Plotlogs
Going Once Going Twice Sr Lucas 240920
In the shadowy depths of the Goblin Market, beneath the bustling paths of the Market above, a unique auction was held. The chamber, expansive and dimly lit by flickering torchlight, served as the stage for an event hosted by none other than Grobar, the Goblin King. Among the various attendees, a few distinctly human participants stood out: Isaiah, Ash, Selina, and Novel, each with their own reasons for venturing into this supernatural gathering.
Isaiah arrived energetically, dragging a giant sack filled with a collection of Fae Other trinkets, her offerings for the auction. Ash, marked by their prismatic mask, brought offerings intertwined with their personal essence, representing deep aspects of their being. Selina, wrapped in mystery and a scarf, stood dignified and somber, offering goods from the Godrealm as a testament to her commitment. Novel, with a flair for the dramatic, recited a dark and violent poem, expressing a deep-seated craving for battle and chaos.
As the auction commenced, each participant was asked to place a hand upon a golden, coffin-like box—a sarcophagus that leached life force from those who dared touch it. The price of admission was steep, draining vitality and leaving the bidders weakened. Following this, Grobar challenged the attendees to justify their bids, to declare why their desire to win held the greatest merit.
Isaiah spoke of stepping out from under her father's shadow, seeking to forge her legacy and be the "biggest and the fucking baddest." Ash weaved a narrative of Jack, a boy from human fairytales, seeking release from a colorless existence of servitude. Selina's response was pragmatic yet profound, battling against time for the sake of all realities. Novel, undeterred by physical weakness from the sarcophagus, indulged in his poetic fantasies of destruction and mayhem.
In the end, despite the efforts and the diverse array of bids and motivations, Isaiah's determination resonated most, or perhaps it was the uniqueness of her offering that swayed Grobar's decision. As a dizzying sense of anticipation filled the air, the Goblin King declared her the victor. In a blink, both Isaiah and the sarcophagus vanished, spirited away by the whims of the Goblin Market, leaving the rest to reflect on the experience and Grobar to his gilded pursuits.
The auction was a reminder of the power of desire, the weight of sacrifice, and the unpredictable nature of dealings within the Goblin Market, where the costs are high and the outcomes are as whimsical as they are binding.
(Going Once, Going Twice!(SRLucas):SRLucas)
[Thu Sep 19 2024]
In Goblin Market: Auction House
This large stone chamber stretches out into something like infinity beneath the
main paths of the Market above. Dim, flickering torchlight casts faint, dancing
shadows along the open spaces of stone, leading the eye off into the darkness
that seems to grow the longer you stare at it. Large square columns are dotted
around the chamber in a geometric pattern that revolves around the center of
the room. In that center lies a large stage with a podium in the very middle of it.
Off to one side stands an enormous, coffin-like box. It's made of solid gold, and
etched and inscribed with many pictographs and ancient writings that seems to
cover the container. Circular rows of comfortable and cushioned seats surround
the stage, ranging from high-backed chair to chaise lounges and even things
more opulent.
It is about 60F(15C) degrees.
SRLucas says "Alrighty, I should have the others popping in here shortly. The room is kind of obviously intended to be like beneath the Folly or maybe the Arena even etc. just in terms of being a part of the Market ambigously. "
SRLucas says "One more enroute AFAIK ."
OOC: Alright! I believe Everyone is here. This is a planned event taking place at the Market or somewhere within its confines so you'll all arrive more or less together or at least you'll all enter THIS room from the market above roughly the same time. Feel free to pose yourself into arrivals and all that good Jazz! Let the Game begin!
Isaiah walks in alongside Ash, dragging a giant sack of 'goodies' behind her. It's not that it's too heavy for her to lift, but more than she's too lazy to heft it onto a shoulder. She finds herself a seat alongside the androgyne then waves eagerly at Novel with one hand, grinning maniacally from ear to ear. "Blender!!" she screams far louder than she really needs to in order to get his attention, and she pats the cushioned seat right next to her on the opposite side of Ash.
Ash comes in at Isaiah's side, dressed up (and *not* showing nipples), with a variety of bags, a tube, carried on their person, many of them bulky with odd shapes. They're wearing heels and stockings, which may surprise anyone who knows the one under the mask well enough. Their mask is a prismatic display that speaks to faeness.
Selina arrives, most likely, via the mostly stable entrance to the Goblin Market located at Camp White Oak. She has her scarf pulled up to cover most of her face, but her blue-dyed hair remains mostly loose and free to cascade down her back. She makes her way into the auction area, presenting her gold coin on the way in to make sure it is known she is, indeed, allowed to be here. She finds a place to stand apart from the crowd as they gather, letting the chilled air around her serve as a ward against people getting too close. Of course, she is also dressed for that sort of temperature, so it suits her fine. Her pale blue eyes scan the other participants, silently sizing them up as they enter or mingle around with the rest. She remains silent for the moment however.
Novel is, as always, leaning against a viewing window, eager glee on his features as he peers right into the fighting arena of the goblin market where non-humans and horrible things can fight outside of the view of mortals. There's no obfuscation here - there's an inhuman roar of a fleshformed abomination, crawling with many legs and tentacles fighting a full-on minotaur that huffs with breath and charges, slamming over the more eldritch creature. There's a CHEER from people watching, the excitement of the event and adventure, money and tokens passing hand in bribery. Who owns these two beings, or whether they're fighting for fun - their factions - is left up to the storyteller to decide.
The man is practically slavering at the violence but then he hears the scream and tilts his gaze up to catch Isaiah's view. "LEGACY!" He calls out with equal, loud joy, peeling himself away from the arena. Apparently someone, somehow, got an invite and was enjoying some of the sider-entertainment as he makes his thumping way over towards the box and benches.
He's here for a good time, not a long time. It is also entirely possible he has no clue why he's here. The man's just... like that. "How's it going you horrible bitch?" As he plops right down next to Isaiah.
Arriving on time is a beautiful thing on a night like tonight. As each of our last-minute guests come to find their way into the twisting halls and shadows that defy logic and spatial awareness that eventually lead them into the depths of this place and into rooms and passages even more secretive. Presenting a small, hand-minted coin to one of the small, cowled and robed figures that can often be found around the Market will allow them entrance into a spacious chamber that is illuminated by the dancing flames of torchlight. The room is sparsely populated for now, the podium and stage empty but for the large coffin-like box that sits on display.
Ash glances up at the flairing torchlight, but it seems unrelated to them, so they instead look around to the other auction-goers.
Novel shows off his coinage on the way past the cowl'd folk - a pinging noise as he flicks his gold coin through the air, then snatching it back when it comes down and placing it onto the figure's palm. There's a cockiness to him, a casualness to it, a certain amount of flair and deep amusement before he ends up sitting next to Isaiah.
While the room remains for now almost empty but for the guests already here, there won't be much a wait before others do begin to trickle into the place. People .. and not people from many walks of 'life' will begin to arrive. Corpulent flesh-like beings that lay across the chaise lounges like hedonistic land masses, and smaller figures more akin to the Goblins that run this place filter into several of the smaller chairs and seats. Larger creatures stand at the edges of the space, half in and half out of shadows that creep around those outer edges. Horns, tusks, limbs too many and limbs too few. This is not a place of humans, and it is those gathered who represent this faction of the supernatural world that stand out as those who don't quite belong. MIlling and murmuring will ensure, but only for a few short moments while the crowd can now settle in.
"BLENDERRRRRR!!" Isaiah says again, louder, dramatic as the guy plods over, and Isaiah stands on her chair like a goon, trying to peep through that same window the man had just left, attempting to get a glimpse of the action. "Who's winning?" inquires the fiery redhead, just in time for a tentacle to smack against the glass with a *thud* and slowly slide down the once crystal clear barrier, leaving behind a black-brown trail of yuck. "Ooof..." she says, wincing, but then standing on her dainty little toes as she tries to get an even better /peek/ than before. A cowled goblin approaches her, panting from the effort of chasing her and starts to demand her coin, but she's paying too much attention to the arena to notice them, waving them away without her attention being snagged. "No, no, I don't want any brochures..." she mumbles distractedly as even Novel behaves himself here somewhat.
