Search Posts
"What do you think you're doing, trollop?!"
Earlier dragon conversation:
"Of course! Dragons really are quite fascinating! I am something of an expert on them, of course, having been close friends with Terendelev. Well, when I can keep the figures straight." Cecily lopes up to one of the men with strange swords.
As she moves up to the man, something in Dorek's words really grates on her. And Ahmose over there running in so stupidly just to get his tiny self stabbed, why should she try to help him out at all when he's getting himself in trouble?
in Aggravated Abyssal:
"Lay off of Sir Tandyn, Dorek! Of course he doesn't know Subterfuge, why would he? You're just jealous of his handsome gleaming armor!"
"Mm. It's a good thing for us that you've made the choice not to be that person, Nurah. And we are grateful, and support you in it. We are glad you are here with us." She smiles at Sir Tandyn's musing. "Hide, I don't know. Dragons are proud of their hoards and do like to show off. But protect, certainly."
Cecily looks around, not pleased that she so suddenly had a target and was then denied it, and bides her time. "Let me at the fiend!"
If triggered: Cecily will move adjacent as necessary, and then attempt to grapple.
Totally oblivious to any secret messages bandying about, Cecily looks over the sword. "I knew him as well, but this isn't like him. Terendelev granted him this sword after he brought her-Ah! Transfigurement!"
Cecily restores her Mage Armor from her wand. "What a shame the others didn't stick around."
Cecily moves up and heroically kicks the downed Brimorak in the ribs, like a hero.
If the Brimorak is still alive, Cecily grabs it.
Cecily feels her magical protections stripped away but it doesn't slow her down. The goat demons seemed to like their fireballs, and her magical armor didn't help against that anyway. What else were they going to do, stab her? Thawm's glowing angel ball's help meant she'd barely feel the swords either. Cecily runs towards the closest goat demon and kicks an iron-shod boot towards its face.
Cecily pokes her head out as well and eyes the Brimoraks and the rubble slope. "Ahmose and I can distract them while you telly forth."
"Do they not eat here? Curious. Yes, the Armory. Finally."
"They so do Nurah, don't they? It is exhausting! Let's head to the armory." "Dorek, Sir Tandyn is quite right about politeness. For instance, I was being polite in not pointing out how terrible your story was. My title of Baroness is hereditary, and I have it by Courtesy. That is, my father is the proper Baron of Leeford, but he is also the Marquess of Golbury, which is the higher-ranked title, and so ut is the one he is properly known by. As his heir, I use Baroness Leeford as a courtesy." She gives him a prim smile, but her expression sobers a bit as she examines her claws and picks a bit of dried gore off one of them. She glances at Dorek's eyepatch, and she seems to make her mind up about something, and then pulls the shreds of today's silk gloves from under her leather combat gloves. "How do you feel about your eye, Dorek? Would you prefer the eyepatch or a glass one? We can get you a realistic one if you would like, rather than a marble. If you like an eyepatch, we can acquire for you the finest eyepatch that the leatherworkers can produce. Society has expectations for quality, refinement, and taste, but that does not mean that you cannot," she drops the scraps of her gloves on the ground of the temple and continues with sudden resolve, "express yourself as you see fit."
Cecily preens as she stands to her full height and straightens up her sleeves. "Well Dorek, yes. It is of course natural that they should find me distracting. I put quite a bit of work into being so." She flutters her eyes a bit at Tandyn and his very acceptable response, but moves in closer towards Dorek and lowers her voice. "Now Dorek, "Your Grace" is the proper form of address for a Duchess, which I am not. I am Baroness by Courtesy, Baroness Levain of Leeford, properly addressed as My Lady, or Lady Levain. My Father, the Marquess Levain of Golbury, would be properly addressed as My Lord, Your Lordship, or Lord Levain when you meet him. As a Knight, I would formally refer to you as Sir Dorek. Does that all make sense? You really do need to know these things if you're going to function in Society at all, Dorek." She eyes him critically and straightens out his apron. "And we so need to get you a new wardrobe."
Cecily lashes out at one of the passing golems as it strides past her with a back-handed fist, sees where they are headed, and she follows after them with a flying kick, trying to slip below the swings of the Golem before her.
Nurah drops the unholy symbol in Cecily's hand and Cecily immediately drops the gross dead bug on the ground, making a gagging face. "I think not, Nurah." But she's gung-ho on punching some statues into rubble. She moves into the room, passing Tandyn as she lowers her center of gravity and serpentines toward the already-damaged statue, and she barrels into it fist-first.
"Ugh! Thank you Ahmose, that was most distress8ng." "We seem to have things well secured here, or as much we can with telly-porting demons. Shall we venture further in before they telly forth?"
With a hint of panic in her voice, an increasingly green and foliated Cecily inquires, "Do...do the bombs grow on vines? Why do I keep growing vines? This is most uncomfortable! Make it stop!"
"Just keep them occupied and we'll finish this up!" Cecily continues to try to pummel the Vrock, frustrated that he's proving to be such a tough nut to crack, but she's determined to keep her cool.
