Plotlogs
The Heartfires Last Hope Sr Emmanuel 240828
In the mystical and ancient village of Ashenvale, nestled within the burnt but vibrant Burntwood Grove, a terrible blight known as the Frostveil Curse threatened to consume the warmth and life it once thrived upon. The once-radiant Heartfire, a beacon of comfort and light, now lay cold and extinguished, its absence casting a shadow of despair over the village. In desperation, the villagers turned to an unlikely trio summoned by the mysterious designs of a dragon, ushering them into a quest to rekindle the Heartfire using the legendary Pyre of Eternal Light.
Fayad, Novel, and Lena, each brought into this adventure by fate and a dragon's command, embarked on their perilous journey guided by the weight of expectations both seen and unseen. Their alliance, though forged in the heat of necessity, was tested and strengthened through trials of fire and ice. Amidst the encroaching cold that veiled the forest in frost and shadow, the trio confronted threats not just from the environment, but also from the guardians of the Pyre, menacing emberwolves, twisted and maddened by the blight.
Fayad, bearing the mantle of a dragon's chosen, was driven by forces beyond his understanding to dominate and bind an emberwolf to his will. This act, though necessary, revealed the harsh realities of their quest, where domination and sacrifice blurred the lines between savior and conqueror. Novel, with his devil-may-care attitude and willingness to embrace the chaos of their situation, found himself at the heart of a ritual that demanded the ultimate price. In a moment of grotesque transformation, Novel became both the sacrifice and the catalyst for the rebirth of the Pyre, an act that bound him even closer to the dragon’s insidious will.
Lena, fierce and unyielding, wielded her wrath like a weapon, battling against the hordes of the dead with a ferocity that underscored her resolve. Together, they faced the chilling depths of the cursed grove, their resolve tested at each turn by puzzles, foes, and the creeping realization of the dragon's true intentions.
In the culmination of their journey, amidst the cold chambers beneath the grove, they discovered the source of the blight: a phoenix, the true guardian of the Pyre, trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth, ensnared by a rod of pure ice. It was here that the dragon's voice, ever-present and manipulative, guided them towards the harrowing conclusion of their quest. Novel, driven by a mix of loyalty, madness, and the dragon's indomitable will, offered himself as a vessel for the ritual, a decision that bore the weight of sacrifice and transformation.
As the phoenix’s cries echoed through the chamber, entwining with the dragon's laughter, the trio stood at the precipice of victory and loss. The ritual completed, the Heartfire burst anew, its flames rekindled by the very essence of sacrifice and domination. They returned to Ashenvale as heroes, their deeds celebrated by the villagers who remained blissfully unaware of the cost of their salvation. The shadow of the dragon, Gonthorian, now lingered over the village, a reminder of the price of power and the thin line between protector and master.
And so, the story of Ashenvale, Fayad, Novel, and Lena became a tale of fire and frost, of sacrifice and power, forever echoing in the whispers of the Burntwood Grove.
(The Heartfire's last hope(SREmmanuel):SREmmanuel)
[Tue Aug 20 2024]
In The small village of Ashenvale, in the Burntwood Grove within the Godrealms
Ashenvale is a quaint village nestled within a cradle of ancient, towering trees, their gnarled branches of burnt wood, and ash serving to draw shadowy hands across the ground. The village is a patchwork of timber cottages, their thatched roofs adorned with the vibrant ambers of climbing ivy and moss. Cobblestone paths wind between the homes, leading to a central square dominated by a grand, stone hearth-the Heartfire's former seat of power. The scent of fresh earth, wood fires and wildflowers mingles with the perpetual warmth that once radiated from the Heartfire, creating an atmosphere of rustic comfort. Yet, with the flame's extinction, a creeping frost clings to the edges of the village, and what was once a haven of life and light now feels like a place hanging on by a thread.
It is dawn, about 85F(29C) degrees,
It is time.
This isn't something told or explained to those who had volunteered, or indeed, been volunteered for the task this evening. It is something felt. The weight of this settles upon the chosen few like a cloak of dark fire. The eyes of the Eidolon resting upon Fayad, Novel and Lena with a near physical weight.
For Fayad, this weight is heavier yet, with the added burden of the dragons desires, and expectations: The Heartfire must burn again, but it must burn in his name, under his control, for the flames of the Pyre are too great, too primal, to be left untethered and without a master.@line
An unnatural wind coils and twists it's way through Haven following this weight, carrying with it the scent of burning wood, and ash. The echo of the yet unanswered prayers of the villagers, and the subtle threat of a winter that may never end. It serves as a harbinger of sorts for a cadre of cloaked, and hooded members of the Scions. A group of which are tasked to fetch Fayad, Novel and Lena each, escorting the three through the barriers between worlds as they path to their destination.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village of Ashenvale, an unnatural chill creeps through the air. The villagers, accustomed to the ever-present warmth of the Heartfire, huddle together in their homes, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty. Ashenvale, a place that has always been bathed in the comforting glow of the Heartfire, now stands on the brink of an icy doom.
The once-thriving heart of the village, where children played and elders shared stories, is now eerily silent. Smoke no longer rises from the central hearth, and the streets are deserted, save for a few wary souls who dart from door to door. The Burntwood Grove, the ancient forest surrounding Ashenvale, looms dark and foreboding in the distance, its twisted trees whispering secrets of a forgotten past, and an oncoming doom.
Fayad trudges through the cold and frost, his skins drawn up against himself. He flanks himself with demonborn, heavily armed ones, having given Lena her chosen weapon of a golf club before heading out to the village. It'd look like an artifact to these slaves, in his mind. But what truly draws attention is the gold gauntlet on his left hand, claws viciously serrated like a dragon's, that plays with any light that's cast upon it. "All Vaelys' doing, I bet," he mutters.
Arrogance seeps from every inch of Lena, fueled by a drug-induced haze, as she holds a slightly bent nine-iron golf club in one hand, resting it upon her shoulder. Hey, better to shop second-hand, after all, and it was going to get fucked up when she hit something anyways, was specifically her reasoning. It was a good reason, to be fair. "What a fucking mess. So what, are we just gonna... Start a new fire here, or something? Or are you gonna do that, and we just beat the shit out of whatever comes to stop us?"
Novel shows up armed to the fucking teeth, sword strapped to the back and bow on arm. Somewhere along the line he got more crystal meth so that they can all stay alert even though it's at night and through who knows how long this weird shit happens because time doesn't line up right. He also isn't particularly locked in by anything except 'burn it', and has to be reminded at least once that this doesn't mean 'burn the fucking village down to the ground'.
The demon-blooded also feels antsy with that weird, familiar pressure, having it felt it pushing on his mind once to encourage him to try - and fail - to stab a waitress to death in the middle of Rosie's.
Long story.
He tells tales or reminisces about past adventures he's gone on with Fayad, from fighting giant rats to dinosaurs, to stabbing ghosts to death - or making conversation with Lena about the various fucked up things were doing, "And then we tore the entire fishing line we tricked him into swallowing out! God damn, the look on his face was HILARIOUS." Oh, demon blooded and their suffering addiction.
And then they arrive and Lena takes up the questioning. He draws up short when they finally come up to the village, hands folded behind his head as he falls silent, keen-eyed gleam as he takes in a deep breath of that fresh, rustic life. Mnn.
In the heart of this growing unease, Elda Brightflame, the village elder, wanders out from the centre of the village, and comes to stand before the gathered party. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth and wisdom, now gleam with a mixture of fear and determination. The frost on her breath is a stark contrast to the fire that once defined her.
"My friends," Elda begins, her voice steady but tinged with desperation, "The Heartfire has gone cold. Without its warmth, our village will soon succumb to the Frostveil Curse, a blight that has not been seen in these lands for generations. There is but one hope left to us: the Pyre of Eternal Light, hidden deep within the Burntwood Grove. It is said that only a flame from this legendary pyre can reignite the Heartfire and save us from the creeping cold." There's a long pause as the woman takes a breath then, leaning heavily upon a gnarled cane that looks nearly as old as she does. "Your dragon has assured us that it can save us. Please. We are desperate."
Fayad raises both his hands, attempting desperately to stop both of the demonborn flanking him from speaking. Dear Allah please don't say anything to the ancient god-realm village elder, he prays in his heart. "We are here to assist you in beating back the curse of Vaelys and of Winter's touch, yes," he quietly informs Elda. "Do you have any traditions on how it is acquired? Is there a reason you have not gone for the pyre yourselves?", he queries.
There's a blooming of hope within the Elder's eyes as her gaze turns over Fayad, Novel and Lena. Equipped as they are with weapons and artifacts not of her world. There's a slow, painful nod in response to the man's words. And she closes her eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut before they open anew, "There were some who tried. They have not returned." She informs Fayad, her lips canting into a saddened frown, "There are said to be guardians of the flame that protect it. But- I should warn you."
She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group, each one a beacon of hope in the growing darkness. "The path ahead is fraught with danger. The Burntwood Grove is no ordinary forest. It is a place where the spirits of those who once worshipped the flames linger still, and where the shadows of the past are very much alive." There's another pause, and a soft exhale of breath. Visible in the cold. "The cold has driven many of them mad. The Emberwolves have been howling, and screaming. Tearing at themselves in an effort to free themselves of the frost. We are not equipped for this. We are humble hearthkeepers."
Fayad accepts this, and he checks to make sure his spear is still strapped to his back and that his magic is at his command. He nods, his pendant glowing in reassurance. "Very well, Elder. We will take the path and return with flame - this we promise you.", he declares. "We have been travelling long and will expect food prepared for us when we return," he tells her.
"Don't worry, I brought some fucking cocaine too so won't get goddamn bored, throw a real party when we get back," Novel remarks to Lena as he draws away and considers the elder's words, rubbing his chin with a gleam in his eyes, the word 'danger' only working to arouse his interest and excitement. "Emberwolves, huh? I wonder if they're all hairless and shit like those weirdass cats that live in the desert. What was their fucking names." He's mentally picturing a wolf. Only, like, naked. He makes a face at the mental image and does his best to shake it off. Some things are too weird even for him.
"Or they got like, fire for fur. Firefur, ha! Maybe that should be the next food you make for SLUDGEFUKK, the Firefurburger." Lena is on her usual utterly vile commentary, of course; danger manages to grip her like a knife beyond even the warm embrace of the oxies she just popped right before coming to this place. It is a good grip, though, for someone who always lived her life on the edge.
"..Thank you." The words are staggered, so laiden with emotion that the Elder can barely get them out. She reaches over to grasp at Fayad's flesh hand, and squeezes it with desperation. Then Novel is speaking, and she's somewhat taken aback. "Ah.. you will find out in time, I fear." She extends to him, a little more wary now.
Soon enough she is clearing her throat, and nodding at Fayad's request, "Of course, of course. It would be the least we could do." She assures him, then canting her gaze toward the forests toward the west. Where a dirt trail weaves through the half-burned limbs of trees that reach for the heavens.
Fayad inclines his head respectfully to the Elder and twirls his finger in the air. "This way," he comments to his companions, taking point as they tread off into the dirt trail through the frost-encrusted leaves of the scorched woods.