Selina remains apart still, watching, listening, occasionally sniffing, even through the fabric of her scarf to make sure she knows who is what, where they are, and when they arrived. Her eyes track without head movement, and her ears remain open. Her eyes narrow when the torches light, but it is only a brief alteration of her features, as she seems perfectly comfortable in all levels of light and darkness. Her attention does wander to the coffin for a few moments, and then she makes certain to present the coin as needed to prove she is here under the appropriate formalities. She could likely say something about what she has observed, but she keeps it to herself for now.
Novel leers horribly as he takes in the mayhem and violence - he seems oddly slaked today. Relaxed, even. He cranes his head - and then smirks. "Glad I didn't bet on the tentacle guy. Bet they're better in the bedroom then in the fucking arena, right? Or you more into horny dudes," He good-naturedly ribs Isaiah as he stretches on out next to her. Manspreading and sprawling out like the lout he is as he fishes through his jacket-pockets for more of a Good Time (TM). "How about some cocaine, Jay? You want some of that instead?" He offers easily. The laws of man hold no sway here, after all.
To be fair the cretin has openly ripped out a crack pipe right in the homeless shelter to light up until his boss started yelling at him about it. Fucking killjoy. He leers at the goblin trying to catch her attention, flashing too-white teeth with the bases lined with yellow and a low, laugh.
Ash is less ridiculous, despite arriving with Isaiah's goofy self, handing off the coin almost absentmindedly, paying no apparent mind to the creature accepting them. If they're looking over anyone particular, it isn't evident, with the nature of their mask, only showing any attention with the turn of the head. Attention that tracks Isaiah occasionally, not unlike a guardian watching over their ward, but the room as a whole is given a vague lookover.
The beads from their dreads glow slightly, as does the speckling on their shoulders, legs, and the small part of their chest that can be seen. They seem to trail glittering stars behind them - a display that may not stand out in this crowd, but its their own.
Though they sit gracefully at Isaiah's side, there's a sudden snap of their head as they look at... something? Somewhere? They shiver, which their redhead partner might notice... but given the situation, it's easily missed. They press a hand to their chest, doing... something.
Soon, there will come a soft hush that begins to fall like a blanket over the rest of the crowd. Slowly at first but then more quickly, more urgently as someone new enters the room. A man, or perhaps a shriveled and grotesque parody of one. A nasty-looking face, something quentisentially Goblin? He's dressed in what might pass for a fancy suit, if it were tailored for a midget and worn by a hobo for several years after. It's a strange juxtaposition of rasgs and riches, complete with a crown atop the man's head. Now this looks as regal as any, gleaming and polished with blood-egg rubies adorning the sharp, spiked points that encircle the diadem like headpiece. He's stepping up to the stage and the podium, all eyes turning to pay this creature something beyond Respect. Grobar, the Goblin King has arrived.
Ash brings their focus to the royalty before them, their rainbow mask tilted up to the royalty gracing the stage.
Selina gives a slight bow toward Grobar, the Goblin King, for whatever reasons she may concoct, the least of which is likely a fellow royal. But once that is done, her pale blue eyes cut across the crowd briefly. She remains in her position, remaining quiet, watching, listening, even as the hush falls over most of the crowd. If her face were visible beneath the covering of her scarf, surely this would be the point in the plot where she put her game face on. Of course, her game face is always on as far as most people are concerned. She narrows her gaze a little, focusing on Grobar, even as tension tightens her shoulders. She takes slow, methodical breaths behind her scarf to retain her focus.
"Fuck yeah," Isaiah replies to Novel, suddenly far calmer at the mention of drugs than she had been observing the gore. She drops back down to plant her ass onto her cushioned seat, only to finally hear the cowled goblin addressing her for the first time. "... Huh?" she asks it. "Oh, my coin? Well, why didn't you just say so?" she wonders, producing the golden money piece and plopping it into their gnarled hand. Then the Goblin King is on the stage, and she just as eagerly falls silent, extending her hand towards Novel with the meat between thumb and forefinger exposed, silently, wordlessly, requesting that he offer her a dump of a bump there.
Novel is many things. A scoundrel. A drug-addict. A terrible fucking person. But he is also a survivor - or a coward, if you're inclined towards that - as he straightens up, slapping the baggie right into Isaiah's hand for use. The other hand goes behind his head as he looks onto the stage with glinting interest. A subtle shift. He has zero desire to annoy the man in control of the goblin markets. The goblin who's responsible for so much excitement and fun. And - it shows.
It's not just respect. It's glee. The earlier excitement of violence, the event hosting - he leans forwards, that grin sprawled across his features as he looks upon the podium, keenly interested in what wretched, twisted thing clad in riches has to say.
"Friends! Denizens! Welcome." The small-statured creature speaks with a high-pitched voice that sounds almost childish if not for the gleeful mysanthropy and mischief that laces his every word. Hopping up with a quick measure, it seems there's a stack of phone books or something like that behind the podium because it doesn't take Grobar long to get himself into position, like an Auctioneer. Gesturing, off the side the squeaky sound of a wheel-barrel wheel can be heard. It draws attention, and eyes can see a standard wheelbarrow filled with a heaping pile of those small golden coins being carted off to who knows where. "Tonight is a special occasion!" He spreads tiny arms wide, showing holes and threadbare fabric in his suit. "Tonight, we will awaken something -wonderful-! Something Grand ... something FUN." This last word all but drips with cruelty and saidism - to which a loud and abrupt cheer comes from those otherworldly beings that surround our small cadre of humans.
Ash cheers along just as enthusiastically to the idea of something fun - in a way that pulls at their core. They lean forward, hands on their lap, focused. One can imagine that they are grinning, eyes wide - you can't see it, but their body language says it just as sharply. The words he used, and the way he said it - perhaps also mixed with the excitement building up to this event - has changed them from graceful yet careful to hungry.
Selina joins in with the clapping at least, even if her gloves muffle most of the sound. It is only polite, after all, to celebrate the fun of the situation. But her eyes also do another scan of the crowd a moment later. If there are only four humans present, fun might be about to have them. Outwardly though, she does not let this show on what is visible of her features. The astute observer might notice her hands clench slightly though, after she drops them from the clapping. The leather gloves quietly squeak in protest to the tightening, but the sound is likely drowned out by the crowd. She draws a slow, deep breath, and focuses on her senses, Listening to her surroundings far more intently even than Grobar for a bit, like she expects something Fae-like to interrupt the current situation.
With that introduction, the Goblin King turns his attention toward the box with a flourish. "Now! Those who are bidding tonight, Come one and come all. Pay homage, place your hand upon the Sarcophigai. Pay your price." This seems only the beginning of things, but soon enough there is a quick line forming. Some, many even, of those who've come tonight though do not get up. Either they've come for another reason or they've come to watch and observe. To be present at such an awakening might be worth speaking of some day. It will be up to Ash, Selina, Novel, and Isaiah to take thier places in line.@ someone OOC: Touching the box will leech you of LF> I'm not going to ask to wound or anything like that because I feel like ya'll are more than capable of roleplaying and regulating yourself for the loss! Determine how much you let the box take by your Roleplay emote - and / or equating it to one of the wound levels. Critical not being viable since it would essentially prevent you from participating further.
With that introduction, the Goblin King turns his attention toward the box with a flourish. "Now! Those who are bidding tonight, Come one and come all. Pay homage, place your hand upon the Sarcophigai. Pay your price." This seems only the beginning of things, but soon enough there is a quick line forming. Some, many even, of those who've come tonight though do not get up. Either they've come for another reason or they've come to watch and observe. To be present at such an awakening might be worth speaking of some day. It will be up to Ash, Selina, Novel, and Isaiah to take thier places in line.
OOC: Touching the box will leech you of LF> I'm not going to ask to wound or anything like that because I feel like ya'll are more than capable of roleplaying and regulating yourself for the loss! Determine how much you let the box take by your Roleplay emote - and / or equating it to one of the wound levels. Critical not being viable since it would essentially prevent you from participating further.
True to Selina's observation and look around - they four (three and a half?) are the only humanoids in attendance.
