered in part by a couch, a desk, and some chairs. A hole in the
# ceiling is protected by a magical field, tinted dark to dim the sun; a few
# glowing orbs throughout the room provide light otherwise. A counter runs
# parallel to the northern wall, more boxes and bags laid out on it. An
# austere little cot is set out behind the counter, below a number of racks
# covered by a moth-eaten tartan cloth. Just past the counter is a
# rune-marked door, leading deeper inside. A heavy, reinforced door in the
# eastern wall leads outside.
#
# [Exits: (north) east]
# (Translucent) A reed-thin caladaran sits here in quiet contemplation.
# The granite golem has arrived from the east.
# A Grand Federation protector has arrived from the east.
# Ataasyia taps her finger against the edge of a book.
#
# A wooden stool suddenly scuttles in.
#
# The wooden stool creaks a little, almost as if it's whining plaintively at you.
#
# Denlhor offers a quick bow of his head to Ataasyia.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Ah. Yes.'
#
# The wooden stool scampers about you happily.
#
# Denlhor admits, 'I appreciate you finding the time to speak with me.'
#
# You stumble a little as the wooden stool gets itself tangled in your feet.
#
# You stumble a little as the wooden stool gets itself tangled in your feet.
#
# The wooden stool rubs against your leg lovingly.
#
# Denlhor shuffles about, casting a glance at the crowd around him.
#
# You think, 'Hopefully she does not mind a crowd.'
#
# The wooden stool wiggles happily as you sit on it.
# You sit on a wooden stool.
#
# Ataasyia places a book aside, and says, in arcane, 'It continues to exist. I must do something with it.'
#
# You get a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe from a patchwork robe.
#
# Denlhor begins to raise a pipe to his lips before hesitating. He asks, 'May I?'
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'If you wish.'
#
# You stop using a rune-covered onyx shield.
# You hold a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe in your hand.
#
# A slow cloud of smoke rises from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor stokes a well-smoked meershaum pipe before tamping it down and finding a cozy point of burning. He mentions, 'I was given to understand that you may something of an... expert, as it were, on the Curse that the Gods see so fit to throw about to those that displease them.'
#
# The night's chill rapidly dissipates as the sun begins to beat down upon the plains once more.
#
# You are currently sitting.
# Your pose has been set to: straight-backed and uncomfortable.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Insofar as anyone might be.'
#
# You puff carefully at the pipe, then exhale a ring of smoke.
#
# A slow cloud of smoke rises from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor puffs a few times as he silently considers his words, finally offering, 'Have you been able to find a way to... abate the symptoms?'
#
# Ataasyia leans her head back, and says, in arcane, 'I suppose you could die, and refuse Lielqan's gift.'
#
# Denlhor leans back a bit, considering your advice.
#
# You take a long, slow puff from the pipe, savoring the back-note of whiskey to its flavour. You breathe out a stream of smoke.
#
# The aromatic scent of tobacco accompanies a curl of smoke from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor asks, 'And beyond that? Have you found no way to... break, or scar, the sigil, to remove the more... adverse effects?'
#
# Denlhor grinds his teeth a bit before admitting, 'I have platinum... plenty to someone who could find a way assist me in this.'
# Ataasyia looks at you.
#
# You think, 'She hardly seems the type to need platinum. I hope I haven't offended her.'
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'That seems unwise. The gods will not be more pleased at such an attempt to subvert them.'
#
# You think, 'Damn these Dragon followers. I cannot imagine what would move them.'
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Whatever it is that you did to spite them-- their anger would only be renewed.'
#
# A sickening emptiness sweeps over you, as you realize the gods have truly abandoned you.
# (hehe, it’s almost poetic)
# Denlhor frowns for a moment, then shakes his head, saying, 'I'm not the type to worry over the pleasure of the Gods. They left The People long ago, cursing us for striving to be more.'
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Ataasyia lifts her hand and says, in arcane, 'And yet you are here because of the consequence of their displeasure.'
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor leans back, carefully considering your words.
#
# You take a long draw at the pipe, then let smoke flow from your nostrils like a waterfall.
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor motions towards the sigil branded upon him, saying, 'Yes. I suppose I am. But there is a difference between dealing with a thing, and submitting to it. As long as there is a hope to scar the brand, I will search it out.'
#
# A slow curl of smoke wafts from the end of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# You puff carefully at the pipe, then exhale a ring of smoke.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'There is none.'
#
# Denlhor furrows his brow, frowning.
#
# You say, 'Then I suppose that is all I needed to hear.'
#
# You stand up.
#
# The wooden stool creaks a little, almost as if it's whining plaintively at you.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'If you wish to submit to it--'
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor asks, 'Unless there was anything else you could add? No hope I can work towards?'
#
# You stumble a little as the wooden stool gets itself tangled in your feet.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Then you should die, and deny Lielqan's gift.'
#
# A slow cloud of smoke rises from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor grinds his teeth, looking frustrated at the idea.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'To persist despite this stain up on you...'
#
# A slow curl of smoke wafts from the end of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# You say, 'I will not bow. I will not die. I will *not* give Them that satisfaction.'
#
# The wooden stool creaks a little, almost as if it's whining plaintively at you.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Precisely.'
#
# The air begins to grow colder as the desert night falls.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'If you refuse to submit, then you will persist despite what is done to you. Despite whatever transgression you have committed.'
#
# The wooden stool butts into you playfully.
#
# The wooden stool sidles up to you.
#
# The wooden stool hops around you in a happy little circle.
#
# The wooden stool scampers about you happily.
#
# The aromatic scent of tobacco accompanies a curl of smoke from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# The wooden stool rubs against your leg lovingly.
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor nods his head, a continued frustration plain upon his face as he nods, 'Yes... Of course. I had thought there might be some recourse, but plainly I am mistaken. I apologize for taking your time.'
#
# The wooden stool butts into you playfully.
#
# You say, 'If this is all you can offer, I will be on my way.'
#
# The wooden stool sidles up to you.
#
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'There is no recourse save for the road you already walk. Do not falter.'
#
# The wooden stool butts into you playfully.
#
# The wooden stool rubs against your leg lovingly.
#
# Denlhor offers a simple nod of his head, as if you uttered a self-evident truth.
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# The aromatic scent of tobacco accompanies a curl of smoke from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor replies, 'A stand as a testiment for my people. I will continue to lead them, and strive to show them what they can be.'
#
# The wooden stool hops around you in a happy little circle.
#
# Ataasyia nods sagely.
#
# The wooden stool creaks a little, almost as if it's whining plaintively at you.
#
# A slow cloud of smoke rises from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# A fragrant scent of smoke drifts from the bowl of a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# Denlhor grunts, 'Well, if you require anything that may assist you testing further, you are welcome to contact me. I appreciate the time you've taken, and am... in your debt.'
#
# The wooden stool hops around you in a happy little circle.
#
# A slow cloud of smoke rises from a well-smoked golden-brown meerschaum pipe.
#
# You think, 'Shit, did I say that? Do I want to be debt to a follower of the Dragon?'
# Ataasyia says, in arcane, 'Of course.'
Do ch'taren dream of translucent sheep?
_________________
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