Novel leers back at Lena with open glee. "Oh, I fucking love that idea. I've already been dragging back the fucking boars and dinosaurs we keep bagging-" Fayad might now realize where the pork meat in the dish he was given came from. "We could definitely cut one open and see how that goes..." His feet move even as his attention is on his fellow partner-in-violence as he strides along after the other man.
Lena of course follows. There was a promise of violence in the air, and fire in her lungs, and she slurped down a Perc like it was a tic tac. Impatiently, she pats the haft of the nine iron across her shoulder, threatening to bend it more. She is clearly getting antsy, and impatient. "When are we gonna break some shit?"
Fayad says "As soon as something jumps out from the woods to fuck us up. Keep your eyes up."
Perhaps it wasn't the shit that Lena was intending to break, but there are definitely fallen branches along the path, and they snap beneath the groups heels. It isn't long before the village vanishes in the distance, and the forest about them grows darker and darker yet. The name Ashenvale isn't just for fun, it seems, as many of the trees here seem to share the unique characteristics of some gumtrees, in that they are needing to be burned in order to release their seeds and propergate. It's a strange look then, when they pass trees with fires crackling inside of their trunks, and frost tipping and nipping their leaves.
A weight comes upon Fayad as they journey. Familiar and terrible in equal measures. Like claws digging into his shoulders as it coils about within his chest, filling his lungs with warmth, and ash both. "You will not fail on this endeavour, ant." The voice of his patron whispers into his ears, "It is the flame that matters. Not the people. Not your meal. Not your rewards."
Fayad closes his eyes and shudders under the gaze of the Terror. He knows he can't. "I won't," he mutters. "I know.", are his two sentences towards the Presence that licks at his mind like flames against a wooden house.
"I mean, like several people have already fucking vanished. Either they're waiting to fucking jump us OR something just fucking ganked the stupid fucks," Novel remarks to Lena, reaching behind himself and drawing the dragon-tongued blade from his shoulders with a 'schink' of the blade that hints of mayhem and glee, his gaze wandering over the trees with intent delight. "Man, those goddamn trees look ready to fucking explode."
Novel never crosses out the idea of betrayal. It's always On The List.
Lena takes a few swings with the golf club at the nearby branches, including thumping it against a few burning tree trunks as well. For good measure, she puts the head of the club inside of one of the burning trunks, getting it red searing hot, before whacking at a few of the more frozen branches. Probably not all that effective, but certainly something that gave her a bit of enjoyment to do.
There's no 'good', or 'well done', in response to Fayad's words. Simply the weight of expectations that hangs upon him. The wooden house that is his mind is definitely getting hot. There probably isn't room in there for Fayad and the dragon both, yet it lingers. Watching, waiting. Judging him.
A few steps behind and Novel appears to have called it, as the difference in temperate between the burning ashen trees, and the invading frost causes one of them to shatter, and collapse, with flumes of flame and smoke expelling into the air before falling still, and dying. Smothered by the cold.
Lena helps deal with the curse by shattering a few of the frozen leaves. Surely, it is because of her burning desire to help others, and not due to idle wanton destruction. Either way, eventually one of those strikes is accompanied not only by the breaking of branches, and leaves, but also a low, throaty howl in the near distance.
Fayad would tense up, but he's already really tense and agitated. He calls his knowledge to the forefront and prepares his mancing. "Novel, Lena, on each side of me. I'll use my magic to help you fight."
Novel might not be scientificamally inclined, but he knows how to make things go BOOM. Hot plus cold is boom. That's just facts. Happens with hot oil and ice. He grins as he hefts his weapon from where it was relaxed on his shoulder, chuckling at Lena's antics and the heading of the blade. "See? What'd I fucking tell you? Fucking party time." He cranes his head, this way and that, trying to distinguish where the howl is coming from - and perhaps, how many.
"Let's fucking do this." Lena clutches the burning hot nine iron in one hand, the grip managing to keep her from burning her hand on the scalding hot metal. She flanks Fayad on his left, keeping an eye on what surrounded them, and remaining firmly at the ready.
Novel does love committing his fucking violence as he hefts the weapon - and then he steps out, to the right, forming a triangle with Fayad and spinning the weapon about in one hand. He raises the crossbow on his other hand, scanning around, trying to pick them out. "There's more than fucking one. Goddamn... three or four or some shit."
Novel says "Could be more."
There are definitely three or four, but their numbers are hard to pin down. It's movement that gives them away, more than anything else, as the otherworldly beasts near blend into their environments. There's a flash of movement near Lena, and she manages to take the measure of the beast before it vanishes back into the half-burned landscape of the Ashenvale.
It's furless in nature, with mottled flesh pattern in much the same manner as burned wood, and ash. The creature is sweaty, and slick, with peels of gel-like substances leaking from it's pores. The smell of accelerants fills the air as they stalk about the gathered party, chuffing and growling as they close in. Flecks of ice and frost can be seen on the beasts, and there's a fury in their eyes that cuts through their intelligence and strikes them furious and maddened.
Novel doesn't hesitate - all those battles, all those fights, getting him warmed up for dealing with various otherworld entities as he snags a bolt out, slams it into place, pulls the small bolt back with a mechanical click. Lift, line the shot off, and - a soft 'pwaf' of a four-inch bolt whistling through the air. Whether or not it hits is another matter. He at least learned to reload quickly but... aiming's not his strong suit.
Novel has a player who realizes weapon disciplines are at zero unless you have the weapon in hand. Oops.
Fayad begins to invoke mancery, his pendant glowing on his chest as he locks his eyes upon one of the beasts, doing his best to track it visually so that he can focus his power upon it - he experiments with literally setting it on fire. All of the accelerants. At once.
Fayad is probably going to cause it to become a raging hellbeast that wipes the party, but hey!
"Hey Novel! Remember when we fed that bear cocaine? Don't these look like that thing? HA!" Lena grins recklessly as the beasts approach, a certain swagger to her step. She swings the searing hot golf club back, before yelling, "FOOOORE!", and swinging the club with both hands, aiming to bash one of the damn thing's heads in as it came close. She remains tight in formation with the other two, as if daring the creatures to even try coming any closer.
These three events happen in tandrum. The loosing of a bolt, the invoked incantation and the driving range-esque swing of the club. The chaos of the fight unfolds as the wolves rush in closer, breaking their cover to attack from different sides.
The first beast is too eager, and charges directly into Novel's line of fire. The bolt catches it in the fleshmeat of it's shoulder, and it whines in sudden pain. Hot blood spills into the cold air as this beast twists and retreats, leaving steam in it's wake.
The second of the wolves charges toward Fayad, low to the ground, snarling and hissing and spitting as the man works his magic. There's a spark, as there often is with a flame.
And then an inferno, a loud sound of WOOMPF as the beast ignites. Flames scorch across it's flesh, burning away the ice and the frost as it ignores the liquid that oozes from it's paws. It's charge falters, and it pauses, looking surprised, and in some measure, grateful. There's a howl from the beast then, of victory, and heat and flames.
The third beast lunges toward Lena and that flaming club of hers. Young, and brash, it doesn't think twice about attacking, clamping it's cruel jaw toward her wrists, which only serves to set it up for the perfect swing. The head of the club finds it's mark, crushing bone and flesh, and igniting this emberwolf in another flash of fire as it goes crashing onto the ground, and it's side, whining and whimpering while clawing at it's face in attempt to stop the pain.
There's a large gouge rent into the head of the critter, with blood and bone visible as it thrashes about, and eventually falls still. Still alight.
Fayad nods encouragingly towards the wolf, making sure to avoid baring his teeth. He's working off the assumption that these things are somewhat similar to animals back on Earth, which he always got along with pretty well, honestly. "We're going for the Hearth. We're going to bring the fire back," he states, in an attempt to be soothing.
"Fucking, you're RIGHT. It DOES! After it went all fucking crazy in the junkyard and got covered in bullshit while we watched it rampaging around for a fucking laugh. I can't remember - did we throw some poor bastard in there to get chased around?" Novel says to Lena with open glee, disappointment rocking across his features as the beast he shot ran off. And instead he takes his sword back into both hands instead of loading another bolt - and scans around for another upright target. Ooh, there's one right in front of Fayad now...
Lena leans on over to the one that was on the ground, and with a bit of a grunt, she uses her free hand to pick up the thing, unconscious or not, and hoists it over one shoulder with a grunt, regardless of whether another emberwolf remained or not. She wants a trophy, she gets a trophy.
The body language, his gentle tone and the flames that Fayad had provided to the wolf serve to confuse the beast, and it chuffs again, before starting to pace back and forth before him. As if it were literally walking through it's thoughts and decisions. The flame that had ignited about form into a mane of sorts, that curls about it's neck and down along the length of it's back.
Meanwhile, the one last remaining wolf, still covered in frost and chill, bursts out of the forest about the trio, and makes a beeline for someone - passing Novel in the process, and attempting to launch itself upon the woman as she collects the body of it's dying compatriot.
The body language, his gentle tone and the flames that Fayad had provided to the wolf serve to confuse the beast, and it chuffs again, before starting to pace back and forth before him. As if it were literally walking through it's thoughts and decisions. The flame that had ignited about form into a mane of sorts, that curls about it's neck and down along the length of it's back.
Meanwhile, the one last remaining wolf, still covered in frost and chill, bursts out of the forest about the trio, and makes a beeline for Lena - passing Novel in the process, and attempting to launch itself upon the woman as she collects the body of it's dying compatriot.
Novel has a brief, entertaining moment in his mind where he debates letting Lena get jumped. ... Nah. He's hardly one to pass up a free meat delivery as the blade comes down in a swift, two-handed swing, the blade angled in the direction the wolf is coming from to maximize the advantage of momentum but the weight of the weapon being dropped somewhere in front of the dog so he doesn't end up missing.
A voice bursts back into life within Fayad, callous and cold as ever, ironic given the beasts nature. "Dominate it. You have touched it with your flames, ant. Dominate it, as I have you." The instructions are burned into the man, vibrating through his very being.
Lena still has one hand free; she could smell the firestarter coming from the thing as it tried to pounce on her, and she swings the club with one hand, the titanium nine-iron better suited for chipping balls out of the rough swinging in an arc towards the thing's head once again. If things went fortuitously, perhaps it'd impact the thing at the same time as Novel's cleave would.
Fayad grimaces. He was hoping to be a little more...pleasant with the animal, finding a quiet joy in its dignity, but then he clenches his claw, looking away as he channels the authority of the dragon through the relic Gonthorian had quite literally fused to his arm. The emberwolf's flames change color, becoming faintly prismatic for a moment as his will struggles against the beast's.
And on the other side of the party? One of these emberwolves has tried to bring a set of jaws to a swordfight. It's already airborne by the time Novel's blade has been swung, and as such there's little it can do to avoid it. The sharp edge of the weapon slices through flesh, and muscle, blood and accelerant splashing across Novel and Lena both.
It's torment doesn't end here, however, as the snarling beast is clipped in the side of the head with the club, and any chance of a graceful landing is robbed off of the beast as it goes tumbling tail over head into the ground. It skids across the road, and then comes to a stop near the edge of the forestry.