Ash stands without their normal tendency to hang behind and follow Isaiah's desire. Today, they are eager. Their heels tap sharply upon the stone as they take quick, albeit short steps into the line. The stars that trail them flicker and shine, twinkling as they wait their turn. Their steps bring them closer and closer as the line gets shorter and shorter, everyone before them making their bids.
OOC: For clarification this will be a PART of your bid, and how much or how little will matter as your RP it out.
Far from worried, from concerned, Novel joins in on the cheer. What would you expect from the manager of Sludgefukk? "Fuck yeah!" He says, filling the air with his own call and equal delight in mayhem - though it lacks the true malice that some more powerful entities may have. He doesn't rush up to the front. He stretches out like a horrible thing, a shiver, and then looks... vaguely disappointed. In a sort of aside, he stage-whispers to Isaiah, "So we're just groping a box?" It seems he doesn't... really get it. He sort of shrugs to himself. "Sure, I can molest a fucking stone box. I've touched worse things." He slithers right off his seat like a jacketed oil stain after the line's shortened a bit. Why rush forwards and then have to fucking wait more? And these guys...
They look like tough customers. He's not shoving anyone out of the way today. Hands go in his pockets as he moseys his way on down, neither in a hurry nor hesitant.
Seeing the line form from the entirely non-human crowd might give some folks pause. Selina is not one of those to pause for it though. She steps forward to wait her turn. When her time comes, she slips off her glove and places her hand on the box where others have already done so. She closes her eyes with a sharp intake of breath, but she keeps her hand there long enough to allow a significant portion of power to be depleted from her person, knowing that she holds enough power to get it back fairly quickly after the event, even if it should cost certain people their own energy in smaller quantities. Likely she is not the only one bidding that high, given the attendees, but she makes certain she has shown her commitment to winning as a serious bidder in this event. When she is done, she lets out a low growl, pulling her hand away, and slipping her glove back on as she moves back to her original position.
Novel saunters his way up and makes - a showing out of it. He pauses, glancing back at the crowd. Giving them a huge, playful wink and a grin. Drawing back his jacket. The actions are slow. Measured. There's a dramatics to it, a playing to the audience, an intent of playfulness that has little to do with the actual bidding he's doing. And as part of it he draws his bowie knife. Flourishing it, allowing the gleam of very human steel to glint to the air. A soft noise, a big blade. And then. A twist. A turn. A dramatic thrust towards himself, his hand catching it, the softest of noise of flesh grazing. A kiss of steel on flesh, the slightest amounts of pain. Radiating outwards to those that sense it.
And, turning: He slaps his opened, bleeding palm upon the sarcophagi, leaving a bloodied palmprint and a satisfied grunt. And then he steps away, leaving the demonic accelerate there in gleaming, bright red.
Ahh, blood. The direct contact seems to amplify that pull of life force that begins to ebb and sap from Novel. Only a few seconds of contact, but the man suddenly looks a little more pale, a little sallow. IN the right light you might even suggest he's developed a sudden onset of Jaundice around his eyes! He'll feel fatigue and as though he's just run a sprint or a marathon without much help. Stepping away from the coffin-like thing, Novel will suddenly feel the urgent need for support in his legs and for a chair to sit down in. Meanwhile - Ash and Isaiah seem to be coming up at the rear of the line.
Rather, their turns approach from their place in line.
When Ash finally gets to the coffin, they pause for only a moment. It's not fear, or cowardice... it's calculation. Then, they place their hand on the gold, fingers spreading across the surface, warm palm resting against it. There's a glow from them, as the life force starts do drain from them. Light is pulled from elsewhere, brought to focus on their palm, then melting into the coffin. They stand firm, then they stand less firm, then they waver a bit. Their eyes likely flutter, unseen behind the mask, until, finally, they snatch their hand back, the lightshow ending. They turn then, and wobble back to their way back to their seat, satisfied with their choice.
"Well, this makes me uncomfortable," Isaiah decides as she watches the others siphon away their life's blood in exchange for, well, she doesn't look like she understands that much either. Luckily for her, however, she very much so is the owner of a 'When in Rome' attitude, and perhaps even foolishly she follows right behind Novel, ready for his dirty ass blood to mix with her own as she takes her turn directly behind him. Her hand smacks down right where his was, and she winces, murmuring, "Fucking, Gods damn, shit... Fae bastards," under her breath, apparently living eternally under the Dungeons and Dragons rule that Goblins are, in fact, Fae creatures, and thusly still worthy of her ire.
As those who've come to try their luck pay their entrance fee in truth, or homage as the Goblin King has put it, there's a hush over the rest of the crowd. Some of them seem to drink in the suffering that comes from this parade of people. Some seem to be keyed in to the needs and desires of those who surround the stage now - various looks of emotion flashing across too-beautiful faces. Now, as those who've paid re-find their seats. "The price promised, has been paid" he intones seriously, now. "You!" A gnarled finger stretches out to the small group of soft-skinned humans here now. "With lives so short, tell us why your need and your desire ranks greatest. Briefly" he adds, that finger turning to pick at his teeth now.
OOC: This is where you make a brief statement concerning your 'reason' for being here. This will effect your bid based on Roleplay. INclude any material offerings you've chosen to offer up based on your lore and faction(sect cult whatever) appropriate resource levels and all that jazz,.
SRLucas says "This can be as simple as Greed, and as complex as searching for true love or some other sappy shit! This is just kind of a way for each person's individual writing to play a small factor into the final tallies. "
Selina remains silent for a few moments, but when it is her turn, she replies, "All our lives are potentially short right now. I fight against the clock that apparently spells this reality's demise. Assistance would be appreciated." She pauses there for dramatic effect, scanning the crowd, knowing everyone present is also affected by whether or not the September 2037 timer. She settles her gaze on the bloodied box for a moment, then nods mostly to herself. "I offer goods from the Godrealm as my opening bid," she then says toward Grobar, dipping once more into a small bow, content with the opening bid on her reasons. When she straightens up, she glances over at the others, watching and listening to what they will come up with.
"Twenty-one years of trying to walk in my father's shoes," Isaiah says coldly, as though it were a mechanical response to the Goblin King's inquiry, drifting from her lips like wisps of ethereal smoke. "Twenty-one years of trying to fulfill a Legacy." she puts extra emphasis on that last word: 'Legacy'. Like it meant more than what it sounded like, her jaw tensing, her eyes going a bit dead. "I'm done trying to make him proud of me... From now on, /I'm/ going to be the biggest and the fucking baddest." She grins then, her smirk rather impish as she says, "The next twenty-one years is all about me, baby!!" Then she pulls her sack o' goodies open, letting the Goblin King get a faint pink inside. "A sack of over one-hundred Fae Other trinkets, my good man! The preferred currency of the Fey, and the items that tend to interest them most. And a handful of them, or more, could be yours," she swears, reaching inside and pulling one out, giving it a little flip in her palm. It's two yew rings linked together. Something most people might find mundane, and yet there's something magical about them.
Isaiah says "My offer is extra sweet due to my fear of the Fae and their realm- I worked /extra/ hard to accrue these, and had to swallow many a fear to acquire them. Each item smells of my trials and tribulations- but you can probably wash that out if you want."
Novel flashes Isaiah a smug smirk and a wink, "Hurts, don't it?" As he staggers his way off the stage, back to his seat, wiping the blade clean upon his white shirt. His hand, still oozing that rich fluid that - depending on the crowd - may make some of them thirsty and excited both as he tightens his grip upon the white beneath his jacket. To stem the bleeding that occurs. Less than most would suffer. But his stride becomes less confident. More of a stumble, or a stagger. Swaying there, for a moment, to catch his breath while his forehead beads in sweat. "Whew..." He murmurs. And there, catching his breath at the edge of the stage. The goblin's king royal finger calling them out.
His head tilts back. One of those smiles. The distant, floating one, wan and drawn.
The words roll out of him. Peeled, perhaps, something deep and dark roiling it out borne within the man's blood.
"I wish to fight, to make them bleed,
To watch as others break and plead.
I crave those rivers, red and strong,
To run foul and bright, rich and long.
An orgy, an orgy of violent flame,
Where all consume and burn the same.
Let there be life, fierce and wild,
Wicked, terrible, and yet beguiled."
