The apple is cold, crisp, and sour as the juices fill your mouth. As you consume the fruit, you glimpse, for a moment, a massive, shadowy figure, Her snow-white hair framing a perfect, icy-eyed visage. Beneath you, a vast, perfect web of silken strands lies - and, for a moment, you realize that you too are part of it, weaver and strand both - and home.
Howdy, Stranger!
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Tarkenton's Ascension
After the wild nodes settled down, we managed to gather enough together. It's a shame a lot of people missed this. But here it is to read!
@Rancoura - I pretty much followed our script. It was hard doing this without you.
Special thanks to @Astraea and @Tarkenton, as well as @Siam, @Stratas, @Emar, @Lerad and @Xenthos who did not make it for planning this with me.
-
Her lips curling at the corners, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia intones, "Let us begin, then. At last."
Salome fluidly lifts her hands - the mystic veil of the writhing shadows around her rising from her sky clad form only to return to it with the dewiness of the fae cloaking each mote that sparkles around her like swallowed stars. Through the hollow of her throat she exhales, and expounds the faceless shade of something caught within the depths of her mortal frame quickly takes shape in the haze of the hungering shadows. Even as it rises before her, it settles with a silence around the Fathertree in effortless grace possessing in its clutches an ancient silver bowl. Floating from its hands, the vessel gleams as it touches the cracked earth and thick roots beneath Salome's naked feet.
With a flourish, you slip a shadowy katana into an unadorned iron and leather scabbard.
Before the Master Ravenwood Tree.
The dark heart of Glomdoring Forest is almost audibly beating in this, its shadowy centre. Tall, blackened trees surround this clearing, pressing together into an imposing barrier of rotten vegetation. Moulds and fungi are smeared across the plants, their pungent stench suffusing the forest. The branches are coated in dark slime, slick tendrils that hang downwards. Although a variety of trees might actually grow here, the black tar that coats them renders them indistinguishable. A thin black mist creeps between the trees, hanging low across the ground. The floor of the clearing itself is simply bare earth, cracked and dry. Overshadowing all is the Master Ravenwood Tree itself, jutting into the sky like a twisted fist. The sound of laughing crows echoes down from the treetops, a harsh sound for the ears below. The atmosphere vibrates with a palpable power. Brennan Stormcrow paces here, his cadaverous body twitching with sudden jerks. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a bat around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a spider around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a beetle around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a wasp around its skull. The Master Ravenwood Tree towers over everything here, pulsing with an immeasurable yet dark power. There are 15 dark nighthags here. A mature rowan tree stands proudly here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. There are 5 black direwolves here. There are 2 bottles here. A furry tarantula crouches here, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey. There are 4 shadowlord widowriders here. Covered in bone armour, a giant bat hangs here, wings folded about its body and one beady eye open. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 10 illithoid scourges here. Rimed in snow and ice, the darkened, crystalline form of the Eisenglass Needle rises from the ground. A crudely crafted shrine of harsh black crystal stands here, thrumming powerfully. In the shape of an open palm, a metallic sigil lies here. A fresh vegetable platter is here. Snarling and slavering, a massive midnight blue rage worg with glossy black wings waits here. Wyrden Scourge Zac, Tender of the Swarms is here. Jingling and jangling, a playful jester cavorts about your surroundings. Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia blackens the area here with the cold presence of Mother Night. She wields a sinuous whip of conquered shadows in her left hand and an athame dagger in her right. Astraea, Devout of Night blackens the area here with the cold presence of Mother Night. She wields a magic tome in her left hand.
You see a single exit leading north.
With a crooked finger raised toward Tarkenton, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Child of the Wyrd, servant of Night, Crow and Glomdoring -- the blessings of the Heart of Darkness be upon you."
A flutter of her feathery wings spreading out at her side, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Night's all-seeing eyes have settled upon you, and She has found you worthy." She strides forward, her dark eyes boring into each of the other wyrden present. "But She does not give without receiving in return."
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says to you, "She demands sacrifice, for through Her we serve the Dark Forest, and it is by giving both ourselves and the spilled blood of our enemies to the Glomdoring that it flourishes and thrives."
A large shadow flits across the edge of your vision for a bare instant, vanishing between the trees.
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.
