Tacita carefully lights a shadowy Censer of the Merciless Crow, sending its intoxicating incense swirling through the air as it sways from side to side. The pungent scent tickles your senses, filling you with the forlorn and somber foreboding of the wyrden woods. Tacita raises her arms and hums deeply the note of the forest, which breaks into a discordant tone. Silhouettes of twisted trees darken in the air, their long shadows casting a forbidding doom across the ground.
A musical, lilting feminine voice says, "The greatest among Our priesthood have also found themselves in as much a position to weaken those of lesser faiths, with but a whispered word and a quiet supplication in Our name."
Shattering the silence, a female voice full of hatred says, "None have worked more tirelessly in this regard than Our own Chosen, Lavinya d'Murani."
Firm and unyielding, a steely woman's voice says, "While martial prowess may be lauded, so too may cunning."
A bone-chilling, deadened voice says, "It is with this precept foremost in mind that We grant upon Our DisOrder and Our Chosen the gift of venerating Us in another aspect, that of the Transmuting Artificer."
Congratulations! You have formed a Divine Cult under the auspices of Morgfyre, the Legion. You use 10,000,000 of your divine essence.
Morgfyre gestures sharply, and ribbons of liquid gold bleed upward from the ground, coiling about at the base of the statue and weaving themselves into a skeletal altar alight with emerald flame.
A mirthful, joyous voice laughingly says, "Lead Our faithful upon another path, Our Chosen. Of those who would seek another manner of serving Us, of using their gifts to spread further the Thousand Gospels, enlighten them as to Our benevolence and fathomless power as the Transmuting Artificer."
You turn a small, gilded wheel in your hands, causing it to spin. Slowly at first the wheel goes
round and round, though it begins to pick up speed quickly.
As the wheel spins its aura shifts and changes, depicting a setting far removed from this time and
place.
You hum brightly to yourself as You work, shaping the mass of powdered snow into a humanoid shape.
This one looks like a Mister Frostono, You think, and so You christen him, placing him aside to
totter away as You tear off through the snow after the next icebourne, laughing as Bollikin looks on
with amusement.
----
Love this thing. Also my credits. But mostly this thing.
I adore Tae. :<
1
Cyndarinused Flamethrower! It was super effective.
I wrote a book. Despite the shock and awe from many that were surprised that I have the ability to write literature, I am very happy with how it turned out. I'm no @Tacita, but I'm proud of it! I may even submit it to bardics for the first time in RL years.
I also rediscovered my love of Order/religious RP and zealous rhetoric that I do enjoy writing.
Raves to Zvoltz, Mysrai, Isune, and the newly-christened Oshea for the fun RP last night! (Zvoltz does not appear in this abbreviated log but he was a major part of the small event that sparked it.)
Throwing Zyphora into the proverbial lion's den:
The Fulcrux of Mysrai. (Transcendental Fulcrux)
Throughout the location, small dancing flames flicker and spark. Oilslick
patterns ripple across the silken folds of this veil as it flutters between two
paradigms. Veils of reality bounded by skeins of ivory and blood-hued blossoms
twist and shiver above a poppy-inlaid vessel filled with burning coals. There
are 5 plum and cream ladyfingers here.
Mysrai, the Resin Child intones, "How absent your Lady seems of late, Provost.
Do you think She or My Brother would approve of you coming to the Fulcrux of a
strange God."
Mysrai reaches out to tenderly cup your cheek in Her hand.
A strange warmth, an odd lassitude, creeps from the point of contact into your
skin.
Oshea, Orphic Oddity looks confusedly at Mysrai, before reaching out with a
tendril of hair to brush Zyphora's other cheek.
A fierce cry rings out overhead, as a brilliant falcon darts in from the shadows,
eyes fixed on the proceedings below with the golden warmth of the rising sun.
You have emoted: Provost Zyphora Windwhisper, High Scion of the Aesthete pulls
back from both Oshea and Mysrai, shaking her head as though to clear it. She
frowns at the accusation, saying defensively, "I represent the Lady Aesthete,
and Her will is mine.
Mysrai, the Resin Child intones, "Perhaps I shall give you the bracelet, pretty
Provost. Would you like that? Would My Brother like that?"
Mysrai's eyes gleam, stars shifting swiftly within the Void-black orbs.