And then Novel laughs, a bright, merry thing, mingled with the awfulness of his black desire.
Novel repeats the poem because his player can't do things right the first time.
"I wish to fight, to make them bleed,"
"To watch as others break and plead."
"I crave those rivers, red and strong,"
"To run foul and bright, rich and long."
"An orgy, an orgy of violent flame,"
"Where all consume and burn the same."
"Let there be life, fierce and wild,"
"Wicked, terrible, and yet beguiled."
Ash tilts their head up at the king, frozen for a moment, before reaching up to their mask. They shift it just enough to reveal their Cheshire Cat's Grin. "Imagine," they announce dramatically, "Poor Jack, the boy who plays the main fool in may a human's fairy tale." There's amusement in their voice at their use of 'fairy tale'. They swing an arm wide, dramatically. "The fool with the beans, the candlestick, the hill. If you don't know the tales, it's fine, there are countless. Tales meant to frighten, to please, to entertain." They hold their finger to their lips, as if to tell a dark secret. "And imagine, for me please, that this hero and fool - was trapped, instead, in a basement with no color, no toys. He works, he sleeps, he does *not* tell any tales."
There's suddenly *rage* in their voice, as they snarl, "All work and no play makes Jack a *very* dull boy"
Then, they take out offerings. Two beautiful paintings -"Fear over come, the self unveiled." They pull out two beautiful potted plants - one a bouquet painstakingly kept alive, the other something fae, and unique. "My child, birthed of my blood, the origin of my worth." They offer up the faebloom, putting the roses back - they clearly had to shift them. "These are all tied to my core - they may as well be blood or organs."
Stories spun, offerings made. Grobar listens to them all, and as each thing is offered those that are physical and in presence are collected by a large minotaur dressed in a ... Tuxedo?! Yes. Straining around the (literally) bullish neck of the beast is the white shirt and black jacket collar of such a thing, the pants ripped and tattered as they reach the double-backed knees of the creature's lower half. They're desposited on the stage, in a small pile to be overseen later. "Altruism in a place like this? Clever, and perhaps too clever by half" comes the first response, the Goblin's eyes shifting toward Selina. "But a powerful argument." His hands raise, and with a little flick of fingers dust spreads through the air before igniting in a spray of dark and ominous blues and purples. These float through the air to drift about the icey woman like a cloud of fireflies.
Now, Grobar comes to draw his attention to Novel. The man can barely stand, but there's no sympathy in the Goblin King's eyes. "I had hopes, but you're simply not ready. Of you all, We have found yours the most honest. Honesty is a weakness, ignorance moreso." That seems to be all the consolation prize the least among the outlandish guests tonight is going to get from the shrivled little dude.
Third comes Ash and this brings a silence for a time. "It's not your skill that brings beauty to these offerings, but beauty is a gift more unique than treasure alone." A gnarled finger taps against the side of the podium before another flicker comes loose. This time, it's a chromatic prism of fire-fly like colors that come sparking through the air and collecting about Ash like being caught in a greater being's orbit.
Isaiah comes last, but there's a pause here too. "How will you be the worst of us, if your better bows its neck? Would you put yourself on the leash, in turn?" There's a shake of his head, a subtle but clear sign of the Royal's opinion on the answer to this question. Still ... there's no less consideration in his expression than there was before. A third bit of 'farie dust' and reds and oranges, firey but cold settle about Isaiah. "Now ... close your eyes. Hold your desire in your heart. And we will witness."
OOC: Okay! Last dibs to make an impression. I have some tallied bonuses garnered for each of you that I'll be adding to final 'Roll' of sorts on my end. This one's for all the marbles.
OOC: I recommend usage of emote and/or something potentially Internal here to keep your final shots to yourself etc. BUt as it pleases ya'll.
Novel looks up upon Grobar. He straightens up, pulling strength from somewhere. There's a polite incline of his head to the king - an acknowledgment, and further understanding. An inhale of breath and draw.
"And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."
And then bent but unbroken, educated slightly but still much unaware, he moves to stroll his way away, back into the faire.
Selina dips into another slight bow toward Grobar. When she rises, the dust floating around her causes her to blink a couple of times. She lifts her gloved hands to touch the dust curiously, but after the impetus passes, she lowers her hands back to her side to listen to the other comments. Her pale blue eyes focus intensely on Ash for a few moments. The comment about closing her eyes draws her attention back to Grobar, and she does as instructed. Focusing deeply for the last portion of the auction it seems. She looks somber in this position, head slightly bowed, eyes closed, like she is, genuinely praying behind her closed eyes.
Isaiah is in the midst of digging her pinky finger around in that baggie of cocaine when the Goblin King decides that it's her turn for his attention. She looks up with a slough expression in her eyes, murky, already half addled from the toots of 'pixie dust' she'd been cramming up her nose already. The attention doesn't stop her- a pinkie nail full of cocaine gets shoved against her right nostril, the left sealed shut with a thumb as she snorts deeply, her eyes roll back, lovely autumnal lashes fluttering over wintry blue irises before she murmurs, her voice laden with deep-seeded self-loathing that bubbles to the surface in her drugged-up state. "Death before dishonor," is all that the Goblin King is given externally in response to his inquiry: she has no intention of going on anyone's 'leash', though woe to whatever Sleeping Giant might rest upon her own.
After some time mulling over her reply, Isaiah seems to have only one more thing to say as she scoops that last little bit of cocaine out of her baggie to powder her nose with. "Respect the Alpha." Do Goblins even have Alphas? What does that mean? Who knows, but she definitely just spent a good five minutes daydreaming about whatever it means in her head.
Ash closes their eyes, head still tilted up at the king. They hold their fingers out, feeling for the little fairy-fly that dances, but keeps their lids closed. Though only a soft smile is seen.
OOC: Okay. I want to be as transparant about this as I can be. I can roll here and report as I do. I can use rolz.org and have people drop into a chatroom. I can do whatever people think is best for their own sense of fair! I don't think we can use the onboard roll command outside of dreams (it sux anyway)
Ash shrugs
SRLucas says "Roll 1. This is attributed to Selina and will be calculated at +12"
SRLucas says "78. "
SRLucas says "Second Roll will be attributed to JR, and will be calculated at +19"
SRLucas says "87 - He played reverse Uno card I guess. "
SRLucas says "Third roll will be attributed to Ash, caculated at +19"
SRLucas says "03 - Hoping for better on this one. "
SRLucas says "last Roll will be attributed to Novel, calculated at +10"
SRLucas says "54. "
Novel oocly asks, can I wager another 5 lifeforce to make it 69.
SRLucas says "ALright. The dice comes out in Jr's favour so it would seem this evening. I appreciate everyone taking this in stride on the trust level! I will say that my award is going to Selina tonight for the overall feedback provided - IF I'd had to choose based on Reason provided alone it would've been Selina. "
As the silence stretches on, slowly the mists begin to dissipate. First the color fades away from Selina, the motes of magical dust and sparks dropping into nothingness and they fade away. Some of those motes struggele, as if there's almost an uncertainty about this but alas they do fade. Then from Ash, a sense of disappointment comes across someone' face even at this. "We will speak of your paintings." A brief, but almost kind word but surely that can't be. Then there's only the flames and fire that wreath and surround Isaiah. "The choice has been made" The King now intones. The sack at the woman's feet is scooped up and claimed, regardless of protest. Then in the blink of an eye? Isaiah and the golden coffin dissappear from sight! With one more flourish, Grobar gives a lasting smile. "They will be taken care of, worry you not. The rest of you ... Until next time!" And then he's hopping down and waddling off in full satisfaction, no doubt to go count his gold.
As the silence stretches on, slowly the mists begin to dissipate. First the color fades away from Selina, the motes of magical dust and sparks dropping into nothingness and they fade away. Some of those motes struggele, as if there's almost an uncertainty about this but alas they do fade. Then from Ash, a sense of disappointment comes across Grobar's face even at this. "We will speak of your paintings." A brief, but almost kind word but surely that can't be. Then there's only the flames and fire that wreath and surround Isaiah. "The choice has been made" The King now intones. The sack at the woman's feet is scooped up and claimed, regardless of protest. Then in the blink of an eye? Isaiah and the golden coffin dissappear from sight! With one more flourish, Grobar gives a lasting smile. "They will be taken care of, worry you not. The rest of you ... Until next time!" And then he's hopping down and waddling off in full satisfaction, no doubt to go count his gold.