Salome clenches a fist silently, and the shadows around her begin to agitate and mix with ominous lines of ambition in a ballet upon the air.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says to you, "You. Will you offer yourself to the Dark Mother?"
In a low rumble, you say to Salome, "I offer all that I am, and all that I shall ever be, to Her for this opportunity to servce the Wyrd, Seneschal."
A cold smile looming in the shadows beyond her wings, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "In taking your willing sacrifice this night, we deliver unto you the blessing of the Night's eternal darkness." From the shadows, they scatter and writhe throughout the forest of Glomdoring as speedy, viscous apparitions, returning straight for the bowl at the faeling's feet - The feather of a crow, the thorny briar rose of obsidian and the earth of the wyrd all placed within. "May She accept it."
Salome Nightshade strikes with a swift imepl, her talons snagging at you with a great pull as her athame drives a deep wound along his wrist. The blood spills upon the ground at first, and then with a twist of her own hand into the bowl in an ebbing spatter.
Tarkenton's body shakes slightly as the blow hits, then goes still once more as he looks down at the blood soaking the dark soil within the silver bowl.
Salome scoops the bowl up into her arms, her hands quickly mixing each of the ingredients together - sending specks of lifeblood all around as the great clouds of shadows scythe through even the movement of the faeling to siphon into the silver vessel. She stares deeply into it for a time, and as something rises within it she lifts the bowl to the open heavens through the crooked boughs and cries, "Mother of Darkness, Mistress of Undying Shadow, Beauty of the Eventide. We, Your children, seek the deliverance of Your blessing upon another of Your children -- Tarkenton, who willingly submits himself to You!"
Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.
The sound of wings flapping heralds a screeching murder of crows flying overhead.
With a great shudder, crimson lightning strikes through the silver bowl alighting Salome
Nightshade's face with menace as the shadow that once rested within now spew out as ribbons of sickly mauve light, lazily grasping you in a vice and dragging you down to your knees, whilst your ursine head rests just above the soil.
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
The heavens alight with a rich purple glow as dusk begins to settle in, preparing the First World for the coming night.
Salome Nightshade lowers the bowl to the roots, her eyes flashing with shadowfire as the entirety of her frame elongates as she stands before you.
Salome's aura of weapons rebounding disappears.
Your masochistic tendencies go into remission.
Salome grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you forward into an embrace. Her cold lips press against the neck, and you are momentarily frozen in pain as your lifeforce is sucked from you.
Salome Nightshade suddenly steps backwards with a hover of wings, watching as the Fathertree begins to sway with a cold gale. That which holds you to the ground pulls and consumes you tighter, as if prepared to rend you apart with violent force as the weighing presence of Night enters the glen to take what is rightfully Hers.
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.
Tarkenton's shoulders bunch up against the force pressing him downwards, appearing to fight against the invisible assailant for a few moments before he closes his eyes and relaxes, muscles going limp as his forehead makes soft contact with the ground in a gesture of surrender.
Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.
A black direwolf tilts back his head in a low, resonant howl.
Salome Nightshade shields her face with a lift of haggard talons in the face of Night's endless, eternal beauty as the force around you dissipates. Even as the shadows crawl upwards to consume the last visible part of the tae'dae's form something squirms and alters within the dark cocoon. The screams, hoarsely echo around the Glomdoring as the last crack of crimson lightning scours the darkness open to reveal you, his eyes swirling with dark, untold power.
Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar
constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.
Odd sounds echo through the gloomy forest, their source undetermined.
Salome harshly exhales once more, the shadows retreating as the gale gentles to a dusky breeze that brings to life the sound of raucous calls of the murders of the wyrden forest, the sound of prey expiring, the boughs of ravenwoods groaning. When she turns to the other wyrden, she nods in silent cue, desiring them to move forward.
Salome tells you, "We will strike now, my only love."
Astraea steps forward, silent and observant.
Tarkenton blinks, his previously bright green eyes now swirling with twisting, restless shadows.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Strike now, wyrden."
[We hit him lots.]
With a flourish, Zac draws a scorpion-shaped nekai from a majestic scorpion scabbard etched with runes.
Salome grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you forward into an embrace. Her cold lips press against the neck, and you are momentarily frozen in pain as your lifeforce is sucked from you.As the last dregs of your lifeforce are sucked out of you, darkness comes and folds around you, taking you into the cold hands of death.