It hurts the emberwolf.
This dominating force employed by Fayad. It hurts, and it cuts deeply, and while his flames and the magic are linked, the man can feel the pain he is dealing to the beast all the while. It's a terrible, burning heat in the mind. That nearly blinds it to it's own thoughts, and feelings, and forces it's entire being into submission and fear.
"Good." The voice of Fayad's own patron hisses in his ear. A rare display of positive reinforcement as the sorcerer chains the emberwolf to his will in much the same way that the eidolon had done to him.
Novel grins hugely, mercilessly, delighting in being soused in the mixture of blood and the scent of gasoline, becoming an entity of gore and gas. He exhales. Inhales. Taking in a good, deep huff, of that intoxicating thing, a pleasured shiver running through his body. Perhaps bad timing for certain things, but always delighting in a good fight. He scans around, swinging the blade up and out, flicking it, sluicing the entrails and meat still sticking to that dragon's tongue. Another scan for targets. And then he relaxes, chuckling at Lena. "Looks like we both got fucking one. Nice shit, Lena. Looks like the boss has his shit in hand too."
He kneels down, scooping the maimed corpse up, not minding the mess - or perhaps glorifying in it - as he shifts it up onto a shoulder.
Fayad sends a command to the beast's skull - 'TAKE US TO THE PYRE OF ETERNAL LIGHT, THE PLACE OF FIRE DEEP IN THE WOODS, ALWAYS BURNING. THE CENTER.'
"Good shit, let's hope the rest of this is gonna be that easy, huh?" Lena grins, a fire figuratively burning in her eyes to match the blaze of the dominated wolf standing before them. Something cracks her grin a bit wider, her gaze slowly shifting to Fayad at something intangible, something, perhaps, sensed.
Meat's back on the menu, boys. It seems like the devilblooded pair have more than managed their own as Fayad dominates the other emberwolf. They won't be going empty handed at the very least. Blood, and those ignition fluids drip all over Novel, but being explosive at all times likely isn't new for the man. Those thrumbs of suffering, from the wolf and Fayad both continue to pulse throughout Lena and Novel. Ensuring they're having a lovely day.
The remaining emberwolf, however, is not having quite as pleasant a time. It's flinching, and twitching, as it's will is enthralled by Fayad, and his commands seep into the mass of it's grey matter. "Hurts." It's thought echoes within Fayad, "Hurts." It repeats once more, before starting to twist and give in to his will and command both. The creature turns, and with stilted, struggling movements it starts to pad towards the forest, leaving it's dead and dying kin behind as it leads the trio deeper yet, as it's new master commands.
That's not true! At least TWO of the wolf's friends are coming with it. The man slides his blade across the aggressively flammable grass, leaving it coated in even more ignition fluids before picking his own weapon up and slamming it home. And then Novel steps over towards Lena, offering a fistbump. "See? Told you these fucking outings were always fucking fantastic." As he goes to fist-bump the other woman and stride off to wherever Fayad leave, his expression full of glee.
Fayad seems mildly queasy but he tries to keep up with the hound as it leads him towards their objective. He can't throw up in front of his minions, they'll all mock him...
Lena will 100/ mock Fayad if he throws up in front of her, he is correct. She returns the fistbump with gusto, using the hand still clutching the blazing hot nine iron. A vague shimmer of heat comes from the head of it, as she dips it into another tree trunk that was aflame during the travel. Best to make sure it's kept nice and toasty for whatever icy bullshit they'll have to face. The wolf was still slung over one shoulder and dragged along with her, to whatever grisly fate it was due to end up having. "Fuck yeah."
This particular journey takes some time, as the emberwolf leads Fayad, Lena and Novel further and further into the forest. The trees here are larger, and some of them have become entirely frozen, robbed of their flames and life by the encroaching cold. There's a different feeling here, than there was in the outer rims. A wrongness. The flaming and ashen forests were unusual, but they still felt right. As if they belonged here, in this place.
Whereas they had been joined by the sounds of popping and burning earlier, there is still sound here. It is still. Cold. Dead. Apart, of course, from a shuffling at times, which seems to come from everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Fayad says "Horrible. You'd expect it to be warmer the closer to the flame you get. Something's wrong."
Lena knows that whatever the fuck is going on here isn't right, and it turns out that the way she can -make- it right is by probably fucking something up. She squeezes a bit of the accelerant from the wolf onto the blazing hot nine iron, and with a mighty swing, slams the heated metal into the frozen solid trees, doing some work to hopefully free the tree.
And, y'know, get some aggression out, but that was definitely a side benefit. Not the only reason.
"I don't fucking know, Fayad, you're the one who knows the places. They're filled with bullshit rules. For some reason giant monsters run away from goddamn roads, and you can travel through mirrors," Novel retorts to Fayad as he readjusts the animal and vaguely wishes he had someone else to carry the fucking thing for him. Well, at least the blood is nice and warm. Earlier was great. This is just annoying. He rolls his free shoulder, some, thudding along in his hiking boots. "But whatever. I've got my fucking matches on me." And the crack pipe.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
Each smack of Lena's burning nine iron spills flames across the surface of the tree trunks. Flames that lick, and spread in search of something to grasp onto and grow. Each flame fails. Succumbing to the cold, and frost before they can truly burst into life. Fayad is not wrong. There is something wrong.
The flaming mane of the Emberwolf even begins to fail as it wanders closer and closer yet to their goal, the opening of a cave that appears to have burst through the ground. Like an ingrown hair that was torn up by some titans grasp. There are bodies around it's entrance. Dead, and frozen. Man, and beast alike. The entrance to this cave is covered with a stone slab, symbols carved into it. Though they are hard to read from this distance.
Fayad reinforces the wolf's flames with his own mystic power, his sweat freezing on his brow as he scrapes it off with his flesh hand, discarding the gunk to the floor as he approaches. "Alright. Well. Time to figure out what the hell is wrong with the not-so-eternal pyre."
"Probably some big fucking ice bitch sitting on it." Truly, Lena is deeply insightful as to the nature of things; even if she did not have the words to quite know what it was, it was rather obvious what the hell was going on. She follows along with Fayad, flaming nine iron at the ready.
Novel reaches back for his weapon - and draws it once more from the sheath with a subtle clack as he follows along the other two, "If there is one we've got the right pieces of metal to fuck her with, Lena. And Fayad here can put more flame on bullshit if we want to try a double penetration."
The flames that Fayad shares with the emberwolf do something strange. As the beast approaches the stone slab, some of those motes of fire bleed from it, and into the stonework. There's a glow to it, an orange that traces about the shapes carved into it. A campfire, a candle, a raging wildfire, and the last- a dragons breath.
It appears that this is their destination, as the emberwolf looks back toward Fayad, before scratching at the bottom of the slab. This thing is so thick with magic that even those magic agnostic amongst the group can feel it.
Fayad sighs. "Alright, let's see this shit..", he mutters. It's like someone sealed it off, or like the slab itself is the pyre? Interesting. Nevertheless, the transfer of arcana from the wolf to the slab indicates that something might happen if he just loads it up with power - so he starts trying to melt off the frost around it to see if anything changes, his gold fingers clicking against each other as the claws grind against claws, causing sparks as the magic pours from him.
The growing warmth of Fayad's flames serve to increase the glow of orange about the symbols, further hinting at their significance to opening the passageway before them. Upon further inspection, the party may notice grooves around them, divets that suggest that they could be depressed into the slab itself. There must be some meaning to the symbols, then, surely?
Fayad groans. "Oh, no fucking way," he grunts. "I fucking hate Apollo. Or whoever built this dumb fucking pyre. Goddamn piece of shit puzzle-loving cunts."
Fayad attempts to depress, in order, the candle, campfire, wildfire, then breath.
Lena is staring off into nowhere in particular. Puzzles are not her forte; if she had her way, she'd just break the thing and be done.
Lena does, however, take a certain satisfaction from Fayad's suffering at the hands of the puzzle.
Nowhere stares back into Lena in turn. A thousand little eyes, hidden in the gloom and the cold. They cause the hairs at the back of her neck to rise, no doubt.
Though this doesn't last long, as the relative silence is shattered by the click, and whirl of internal mechanisms, as the symbols are depressed. Then with a grinding, terrible sound, the slab begins to move, pulling away to reveal the dark of the passage inside. Steps that lead down into the abyss. The last dregs of some sealed warmth blow out past the party.
Fayad says "Yeah, okay, thank fuck. Not a puzzle where it's in a random order but a logical progression."
"Are you sure it's a fucking puzzle and not some goddamn bullshit technician's idea of having a passcode when they should have just put a single goddamn ignition button? I've had a lot of fucking computers that some asshole thought it was a good idea to put all the commands behind a bunch of bullshi-" whatever else Novel is about to say falls silent as the slab opens. "Fuck! Here we go. Maybe it'll be warmer inside. My ass wants to be firmly planted in a goddamn warm bed. Preferably surrounded by hot chicks." He doesn't even hesitate he just thumps on towards the cave.
Fayad says "Let's....head down there and see what's wrong with it. Novel, you go in front. Lena, behind me."
Novel says "Already fucking on it."
Lena takes up the rear, keeping her eyes on whatever might creep up behind them. After all, if she was positioned there, it was for the best that she was the one that holds it.
Novel may very well be right. It is known that magically enchanted slabs are effectively the padlocks and passkeys of the godrealms, after all.
The outside world, and the Emberwolf, are left behind as they journey down into the bosom of the earth. Some heat lingering in here, despite the source of it having been extinguished.
They pass through several chambers, with riddles already solved, and bodies left frozen and dead within each. Results of other attempts in the pass to get inside. The freshest of these bodies rest just within the final chamber, a circular room that opens up.
In it's certain there lies a stone hearth. A simple thing. So mundane in appearance and design that it may've been missed- where it not for the striking sight within. A phoenix, half-ash, and half-corpse is lying upon it. It's breast pierced with a rod of pure ice.
The party do not get long to take this in, however. As the hand of one of the frozen corpses. The fresh corpses, that is, reaches up to grasp at Lena's ankle.
Lena growls in anger, swiping down with the searing nine iron, trying to bat away the corpse hand. She had kept well alert this whole time, after all, and the darkness of the cave didn't diminish her faculties much, if at all. "WATCH THE BODIES, AND CRANK THAT ROD, FUCKSTEIN!" She yelps at Fayad, utilizing her phone nickname for him, and the most lewd possible way to tell him to get that rod out of that phoenix's breast.
Fayad winces. "Well, that'd fucking do it," he comments, right before the dead attack. "Oh, shit- Novel! Behead the corpses! All of them! Lena, crush the skulls!" To assist with this, with a series of intricate gestures, Fayad sets Novel's sword on fire, making it look like a flaming tongue extruding from a dragon's maw.