Isaiah arrived energetically, dragging a giant sack filled with a collection of Fae Other trinkets, her offerings for the auction. Ash, marked by their prismatic mask, brought offerings intertwined with their personal essence, representing deep aspects of their being. Selina, wrapped in mystery and a scarf, stood dignified and somber, offering goods from the Godrealm as a testament to her commitment. Novel, with a flair for the dramatic, recited a dark and violent poem, expressing a deep-seated craving for battle and chaos.
As the auction commenced, each participant was asked to place a hand upon a golden, coffin-like box—a sarcophagus that leached life force from those who dared touch it. The price of admission was steep, draining vitality and leaving the bidders weakened. Following this, Grobar challenged the attendees to justify their bids, to declare why their desire to win held the greatest merit.
Isaiah spoke of stepping out from under her father's shadow, seeking to forge her legacy and be the "biggest and the fucking baddest." Ash weaved a narrative of Jack, a boy from human fairytales, seeking release from a colorless existence of servitude. Selina's response was pragmatic yet profound, battling against time for the sake of all realities. Novel, undeterred by physical weakness from the sarcophagus, indulged in his poetic fantasies of destruction and mayhem.
In the end, despite the efforts and the diverse array of bids and motivations, Isaiah's determination resonated most, or perhaps it was the uniqueness of her offering that swayed Grobar's decision. As a dizzying sense of anticipation filled the air, the Goblin King declared her the victor. In a blink, both Isaiah and the sarcophagus vanished, spirited away by the whims of the Goblin Market, leaving the rest to reflect on the experience and Grobar to his gilded pursuits.
The auction was a reminder of the power of desire, the weight of sacrifice, and the unpredictable nature of dealings within the Goblin Market, where the costs are high and the outcomes are as whimsical as they are binding.
(Going Once, Going Twice!(SRLucas):SRLucas)
[Thu Sep 19 2024]
In Goblin Market: Auction House
This large stone chamber stretches out into something like infinity beneath the
main paths of the Market above. Dim, flickering torchlight casts faint, dancing
shadows along the open spaces of stone, leading the eye off into the darkness
that seems to grow the longer you stare at it. Large square columns are dotted
around the chamber in a geometric pattern that revolves around the center of
the room. In that center lies a large stage with a podium in the very middle of it.
Off to one side stands an enormous, coffin-like box. It's made of solid gold, and
etched and inscribed with many pictographs and ancient writings that seems to
cover the container. Circular rows of comfortable and cushioned seats surround
the stage, ranging from high-backed chair to chaise lounges and even things
more opulent.
It is about 60F(15C) degrees.
SRLucas says "Alrighty, I should have the others popping in here shortly. The room is kind of obviously intended to be like beneath the Folly or maybe the Arena even etc. just in terms of being a part of the Market ambigously. "
SRLucas says "One more enroute AFAIK ."
OOC: Alright! I believe Everyone is here. This is a planned event taking place at the Market or somewhere within its confines so you'll all arrive more or less together or at least you'll all enter THIS room from the market above roughly the same time. Feel free to pose yourself into arrivals and all that good Jazz! Let the Game begin!
Isaiah walks in alongside Ash, dragging a giant sack of 'goodies' behind her. It's not that it's too heavy for her to lift, but more than she's too lazy to heft it onto a shoulder. She finds herself a seat alongside the androgyne then waves eagerly at Novel with one hand, grinning maniacally from ear to ear. "Blender!!" she screams far louder than she really needs to in order to get his attention, and she pats the cushioned seat right next to her on the opposite side of Ash.
Ash comes in at Isaiah's side, dressed up (and *not* showing nipples), with a variety of bags, a tube, carried on their person, many of them bulky with odd shapes. They're wearing heels and stockings, which may surprise anyone who knows the one under the mask well enough. Their mask is a prismatic display that speaks to faeness.
Selina arrives, most likely, via the mostly stable entrance to the Goblin Market located at Camp White Oak. She has her scarf pulled up to cover most of her face, but her blue-dyed hair remains mostly loose and free to cascade down her back. She makes her way into the auction area, presenting her gold coin on the way in to make sure it is known she is, indeed, allowed to be here. She finds a place to stand apart from the crowd as they gather, letting the chilled air around her serve as a ward against people getting too close. Of course, she is also dressed for that sort of temperature, so it suits her fine. Her pale blue eyes scan the other participants, silently sizing them up as they enter or mingle around with the rest. She remains silent for the moment however.
Novel is, as always, leaning against a viewing window, eager glee on his features as he peers right into the fighting arena of the goblin market where non-humans and horrible things can fight outside of the view of mortals. There's no obfuscation here - there's an inhuman roar of a fleshformed abomination, crawling with many legs and tentacles fighting a full-on minotaur that huffs with breath and charges, slamming over the more eldritch creature. There's a CHEER from people watching, the excitement of the event and adventure, money and tokens passing hand in bribery. Who owns these two beings, or whether they're fighting for fun - their factions - is left up to the storyteller to decide.
The man is practically slavering at the violence but then he hears the scream and tilts his gaze up to catch Isaiah's view. "LEGACY!" He calls out with equal, loud joy, peeling himself away from the arena. Apparently someone, somehow, got an invite and was enjoying some of the sider-entertainment as he makes his thumping way over towards the box and benches.
He's here for a good time, not a long time. It is also entirely possible he has no clue why he's here. The man's just... like that. "How's it going you horrible bitch?" As he plops right down next to Isaiah.
Arriving on time is a beautiful thing on a night like tonight. As each of our last-minute guests come to find their way into the twisting halls and shadows that defy logic and spatial awareness that eventually lead them into the depths of this place and into rooms and passages even more secretive. Presenting a small, hand-minted coin to one of the small, cowled and robed figures that can often be found around the Market will allow them entrance into a spacious chamber that is illuminated by the dancing flames of torchlight. The room is sparsely populated for now, the podium and stage empty but for the large coffin-like box that sits on display.
Ash glances up at the flairing torchlight, but it seems unrelated to them, so they instead look around to the other auction-goers.
Novel shows off his coinage on the way past the cowl'd folk - a pinging noise as he flicks his gold coin through the air, then snatching it back when it comes down and placing it onto the figure's palm. There's a cockiness to him, a casualness to it, a certain amount of flair and deep amusement before he ends up sitting next to Isaiah.
While the room remains for now almost empty but for the guests already here, there won't be much a wait before others do begin to trickle into the place. People .. and not people from many walks of 'life' will begin to arrive. Corpulent flesh-like beings that lay across the chaise lounges like hedonistic land masses, and smaller figures more akin to the Goblins that run this place filter into several of the smaller chairs and seats. Larger creatures stand at the edges of the space, half in and half out of shadows that creep around those outer edges. Horns, tusks, limbs too many and limbs too few. This is not a place of humans, and it is those gathered who represent this faction of the supernatural world that stand out as those who don't quite belong. MIlling and murmuring will ensure, but only for a few short moments while the crowd can now settle in.
"BLENDERRRRRR!!" Isaiah says again, louder, dramatic as the guy plods over, and Isaiah stands on her chair like a goon, trying to peep through that same window the man had just left, attempting to get a glimpse of the action. "Who's winning?" inquires the fiery redhead, just in time for a tentacle to smack against the glass with a *thud* and slowly slide down the once crystal clear barrier, leaving behind a black-brown trail of yuck. "Ooof..." she says, wincing, but then standing on her dainty little toes as she tries to get an even better /peek/ than before. A cowled goblin approaches her, panting from the effort of chasing her and starts to demand her coin, but she's paying too much attention to the arena to notice them, waving them away without her attention being snagged. "No, no, I don't want any brochures..." she mumbles distractedly as even Novel behaves himself here somewhat.
