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Post by Kai Rose on Apr 27, 2021 16:22:35 GMT -8
What could Kai Rose offer to pull this information that was so obviously important to the safety of the area? Sifting back through her memory, there were so many holes. Gaps where life should have been, like a scalpel had been taken to the edges.
Her secrets were hers, and her Kith and pursuit of the Truth as as much of who she was as her personality. In fact, that drive to know was the only reason she was entertaining this at all.
There was one thing that rated.
She reached into her pocket and placed a military medal on the table, sliding it forward with a kaleidoscopic finger.
"I offer this Touchstone, on the conditions that our combined offer for all of the truthful information the two of you have available on the subject is accepted; the information is presented now in plain, modern English; and our three minute window of hospitality is expanded by the amount of time it takes for you to present the information."
She pointed at both of the hags when she said 'the two of you'.
She would find another way to process reality. Grief passed through her skin, deep blue pouring down from her temples and into her golden core.
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Firebringer
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Elemental Ifrit, Presence 3 (Intimidating)
Posts: 634
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Post by Firebringer on Apr 28, 2021 16:13:14 GMT -8
Fire feels small for a long moment as she considers the idea of the War finding them. It being here. Getting them. Getting her. Back. Back. Fire. Screaming. No. No. Need to go, need to get safe. Need to get away. But information. Information that could help them? Help get rid of it maybe? Help, something?
She swallows. But what could she possibly have to offer? Linden had peeled away his chainmail and gone skin deep with tearing the chunk of metal from their flesh. Rowan offered something conceptual. Purpose? Who the hell offers purpose? Oh god, it's some occulty thing. Of course it is. Still, what did she have? And she certainly wasn't going to copy Linden.
Kai offers a freaking Touchstone. Fire feels cold, not sure what to do with it. What could she give?
The only thing she can think that is precious to her is her hair, which is weird to think. Her hair is what gives her anxiety, reminds her daily of what she is, who she is, and why she'll never be quite right. So, how would that work? No... hair could be used in all kinds of occulty things for tracking and other purposes. It's dangerous. It's... it's perfect, isn't it?
The Elemental takes a sharp knife and slices off a long lock of her frizzy, wiry hair. Anxiety pools inside of her. So often pieces of her hair just snapped, but now she'd willingly cut part of it. One day she's afraid it will all be gone. Maybe consumed to flame.
"I offer a piece of myself I consider very precious."
Time will tell what they might do with it, which only gives her more anxiety. Or maybe they won't even consider it worthy payment, which... that might be worse.
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Post by Krakenbox on Apr 30, 2021 21:31:34 GMT -8
As the Metalflesh tears the piece of their being, the hollow clang on the table is met with approving rumble.
"We cannot unmake what the Keepers have done. But we can bend within the Rules, your pound of flesh will be considered to the weight of the knowledge," the High One gestured to one of the Hags hovering in the doorway. "Downstairs," the powerful hobgoblin ordered, the other lightly shooing Linden as she hauled large horseshoe pliers behind her.
"The Thread that led you from your maker's hands," the High One rumbled from her open throat, flowing silently across the moss-covered, rotting wood. A hand is raised, blistering and creaking as it extends into a lance of tree-root claws. They snip together once, as if to test the edge, before it was unceremoniously plunged into Rowan's heart.
"Your offer is steep, Mind Flayer," the High One cackles, snatching the gift with excitement, "But it is just a symbol, and not what you think. There is power, still, and thus I accept your terms."
Her head swivels to Benjamin Murphy, standing quietly with his jaw set, the static creaking as the beast hovers before him. "You know things, and walked the path of Knowledge once upon a time. I want your sight, so I may behold it."
His face twitches, looking to rest with a calculating eye, measuring what could become of his allies if he bows out, "Like Odin, I offer the wisdom of the Right. Does that suffice?"
The High One dangles the Elemental's offered hair, ignoring the Oracle for the moment as she rounds on Firebringer, "It depends...
"How much are you willing to part with, child?"
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Linden
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Presence (3) Steady
Posts: 325
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Post by Linden on Apr 30, 2021 21:41:05 GMT -8
Linden followed where the Hag gestured, breathing forcibly deep and even.
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Firebringer
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Elemental Ifrit, Presence 3 (Intimidating)
Posts: 634
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Post by Firebringer on May 1, 2021 8:54:32 GMT -8
Oh fuck.
How much hair are you willing to part with? Now that is a disheartening question. She looks down at her long locks of frizzy, wiry hair. It's dry and hard to manage, but it is one of the only pieces left of her that still makes her feel somewhat human. It's also the piece of her that reminds her constantly that she is not. It was soft, once upon a time, wasn't it? Curly and obnoxious, sure, but soft.