Novel stomps right over towards the hearth. He's already tired of this bullshit. He's in the front, too, so he gets to make his way across the chamber while the old lady gets grabbed. He swings the blade through the air and then the people behind him are yelling and he sort of groans and says, "FOR FUCK'S SAKES. It's ALWAYS something-" Instead of just cutting the head off, he takes the body of the ember wolf and hucks it as hard as he can towards the hearth. His head turns over towards the opposite direction, stepping forwards towards the first corpse he sees, swinging - under the logic if he's already attacked and maimed it, that's technically a clear space, a grin sprawling across his features at the flame.
"They will keep coming." The voice of their dragon patron hisses within those present, all three of them. Burning through their minds and ribcages like a bat out of hell. "The rebirth of a phoenix is powerful magic, and it takes yet more to stop it. It will take sacrifice to free this beast, and to bind it." The voice continues to explain, even as Lena beats the shit out of the corpse that was grasping at her. There's no doubt that this person was a failed hero from Ashenvale, but now they are just another obstacle.
"Novel." The voice of Gonth hisses to the man, "Throw yourself upon the rod. Through the chest. Fayad will ensure you live." There is no part or parcel in the dragons voice that invites anything but obdience in this matter.
Of course, the thrown emberwolf also crashes into the hearth and the phoenix impaled there. Whereupon it hits them, and then falls onto the ground. Frozen.
"HELL YEAH NOVEL'S TAKIN' A ROD? THIS REMINDS ME OF THAT ONE TIME BACK IN TEMECULA, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE DID WITH THAT LENGTH OF REBAR?!" Lena bellows out into the air, moving in towards Fayad with careful steps backwards. She clearly knows what she is doing in a large-scale brawl like this, especially against such unskilled opponents; the nine iron continues to swing in deadly arcs to mash and mulch the skulls of whatever deaders dared approach.
Fayad reacts with panic. "I will?! I mean, of course I will!"
"You know the last time you were a real bitch and trying to be a weird fucker. And told me to stab a bitch I couldn't even fucking injure." Novel remarks to - either the part of the voice only he can hear. "This is better. But it better work out fucking better than last fucking time. And I -better- get some kick-ass scars outta it." He's got a weird set of priorities. He flicks a cigarette out of his pocket while he walks over, bringing the edge of the superheated weapon up to his lips to get it smoking as he steps over towards the phoenix. "Oh FUCK YEAH Lena. That stupid bitch said they wanted us to go AS HARD AS POSSIBLE on them, so we fucking did. Then we ran that rope on the train tracks to drag 'em off, all squeealing and wiggling." He says, with clear glee. The sword goes first, into the hearth, clattering, still burning. The shirt gets stripped off - second. He's not ruining his goddamn dragonforce shirt for it, and he chucks the balled-up thing over his shoulder. And then he takes a running LEAP.
Fayad catches Novel's shirt.
It's like something from a metal album, this scene. As Lena fights off a growing horde of the dead with a flaming golf club, and Fayad rushes closer towards the hearth with a hand made into a dragons claw? These would be enough. And yet, there is more. Like a majestic trailer park angel, Novel soars through the air. Flames licking at him from the heat of his burning weapon as it tries to reignite the phoenix- until he falls upon the rod, and it pierces through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. The end of the rod stabs right though his back, having taking the scenic route through his heart, and ribcage. The approval of the dragon hisses in his ears, even as the world threatens to go dark.
"Now." There is an urgency to the words spat at Fayad then, "He is my vessel, as are you. Now, Fayad, you will dominate him as you did the wolf. Pour your flames into his heart. Save his life, and break this curse." The 'or else' doesn't need to be said, it's implied. Heavily.
Fayad places his metallic hand atop the rod and begins to channel his flames down the icicle, through Novel's body, and utilizes Novel's rapidly trickling life-force to funnel it into the phoenix in a decidedly Gonthorian-flavored ritual. He mutters gibberish, arcana, under his breath as fast as he can, his beady dark eyes alight with the necessity to save - damn - save - damn his friend, the urgency of the situation cutting through his cognitive dissonance. Better fucked in the head than dead - and you can't really GET more fucked in the head than Novel already is ,right???
That flaming sword is well within reach for Lena, as more and more of the dead come tumbling down from the previous tunnels and chambers. Their frozen flesh stuck in the twisted expression of their death knells as they are drawn to the warmth and life of those within this final chamber.
Lena is doing her best to fight off the hordes, sweeping the golf club in mighty arcs at Fayad's back, growling in a low rumble behind him, "You better make this fuckin' worth it, Fuckstein. My nephew's one of the only people I tolerate in the world." After that short spite-filled comment, she resumes her blows, roaring in a show of ferocity that would do her forebears proud. A surge of dopamine hits her and drives her battlelust to new heights as the rod plunges into Novel's chest, feeding fully off of the torment he suffers, before she reaches over and grabs the flaming sword as well, ditching the wolf corpse, and beginning to wield one weapon in each hand, cackling and howling as she smites things left and right.
Novel makes a gurgling, choking noise, blood blossoming out of his back and his lips as exposed flesh, tanned and scarred with pinpricks from needles and scars from knife fights and other dangerous living, back alley fights with shards of glass and razorblades. And then, after some convulsing, he briefly goes limp before Fayad's hand as his body starts to go into shock.
What might be worse than dooming your friend to potential death, and domination? Hearing their thoughts. The magic that links through Fayad and Novel, and Gonth too, serves to reduce the barrier between the two. As those terrible, twisting magics cause some of the coke-fuelled devil's thoughts to bleed across and into Fayad. A strange sort of intimacy, no doubt, and horrifying in it's own special way.
While the men play with their rods, Lena is over here serving as a one-woman army. With flaming weapons in each hand, and the grit and determination to wield them with ruthless violence, she is cutting through the dead, even as they threaten to overwhelm her. They are legion, yes, but she has had more experience in mosh pits than all of these offworlders combined.
Fayad's thoughts are full of panic, horror, faking it until he makes it, and severe anxiety about Novel dying, one of his only friends - as fucked up as that thought is. He is actually kind of a Good Person-ish deep inside, so maybe touching his mind makes Novel hurt more than touching NOvel's hurts Fayad. Evil recoils from TEH LIIIGHT and all that.
Novel suddenly spasms, coughing again, his own lifeblood spilling out and then his whole form ignites from being smeared in otherworld gasoline and Fayad's magic, the claws scratching up and already-damaged body before his life blood turns into pure fire. Instead of the dramatic woosh of flame, it sounds like an ancient backfiring engine doing it's best not to implode into a pile of rusted metal as he makes an unpleasant, hacking, choking noise, a flame licking across his eyes, vomited from between his lips, as his lifeforce turns into raw, burning material, flooding the hearth and producing a sizzle, and a pop, the corpse he hucked in here earlier catching first and flames dancing, binding, acting with wicked purpose along Fayad's gauntleted hand as the blast of red tuned white. Mostly what Fayad feels is a lot of screaming as the man is turned into the tinder to break the ice.
Fayad says "Oh, fuck, please, fuck, the phoenix better fucking help here - come on dumb fucking pyrechicken-"
Novel is driven by some horrible impact. The dragon and the demon-blooded are not so far away. And beneath that, Fayad can feel something else. The endless drive to suffering. The endless drive to new heights. The feeling you get when you touch someone's pain that turns you into an addict for a very different kind of drug. And then he snarls, in his flames, and he reaches forth toward the phoenix, to touch, bound in flames, grasping, and he's pushed by his own desires and Gonth's.
"REMEMBER THAT IF HE DIES YOU'RE NEEEEXT!" Lena slurs in a wild haze, the combined suffering of the two men along with the Percocet she slammed down enough to drive her into some manner of dissociative blood rage. All that came out from her was cackling and a keening wail when she couldn't quite even muster that. It didn't matter that the sword was a tool of more finesse than the already-bent golf club; she whips them around with freakish strength, howling out her anger and fury into the cave.
She was thoroughly losing it.
Novel grasps the bird. And then he bites it. There's nothing beautiful about this performance. This isn't the delicate reawakening, the blessing of the village's elder, drawing forth and reveling. It's gory as he tears into the flesh of the animal that's suddenly struggling to come back to life. Lena might see it. But Fayad gets to admire Gonth's work up-close.
"YES." The victory cry of Gonth booms within this space, as the magic begins to twist and form, and then there is an explosion of warmth, and flames within this space. They burn though the area, up into the roof, and no doubt toward the cursed town. They flash through the chambers, and the tunnels, leaving little but ash in their wake. It consumes, and devours, and tears apart everything with this space - everything, that is, bar the dragons chosen.
The phoenix is torn asunder, it's magic stolen, and twisted and corrupted, and as Novel devours the bird, there is a burst of flame and blood and gore from his chest, as it is reborn. Twisted and turned, with scales where there was once flesh. It crawls out of the man's gaping heart like it were a cocoon, and then drops fitfully into it's nest, more dragon than bird now. But still a phoenix nonetheless.
In the wake of the chaos, silence falls. Until it is broken by laughter. The laughter of Gonthorian.
It is said that the tears of a phoenix can heal any wound, only the gods, and now Novel might know what the flesh and blood of one might do to a mortal man. As it stands, he isn't dead, which is definitely a good sign, despite the jagged hole in his chest.
Fayad hesitantly lifts up his hand as the hearth's re-lit. "...I...uh..." he reaches out his flesh hand as if to help Novel up.
Novel was already on his knees, his hands clutching at his chest before the new creature tore it's way from his body. His teeth gnashing, blood - blood, and blood, and more blood. Straining outwards with unpleasant creaking before it shatters with splintering cracking, the noise of a bone exploding in fire, surprisingly similar to a crustacean being cracked into. There's just blood everywhere. His blood. The bird's blood. Birthing blood. He kneels there, palms upon the floor, slumped, as the creature writhes out of him and his hands to find it's home.
And then he looks up. He sees the hand.
He grasps Fayad's hand and uses it, struggling to stand. Weaker, now, staggering.
There's a split. A seam. A scar. A savage red mark, wicked with blood, right 'pon his chest and his heart pulses beneath in glowing orange. He spits up some more blood, splattering.
And when he regards the pair, and the room, "That was best thing I ever fucking ate." He says, his voice significantly deeper. He pauses. "Never fucking do that again." And then he slumps onto the smaller wizard, unable to readily stand, and allowing consciousness to drift.
Lena finally is done, the rage burning out of her with the last of their foes felled. Turning back, she regards Fayad and Novel, before saying, "Damn, that's... Metal as fuck."
Fayad winces, not intending to. "...Help me carry him back to the village," he mutters. "Maybe we can have him ride on the wolf once we're up out of here."
"Yeah yeah, sure, whatever." Lena rests the sword and club next to each other, and hoists Novel in one arm, dragging the wolf corpse behind her as she starts to make the trek back to the surface.
Thankfully, the emberwolf is waiting for the trio outside of the cave, and with the Heartfire lit once more, it's flames are no longer being suffocated by the cold, and frost. Warm radiates from the home of the draco-phoenix now, and the trek back towards the village is far warmer, than the journey away.
When they arrive back, the Elder and villagers alike are ecstatic with joy. Praise, drink, and mental attention are thrust upon the group.
Long into the night they celebrate, dancing about the renewed heart of their village. Singing, and dancing, and praying. All in the name of their savior, the dragon Gonthorian. The sheer power of the claimed flame, and the belief of the people here can near be felt as a palpable thing.