Selina remains apart still, watching, listening, occasionally sniffing, even through the fabric of her scarf to make sure she knows who is what, where they are, and when they arrived. Her eyes track without head movement, and her ears remain open. Her eyes narrow when the torches light, but it is only a brief alteration of her features, as she seems perfectly comfortable in all levels of light and darkness. Her attention does wander to the coffin for a few moments, and then she makes certain to present the coin as needed to prove she is here under the appropriate formalities. She could likely say something about what she has observed, but she keeps it to herself for now.
Novel leers horribly as he takes in the mayhem and violence - he seems oddly slaked today. Relaxed, even. He cranes his head - and then smirks. "Glad I didn't bet on the tentacle guy. Bet they're better in the bedroom then in the fucking arena, right? Or you more into horny dudes," He good-naturedly ribs Isaiah as he stretches on out next to her. Manspreading and sprawling out like the lout he is as he fishes through his jacket-pockets for more of a Good Time (TM). "How about some cocaine, Jay? You want some of that instead?" He offers easily. The laws of man hold no sway here, after all.
To be fair the cretin has openly ripped out a crack pipe right in the homeless shelter to light up until his boss started yelling at him about it. Fucking killjoy. He leers at the goblin trying to catch her attention, flashing too-white teeth with the bases lined with yellow and a low, laugh.
Ash is less ridiculous, despite arriving with Isaiah's goofy self, handing off the coin almost absentmindedly, paying no apparent mind to the creature accepting them. If they're looking over anyone particular, it isn't evident, with the nature of their mask, only showing any attention with the turn of the head. Attention that tracks Isaiah occasionally, not unlike a guardian watching over their ward, but the room as a whole is given a vague lookover.
The beads from their dreads glow slightly, as does the speckling on their shoulders, legs, and the small part of their chest that can be seen. They seem to trail glittering stars behind them - a display that may not stand out in this crowd, but its their own.
Though they sit gracefully at Isaiah's side, there's a sudden snap of their head as they look at... something? Somewhere? They shiver, which their redhead partner might notice... but given the situation, it's easily missed. They press a hand to their chest, doing... something.
Soon, there will come a soft hush that begins to fall like a blanket over the rest of the crowd. Slowly at first but then more quickly, more urgently as someone new enters the room. A man, or perhaps a shriveled and grotesque parody of one. A nasty-looking face, something quentisentially Goblin? He's dressed in what might pass for a fancy suit, if it were tailored for a midget and worn by a hobo for several years after. It's a strange juxtaposition of rasgs and riches, complete with a crown atop the man's head. Now this looks as regal as any, gleaming and polished with blood-egg rubies adorning the sharp, spiked points that encircle the diadem like headpiece. He's stepping up to the stage and the podium, all eyes turning to pay this creature something beyond Respect. Grobar, the Goblin King has arrived.
Ash brings their focus to the royalty before them, their rainbow mask tilted up to the royalty gracing the stage.
Selina gives a slight bow toward Grobar, the Goblin King, for whatever reasons she may concoct, the least of which is likely a fellow royal. But once that is done, her pale blue eyes cut across the crowd briefly. She remains in her position, remaining quiet, watching, listening, even as the hush falls over most of the crowd. If her face were visible beneath the covering of her scarf, surely this would be the point in the plot where she put her game face on. Of course, her game face is always on as far as most people are concerned. She narrows her gaze a little, focusing on Grobar, even as tension tightens her shoulders. She takes slow, methodical breaths behind her scarf to retain her focus.
"Fuck yeah," Isaiah replies to Novel, suddenly far calmer at the mention of drugs than she had been observing the gore. She drops back down to plant her ass onto her cushioned seat, only to finally hear the cowled goblin addressing her for the first time. "... Huh?" she asks it. "Oh, my coin? Well, why didn't you just say so?" she wonders, producing the golden money piece and plopping it into their gnarled hand. Then the Goblin King is on the stage, and she just as eagerly falls silent, extending her hand towards Novel with the meat between thumb and forefinger exposed, silently, wordlessly, requesting that he offer her a dump of a bump there.
Novel is many things. A scoundrel. A drug-addict. A terrible fucking person. But he is also a survivor - or a coward, if you're inclined towards that - as he straightens up, slapping the baggie right into Isaiah's hand for use. The other hand goes behind his head as he looks onto the stage with glinting interest. A subtle shift. He has zero desire to annoy the man in control of the goblin markets. The goblin who's responsible for so much excitement and fun. And - it shows.
It's not just respect. It's glee. The earlier excitement of violence, the event hosting - he leans forwards, that grin sprawled across his features as he looks upon the podium, keenly interested in what wretched, twisted thing clad in riches has to say.
"Friends! Denizens! Welcome." The small-statured creature speaks with a high-pitched voice that sounds almost childish if not for the gleeful mysanthropy and mischief that laces his every word. Hopping up with a quick measure, it seems there's a stack of phone books or something like that behind the podium because it doesn't take Grobar long to get himself into position, like an Auctioneer. Gesturing, off the side the squeaky sound of a wheel-barrel wheel can be heard. It draws attention, and eyes can see a standard wheelbarrow filled with a heaping pile of those small golden coins being carted off to who knows where. "Tonight is a special occasion!" He spreads tiny arms wide, showing holes and threadbare fabric in his suit. "Tonight, we will awaken something -wonderful-! Something Grand ... something FUN." This last word all but drips with cruelty and saidism - to which a loud and abrupt cheer comes from those otherworldly beings that surround our small cadre of humans.
Ash cheers along just as enthusiastically to the idea of something fun - in a way that pulls at their core. They lean forward, hands on their lap, focused. One can imagine that they are grinning, eyes wide - you can't see it, but their body language says it just as sharply. The words he used, and the way he said it - perhaps also mixed with the excitement building up to this event - has changed them from graceful yet careful to hungry.
Selina joins in with the clapping at least, even if her gloves muffle most of the sound. It is only polite, after all, to celebrate the fun of the situation. But her eyes also do another scan of the crowd a moment later. If there are only four humans present, fun might be about to have them. Outwardly though, she does not let this show on what is visible of her features. The astute observer might notice her hands clench slightly though, after she drops them from the clapping. The leather gloves quietly squeak in protest to the tightening, but the sound is likely drowned out by the crowd. She draws a slow, deep breath, and focuses on her senses, Listening to her surroundings far more intently even than Grobar for a bit, like she expects something Fae-like to interrupt the current situation.
With that introduction, the Goblin King turns his attention toward the box with a flourish. "Now! Those who are bidding tonight, Come one and come all. Pay homage, place your hand upon the Sarcophigai. Pay your price." This seems only the beginning of things, but soon enough there is a quick line forming. Some, many even, of those who've come tonight though do not get up. Either they've come for another reason or they've come to watch and observe. To be present at such an awakening might be worth speaking of some day. It will be up to Ash, Selina, Novel, and Isaiah to take thier places in line.@ someone OOC: Touching the box will leech you of LF> I'm not going to ask to wound or anything like that because I feel like ya'll are more than capable of roleplaying and regulating yourself for the loss! Determine how much you let the box take by your Roleplay emote - and / or equating it to one of the wound levels. Critical not being viable since it would essentially prevent you from participating further.
With that introduction, the Goblin King turns his attention toward the box with a flourish. "Now! Those who are bidding tonight, Come one and come all. Pay homage, place your hand upon the Sarcophigai. Pay your price." This seems only the beginning of things, but soon enough there is a quick line forming. Some, many even, of those who've come tonight though do not get up. Either they've come for another reason or they've come to watch and observe. To be present at such an awakening might be worth speaking of some day. It will be up to Ash, Selina, Novel, and Isaiah to take thier places in line.
OOC: Touching the box will leech you of LF> I'm not going to ask to wound or anything like that because I feel like ya'll are more than capable of roleplaying and regulating yourself for the loss! Determine how much you let the box take by your Roleplay emote - and / or equating it to one of the wound levels. Critical not being viable since it would essentially prevent you from participating further.
True to Selina's observation and look around - they four (three and a half?) are the only humanoids in attendance.
Ash stands without their normal tendency to hang behind and follow Isaiah's desire. Today, they are eager. Their heels tap sharply upon the stone as they take quick, albeit short steps into the line. The stars that trail them flicker and shine, twinkling as they wait their turn. Their steps bring them closer and closer as the line gets shorter and shorter, everyone before them making their bids.