Is it worth it? Caring so much about this piece of herself? Would she be better off without it? Better off not having to think about the pieces constantly falling out? Better off not having to deal with it in its constantly unmanageable state? Or would not having it hurt her more?
She looks up at the High One, "You may have as much as will suffice for the information you are willing to give. If that is all of it, then so be it." There is an amount of Summer determination to her eyes as she extends the hilt of the weapon she used to cut away the first lock to the High One. If the first lock isn't enough, they can take the rest.
You are going to regret this. I always do.
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Post by Krakenbox on May 1, 2021 12:49:29 GMT -8
The sound of steel and meat clanging to the floor soon travels up the steps of the rotting cottage, light flashing from below as wounds are cauterized and tended to with rods and precision. The magic is heavy, thickening the atmosphere like a eye of a hurricane. Kai's skin crackles with a flush of black and deep browns, like a spreading infection over the frenzied flashes railing against the tide. She felt light, but not in comforting relief; a nightmare that she would keep floating away until she left the ground behind and suffocate in the cold infinite of the Unknown. The ice of Rowan's expression cracks, pained and hollow as his eyes widen to the hole in his heart. The roots dig deep and he feels the tears and rips of the Thorns through his sense of Self — the hole where his humanity was cut for the cloth of the Fetch. The feelings of revenge unravel as the pincers pull the snag, the bright Thread of the Snowskin's core illuminating the table as it was drawn out of him, the light leaving him for a moment, his presence lesser than before. Tears spill freely from the sense of lacking, but he remains stoic during the operation to prevent harm to his person. From below, Linden screams. Benjamin's head is unceremoniously slammed into the cutting board of the counter, his hand drifting up on reflex before he drops it; it wasn't worth the group being tossed to the Iron Wolves of the artillery. He shakes like a leaf as the High One turns the pincers on his eye, stretching and growing until the filaments are too small to detect, slowly cutting through the skin of the cornea. Searching roots wriggle under the surface as if it were being infected by pin worms, the lid twitching uncontrollably as tears try to flush the invasion. A bit of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as the Wizened bites his tongue. Roots curl out of the right nostril, working its way into the skull. The last Hag rummages through the drawer, pulling out a blunted, rusting knife, testing the edge as she shaved off a tiny layer of her own skin. The nick is wiped on the filthy apron as she stands behind Firebringer and gets to work, skin catching and fighting the razor despite the expert hand. "Linden of the World-Eater, thou offers thy body,
Kai Rose of the High Throne, thou offer thine anchor,
Benjamin Murphy of the Leshy, thou offer thy sight,
Firebringer of That Without Honour, thou offer thy vanity,
And Rowan of the Wild Hunt, thou offer thy saving grace,
The Coven bestows this gift unto thee:
The World-Eater has no stakes in the Great Game, burning the Dream without pause or direction,
The Entropy devours Title without a use for them, and so the Good Neighbours must flee,
The Lost Children of the Hills can only weather the butcher in thy hallowed halls until the ravaging has passed,
But the tattered remains of the Titles scatter at the foot of their dominions,
The Law of Hunger prevents the Keepers from entering the Valley of the Dead — thy rotting glamour poisons them,
The Midsummer Night has been torn asunder, the Last Unicorn's revelry seeking refuge in the shadow of the Market, She-of-the-sanctuary staking claim in thine Bastions,
The only way to oust the Sanctuary is to salt the paradise in Iron,
The only way to oust the Unicorn is to free the Devil."
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Post by Krakenbox on May 1, 2021 12:58:29 GMT -8
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Post by Kai Rose on May 1, 2021 19:05:48 GMT -8
Misery loved company, and there was nothing more miserable than this. As Kai handed over her one and only Touchstone, her solidified view of the world became unclear, foggy, and staggered. She kept her lips shut as her colors flared and destabilized, a hand coming to her temple as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it. Truth rained down upon them for their sacrifice, the Mind Sculptor -- mind flayer? -- practically buried in the reality of what was happening with the Keepers.
They needed to go. Uriel needed to know. These mighty monsters had held the key to an incredible danger to the Freehold of Las Vegas, but so much was strange about it.
Valley of the Dead? Poisoned glamour? One Title destroyed, another hiding at the Goblin Market, and another in the Dreams?