The shadow of the dragon lingers over the town now, forever more- protector, perhaps - but master? Certainly.
OOC - Thanks for playing, and I hope you had fun! Let me know which stops you'd like me to drop you off at with stalk.
Fayad, Novel, and Lena, each brought into this adventure by fate and a dragon's command, embarked on their perilous journey guided by the weight of expectations both seen and unseen. Their alliance, though forged in the heat of necessity, was tested and strengthened through trials of fire and ice. Amidst the encroaching cold that veiled the forest in frost and shadow, the trio confronted threats not just from the environment, but also from the guardians of the Pyre, menacing emberwolves, twisted and maddened by the blight.
Fayad, bearing the mantle of a dragon's chosen, was driven by forces beyond his understanding to dominate and bind an emberwolf to his will. This act, though necessary, revealed the harsh realities of their quest, where domination and sacrifice blurred the lines between savior and conqueror. Novel, with his devil-may-care attitude and willingness to embrace the chaos of their situation, found himself at the heart of a ritual that demanded the ultimate price. In a moment of grotesque transformation, Novel became both the sacrifice and the catalyst for the rebirth of the Pyre, an act that bound him even closer to the dragon’s insidious will.
Lena, fierce and unyielding, wielded her wrath like a weapon, battling against the hordes of the dead with a ferocity that underscored her resolve. Together, they faced the chilling depths of the cursed grove, their resolve tested at each turn by puzzles, foes, and the creeping realization of the dragon's true intentions.
In the culmination of their journey, amidst the cold chambers beneath the grove, they discovered the source of the blight: a phoenix, the true guardian of the Pyre, trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth, ensnared by a rod of pure ice. It was here that the dragon's voice, ever-present and manipulative, guided them towards the harrowing conclusion of their quest. Novel, driven by a mix of loyalty, madness, and the dragon's indomitable will, offered himself as a vessel for the ritual, a decision that bore the weight of sacrifice and transformation.
As the phoenix’s cries echoed through the chamber, entwining with the dragon's laughter, the trio stood at the precipice of victory and loss. The ritual completed, the Heartfire burst anew, its flames rekindled by the very essence of sacrifice and domination. They returned to Ashenvale as heroes, their deeds celebrated by the villagers who remained blissfully unaware of the cost of their salvation. The shadow of the dragon, Gonthorian, now lingered over the village, a reminder of the price of power and the thin line between protector and master.
And so, the story of Ashenvale, Fayad, Novel, and Lena became a tale of fire and frost, of sacrifice and power, forever echoing in the whispers of the Burntwood Grove.
(The Heartfire's last hope(SREmmanuel):SREmmanuel)
[Tue Aug 20 2024]
In The small village of Ashenvale, in the Burntwood Grove within the Godrealms
Ashenvale is a quaint village nestled within a cradle of ancient, towering trees, their gnarled branches of burnt wood, and ash serving to draw shadowy hands across the ground. The village is a patchwork of timber cottages, their thatched roofs adorned with the vibrant ambers of climbing ivy and moss. Cobblestone paths wind between the homes, leading to a central square dominated by a grand, stone hearth-the Heartfire's former seat of power. The scent of fresh earth, wood fires and wildflowers mingles with the perpetual warmth that once radiated from the Heartfire, creating an atmosphere of rustic comfort. Yet, with the flame's extinction, a creeping frost clings to the edges of the village, and what was once a haven of life and light now feels like a place hanging on by a thread.
It is dawn, about 85F(29C) degrees,
It is time.
This isn't something told or explained to those who had volunteered, or indeed, been volunteered for the task this evening. It is something felt. The weight of this settles upon the chosen few like a cloak of dark fire. The eyes of the Eidolon resting upon Fayad, Novel and Lena with a near physical weight.
For Fayad, this weight is heavier yet, with the added burden of the dragons desires, and expectations: The Heartfire must burn again, but it must burn in his name, under his control, for the flames of the Pyre are too great, too primal, to be left untethered and without a master.@line
An unnatural wind coils and twists it's way through Haven following this weight, carrying with it the scent of burning wood, and ash. The echo of the yet unanswered prayers of the villagers, and the subtle threat of a winter that may never end. It serves as a harbinger of sorts for a cadre of cloaked, and hooded members of the Scions. A group of which are tasked to fetch Fayad, Novel and Lena each, escorting the three through the barriers between worlds as they path to their destination.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village of Ashenvale, an unnatural chill creeps through the air. The villagers, accustomed to the ever-present warmth of the Heartfire, huddle together in their homes, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty. Ashenvale, a place that has always been bathed in the comforting glow of the Heartfire, now stands on the brink of an icy doom.
The once-thriving heart of the village, where children played and elders shared stories, is now eerily silent. Smoke no longer rises from the central hearth, and the streets are deserted, save for a few wary souls who dart from door to door. The Burntwood Grove, the ancient forest surrounding Ashenvale, looms dark and foreboding in the distance, its twisted trees whispering secrets of a forgotten past, and an oncoming doom.
Fayad trudges through the cold and frost, his skins drawn up against himself. He flanks himself with demonborn, heavily armed ones, having given Lena her chosen weapon of a golf club before heading out to the village. It'd look like an artifact to these slaves, in his mind. But what truly draws attention is the gold gauntlet on his left hand, claws viciously serrated like a dragon's, that plays with any light that's cast upon it. "All Vaelys' doing, I bet," he mutters.
Arrogance seeps from every inch of Lena, fueled by a drug-induced haze, as she holds a slightly bent nine-iron golf club in one hand, resting it upon her shoulder. Hey, better to shop second-hand, after all, and it was going to get fucked up when she hit something anyways, was specifically her reasoning. It was a good reason, to be fair. "What a fucking mess. So what, are we just gonna... Start a new fire here, or something? Or are you gonna do that, and we just beat the shit out of whatever comes to stop us?"
Novel shows up armed to the fucking teeth, sword strapped to the back and bow on arm. Somewhere along the line he got more crystal meth so that they can all stay alert even though it's at night and through who knows how long this weird shit happens because time doesn't line up right. He also isn't particularly locked in by anything except 'burn it', and has to be reminded at least once that this doesn't mean 'burn the fucking village down to the ground'.
The demon-blooded also feels antsy with that weird, familiar pressure, having it felt it pushing on his mind once to encourage him to try - and fail - to stab a waitress to death in the middle of Rosie's.
Long story.
He tells tales or reminisces about past adventures he's gone on with Fayad, from fighting giant rats to dinosaurs, to stabbing ghosts to death - or making conversation with Lena about the various fucked up things were doing, "And then we tore the entire fishing line we tricked him into swallowing out! God damn, the look on his face was HILARIOUS." Oh, demon blooded and their suffering addiction.
And then they arrive and Lena takes up the questioning. He draws up short when they finally come up to the village, hands folded behind his head as he falls silent, keen-eyed gleam as he takes in a deep breath of that fresh, rustic life. Mnn.
In the heart of this growing unease, Elda Brightflame, the village elder, wanders out from the centre of the village, and comes to stand before the gathered party. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth and wisdom, now gleam with a mixture of fear and determination. The frost on her breath is a stark contrast to the fire that once defined her.
"My friends," Elda begins, her voice steady but tinged with desperation, "The Heartfire has gone cold. Without its warmth, our village will soon succumb to the Frostveil Curse, a blight that has not been seen in these lands for generations. There is but one hope left to us: the Pyre of Eternal Light, hidden deep within the Burntwood Grove. It is said that only a flame from this legendary pyre can reignite the Heartfire and save us from the creeping cold." There's a long pause as the woman takes a breath then, leaning heavily upon a gnarled cane that looks nearly as old as she does. "Your dragon has assured us that it can save us. Please. We are desperate."
Fayad raises both his hands, attempting desperately to stop both of the demonborn flanking him from speaking. Dear Allah please don't say anything to the ancient god-realm village elder, he prays in his heart. "We are here to assist you in beating back the curse of Vaelys and of Winter's touch, yes," he quietly informs Elda. "Do you have any traditions on how it is acquired? Is there a reason you have not gone for the pyre yourselves?", he queries.
There's a blooming of hope within the Elder's eyes as her gaze turns over Fayad, Novel and Lena. Equipped as they are with weapons and artifacts not of her world. There's a slow, painful nod in response to the man's words. And she closes her eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut before they open anew, "There were some who tried. They have not returned." She informs Fayad, her lips canting into a saddened frown, "There are said to be guardians of the flame that protect it. But- I should warn you."
She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group, each one a beacon of hope in the growing darkness. "The path ahead is fraught with danger. The Burntwood Grove is no ordinary forest. It is a place where the spirits of those who once worshipped the flames linger still, and where the shadows of the past are very much alive." There's another pause, and a soft exhale of breath. Visible in the cold. "The cold has driven many of them mad. The Emberwolves have been howling, and screaming. Tearing at themselves in an effort to free themselves of the frost. We are not equipped for this. We are humble hearthkeepers."
Fayad accepts this, and he checks to make sure his spear is still strapped to his back and that his magic is at his command. He nods, his pendant glowing in reassurance. "Very well, Elder. We will take the path and return with flame - this we promise you.", he declares. "We have been travelling long and will expect food prepared for us when we return," he tells her.
"Don't worry, I brought some fucking cocaine too so won't get goddamn bored, throw a real party when we get back," Novel remarks to Lena as he draws away and considers the elder's words, rubbing his chin with a gleam in his eyes, the word 'danger' only working to arouse his interest and excitement. "Emberwolves, huh? I wonder if they're all hairless and shit like those weirdass cats that live in the desert. What was their fucking names." He's mentally picturing a wolf. Only, like, naked. He makes a face at the mental image and does his best to shake it off. Some things are too weird even for him.
"Or they got like, fire for fur. Firefur, ha! Maybe that should be the next food you make for SLUDGEFUKK, the Firefurburger." Lena is on her usual utterly vile commentary, of course; danger manages to grip her like a knife beyond even the warm embrace of the oxies she just popped right before coming to this place. It is a good grip, though, for someone who always lived her life on the edge.
"..Thank you." The words are staggered, so laiden with emotion that the Elder can barely get them out. She reaches over to grasp at Fayad's flesh hand, and squeezes it with desperation. Then Novel is speaking, and she's somewhat taken aback. "Ah.. you will find out in time, I fear." She extends to him, a little more wary now.
Soon enough she is clearing her throat, and nodding at Fayad's request, "Of course, of course. It would be the least we could do." She assures him, then canting her gaze toward the forests toward the west. Where a dirt trail weaves through the half-burned limbs of trees that reach for the heavens.
Fayad inclines his head respectfully to the Elder and twirls his finger in the air. "This way," he comments to his companions, taking point as they tread off into the dirt trail through the frost-encrusted leaves of the scorched woods.
Novel leers back at Lena with open glee. "Oh, I fucking love that idea. I've already been dragging back the fucking boars and dinosaurs we keep bagging-" Fayad might now realize where the pork meat in the dish he was given came from. "We could definitely cut one open and see how that goes..." His feet move even as his attention is on his fellow partner-in-violence as he strides along after the other man.