You have been slain by Salome.
The mortal threads of your being severed, you scream in agony as the Divine spark within you enfolds your body with scorching flames.
Salome opens the powers of the Master Ravenwood Tree to you.
You step towards the Master Ravenwood Tree as Salome unlocks its deepest powers. You place your hands on it and it creaks and groans wildly, drinking of its shadowy essence as thrumming power fills the air and pours through your mortal coil. The ethereal, haunting forms of the Great Spirits briefly fill the air around the Master Ravenwood Tree, chief among them Mother Night and Brother Crow, as you are suffused by incredible powers, and rise as a Vernal Ascendant!
A new Ascendant rises! By decree of Dark Seneschal Salome and with full support of the Shadow Court, let it be known that the Free Collective of Glomdoring has this day imbued Tarkenton with the energies of the Master Ravenwood Tree, raising a Vernal Ascendant!
@Kierstin tells you, "Congratulations."
Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.
Ghostly voices echo softly, combining into a haunting melody.
Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia murmurs, "So does Night grant Her blessing, so does She take what She wills. The Night reigns eternal, and the Wyrd thrives, for nothing matters but Glomdoring."
@Tremula tells you, "Congratulations. You certainly deserve it."
You feel your soul drawn suddenly back into your body, and when you open your eyes, you see Salome
Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia looking at you as you lean against the Master Ravenwood Tree.
(m&mf): Welcome back to life! System unpaused.
Wyrden Scourge Zac, Tender of the Swarms says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."
In a rush of summery warmth, the rich smell of grasses and flowers rises around Kregarn in a sultry wind. Briefly, his face is dappled with patterns of sunlight through waving grasses.
Ghostly voices echo softly, combining into a haunting melody.
Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 18th of Klangiary, 425 years after the Coming of Estarra.
You see Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia shout, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring."
Telperion tells you, "Push back the taint sir. They plague us."
You see Astraea, Devout of Night shout, "Glory be to Glomdoring."
K'liane Nienla Stormcrow, the Nightmare of Crow shouts, "Glory be to the Glomdoring, ai! It is good to see that in the years we have been absent, Magnagora remains as asinine and good for naught but stuffing in a nest."
@Rancoura - I pretty much followed our script. It was hard doing this without you.
Special thanks to @Astraea and @Tarkenton, as well as @Siam, @Stratas, @Emar, @Lerad and @Xenthos who did not make it for planning this with me.
-
Her lips curling at the corners, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia intones, "Let us begin, then. At last."
Salome fluidly lifts her hands - the mystic veil of the writhing shadows around her rising from her sky clad form only to return to it with the dewiness of the fae cloaking each mote that sparkles around her like swallowed stars. Through the hollow of her throat she exhales, and expounds the faceless shade of something caught within the depths of her mortal frame quickly takes shape in the haze of the hungering shadows. Even as it rises before her, it settles with a silence around the Fathertree in effortless grace possessing in its clutches an ancient silver bowl. Floating from its hands, the vessel gleams as it touches the cracked earth and thick roots beneath Salome's naked feet.
With a flourish, you slip a shadowy katana into an unadorned iron and leather scabbard.
Before the Master Ravenwood Tree.