Cecily holds her breath as the cloud of spores puffs out of the Vrock and disgusting vines begin to sprout out of her skin. She jukes to the side to pincer it between herself and Tandyn, then she lets loose on all the versions of it that she can identify. "This might be worse than the mimic goo! Will salt vinegar work on this too?"
---- confirm punch 2
The first of the four staccato explosions catches Cecily by surprise and singes her but she immediately leaps into action and rolls with the subsequent blasts, holding her arms up in front of her face as if to shield herself and exhaling forcefully with the impact. The pressure pushes her closer to the Vrock while she angles her movement to continue menacing the Brimorak. When she brings her arms back down, she finds her fists wreathed in shards of ice. She grins and says to the Brimorak, "Oh, we're dealing in the elements now, are we," and she follows up with a series of rapid punches.
The explosion and waft of sulfur draw Cecily's attention and she hustles into the room. Spotting and brimorak skulking behind a column as she passes through the door, she accelerates into her dragon-style stance, runs around the side of the column opposite the demon, and she launches herself around the stone pillar, reaching a claw out to dig into the surface to redirect her momentum into an orbital arc and send her foot-first in a surprise attack at the goat demons.
"Hyaaaa!"
Cecily becomes distracted and confused by the wall murals walking in, wasting precious moments trying to figure out what she's looking at.
After punching out the last mimic, Cecily examines the state of herself, heaves a heavy sigh, and then stands still to let Tandyn's cleaning motes do their work. She's usually fastidious outside of her bloodlust, but she seems more bothered about her current state than the usual gore. "Thank you, Sir Tandyn. And Nurah. Forced to choose between the beastly stickiness and smelling like Ahmose, I was briefly considering the preferable alternative of...indecency." "Dorek, you look and sound quite creepy. It suits you."
The now-denatured goo that she had somehow now spread over a distressingly large portion of her outfit and the rapidly growing, positively Ahmosian waft of the denaturing solution put Cecily into an incredibly foul mood. Tandyn could clean her up with his magic, but that wasn't nearly soon enough. And until then, that other beast would just be spreading more goo about. Cecily steps into a crouch, shielding Nurah from the most obvious attack route, then winds up, rages, and sends a heavy fist at the gross mimic.
And a follow-up fist
And finally a kick whipping out
Cecily strongarms the Altar Mimic as Dorek slips from its grasp and it flails uselessly in Tandyn's direction. It's sticky. Not covered in overwhelming stickiness, but as she feels the tackiness on her arms, she suddenly notices several other spots on her outfit, like accidental touches from paint-covered hands. "Eugh! This is disgusting! Tandyn, why did you allow me to touch this foul thing?" She tightens her grip, trying the best she can to keep it from stickying her up any further.
Cecily bursts through the sticky smoke cloud engulfing Dorek and the mimic, yelling "Let go of him, beast! In the name of Iomedae!" Then she grabs the mimic and attempts to wrestle it off of the tiefling.
"...the violence is abhorrent, certainly Nurah, but I don't understand why anyone would want to do such questionable things with their m-Oh! Hello, did we miss anything? I'm surprised you haven't captured the rest of the fortress yet, Sir Tandyn. Ooh! What fine tapestry!"
Cecily fixes Ahmose with an icy stare after the battle, disappointed but not surprised. She tags in at the end of Sir Tandyn's admonishment, "As our army acts to enact our commands, we are responsible for the safety of our people. We will not throw their lives away flippantly." She faces Nurah and colors a bit, reminded of the list of recited exploits. "You did well, Nurah, and I would be happy to accompany you all back as well. And some of those acts sounded impossible by my understanding, I have questions. We won't be long."
Nurah's positive and familiar identification of the demon and the crusaders attacking puts the last pieces together and Cecily springs into action. "I trust you'll forgive me later, soldier!" Her foots snaps out at the crusaders head and she follows up with two jabs, aiming to disable rather than kill.
"Armor? I don't wear armor, that doesn't mean I am not righte-whoa, hey!" A very surprised Cecily is caught in conflict between her eyes and heart telling her Iomedae has come to grant her a blessing and her companions making an incredible and unsubstantiated leap that The Inheritor and her companions are evil, to the point of making an unprovoked attack! She stands, light on her feet and dodging in her combat stance, and commits to avoiding the fight until the holy vision responds, hopefully clearing this whole thing up. Are her companions ensorceled?
Cecily risks a glance up, both surprised and slightly annoyed that no one else is showing due deference. Could this sage be on to something?
Upon entering the room and seeing the occupants, Cecily immediately genuflects, eyes to the ground. "My Lady! We are not worthy of the honor!" But maybe, a little bit, she she is.
Cecily taps herself with her wand of Mage Armor and a magical suit of armor shimmers around her for a second before fading from view. She wonders for a second if Tandyn's magic only takes half effect because his two eyes can only look into Dorek's one, but the thought is fleeting as she accepts the spell from the Paladin. "Thank you, sir Tandyn. I feel quite fortunate.
"Very well then," Cecily grudgingly relents, then a thin smile surfaces. "Perhaps heroic dragons are an exception, Knight Commander Tandyn."