Lena of course follows. There was a promise of violence in the air, and fire in her lungs, and she slurped down a Perc like it was a tic tac. Impatiently, she pats the haft of the nine iron across her shoulder, threatening to bend it more. She is clearly getting antsy, and impatient. "When are we gonna break some shit?"
Fayad says "As soon as something jumps out from the woods to fuck us up. Keep your eyes up."
Perhaps it wasn't the shit that Lena was intending to break, but there are definitely fallen branches along the path, and they snap beneath the groups heels. It isn't long before the village vanishes in the distance, and the forest about them grows darker and darker yet. The name Ashenvale isn't just for fun, it seems, as many of the trees here seem to share the unique characteristics of some gumtrees, in that they are needing to be burned in order to release their seeds and propergate. It's a strange look then, when they pass trees with fires crackling inside of their trunks, and frost tipping and nipping their leaves.
A weight comes upon Fayad as they journey. Familiar and terrible in equal measures. Like claws digging into his shoulders as it coils about within his chest, filling his lungs with warmth, and ash both. "You will not fail on this endeavour, ant." The voice of his patron whispers into his ears, "It is the flame that matters. Not the people. Not your meal. Not your rewards."
Fayad closes his eyes and shudders under the gaze of the Terror. He knows he can't. "I won't," he mutters. "I know.", are his two sentences towards the Presence that licks at his mind like flames against a wooden house.
"I mean, like several people have already fucking vanished. Either they're waiting to fucking jump us OR something just fucking ganked the stupid fucks," Novel remarks to Lena, reaching behind himself and drawing the dragon-tongued blade from his shoulders with a 'schink' of the blade that hints of mayhem and glee, his gaze wandering over the trees with intent delight. "Man, those goddamn trees look ready to fucking explode."
Novel never crosses out the idea of betrayal. It's always On The List.
Lena takes a few swings with the golf club at the nearby branches, including thumping it against a few burning tree trunks as well. For good measure, she puts the head of the club inside of one of the burning trunks, getting it red searing hot, before whacking at a few of the more frozen branches. Probably not all that effective, but certainly something that gave her a bit of enjoyment to do.
There's no 'good', or 'well done', in response to Fayad's words. Simply the weight of expectations that hangs upon him. The wooden house that is his mind is definitely getting hot. There probably isn't room in there for Fayad and the dragon both, yet it lingers. Watching, waiting. Judging him.
A few steps behind and Novel appears to have called it, as the difference in temperate between the burning ashen trees, and the invading frost causes one of them to shatter, and collapse, with flumes of flame and smoke expelling into the air before falling still, and dying. Smothered by the cold.
Lena helps deal with the curse by shattering a few of the frozen leaves. Surely, it is because of her burning desire to help others, and not due to idle wanton destruction. Either way, eventually one of those strikes is accompanied not only by the breaking of branches, and leaves, but also a low, throaty howl in the near distance.
Fayad would tense up, but he's already really tense and agitated. He calls his knowledge to the forefront and prepares his mancing. "Novel, Lena, on each side of me. I'll use my magic to help you fight."
Novel might not be scientificamally inclined, but he knows how to make things go BOOM. Hot plus cold is boom. That's just facts. Happens with hot oil and ice. He grins as he hefts his weapon from where it was relaxed on his shoulder, chuckling at Lena's antics and the heading of the blade. "See? What'd I fucking tell you? Fucking party time." He cranes his head, this way and that, trying to distinguish where the howl is coming from - and perhaps, how many.
"Let's fucking do this." Lena clutches the burning hot nine iron in one hand, the grip managing to keep her from burning her hand on the scalding hot metal. She flanks Fayad on his left, keeping an eye on what surrounded them, and remaining firmly at the ready.
Novel does love committing his fucking violence as he hefts the weapon - and then he steps out, to the right, forming a triangle with Fayad and spinning the weapon about in one hand. He raises the crossbow on his other hand, scanning around, trying to pick them out. "There's more than fucking one. Goddamn... three or four or some shit."
Novel says "Could be more."
There are definitely three or four, but their numbers are hard to pin down. It's movement that gives them away, more than anything else, as the otherworldly beasts near blend into their environments. There's a flash of movement near Lena, and she manages to take the measure of the beast before it vanishes back into the half-burned landscape of the Ashenvale.
It's furless in nature, with mottled flesh pattern in much the same manner as burned wood, and ash. The creature is sweaty, and slick, with peels of gel-like substances leaking from it's pores. The smell of accelerants fills the air as they stalk about the gathered party, chuffing and growling as they close in. Flecks of ice and frost can be seen on the beasts, and there's a fury in their eyes that cuts through their intelligence and strikes them furious and maddened.
Novel doesn't hesitate - all those battles, all those fights, getting him warmed up for dealing with various otherworld entities as he snags a bolt out, slams it into place, pulls the small bolt back with a mechanical click. Lift, line the shot off, and - a soft 'pwaf' of a four-inch bolt whistling through the air. Whether or not it hits is another matter. He at least learned to reload quickly but... aiming's not his strong suit.
Novel has a player who realizes weapon disciplines are at zero unless you have the weapon in hand. Oops.
Fayad begins to invoke mancery, his pendant glowing on his chest as he locks his eyes upon one of the beasts, doing his best to track it visually so that he can focus his power upon it - he experiments with literally setting it on fire. All of the accelerants. At once.
Fayad is probably going to cause it to become a raging hellbeast that wipes the party, but hey!
"Hey Novel! Remember when we fed that bear cocaine? Don't these look like that thing? HA!" Lena grins recklessly as the beasts approach, a certain swagger to her step. She swings the searing hot golf club back, before yelling, "FOOOORE!", and swinging the club with both hands, aiming to bash one of the damn thing's heads in as it came close. She remains tight in formation with the other two, as if daring the creatures to even try coming any closer.
These three events happen in tandrum. The loosing of a bolt, the invoked incantation and the driving range-esque swing of the club. The chaos of the fight unfolds as the wolves rush in closer, breaking their cover to attack from different sides.
The first beast is too eager, and charges directly into Novel's line of fire. The bolt catches it in the fleshmeat of it's shoulder, and it whines in sudden pain. Hot blood spills into the cold air as this beast twists and retreats, leaving steam in it's wake.
The second of the wolves charges toward Fayad, low to the ground, snarling and hissing and spitting as the man works his magic. There's a spark, as there often is with a flame.
And then an inferno, a loud sound of WOOMPF as the beast ignites. Flames scorch across it's flesh, burning away the ice and the frost as it ignores the liquid that oozes from it's paws. It's charge falters, and it pauses, looking surprised, and in some measure, grateful. There's a howl from the beast then, of victory, and heat and flames.
The third beast lunges toward Lena and that flaming club of hers. Young, and brash, it doesn't think twice about attacking, clamping it's cruel jaw toward her wrists, which only serves to set it up for the perfect swing. The head of the club finds it's mark, crushing bone and flesh, and igniting this emberwolf in another flash of fire as it goes crashing onto the ground, and it's side, whining and whimpering while clawing at it's face in attempt to stop the pain.
There's a large gouge rent into the head of the critter, with blood and bone visible as it thrashes about, and eventually falls still. Still alight.
Fayad nods encouragingly towards the wolf, making sure to avoid baring his teeth. He's working off the assumption that these things are somewhat similar to animals back on Earth, which he always got along with pretty well, honestly. "We're going for the Hearth. We're going to bring the fire back," he states, in an attempt to be soothing.
"Fucking, you're RIGHT. It DOES! After it went all fucking crazy in the junkyard and got covered in bullshit while we watched it rampaging around for a fucking laugh. I can't remember - did we throw some poor bastard in there to get chased around?" Novel says to Lena with open glee, disappointment rocking across his features as the beast he shot ran off. And instead he takes his sword back into both hands instead of loading another bolt - and scans around for another upright target. Ooh, there's one right in front of Fayad now...
Lena leans on over to the one that was on the ground, and with a bit of a grunt, she uses her free hand to pick up the thing, unconscious or not, and hoists it over one shoulder with a grunt, regardless of whether another emberwolf remained or not. She wants a trophy, she gets a trophy.
The body language, his gentle tone and the flames that Fayad had provided to the wolf serve to confuse the beast, and it chuffs again, before starting to pace back and forth before him. As if it were literally walking through it's thoughts and decisions. The flame that had ignited about form into a mane of sorts, that curls about it's neck and down along the length of it's back.
Meanwhile, the one last remaining wolf, still covered in frost and chill, bursts out of the forest about the trio, and makes a beeline for someone - passing Novel in the process, and attempting to launch itself upon the woman as she collects the body of it's dying compatriot.
The body language, his gentle tone and the flames that Fayad had provided to the wolf serve to confuse the beast, and it chuffs again, before starting to pace back and forth before him. As if it were literally walking through it's thoughts and decisions. The flame that had ignited about form into a mane of sorts, that curls about it's neck and down along the length of it's back.
Meanwhile, the one last remaining wolf, still covered in frost and chill, bursts out of the forest about the trio, and makes a beeline for Lena - passing Novel in the process, and attempting to launch itself upon the woman as she collects the body of it's dying compatriot.
Novel has a brief, entertaining moment in his mind where he debates letting Lena get jumped. ... Nah. He's hardly one to pass up a free meat delivery as the blade comes down in a swift, two-handed swing, the blade angled in the direction the wolf is coming from to maximize the advantage of momentum but the weight of the weapon being dropped somewhere in front of the dog so he doesn't end up missing.
A voice bursts back into life within Fayad, callous and cold as ever, ironic given the beasts nature. "Dominate it. You have touched it with your flames, ant. Dominate it, as I have you." The instructions are burned into the man, vibrating through his very being.
Lena still has one hand free; she could smell the firestarter coming from the thing as it tried to pounce on her, and she swings the club with one hand, the titanium nine-iron better suited for chipping balls out of the rough swinging in an arc towards the thing's head once again. If things went fortuitously, perhaps it'd impact the thing at the same time as Novel's cleave would.
Fayad grimaces. He was hoping to be a little more...pleasant with the animal, finding a quiet joy in its dignity, but then he clenches his claw, looking away as he channels the authority of the dragon through the relic Gonthorian had quite literally fused to his arm. The emberwolf's flames change color, becoming faintly prismatic for a moment as his will struggles against the beast's.
And on the other side of the party? One of these emberwolves has tried to bring a set of jaws to a swordfight. It's already airborne by the time Novel's blade has been swung, and as such there's little it can do to avoid it. The sharp edge of the weapon slices through flesh, and muscle, blood and accelerant splashing across Novel and Lena both.
It's torment doesn't end here, however, as the snarling beast is clipped in the side of the head with the club, and any chance of a graceful landing is robbed off of the beast as it goes tumbling tail over head into the ground. It skids across the road, and then comes to a stop near the edge of the forestry.
It hurts the emberwolf.
This dominating force employed by Fayad. It hurts, and it cuts deeply, and while his flames and the magic are linked, the man can feel the pain he is dealing to the beast all the while. It's a terrible, burning heat in the mind. That nearly blinds it to it's own thoughts, and feelings, and forces it's entire being into submission and fear.