The dark heart of Glomdoring Forest is almost audibly beating in this, its shadowy centre. Tall, blackened trees surround this clearing, pressing together into an imposing barrier of rotten vegetation. Moulds and fungi are smeared across the plants, their pungent stench suffusing the forest. The branches are coated in dark slime, slick tendrils that hang downwards. Although a variety of trees might actually grow here, the black tar that coats them renders them indistinguishable. A thin black mist creeps between the trees, hanging low across the ground. The floor of the clearing itself is simply bare earth, cracked and dry. Overshadowing all is the Master Ravenwood Tree itself, jutting into the sky like a twisted fist. The sound of laughing crows echoes down from the treetops, a harsh sound for the ears below. The atmosphere vibrates with a palpable power. Brennan Stormcrow paces here, his cadaverous body twitching with sudden jerks. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a bat around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a spider around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a beetle around its skull. An animated skeleton stands here with a ghostly outline of a wasp around its skull. The Master Ravenwood Tree towers over everything here, pulsing with an immeasurable yet dark power. There are 15 dark nighthags here. A mature rowan tree stands proudly here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. There are 5 black direwolves here. There are 2 bottles here. A furry tarantula crouches here, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey. There are 4 shadowlord widowriders here. Covered in bone armour, a giant bat hangs here, wings folded about its body and one beady eye open. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 10 illithoid scourges here. Rimed in snow and ice, the darkened, crystalline form of the Eisenglass Needle rises from the ground. A crudely crafted shrine of harsh black crystal stands here, thrumming powerfully. In the shape of an open palm, a metallic sigil lies here. A fresh vegetable platter is here. Snarling and slavering, a massive midnight blue rage worg with glossy black wings waits here. Wyrden Scourge Zac, Tender of the Swarms is here. Jingling and jangling, a playful jester cavorts about your surroundings. Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia blackens the area here with the cold presence of Mother Night. She wields a sinuous whip of conquered shadows in her left hand and an athame dagger in her right. Astraea, Devout of Night blackens the area here with the cold presence of Mother Night. She wields a magic tome in her left hand.
You see a single exit leading north.
With a crooked finger raised toward Tarkenton, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Child of the Wyrd, servant of Night, Crow and Glomdoring -- the blessings of the Heart of Darkness be upon you."
A flutter of her feathery wings spreading out at her side, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Night's all-seeing eyes have settled upon you, and She has found you worthy." She strides forward, her dark eyes boring into each of the other wyrden present. "But She does not give without receiving in return."
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says to you, "She demands sacrifice, for through Her we serve the Dark Forest, and it is by giving both ourselves and the spilled blood of our enemies to the Glomdoring that it flourishes and thrives."
A large shadow flits across the edge of your vision for a bare instant, vanishing between the trees.
The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.
Salome clenches a fist silently, and the shadows around her begin to agitate and mix with ominous lines of ambition in a ballet upon the air.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says to you, "You. Will you offer yourself to the Dark Mother?"
In a low rumble, you say to Salome, "I offer all that I am, and all that I shall ever be, to Her for this opportunity to servce the Wyrd, Seneschal."
A cold smile looming in the shadows beyond her wings, Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "In taking your willing sacrifice this night, we deliver unto you the blessing of the Night's eternal darkness." From the shadows, they scatter and writhe throughout the forest of Glomdoring as speedy, viscous apparitions, returning straight for the bowl at the faeling's feet - The feather of a crow, the thorny briar rose of obsidian and the earth of the wyrd all placed within. "May She accept it."
Salome Nightshade strikes with a swift imepl, her talons snagging at you with a great pull as her athame drives a deep wound along his wrist. The blood spills upon the ground at first, and then with a twist of her own hand into the bowl in an ebbing spatter.
Tarkenton's body shakes slightly as the blow hits, then goes still once more as he looks down at the blood soaking the dark soil within the silver bowl.
Salome scoops the bowl up into her arms, her hands quickly mixing each of the ingredients together - sending specks of lifeblood all around as the great clouds of shadows scythe through even the movement of the faeling to siphon into the silver vessel. She stares deeply into it for a time, and as something rises within it she lifts the bowl to the open heavens through the crooked boughs and cries, "Mother of Darkness, Mistress of Undying Shadow, Beauty of the Eventide. We, Your children, seek the deliverance of Your blessing upon another of Your children -- Tarkenton, who willingly submits himself to You!"
Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.
The sound of wings flapping heralds a screeching murder of crows flying overhead.
With a great shudder, crimson lightning strikes through the silver bowl alighting Salome
Nightshade's face with menace as the shadow that once rested within now spew out as ribbons of sickly mauve light, lazily grasping you in a vice and dragging you down to your knees, whilst your ursine head rests just above the soil.
Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
The heavens alight with a rich purple glow as dusk begins to settle in, preparing the First World for the coming night.
Salome Nightshade lowers the bowl to the roots, her eyes flashing with shadowfire as the entirety of her frame elongates as she stands before you.
Salome's aura of weapons rebounding disappears.
Your masochistic tendencies go into remission.
Salome grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you forward into an embrace. Her cold lips press against the neck, and you are momentarily frozen in pain as your lifeforce is sucked from you.