Kai looked at the others that were there, watched their misery, watched as Ben lost an eye, as Firebringer's hair was skinned from her, listened to the screams of Linden below. What she knew was that it had been worth it, not just to save their lives, but to take the war to the enemy for once. Now they had weapons against the Fae titles on the run. No longer would they merely police the crimes of the Lost. No, now the Iron Spear had what it needed to lead the Freehold toward a unified, tactical victory against a Keeper. It was everything they needed to bring fire back to the hearts of the Lost of Las Vegas, to remind them why they needed the Court of War.
Unsteadily, Kai grinned at the monsters before them.
"Thank you for being such generous hosts."
The information had been delivered, and three minutes remained. It was time to go.
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Firebringer
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Elemental Ifrit, Presence 3 (Intimidating)
Posts: 634
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Post by Firebringer on May 2, 2021 13:23:09 GMT -8
Fire sits so still and tense as she feels the rusty, blunt knife nicking her scalp, pulling her hair, slicing it clean from her. She grips the arms of the chair and tries to tune out the sounds of Linden downstairs. So much screaming. The sound of Benjamin's head hitting the cutting board. The knowledge of what is happening. The recognition of what she is giving up.
The first full lock falls into view as it lands beside her foot. It happens so fast, but she stares at that one lock. It is wiry, frizzy, nearly inhuman in the way it sits, and yet it is the last thing that felt like hers. A tear wells up in her eye, her vision becoming blurry as it builds, but she holds it in. She begins chanting to herself, trying to ground herself. This is what Triss taught her. Yes. Keep calm and ground. Breathe.
"Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever God may be for my uncon-" she feels her head get pulled back and she yelps, "querable soul." It's such a soft whisper, but it is there. Lock after lock begins to fall around her, into her lap, by her feet, around her shoulders.
"In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have no winced nor cried aloud," She keeps the tears inside. No crying. This is for the greater good. This will keep them safe. This will give them the knowledge they need to challenge the others. To beat them. To rage against them. "Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bl-" pull, cut, a small cry from her lips, "oodied, but unbowed."
Think of the Keepers. This is what we are fighting against. This is for the Freehold. This is nothing. Your vanity is nothing. "Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms" a slight hitch of breath, "but the horror of th-" sniffle, "shade." She takes a moment to swallow, to breathe. "And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find-" more tears are welling and one betrays her by slipping loose, "me unafraid."
Her head feels so light. Long lock after long lock, pulled away and shaved off, like sheering a sheep. It stings horribly, now that it all begins to catch up. Now that it is finally getting close to the end. "It matters not, how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the scroll," her voice is quick, more hushed if possible. She's barely keeping it together. "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."
Why is this such a bit deal to her? Why is this so shocking that she can't just close her eyes and accept it? Perhaps it is the finality of it. The glamour that goes into this, the promise, the reward - she will look in the mirror and never see the same person again. She can put on wig after wig, make up look after look, and it will never be the same. She'll wake up every day with a reminder of this sacrifice and will never be able to take it back. She's lost a piece of herself she's kept so close for so long.
Pull after pull until finally, it's done. The last lock has been cut. The last eyebrow is gone. Everything. She feels completely naked. It is complete, it is final, this is it. Now they have to go. The true menace is coming and time won't wait for them. She can process later, cry later, grieve later. "Thank you." is the only thing she can get out.
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Linden
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Presence (3) Steady
Posts: 325
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Post by Linden on May 2, 2021 21:51:58 GMT -8
It had never occurred to them to wonder, before now, if they still had fingernails. The metal carapace had been their skin, the gauntlet-tips acting like nails- it hadn't seemed useful, to try to imagine what was underneath. It felt like a hand and worked like a hand, so it was probably a hand- somehow. They had made themself watch at the start, like seeing the tools at work would take some pain out of it, assert some control over it. It hadn't. By the end their eyes were pressed so tightly closed it almost felt like motion sickness, like the brain simply could not process where the body was- some here, some there. Everything hurt and stank and their throat was raw and they just had to believe it would be worth it. Their hands throbbed, but more, like heat from the burns was trying to leave their skin in buzzing waves. Breathe through a wave, let it crest, relax. It was exhausting but manageable. Taking the steps back up to the others, though, they started to think about how light their arms were and they had to look. They did have fingernails. The relief almost made them laugh. They couldn't quite imagine what had happened to their Mask as they looked down at their flesh, where the top of it had been stripped away. It looked like corroded metal, pitted and eaten away to reveal a topography of rusty-looking flesh, each scar a fissure leading a few layers deep. Running the center of each valley was a thin band like a thread of bright copper wire, a molten flow. Different and somehow the same. Ashen with pain, sweat and mud, they finally stepped back into the main room. The light, the words, even ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse in time with their flayed hands. Their leather jacket was collected and swept gingerly over their shoulders, not ready to brave the sleeves. A final, deep nod was given to their hosts. They couldn't seem to find the shape of words, not yet.
