Blank, The Narrator's page

It occurs to me we've never seen Ryo out of his office... or out from behind his desk.

he's animatronic, isn't he?

[conspiracy] And you'll never guess who's working the controls behind the curtain... [/conspiracy]

Blank, The Narrator wrote:

Agarthian Storyteller wrote:

Huh, it's only been a few days... we're going pretty slow! :(

Shame on you.

Is the Chronicler in for repairs? I can't say the rental they gave you is looking good...

OS patch upload. He should be back online shortly. :)

Ponders avatars...

Huh, it's only been a few days... we're going pretty slow! :(

Shame on you.

"Wise goblin," she said, amused.

"Our visitor does seem a bit suspicious. Though not too keen on sticking around."

Well, the Club is a good place to try out character concepts.The winners get in, and the duds disappear :)

It's a basic sort of scrying spell. If the item in question can be found, and it's relatively nearby, the spell would point him in the direction of it. The spell isn't infallible, though, and has a small chance of failure, so if it's inconvenient for the plot (I assume the tiefling is the 'faller' but I could be wrong), that can happen.

Garble's sense of smell is strong, but I think being able to smell the brimstone from so far well enough to follow it could be a bit much. Hopefully this is a valid substitute. :P

The smell could have easily drifted down - the 'shooting star' wasn't very high up. So that's actually doable, especially if bolstered by a spot of magic. Works for me :)

Huh - wasn't expecting so much posting last night.

Looks like things got away from me here. Hmmm....

Blank, The Narrator wrote:

It does indeed happen again as she runs her finger across his other cheek. Her time spent in the company of angels comes back to her as well, as the golden patterns now echo the Words of Creation...

She shudders, uncomfortable to see the familiar patterns. The past...it was best left alone. That way lay insanity...or the beginning of insanity, she wasn't sure anymore.

"Okay, buddy, last chance. Time to wake up," she said, more harshly than she'd intended.

Ask for and ye shall receive.... ;)

Seeing the change in the patterns on this person's skin distracted her for just a moment as she uttered those last words. Just long enough for her to take a hard, swift hit in her side that sends her tumbling into the sand.

Instinct kicks in, and she uses the momentum to come back up on her feet. The man is on his feet as well, his cheek twitching once as the golden color vanishes. His stance is low and balanced - the stance of someone used to fighting. His hands are up and partially clenched, but he is unarmed.

It does indeed happen again as she runs her finger across his other cheek. Her time spent in the company of angels comes back to her as well, as the golden patterns now echo the Words of Creation...

"And what's your story I wonder? Good, bad, misunderstood," she added amused.

"Well, you're still alive. I wonder if I should leave you that way? I don't suppose you'd like to become conscious now to give me any feedback on the matter?"

She traces the tattoos curiously. She'd spent so little time in hell, most of her existence being spent pretending to be an angel, it was hard to decipher what it might say.

As she runs a finger across one of the patterns, she gets an oddly pleasant 'sensation'. (Think something like two separate chords of music coming into harmony. Ish...^.^)

That sensation is quickly replaced by burning, as the tattoo she is tracing suddenly shifts in form and color under her finger. The shape becomes less severe, more flowing, and turns to a gleaming gold.

I so rarely get a chance to feed these days...so many goody two-shoes around, and I'd hate to blow my cover.;)

Yeppers...especially with the ultimate walking 'wellspring' always so close by. Maddening, I tell ya (^-^)

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that's interesting."

She carefully reached out and turned the figure over wondering if this was prey, foe, or ally.

She flips the body over - and promptly raises her other eyebrow...

The figure is a human male with pale, alabaster skin. Poking out from his forehead are two very small dirty yellow hornlets - easily concealed by his hair, and definitely no good as natural weapons. As you flipped him, you notice a tail as well, slender and scallop-tipped.

What raises your other eyebrow is none of this information, but what is on his face. Black tattoos - but they look almost like something you haven't seen in quite a while. Reminiscent of the Dark Speech, now that you really look at them. Not as actual words - the tattoos are abstract. But they give you that feel...

Rowan cautiously approached the figure, kneeling warily beside it once she was near it.

"And what happened to you I wonder?" she asked softly, looking around to see if there was anyone else present.

She notes that this stretch of beach - for the moment, at least - is empty. Thinking about a midnight snack, are we...? ;P

The figure has dark hair, obscuring its face, and is wearing obviously soaked clothing - though it appears to somehow be charred as well.

The hands are covered in what look like some kind of dark, supple woven leather that disappear up what are left of the tunic's sleeves.

Oh yes...and, just above the smell of the saltwater, you get another unmistakable smell - the smell of brimstone. :)

Interesting, she thinks to herself and moves forward cautiously to investigate.

Rowan begins her approach, heading slightly higher up the beach to get a better angle of view on whatever is there. As you close to within fifty feet, the form resolves itself into a humanoid figure lying face down.

If the deep furrows in the sand behind it are any indication, the figure appears to have pulled itself bodily from the surf, and recently too. She thinks she hears a moan over the lapping waves, but she can't be sure at this distance. She does, however, notice the torso rise and fall.

It is Garble.

Sorry, carry on. :P

Allura wrote:

"A teenage girl with dark hair and a full set of lockpicks," she answered drily.

"Haha! And lockpicks meaning..." The goblin stares, grinning. Then he shrugs. "Eh, stupid human jokes. I's sticking to setting horses on fire. That is funny! Now, I's gonna go pee!"

The goblins stomps off into the woods, dusting off some sparkle. He smells faintly of heavy drink.

Setting it up so that he can enter, since this may be plottish and I'd hate to be left out, but so he can not get involved if it doesn't concern him or if I'd just be way out of place.

[Ponders]

You know, I think it will work very nicely indeed if Garble stumbles across Danae and Irv first for a bit of dialogue. By all means, make it so ;)

*chuckle*

"No problem. I just hope we find her quickly. Although the old guy seemed okay to me, so she's probably fine."

Rowan sets off in search of the old man and the young girl.

Splitting off, Rowan quickly disappears into the trees, winding along the myriad paths worn between their roots. Apart from the occasional pair or small group having their own private parties, she doesn't find any young woman matching Danae's description.

Then she makes her way clear of the trees and onto the Club's manicured beaches, their white sand gleaming in the waning moonlight. It is because of the bright sand that she notices a dark form just above the surfline about a hundred yards away...