Salome Nightshade suddenly steps backwards with a hover of wings, watching as the Fathertree begins to sway with a cold gale. That which holds you to the ground pulls and consumes you tighter, as if prepared to rend you apart with violent force as the weighing presence of Night enters the glen to take what is rightfully Hers.
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.
Tarkenton's shoulders bunch up against the force pressing him downwards, appearing to fight against the invisible assailant for a few moments before he closes his eyes and relaxes, muscles going limp as his forehead makes soft contact with the ground in a gesture of surrender.
Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.
A black direwolf tilts back his head in a low, resonant howl.
Salome Nightshade shields her face with a lift of haggard talons in the face of Night's endless, eternal beauty as the force around you dissipates. Even as the shadows crawl upwards to consume the last visible part of the tae'dae's form something squirms and alters within the dark cocoon. The screams, hoarsely echo around the Glomdoring as the last crack of crimson lightning scours the darkness open to reveal you, his eyes swirling with dark, untold power.
Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar
constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.
Odd sounds echo through the gloomy forest, their source undetermined.
Salome harshly exhales once more, the shadows retreating as the gale gentles to a dusky breeze that brings to life the sound of raucous calls of the murders of the wyrden forest, the sound of prey expiring, the boughs of ravenwoods groaning. When she turns to the other wyrden, she nods in silent cue, desiring them to move forward.
Salome tells you, "We will strike now, my only love."
Astraea steps forward, silent and observant.
Tarkenton blinks, his previously bright green eyes now swirling with twisting, restless shadows.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia says, "Strike now, wyrden."
[We hit him lots.]
With a flourish, Zac draws a scorpion-shaped nekai from a majestic scorpion scabbard etched with runes.
Salome grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you forward into an embrace. Her cold lips press against the neck, and you are momentarily frozen in pain as your lifeforce is sucked from you.As the last dregs of your lifeforce are sucked out of you, darkness comes and folds around you, taking you into the cold hands of death.
You have been slain by Salome.
The mortal threads of your being severed, you scream in agony as the Divine spark within you enfolds your body with scorching flames.
Salome opens the powers of the Master Ravenwood Tree to you.
You step towards the Master Ravenwood Tree as Salome unlocks its deepest powers. You place your hands on it and it creaks and groans wildly, drinking of its shadowy essence as thrumming power fills the air and pours through your mortal coil. The ethereal, haunting forms of the Great Spirits briefly fill the air around the Master Ravenwood Tree, chief among them Mother Night and Brother Crow, as you are suffused by incredible powers, and rise as a Vernal Ascendant!
A new Ascendant rises! By decree of Dark Seneschal Salome and with full support of the Shadow Court, let it be known that the Free Collective of Glomdoring has this day imbued Tarkenton with the energies of the Master Ravenwood Tree, raising a Vernal Ascendant!
@Kierstin tells you, "Congratulations."
Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.
Ghostly voices echo softly, combining into a haunting melody.
Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.
Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia murmurs, "So does Night grant Her blessing, so does She take what She wills. The Night reigns eternal, and the Wyrd thrives, for nothing matters but Glomdoring."
@Tremula tells you, "Congratulations. You certainly deserve it."
You feel your soul drawn suddenly back into your body, and when you open your eyes, you see Salome
Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia looking at you as you lean against the Master Ravenwood Tree.
(m&mf): Welcome back to life! System unpaused.
Wyrden Scourge Zac, Tender of the Swarms says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."
In a rush of summery warmth, the rich smell of grasses and flowers rises around Kregarn in a sultry wind. Briefly, his face is dappled with patterns of sunlight through waving grasses.
Ghostly voices echo softly, combining into a haunting melody.
Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 18th of Klangiary, 425 years after the Coming of Estarra.
You see Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia shout, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring."
Telperion tells you, "Push back the taint sir. They plague us."
You see Astraea, Devout of Night shout, "Glory be to Glomdoring."
K'liane Nienla Stormcrow, the Nightmare of Crow shouts, "Glory be to the Glomdoring, ai! It is good to see that in the years we have been absent, Magnagora remains as asinine and good for naught but stuffing in a nest."
9
(c) Iron Realms Entertainment 2012.
Comments
Tonight amidst the mountaintops
And endless starless night
Singing how the wind was lost
Before an earthly flight