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Post by Rowan on May 5, 2021 15:50:42 GMT -8
Some quiet, insidious part of Rowan's brain coalesced into a single, vehement thought - ' That's all Dani is willing to give?' Between Linden, Kai and himself, it was so little. He wasn't being fair. He had no idea what the hair meant to the Torrent. Maybe it meant the world and more. However, Rowan couldn't help but wonder in how many ways did she screw herself over by offering so much fodder for sympathetic work.
The Darkling listened intently to the secrets being shared, but no matter how hard he tried, his eyes kept drifting to the shiny thing. So that's what it looked like. He had hoped it would be bigger, for all the space it had been taking up. It looked insignificant, much like he did. The Hags had called it his saving grace, the reason he had escaped.
He couldn't quite put the finger on what that had been. Just on the tip of his tongue, but infuriatingly elusive. It wasn't peace, it was Void.
And so Rowan circled back to the Words, falling back on what was left - how he interacted with the world around him and the way others perceived him. He was the Nerd, the Guy Who Knew Things. It didn't feel like it was enough, but it was what he had. He couldn't allow himself to become lost when they were still stranded. The philosophical questions and the soul-searching could wait.
"I'm down. Let's go find the Knight and head home," he agreed with Kai "Thank you for the beds and food."
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Post by Krakenbox on May 8, 2021 22:56:03 GMT -8
The She-Wolf was upset. The Knight of Lores looked over her squire with practiced attention, muttering that at least he had the good sense not to lose his dominant eye. Buck, Finn and Lancelot shortly returned, hauling a strung up humanoid figure that had been flayed and prepped as an offering to the Hags' power. One of the younger gleefully clapped as she directed the hunters to the pit to roast, expressing distaste that the Sunset Prince had not kept the antler that had been snapped off. He ignored her, attempting to restore Ben's sight against the resigned dismissal of both the Oracle and the monstrously chipper Hobgoblin. Emotions bubbled as the sacrifices that were made for the Freehold were paraded from the cottage, rapidly aging as the forest took the Coven from their gathering. The Spring noble was determined to waste his glamour with insistence that the Contact had simply failed, until Lancelot intervened. Firebringer's charred skin, Linden's flayed armour, Ben's blistering eye, Kai and Rowan's fractured minds... It was permanent, torn and fettered by the agents of the Thorns. But it had been a choice.Through birds and shadows, the echoes of their crimes followed their passage through the thicket. Their learnings were relayed to beat back the noise, reminding them of what was important and that their journey had held meaning. The smell of smoke and crackling foliage bringing back a familiar dread as the ruin of the Trod was beheld; the red light passed as they spun themselves into the foliage.
They were ants. A Title was blazing through the Land Between Kingdoms and they were an afterthought in the onslaught of destruction. No Huntsman came to claim the children of War; the Onyx Wizened walking them through the intricacies of remaining hidden among the loud Paradigm Shifts. The new Mantles provided precious scouting, where their Seasonal blessings didn't paint the trail. Without them, the nobility would have been captured. The Hedge dropped the chase, the weight and heat of the ineffable being cooking their environment where the brambles were overwritten in a manner that put the technicolour Revelry to shame. And then the truth was realized. The Machine did not send Huntsman because It simply had no need to. Trees and twisting bramble shifting, the Hedge changed. And changed. And changed.
Reality was unmade and churned through the metallic chaos that was once familiar to Rowan, forcing the motley to stop and bury themselves into the nest of uncorrupted soil as opportunistic Hobgoblins where boiled and torn asunder with the nuclear poison of unseen suns. The Trods around Las Vegas were impassible.
Through the rotting leaves of forgotten ideas, the She-Wolf dragged their stuttering miens through the Gate of Horn and onto the Skien, where the Unicorn had fled.Its touch was already fading, the blossoms drifting into seedlings as they were carried on a silent wind. The Freeholders could only watch with silent horror at the aimless, chromatic pollen of a blind, idiot god carried a siren song of untold wonders, sucked into dreams untold like a crack in a cave.The dreamer that heralded their exit didn't matter. The chaos as the exhausted Lost leapt from the Bastion was swiftly silenced with Spring's Contracts of sleep and Ogre strength. Stumbling into the quiet neighbourhood felt as unreal was their travel, like escaping a second time. But they were alive.And they were informed.
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