Cecily snatches her arm away from Dorek. "I'm FINE, Dorek. No, I'm not going scouting. I'm going to go care for my horse. Err, talk to Nurah. Then care for my horse." An aggressive and thorough brushing session is in her immediate future. When Tandyn catches up and chastises her, she freezes for a moment. Her eyes tense slightly, and she sets her jaw. "Thawm's business is her own, until it reflects poorly on the company she keeps. We have an image to uphold, and casual dalliances with unknown partners or birds will cause a scandal. If she was honoring us, we would not be needing to worry about such things."
Thawm's spontaneous combustion raises Cecily's eyebrow in concern, but the developing conversation soon sends her into a fit of pique and then spiraling completely. "Thawm! Dear, are you o...ever going to tell us who the miscreant father of your little lovechild egg is? Tandyn, you needn't stay with a trollop of such questionable virtue, it just wouldn't be proper, you should stay in mi...y horse's....sta....hmph! Hmph! Nurah! Your thoughts on the defenses! Let us chat." Cecily follows, fuming with victory.
Chucking the level 8 ability score bonus into Charisma
Cecily twirls her wand of mage armor around idly as Tandyn makes a fantastic show of understanding delegation. She's really quite proud of him in the moment, he's getting the hang of his station. "Lord Gwerm, perhaps a letter to Edwina? I know you two were close, and she's been looking for opportunities since Uncle Loreto passed with whatever venture she has cooked up this week. I know she would just love to return to the Worldwound." She looks to the other Knight-Commanders. "I am prepared to continue into the gatehouse if you are."
Level up! New level of Bloodrager, for Bloodrager 5/UMonk 3//Dragon Disciple 2
Cecily stays with the paladins and fights largely as she did during the last assault, joining in the arrow barrage and then dismounting to run into the front lines of the charge, her unnaturally fast stride keeping up with the knight's chargers. After the battle, she sees to Roch and then joins back up with the other leaders of the army to see to the final assault.
Cecily prepares for the upcoming battle mostly keeping to herself, dressing and warming up her horse Roch, then meditatively braiding her own hair to keep it out of the way during the melee. The repetitive motions are almost meditative as she reflects on the demons they are about to face, what they have taken from her country and her people, and what they have taken from her. She comes out of her tent with a frosty focus. As the armies assemble, she runs through a few of Terendelev's lighter katas to warm up.
"Yes, Ahmose, that creature was a bambalam. Sir Tandyn said so." Cecily doesn't seem terribly concerned that the beast hit her until she feels the blood dripping down her cheek. "Thawm! Thawm it got my face! Your healing doesn't scar, does it? Thawm!"
Cecily darts toward the far wall and tries to spring off of it, claw-first towards the berbalang, hoping to at least distract it enough to give Dorek an opening.
"Suffer not the bambalam to exist!"
Cecily enters her combat style and heads further in, careful not to extend their line forward too much, and seeing Tandyn throw his sword she draws one of her javelins. She peeks around the corner and catches a glimpse of the thing she had missed the previous night. "Oh, it's terrible! It's even uglier than Dorek's pajamas!" Disgusted by it, she hurls a pointy stick at it.
"Oh, now I'm just going to be more disappointed come dinnertime. Hrmph." She follows along, especially at Tandyn's invitation, but doesn't stray so far from Nurah that she couldn't get back to her within moments. She's almost come to think of the halfling as something of a charge at this point.
Dorek gets a soft look from Cecily. "Perhaps we can spare time to search for her once we take Drezen. We can ask the Queen again, once we are back." "Thawm, I am no chef, that is why we have Albertin and Cens-Lupin. What *are* foods like from your home, nicely spiced you say? You are from Brigadoon, yes? Do you eat camels and...hydras, there?" Cecily asks with complete earnestness. "Ahmose if you do enjoy a crisp, you simply must try Albertin's suckling pig. Or his...oh what was it, sparrows drowned in brandy and baked in a pie, perhaps? He prepares such a varied menu."
Cecily fails to supress the strong urge to giggle at Tandyn's quip, but wrinkles her nose then looks down it at Thawm's suggestion. "Well, yes, I have tried it - a fiendish wolf pack poached most of our rightful venison in 4707 before Father and Auntie Edwina led a hunting party to bring them to justice, and in the meantime we had to survive on lamb that was enchanted to only taste of venison, if you can believe it. Albertin had a fit you see, he screamed at Manie that it tasted more like goat, but there was nothing for it, it was the best that she could do. Or did, at least. We did manage, of course, but it was a difficult time."
Cecily looks a bit wistfully off into the distance at Dorek's mention of ham. "It has been quite some time since we've been properly provisioned. I quite miss the suckling pigs that Albertin would make, they were so crispy and succulent! I wonder if...no, I'm sure Father couldn't spare the head chef. Perhaps Cens-Lupin? He always seemed to be available to go on Mother's trips to Nerosyan, although his pastries did always leave something to be desired."
"T-tasted horrible, by the w-way - like old r-rust and failure. Is t-this what it t-tastes like when you bite d-demons, Cecily?" Cecily scowls at Dorek in a particularly superior way and suggest, "Perhaps you needn't be as careful about not stinging your tongue." Nonetheless, she lines up ready to breach the door.
|