OOC: For clarification this will be a PART of your bid, and how much or how little will matter as your RP it out.
Far from worried, from concerned, Novel joins in on the cheer. What would you expect from the manager of Sludgefukk? "Fuck yeah!" He says, filling the air with his own call and equal delight in mayhem - though it lacks the true malice that some more powerful entities may have. He doesn't rush up to the front. He stretches out like a horrible thing, a shiver, and then looks... vaguely disappointed. In a sort of aside, he stage-whispers to Isaiah, "So we're just groping a box?" It seems he doesn't... really get it. He sort of shrugs to himself. "Sure, I can molest a fucking stone box. I've touched worse things." He slithers right off his seat like a jacketed oil stain after the line's shortened a bit. Why rush forwards and then have to fucking wait more? And these guys...
They look like tough customers. He's not shoving anyone out of the way today. Hands go in his pockets as he moseys his way on down, neither in a hurry nor hesitant.
Seeing the line form from the entirely non-human crowd might give some folks pause. Selina is not one of those to pause for it though. She steps forward to wait her turn. When her time comes, she slips off her glove and places her hand on the box where others have already done so. She closes her eyes with a sharp intake of breath, but she keeps her hand there long enough to allow a significant portion of power to be depleted from her person, knowing that she holds enough power to get it back fairly quickly after the event, even if it should cost certain people their own energy in smaller quantities. Likely she is not the only one bidding that high, given the attendees, but she makes certain she has shown her commitment to winning as a serious bidder in this event. When she is done, she lets out a low growl, pulling her hand away, and slipping her glove back on as she moves back to her original position.
Novel saunters his way up and makes - a showing out of it. He pauses, glancing back at the crowd. Giving them a huge, playful wink and a grin. Drawing back his jacket. The actions are slow. Measured. There's a dramatics to it, a playing to the audience, an intent of playfulness that has little to do with the actual bidding he's doing. And as part of it he draws his bowie knife. Flourishing it, allowing the gleam of very human steel to glint to the air. A soft noise, a big blade. And then. A twist. A turn. A dramatic thrust towards himself, his hand catching it, the softest of noise of flesh grazing. A kiss of steel on flesh, the slightest amounts of pain. Radiating outwards to those that sense it.
And, turning: He slaps his opened, bleeding palm upon the sarcophagi, leaving a bloodied palmprint and a satisfied grunt. And then he steps away, leaving the demonic accelerate there in gleaming, bright red.
Ahh, blood. The direct contact seems to amplify that pull of life force that begins to ebb and sap from Novel. Only a few seconds of contact, but the man suddenly looks a little more pale, a little sallow. IN the right light you might even suggest he's developed a sudden onset of Jaundice around his eyes! He'll feel fatigue and as though he's just run a sprint or a marathon without much help. Stepping away from the coffin-like thing, Novel will suddenly feel the urgent need for support in his legs and for a chair to sit down in. Meanwhile - Ash and Isaiah seem to be coming up at the rear of the line.
Rather, their turns approach from their place in line.
When Ash finally gets to the coffin, they pause for only a moment. It's not fear, or cowardice... it's calculation. Then, they place their hand on the gold, fingers spreading across the surface, warm palm resting against it. There's a glow from them, as the life force starts do drain from them. Light is pulled from elsewhere, brought to focus on their palm, then melting into the coffin. They stand firm, then they stand less firm, then they waver a bit. Their eyes likely flutter, unseen behind the mask, until, finally, they snatch their hand back, the lightshow ending. They turn then, and wobble back to their way back to their seat, satisfied with their choice.
"Well, this makes me uncomfortable," Isaiah decides as she watches the others siphon away their life's blood in exchange for, well, she doesn't look like she understands that much either. Luckily for her, however, she very much so is the owner of a 'When in Rome' attitude, and perhaps even foolishly she follows right behind Novel, ready for his dirty ass blood to mix with her own as she takes her turn directly behind him. Her hand smacks down right where his was, and she winces, murmuring, "Fucking, Gods damn, shit... Fae bastards," under her breath, apparently living eternally under the Dungeons and Dragons rule that Goblins are, in fact, Fae creatures, and thusly still worthy of her ire.
As those who've come to try their luck pay their entrance fee in truth, or homage as the Goblin King has put it, there's a hush over the rest of the crowd. Some of them seem to drink in the suffering that comes from this parade of people. Some seem to be keyed in to the needs and desires of those who surround the stage now - various looks of emotion flashing across too-beautiful faces. Now, as those who've paid re-find their seats. "The price promised, has been paid" he intones seriously, now. "You!" A gnarled finger stretches out to the small group of soft-skinned humans here now. "With lives so short, tell us why your need and your desire ranks greatest. Briefly" he adds, that finger turning to pick at his teeth now.
OOC: This is where you make a brief statement concerning your 'reason' for being here. This will effect your bid based on Roleplay. INclude any material offerings you've chosen to offer up based on your lore and faction(sect cult whatever) appropriate resource levels and all that jazz,.
SRLucas says "This can be as simple as Greed, and as complex as searching for true love or some other sappy shit! This is just kind of a way for each person's individual writing to play a small factor into the final tallies. "
Selina remains silent for a few moments, but when it is her turn, she replies, "All our lives are potentially short right now. I fight against the clock that apparently spells this reality's demise. Assistance would be appreciated." She pauses there for dramatic effect, scanning the crowd, knowing everyone present is also affected by whether or not the September 2037 timer. She settles her gaze on the bloodied box for a moment, then nods mostly to herself. "I offer goods from the Godrealm as my opening bid," she then says toward Grobar, dipping once more into a small bow, content with the opening bid on her reasons. When she straightens up, she glances over at the others, watching and listening to what they will come up with.
"Twenty-one years of trying to walk in my father's shoes," Isaiah says coldly, as though it were a mechanical response to the Goblin King's inquiry, drifting from her lips like wisps of ethereal smoke. "Twenty-one years of trying to fulfill a Legacy." she puts extra emphasis on that last word: 'Legacy'. Like it meant more than what it sounded like, her jaw tensing, her eyes going a bit dead. "I'm done trying to make him proud of me... From now on, /I'm/ going to be the biggest and the fucking baddest." She grins then, her smirk rather impish as she says, "The next twenty-one years is all about me, baby!!" Then she pulls her sack o' goodies open, letting the Goblin King get a faint pink inside. "A sack of over one-hundred Fae Other trinkets, my good man! The preferred currency of the Fey, and the items that tend to interest them most. And a handful of them, or more, could be yours," she swears, reaching inside and pulling one out, giving it a little flip in her palm. It's two yew rings linked together. Something most people might find mundane, and yet there's something magical about them.
Isaiah says "My offer is extra sweet due to my fear of the Fae and their realm- I worked /extra/ hard to accrue these, and had to swallow many a fear to acquire them. Each item smells of my trials and tribulations- but you can probably wash that out if you want."
Novel flashes Isaiah a smug smirk and a wink, "Hurts, don't it?" As he staggers his way off the stage, back to his seat, wiping the blade clean upon his white shirt. His hand, still oozing that rich fluid that - depending on the crowd - may make some of them thirsty and excited both as he tightens his grip upon the white beneath his jacket. To stem the bleeding that occurs. Less than most would suffer. But his stride becomes less confident. More of a stumble, or a stagger. Swaying there, for a moment, to catch his breath while his forehead beads in sweat. "Whew..." He murmurs. And there, catching his breath at the edge of the stage. The goblin's king royal finger calling them out.
His head tilts back. One of those smiles. The distant, floating one, wan and drawn.
The words roll out of him. Peeled, perhaps, something deep and dark roiling it out borne within the man's blood.
"I wish to fight, to make them bleed,
To watch as others break and plead.
I crave those rivers, red and strong,
To run foul and bright, rich and long.
An orgy, an orgy of violent flame,
Where all consume and burn the same.
Let there be life, fierce and wild,
Wicked, terrible, and yet beguiled."
And then Novel laughs, a bright, merry thing, mingled with the awfulness of his black desire.
Novel repeats the poem because his player can't do things right the first time.
"I wish to fight, to make them bleed,"
"To watch as others break and plead."