"Good." The voice of Fayad's own patron hisses in his ear. A rare display of positive reinforcement as the sorcerer chains the emberwolf to his will in much the same way that the eidolon had done to him.
Novel grins hugely, mercilessly, delighting in being soused in the mixture of blood and the scent of gasoline, becoming an entity of gore and gas. He exhales. Inhales. Taking in a good, deep huff, of that intoxicating thing, a pleasured shiver running through his body. Perhaps bad timing for certain things, but always delighting in a good fight. He scans around, swinging the blade up and out, flicking it, sluicing the entrails and meat still sticking to that dragon's tongue. Another scan for targets. And then he relaxes, chuckling at Lena. "Looks like we both got fucking one. Nice shit, Lena. Looks like the boss has his shit in hand too."
He kneels down, scooping the maimed corpse up, not minding the mess - or perhaps glorifying in it - as he shifts it up onto a shoulder.
Fayad sends a command to the beast's skull - 'TAKE US TO THE PYRE OF ETERNAL LIGHT, THE PLACE OF FIRE DEEP IN THE WOODS, ALWAYS BURNING. THE CENTER.'
"Good shit, let's hope the rest of this is gonna be that easy, huh?" Lena grins, a fire figuratively burning in her eyes to match the blaze of the dominated wolf standing before them. Something cracks her grin a bit wider, her gaze slowly shifting to Fayad at something intangible, something, perhaps, sensed.
Meat's back on the menu, boys. It seems like the devilblooded pair have more than managed their own as Fayad dominates the other emberwolf. They won't be going empty handed at the very least. Blood, and those ignition fluids drip all over Novel, but being explosive at all times likely isn't new for the man. Those thrumbs of suffering, from the wolf and Fayad both continue to pulse throughout Lena and Novel. Ensuring they're having a lovely day.
The remaining emberwolf, however, is not having quite as pleasant a time. It's flinching, and twitching, as it's will is enthralled by Fayad, and his commands seep into the mass of it's grey matter. "Hurts." It's thought echoes within Fayad, "Hurts." It repeats once more, before starting to twist and give in to his will and command both. The creature turns, and with stilted, struggling movements it starts to pad towards the forest, leaving it's dead and dying kin behind as it leads the trio deeper yet, as it's new master commands.
That's not true! At least TWO of the wolf's friends are coming with it. The man slides his blade across the aggressively flammable grass, leaving it coated in even more ignition fluids before picking his own weapon up and slamming it home. And then Novel steps over towards Lena, offering a fistbump. "See? Told you these fucking outings were always fucking fantastic." As he goes to fist-bump the other woman and stride off to wherever Fayad leave, his expression full of glee.
Fayad seems mildly queasy but he tries to keep up with the hound as it leads him towards their objective. He can't throw up in front of his minions, they'll all mock him...
Lena will 100/ mock Fayad if he throws up in front of her, he is correct. She returns the fistbump with gusto, using the hand still clutching the blazing hot nine iron. A vague shimmer of heat comes from the head of it, as she dips it into another tree trunk that was aflame during the travel. Best to make sure it's kept nice and toasty for whatever icy bullshit they'll have to face. The wolf was still slung over one shoulder and dragged along with her, to whatever grisly fate it was due to end up having. "Fuck yeah."
This particular journey takes some time, as the emberwolf leads Fayad, Lena and Novel further and further into the forest. The trees here are larger, and some of them have become entirely frozen, robbed of their flames and life by the encroaching cold. There's a different feeling here, than there was in the outer rims. A wrongness. The flaming and ashen forests were unusual, but they still felt right. As if they belonged here, in this place.
Whereas they had been joined by the sounds of popping and burning earlier, there is still sound here. It is still. Cold. Dead. Apart, of course, from a shuffling at times, which seems to come from everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Fayad says "Horrible. You'd expect it to be warmer the closer to the flame you get. Something's wrong."
Lena knows that whatever the fuck is going on here isn't right, and it turns out that the way she can -make- it right is by probably fucking something up. She squeezes a bit of the accelerant from the wolf onto the blazing hot nine iron, and with a mighty swing, slams the heated metal into the frozen solid trees, doing some work to hopefully free the tree.
And, y'know, get some aggression out, but that was definitely a side benefit. Not the only reason.
"I don't fucking know, Fayad, you're the one who knows the places. They're filled with bullshit rules. For some reason giant monsters run away from goddamn roads, and you can travel through mirrors," Novel retorts to Fayad as he readjusts the animal and vaguely wishes he had someone else to carry the fucking thing for him. Well, at least the blood is nice and warm. Earlier was great. This is just annoying. He rolls his free shoulder, some, thudding along in his hiking boots. "But whatever. I've got my fucking matches on me." And the crack pipe.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
Each smack of Lena's burning nine iron spills flames across the surface of the tree trunks. Flames that lick, and spread in search of something to grasp onto and grow. Each flame fails. Succumbing to the cold, and frost before they can truly burst into life. Fayad is not wrong. There is something wrong.
The flaming mane of the Emberwolf even begins to fail as it wanders closer and closer yet to their goal, the opening of a cave that appears to have burst through the ground. Like an ingrown hair that was torn up by some titans grasp. There are bodies around it's entrance. Dead, and frozen. Man, and beast alike. The entrance to this cave is covered with a stone slab, symbols carved into it. Though they are hard to read from this distance.
Fayad reinforces the wolf's flames with his own mystic power, his sweat freezing on his brow as he scrapes it off with his flesh hand, discarding the gunk to the floor as he approaches. "Alright. Well. Time to figure out what the hell is wrong with the not-so-eternal pyre."
"Probably some big fucking ice bitch sitting on it." Truly, Lena is deeply insightful as to the nature of things; even if she did not have the words to quite know what it was, it was rather obvious what the hell was going on. She follows along with Fayad, flaming nine iron at the ready.
Novel reaches back for his weapon - and draws it once more from the sheath with a subtle clack as he follows along the other two, "If there is one we've got the right pieces of metal to fuck her with, Lena. And Fayad here can put more flame on bullshit if we want to try a double penetration."
The flames that Fayad shares with the emberwolf do something strange. As the beast approaches the stone slab, some of those motes of fire bleed from it, and into the stonework. There's a glow to it, an orange that traces about the shapes carved into it. A campfire, a candle, a raging wildfire, and the last- a dragons breath.
It appears that this is their destination, as the emberwolf looks back toward Fayad, before scratching at the bottom of the slab. This thing is so thick with magic that even those magic agnostic amongst the group can feel it.
Fayad sighs. "Alright, let's see this shit..", he mutters. It's like someone sealed it off, or like the slab itself is the pyre? Interesting. Nevertheless, the transfer of arcana from the wolf to the slab indicates that something might happen if he just loads it up with power - so he starts trying to melt off the frost around it to see if anything changes, his gold fingers clicking against each other as the claws grind against claws, causing sparks as the magic pours from him.
The growing warmth of Fayad's flames serve to increase the glow of orange about the symbols, further hinting at their significance to opening the passageway before them. Upon further inspection, the party may notice grooves around them, divets that suggest that they could be depressed into the slab itself. There must be some meaning to the symbols, then, surely?
Fayad groans. "Oh, no fucking way," he grunts. "I fucking hate Apollo. Or whoever built this dumb fucking pyre. Goddamn piece of shit puzzle-loving cunts."
Fayad attempts to depress, in order, the candle, campfire, wildfire, then breath.
Lena is staring off into nowhere in particular. Puzzles are not her forte; if she had her way, she'd just break the thing and be done.
Lena does, however, take a certain satisfaction from Fayad's suffering at the hands of the puzzle.
Nowhere stares back into Lena in turn. A thousand little eyes, hidden in the gloom and the cold. They cause the hairs at the back of her neck to rise, no doubt.
Though this doesn't last long, as the relative silence is shattered by the click, and whirl of internal mechanisms, as the symbols are depressed. Then with a grinding, terrible sound, the slab begins to move, pulling away to reveal the dark of the passage inside. Steps that lead down into the abyss. The last dregs of some sealed warmth blow out past the party.
Fayad says "Yeah, okay, thank fuck. Not a puzzle where it's in a random order but a logical progression."
"Are you sure it's a fucking puzzle and not some goddamn bullshit technician's idea of having a passcode when they should have just put a single goddamn ignition button? I've had a lot of fucking computers that some asshole thought it was a good idea to put all the commands behind a bunch of bullshi-" whatever else Novel is about to say falls silent as the slab opens. "Fuck! Here we go. Maybe it'll be warmer inside. My ass wants to be firmly planted in a goddamn warm bed. Preferably surrounded by hot chicks." He doesn't even hesitate he just thumps on towards the cave.
Fayad says "Let's....head down there and see what's wrong with it. Novel, you go in front. Lena, behind me."
Novel says "Already fucking on it."
Lena takes up the rear, keeping her eyes on whatever might creep up behind them. After all, if she was positioned there, it was for the best that she was the one that holds it.
Novel may very well be right. It is known that magically enchanted slabs are effectively the padlocks and passkeys of the godrealms, after all.
The outside world, and the Emberwolf, are left behind as they journey down into the bosom of the earth. Some heat lingering in here, despite the source of it having been extinguished.
They pass through several chambers, with riddles already solved, and bodies left frozen and dead within each. Results of other attempts in the pass to get inside. The freshest of these bodies rest just within the final chamber, a circular room that opens up.
In it's certain there lies a stone hearth. A simple thing. So mundane in appearance and design that it may've been missed- where it not for the striking sight within. A phoenix, half-ash, and half-corpse is lying upon it. It's breast pierced with a rod of pure ice.
The party do not get long to take this in, however. As the hand of one of the frozen corpses. The fresh corpses, that is, reaches up to grasp at Lena's ankle.
Lena growls in anger, swiping down with the searing nine iron, trying to bat away the corpse hand. She had kept well alert this whole time, after all, and the darkness of the cave didn't diminish her faculties much, if at all. "WATCH THE BODIES, AND CRANK THAT ROD, FUCKSTEIN!" She yelps at Fayad, utilizing her phone nickname for him, and the most lewd possible way to tell him to get that rod out of that phoenix's breast.
Fayad winces. "Well, that'd fucking do it," he comments, right before the dead attack. "Oh, shit- Novel! Behead the corpses! All of them! Lena, crush the skulls!" To assist with this, with a series of intricate gestures, Fayad sets Novel's sword on fire, making it look like a flaming tongue extruding from a dragon's maw.
Novel stomps right over towards the hearth. He's already tired of this bullshit. He's in the front, too, so he gets to make his way across the chamber while the old lady gets grabbed. He swings the blade through the air and then the people behind him are yelling and he sort of groans and says, "FOR FUCK'S SAKES. It's ALWAYS something-" Instead of just cutting the head off, he takes the body of the ember wolf and hucks it as hard as he can towards the hearth. His head turns over towards the opposite direction, stepping forwards towards the first corpse he sees, swinging - under the logic if he's already attacked and maimed it, that's technically a clear space, a grin sprawling across his features at the flame.