Oshea, Orphic Oddity quickly withdraws his hair, leaving a streak of green paint.
Hesitating, you say, "I... would like that very much, thank you."
Mysrai, the Resin Child intones, "So you do have will, then, Aesthete."
Oshea, Orphic Oddity stares wide-eyed at Mysrai.
Mysrai, the Resin Child intones, "My Oshea is a delicate child. You would have
to love him very much. He will not go with you otherwise."
Mysrai, the Resin Child intones, "He must move, and act, and evolve. How much
could you love him, pretty Provost? Enough to keep him?"
You have emoted: Zyphora stammers slightly, "L-love? What do you mean, 'love'
him?"
Filled with an undercurrent of eerily restrained emotion, a rich feminine voice
echoes, "You may keep your toys, Resin Child. But My Scion shall not be one of
Glick! For being the first kid of mine bright enough to butter his mother up with lavish gifts in the form of a completed red heart box curio. Instant brownie points and unofficial favourite child status.
Covered from tusk to tail in black wool, this rhino stands more than ten feet from the ground in total domination of the landscape. Extending from her skull with a slight curve, a curved horn ends in a fairly dull, but still devastatingly effective, point. She has two sets of dark, feathered wings sprouting from her thick pelt. She stands proudly, surrounded by a deathly black aura. She is called 'Nuwa.' A black woolly rhino with a curved horn and two sets of dark, feathered wings looks to be crushingly strong.
So... meat and eggs make for a Glomrhino, apparently.
Covered from tusk to tail in black wool, this rhino stands more than ten feet from the ground in total domination of the landscape. Extending from her skull with a slight curve, a curved horn ends in a fairly dull, but still devastatingly effective, point. She has two sets of dark, feathered wings sprouting from her thick pelt. She stands proudly, surrounded by a deathly black aura. She is called 'Nuwa.' A black woolly rhino with a curved horn and two sets of dark, feathered wings looks to be crushingly strong.
So... meat and eggs make for a Glomrhino, apparently.
Comments
Signature!
Tacita raises her arms and hums deeply the note of the forest, which breaks into a discordant tone. Silhouettes of twisted trees darken in the air, their long shadows casting a forbidding doom across the ground.
Whee indeed!
Shattering the silence, a female voice full of hatred says, "None have worked more tirelessly in this regard than Our own Chosen, Lavinya d'Murani."
Firm and unyielding, a steely woman's voice says, "While martial prowess may be lauded, so too may cunning."
A bone-chilling, deadened voice says, "It is with this precept foremost in mind that We grant upon Our DisOrder and Our Chosen the gift of venerating Us in another aspect, that of the Transmuting Artificer."
Congratulations! You have formed a Divine Cult under the auspices of Morgfyre, the Legion.
You use 10,000,000 of your divine essence.
Morgfyre gestures sharply, and ribbons of liquid gold bleed upward from the ground, coiling about at the base of the statue and weaving themselves into a skeletal altar alight with emerald flame.
A mirthful, joyous voice laughingly says, "Lead Our faithful upon another path, Our Chosen. Of those who would seek another manner of serving Us, of using their gifts to spread further the Thousand Gospels, enlighten them as to Our benevolence and fathomless power as the Transmuting Artificer."
Rave in short: I HAVE A CULT!
(seriously though, congrats
If olive oil comes from olives, where does baby oil come from?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
Only took four weeks of trying to finally get it, wooo!
The divine voice of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations, Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
I wrote a book. Despite the shock and awe from many that were surprised that I have the ability to write literature, I am very happy with how it turned out. I'm no @Tacita, but I'm proud of it! I may even submit it to bardics for the first time in RL years.
I also rediscovered my love of Order/religious RP and zealous rhetoric that I do enjoy writing.
However we no longer listen to Viy yelling about bubbles popping.
The divine voice of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations, Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
...doom.
Covered from tusk to tail in black wool, this rhino stands more than ten feet from the ground in
total domination of the landscape. Extending from her skull with a slight curve, a curved horn ends
in a fairly dull, but still devastatingly effective, point. She has two sets of dark, feathered
wings sprouting from her thick pelt. She stands proudly, surrounded by a deathly black aura. She is
called 'Nuwa.'
A black woolly rhino with a curved horn and two sets of dark, feathered wings looks to be crushingly
strong.