"I crave those rivers, red and strong,"
"To run foul and bright, rich and long."
"An orgy, an orgy of violent flame,"
"Where all consume and burn the same."
"Let there be life, fierce and wild,"
"Wicked, terrible, and yet beguiled."
Ash tilts their head up at the king, frozen for a moment, before reaching up to their mask. They shift it just enough to reveal their Cheshire Cat's Grin. "Imagine," they announce dramatically, "Poor Jack, the boy who plays the main fool in may a human's fairy tale." There's amusement in their voice at their use of 'fairy tale'. They swing an arm wide, dramatically. "The fool with the beans, the candlestick, the hill. If you don't know the tales, it's fine, there are countless. Tales meant to frighten, to please, to entertain." They hold their finger to their lips, as if to tell a dark secret. "And imagine, for me please, that this hero and fool - was trapped, instead, in a basement with no color, no toys. He works, he sleeps, he does *not* tell any tales."
There's suddenly *rage* in their voice, as they snarl, "All work and no play makes Jack a *very* dull boy"
Then, they take out offerings. Two beautiful paintings -"Fear over come, the self unveiled." They pull out two beautiful potted plants - one a bouquet painstakingly kept alive, the other something fae, and unique. "My child, birthed of my blood, the origin of my worth." They offer up the faebloom, putting the roses back - they clearly had to shift them. "These are all tied to my core - they may as well be blood or organs."
Stories spun, offerings made. Grobar listens to them all, and as each thing is offered those that are physical and in presence are collected by a large minotaur dressed in a ... Tuxedo?! Yes. Straining around the (literally) bullish neck of the beast is the white shirt and black jacket collar of such a thing, the pants ripped and tattered as they reach the double-backed knees of the creature's lower half. They're desposited on the stage, in a small pile to be overseen later. "Altruism in a place like this? Clever, and perhaps too clever by half" comes the first response, the Goblin's eyes shifting toward Selina. "But a powerful argument." His hands raise, and with a little flick of fingers dust spreads through the air before igniting in a spray of dark and ominous blues and purples. These float through the air to drift about the icey woman like a cloud of fireflies.
Now, Grobar comes to draw his attention to Novel. The man can barely stand, but there's no sympathy in the Goblin King's eyes. "I had hopes, but you're simply not ready. Of you all, We have found yours the most honest. Honesty is a weakness, ignorance moreso." That seems to be all the consolation prize the least among the outlandish guests tonight is going to get from the shrivled little dude.
Third comes Ash and this brings a silence for a time. "It's not your skill that brings beauty to these offerings, but beauty is a gift more unique than treasure alone." A gnarled finger taps against the side of the podium before another flicker comes loose. This time, it's a chromatic prism of fire-fly like colors that come sparking through the air and collecting about Ash like being caught in a greater being's orbit.
Isaiah comes last, but there's a pause here too. "How will you be the worst of us, if your better bows its neck? Would you put yourself on the leash, in turn?" There's a shake of his head, a subtle but clear sign of the Royal's opinion on the answer to this question. Still ... there's no less consideration in his expression than there was before. A third bit of 'farie dust' and reds and oranges, firey but cold settle about Isaiah. "Now ... close your eyes. Hold your desire in your heart. And we will witness."
OOC: Okay! Last dibs to make an impression. I have some tallied bonuses garnered for each of you that I'll be adding to final 'Roll' of sorts on my end. This one's for all the marbles.
OOC: I recommend usage of emote and/or something potentially Internal here to keep your final shots to yourself etc. BUt as it pleases ya'll.
Novel looks up upon Grobar. He straightens up, pulling strength from somewhere. There's a polite incline of his head to the king - an acknowledgment, and further understanding. An inhale of breath and draw.
"And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."
And then bent but unbroken, educated slightly but still much unaware, he moves to stroll his way away, back into the faire.
Selina dips into another slight bow toward Grobar. When she rises, the dust floating around her causes her to blink a couple of times. She lifts her gloved hands to touch the dust curiously, but after the impetus passes, she lowers her hands back to her side to listen to the other comments. Her pale blue eyes focus intensely on Ash for a few moments. The comment about closing her eyes draws her attention back to Grobar, and she does as instructed. Focusing deeply for the last portion of the auction it seems. She looks somber in this position, head slightly bowed, eyes closed, like she is, genuinely praying behind her closed eyes.
Isaiah is in the midst of digging her pinky finger around in that baggie of cocaine when the Goblin King decides that it's her turn for his attention. She looks up with a slough expression in her eyes, murky, already half addled from the toots of 'pixie dust' she'd been cramming up her nose already. The attention doesn't stop her- a pinkie nail full of cocaine gets shoved against her right nostril, the left sealed shut with a thumb as she snorts deeply, her eyes roll back, lovely autumnal lashes fluttering over wintry blue irises before she murmurs, her voice laden with deep-seeded self-loathing that bubbles to the surface in her drugged-up state. "Death before dishonor," is all that the Goblin King is given externally in response to his inquiry: she has no intention of going on anyone's 'leash', though woe to whatever Sleeping Giant might rest upon her own.
After some time mulling over her reply, Isaiah seems to have only one more thing to say as she scoops that last little bit of cocaine out of her baggie to powder her nose with. "Respect the Alpha." Do Goblins even have Alphas? What does that mean? Who knows, but she definitely just spent a good five minutes daydreaming about whatever it means in her head.
Ash closes their eyes, head still tilted up at the king. They hold their fingers out, feeling for the little fairy-fly that dances, but keeps their lids closed. Though only a soft smile is seen.
OOC: Okay. I want to be as transparant about this as I can be. I can roll here and report as I do. I can use rolz.org and have people drop into a chatroom. I can do whatever people think is best for their own sense of fair! I don't think we can use the onboard roll command outside of dreams (it sux anyway)
Ash shrugs
SRLucas says "Roll 1. This is attributed to Selina and will be calculated at +12"
SRLucas says "78. "
SRLucas says "Second Roll will be attributed to JR, and will be calculated at +19"
SRLucas says "87 - He played reverse Uno card I guess. "
SRLucas says "Third roll will be attributed to Ash, caculated at +19"
SRLucas says "03 - Hoping for better on this one. "
SRLucas says "last Roll will be attributed to Novel, calculated at +10"
SRLucas says "54. "
Novel oocly asks, can I wager another 5 lifeforce to make it 69.
SRLucas says "ALright. The dice comes out in Jr's favour so it would seem this evening. I appreciate everyone taking this in stride on the trust level! I will say that my award is going to Selina tonight for the overall feedback provided - IF I'd had to choose based on Reason provided alone it would've been Selina. "
As the silence stretches on, slowly the mists begin to dissipate. First the color fades away from Selina, the motes of magical dust and sparks dropping into nothingness and they fade away. Some of those motes struggele, as if there's almost an uncertainty about this but alas they do fade. Then from Ash, a sense of disappointment comes across someone' face even at this. "We will speak of your paintings." A brief, but almost kind word but surely that can't be. Then there's only the flames and fire that wreath and surround Isaiah. "The choice has been made" The King now intones. The sack at the woman's feet is scooped up and claimed, regardless of protest. Then in the blink of an eye? Isaiah and the golden coffin dissappear from sight! With one more flourish, Grobar gives a lasting smile. "They will be taken care of, worry you not. The rest of you ... Until next time!" And then he's hopping down and waddling off in full satisfaction, no doubt to go count his gold.
As the silence stretches on, slowly the mists begin to dissipate. First the color fades away from Selina, the motes of magical dust and sparks dropping into nothingness and they fade away. Some of those motes struggele, as if there's almost an uncertainty about this but alas they do fade. Then from Ash, a sense of disappointment comes across Grobar's face even at this. "We will speak of your paintings." A brief, but almost kind word but surely that can't be. Then there's only the flames and fire that wreath and surround Isaiah. "The choice has been made" The King now intones. The sack at the woman's feet is scooped up and claimed, regardless of protest. Then in the blink of an eye? Isaiah and the golden coffin dissappear from sight! With one more flourish, Grobar gives a lasting smile. "They will be taken care of, worry you not. The rest of you ... Until next time!" And then he's hopping down and waddling off in full satisfaction, no doubt to go count his gold.