"They will keep coming." The voice of their dragon patron hisses within those present, all three of them. Burning through their minds and ribcages like a bat out of hell. "The rebirth of a phoenix is powerful magic, and it takes yet more to stop it. It will take sacrifice to free this beast, and to bind it." The voice continues to explain, even as Lena beats the shit out of the corpse that was grasping at her. There's no doubt that this person was a failed hero from Ashenvale, but now they are just another obstacle.
"Novel." The voice of Gonth hisses to the man, "Throw yourself upon the rod. Through the chest. Fayad will ensure you live." There is no part or parcel in the dragons voice that invites anything but obdience in this matter.
Of course, the thrown emberwolf also crashes into the hearth and the phoenix impaled there. Whereupon it hits them, and then falls onto the ground. Frozen.
"HELL YEAH NOVEL'S TAKIN' A ROD? THIS REMINDS ME OF THAT ONE TIME BACK IN TEMECULA, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE DID WITH THAT LENGTH OF REBAR?!" Lena bellows out into the air, moving in towards Fayad with careful steps backwards. She clearly knows what she is doing in a large-scale brawl like this, especially against such unskilled opponents; the nine iron continues to swing in deadly arcs to mash and mulch the skulls of whatever deaders dared approach.
Fayad reacts with panic. "I will?! I mean, of course I will!"
"You know the last time you were a real bitch and trying to be a weird fucker. And told me to stab a bitch I couldn't even fucking injure." Novel remarks to - either the part of the voice only he can hear. "This is better. But it better work out fucking better than last fucking time. And I -better- get some kick-ass scars outta it." He's got a weird set of priorities. He flicks a cigarette out of his pocket while he walks over, bringing the edge of the superheated weapon up to his lips to get it smoking as he steps over towards the phoenix. "Oh FUCK YEAH Lena. That stupid bitch said they wanted us to go AS HARD AS POSSIBLE on them, so we fucking did. Then we ran that rope on the train tracks to drag 'em off, all squeealing and wiggling." He says, with clear glee. The sword goes first, into the hearth, clattering, still burning. The shirt gets stripped off - second. He's not ruining his goddamn dragonforce shirt for it, and he chucks the balled-up thing over his shoulder. And then he takes a running LEAP.
Fayad catches Novel's shirt.
It's like something from a metal album, this scene. As Lena fights off a growing horde of the dead with a flaming golf club, and Fayad rushes closer towards the hearth with a hand made into a dragons claw? These would be enough. And yet, there is more. Like a majestic trailer park angel, Novel soars through the air. Flames licking at him from the heat of his burning weapon as it tries to reignite the phoenix- until he falls upon the rod, and it pierces through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. The end of the rod stabs right though his back, having taking the scenic route through his heart, and ribcage. The approval of the dragon hisses in his ears, even as the world threatens to go dark.
"Now." There is an urgency to the words spat at Fayad then, "He is my vessel, as are you. Now, Fayad, you will dominate him as you did the wolf. Pour your flames into his heart. Save his life, and break this curse." The 'or else' doesn't need to be said, it's implied. Heavily.
Fayad places his metallic hand atop the rod and begins to channel his flames down the icicle, through Novel's body, and utilizes Novel's rapidly trickling life-force to funnel it into the phoenix in a decidedly Gonthorian-flavored ritual. He mutters gibberish, arcana, under his breath as fast as he can, his beady dark eyes alight with the necessity to save - damn - save - damn his friend, the urgency of the situation cutting through his cognitive dissonance. Better fucked in the head than dead - and you can't really GET more fucked in the head than Novel already is ,right???
That flaming sword is well within reach for Lena, as more and more of the dead come tumbling down from the previous tunnels and chambers. Their frozen flesh stuck in the twisted expression of their death knells as they are drawn to the warmth and life of those within this final chamber.
Lena is doing her best to fight off the hordes, sweeping the golf club in mighty arcs at Fayad's back, growling in a low rumble behind him, "You better make this fuckin' worth it, Fuckstein. My nephew's one of the only people I tolerate in the world." After that short spite-filled comment, she resumes her blows, roaring in a show of ferocity that would do her forebears proud. A surge of dopamine hits her and drives her battlelust to new heights as the rod plunges into Novel's chest, feeding fully off of the torment he suffers, before she reaches over and grabs the flaming sword as well, ditching the wolf corpse, and beginning to wield one weapon in each hand, cackling and howling as she smites things left and right.
Novel makes a gurgling, choking noise, blood blossoming out of his back and his lips as exposed flesh, tanned and scarred with pinpricks from needles and scars from knife fights and other dangerous living, back alley fights with shards of glass and razorblades. And then, after some convulsing, he briefly goes limp before Fayad's hand as his body starts to go into shock.
What might be worse than dooming your friend to potential death, and domination? Hearing their thoughts. The magic that links through Fayad and Novel, and Gonth too, serves to reduce the barrier between the two. As those terrible, twisting magics cause some of the coke-fuelled devil's thoughts to bleed across and into Fayad. A strange sort of intimacy, no doubt, and horrifying in it's own special way.
While the men play with their rods, Lena is over here serving as a one-woman army. With flaming weapons in each hand, and the grit and determination to wield them with ruthless violence, she is cutting through the dead, even as they threaten to overwhelm her. They are legion, yes, but she has had more experience in mosh pits than all of these offworlders combined.
Fayad's thoughts are full of panic, horror, faking it until he makes it, and severe anxiety about Novel dying, one of his only friends - as fucked up as that thought is. He is actually kind of a Good Person-ish deep inside, so maybe touching his mind makes Novel hurt more than touching NOvel's hurts Fayad. Evil recoils from TEH LIIIGHT and all that.
Novel suddenly spasms, coughing again, his own lifeblood spilling out and then his whole form ignites from being smeared in otherworld gasoline and Fayad's magic, the claws scratching up and already-damaged body before his life blood turns into pure fire. Instead of the dramatic woosh of flame, it sounds like an ancient backfiring engine doing it's best not to implode into a pile of rusted metal as he makes an unpleasant, hacking, choking noise, a flame licking across his eyes, vomited from between his lips, as his lifeforce turns into raw, burning material, flooding the hearth and producing a sizzle, and a pop, the corpse he hucked in here earlier catching first and flames dancing, binding, acting with wicked purpose along Fayad's gauntleted hand as the blast of red tuned white. Mostly what Fayad feels is a lot of screaming as the man is turned into the tinder to break the ice.
Fayad says "Oh, fuck, please, fuck, the phoenix better fucking help here - come on dumb fucking pyrechicken-"
Novel is driven by some horrible impact. The dragon and the demon-blooded are not so far away. And beneath that, Fayad can feel something else. The endless drive to suffering. The endless drive to new heights. The feeling you get when you touch someone's pain that turns you into an addict for a very different kind of drug. And then he snarls, in his flames, and he reaches forth toward the phoenix, to touch, bound in flames, grasping, and he's pushed by his own desires and Gonth's.
"REMEMBER THAT IF HE DIES YOU'RE NEEEEXT!" Lena slurs in a wild haze, the combined suffering of the two men along with the Percocet she slammed down enough to drive her into some manner of dissociative blood rage. All that came out from her was cackling and a keening wail when she couldn't quite even muster that. It didn't matter that the sword was a tool of more finesse than the already-bent golf club; she whips them around with freakish strength, howling out her anger and fury into the cave.
She was thoroughly losing it.
Novel grasps the bird. And then he bites it. There's nothing beautiful about this performance. This isn't the delicate reawakening, the blessing of the village's elder, drawing forth and reveling. It's gory as he tears into the flesh of the animal that's suddenly struggling to come back to life. Lena might see it. But Fayad gets to admire Gonth's work up-close.
"YES." The victory cry of Gonth booms within this space, as the magic begins to twist and form, and then there is an explosion of warmth, and flames within this space. They burn though the area, up into the roof, and no doubt toward the cursed town. They flash through the chambers, and the tunnels, leaving little but ash in their wake. It consumes, and devours, and tears apart everything with this space - everything, that is, bar the dragons chosen.
The phoenix is torn asunder, it's magic stolen, and twisted and corrupted, and as Novel devours the bird, there is a burst of flame and blood and gore from his chest, as it is reborn. Twisted and turned, with scales where there was once flesh. It crawls out of the man's gaping heart like it were a cocoon, and then drops fitfully into it's nest, more dragon than bird now. But still a phoenix nonetheless.
In the wake of the chaos, silence falls. Until it is broken by laughter. The laughter of Gonthorian.
It is said that the tears of a phoenix can heal any wound, only the gods, and now Novel might know what the flesh and blood of one might do to a mortal man. As it stands, he isn't dead, which is definitely a good sign, despite the jagged hole in his chest.
Fayad hesitantly lifts up his hand as the hearth's re-lit. "...I...uh..." he reaches out his flesh hand as if to help Novel up.
Novel was already on his knees, his hands clutching at his chest before the new creature tore it's way from his body. His teeth gnashing, blood - blood, and blood, and more blood. Straining outwards with unpleasant creaking before it shatters with splintering cracking, the noise of a bone exploding in fire, surprisingly similar to a crustacean being cracked into. There's just blood everywhere. His blood. The bird's blood. Birthing blood. He kneels there, palms upon the floor, slumped, as the creature writhes out of him and his hands to find it's home.
And then he looks up. He sees the hand.
He grasps Fayad's hand and uses it, struggling to stand. Weaker, now, staggering.
There's a split. A seam. A scar. A savage red mark, wicked with blood, right 'pon his chest and his heart pulses beneath in glowing orange. He spits up some more blood, splattering.
And when he regards the pair, and the room, "That was best thing I ever fucking ate." He says, his voice significantly deeper. He pauses. "Never fucking do that again." And then he slumps onto the smaller wizard, unable to readily stand, and allowing consciousness to drift.
Lena finally is done, the rage burning out of her with the last of their foes felled. Turning back, she regards Fayad and Novel, before saying, "Damn, that's... Metal as fuck."
Fayad winces, not intending to. "...Help me carry him back to the village," he mutters. "Maybe we can have him ride on the wolf once we're up out of here."
"Yeah yeah, sure, whatever." Lena rests the sword and club next to each other, and hoists Novel in one arm, dragging the wolf corpse behind her as she starts to make the trek back to the surface.
Thankfully, the emberwolf is waiting for the trio outside of the cave, and with the Heartfire lit once more, it's flames are no longer being suffocated by the cold, and frost. Warm radiates from the home of the draco-phoenix now, and the trek back towards the village is far warmer, than the journey away.
When they arrive back, the Elder and villagers alike are ecstatic with joy. Praise, drink, and mental attention are thrust upon the group.
Long into the night they celebrate, dancing about the renewed heart of their village. Singing, and dancing, and praying. All in the name of their savior, the dragon Gonthorian. The sheer power of the claimed flame, and the belief of the people here can near be felt as a palpable thing.
The shadow of the dragon lingers over the town now, forever more- protector, perhaps - but master? Certainly.
OOC - Thanks for playing, and I hope you had fun! Let me know which stops you'd like me to drop you off at with stalk.