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Mavro moves up to his Blood God's Avatar and applies a force of magical rejuvination, suturing the long slices across its body leaking a substance not unlike blood but that glows with an unnatural pallor.
Aspros, filled with renewed zeal, moves again at the enemy and bites at it with its vicious fangs.
Hopefully, with the end of finals and such for college students, the slack might be taken up a tad. As for the new dude, I'm fine with a new member. If we are going to escape out of the gatehouse, I'd think it unlikely that we'd run into any more cells, but there might be a hotbox or solitary for attempted escapees. Who knows? The double-kill thing is impossible to rectify without a retcon on his end, I suppose, so this is one of the few times I think it's justified.
Just a few guardsmen. We've cut off the head of this beast. Our escape is near at hand; we just need to eliminate the stragglers.
Mavro does his best to keep up with the group, lugging his chest of loot with him. At the sound of the horn he turns and listens closely. "Blast, did we leave one of the bastards alive? Pah, no matter. We must keep moving if we ever hope to see the light of day again."
Mavro folds his arms across his chest, standing unmoving in his position. "I think it more likely we'll all die of boredom before somebody actually hits somebody." He turns again and regards the approach on the battlements facing the gate. "However, we must still make sure we're not surprised by any actual assault."
Mavro doesn't even address the man, turning his head it shant be seen by the interloper. "The rest of you are, or at least may, pass for human, but he cannot see me lest we raise the alarm."
Mavro clambers out the window after his blood god's avatar, keeping hands on the chests of loot at all times.
Mavro rolls out the map and studies it for awhile. He point to a long, sinuous road. "There. That's our destination. Once we find a way out of here, we should have no problem finding a route that'll keep us away from enemy patrols or guardsmen should our exploits be discovered. Alas, there's no map of our current location. There is a way onto the walls from here I think, however. The window should work for that, and it'll be better than trying to cross open ground flanked by guard towers."
Mavro moves to the office and opens the door, searching the room for a time, looking for valuables.
Mavro moves over and, wordlessly, opens up his palm in front of Darsis and gives his greatest approximation of a pleading face. It comes off looking fairly insolent. If given the ring Mavro casts detect magic on it. Afterwards, Mavro gathers up the scrolls, snatches a pillow case and, along with the three worthwhile books he found downstairs, placing them all inside. He grabs the chest and hoists it over to where the others are talking. "I admit I'm unfamiliar with the more sedentary type, but I believe you call this "financing." We'll need a basis to start out with since we are now wanted men and woman... again. I may not be the strongest, but I'll lug these things around. Best to leave our more able fighters... able to fight. Anyway. Our objective should be getting up to one of the towers. We can figure out what we're doing once we're there. Tactical hearsay is no tactics at all."
Mavro moves at the back of the group, keeping watch behind with his light mace drawn. Aspros is just ahead of him on the staircase, ready to pounce at the moment combat begins.
Mavro's eyes open wide and his large-toothed mouth conforms to a kind of gleeful grin. He hurries about the room, checking much of the literature for the most valuable and well written books. Pawing over the pages, Mavro seems lost to the rest of the world. "There'll be some very valuable books here," he says. "Just... give me a moment to look. It's been... too long."
Mavro moves over and hoists up the lute, plucking out a small tune before gently putting it amongst his personal belongings, tying it to a piece of string and placing it about his chest. Take the money and the weapons. Leave that smut literature for the rats.
Hrm, Mavro grunts as he enters the room, escorted by his blood god's avatar. That hysteria business was rather unsettling. Though I suppose it matters little now. We must be wary though in case any guards we might have missed come running. With that done, Mavro searches the room for anything valuable that he might be able to pawn off later or perhaps even something actually useful. "Well now, I suppose that's the extent of this building. The only way out is outside, unfortunately. There are two buildings we might look, but I suggest we first look into the room at the rear of this building. There might be another passage or another means of escape there. The other building looks like the gatehouse, and I don't suggest we try that way until we're ready."
The eidolon is about to speak when Mavro cuts it off. He is a summoned being of my design and of my make. He is mine and he listens to me. I will not allow myself to risk it. It is a part of me and without it I am defenseless. "The climb is treacherous. Even if it were possible we could clamber down these rather intimidating crags, there's still the guard towers to contend with. I've scaled walls before, yes, but not while a fusillade of arrows are hurtling toward me. The Gate seems the only option. Katrin's right though. There might have been a back way. We could look for one, but it'd be tricky moving out in the open with the towers looking towards us." Mavro edges out of the door to take a quick peak around at the walls. I don't see a staircase up onto the wall either from here. Ignoring his master's whims however, Aspros slithers in between his legs and out of the door, keeping to the wall and peering around it with its sinuous form, returning back after it got a glimpse around the corner.
The snake speaks to the group. There isssss a building around the corner. However, I can't see much passsst it.
The apology is accepted and I apologize as well for not making it clear enough my intentions with my characters as well as acting to brashly. I agree with the agreement that we don't threaten each other. None of our characters want to get into a fight anyway as we're all smart enough to realize the folly in that line of reasoning. I'd rather not have the PbP split up because our evilness and contentious natures got in the way of anyone's fun. That said, it'd be best if we limit in-character insults to a minimum, used only with a degree of character affability. I've had all-good games where someone took the piss out of someone but as long as everyone's in on the joke and it's all in good humor then it should be fine.
Jesus H. Bloody Christ on a Stick, do you just do things because you feel like it, or was this all just planned out, Katrin? Upset? I'm just positively livid. I once had a game with a player who acted like that. I almost kicked him out before I killed him and taught him that kind of lesson. Mavro is obviously a pompous jackass. He believes himself enlightened above all others. He believes he is the scion of all things intellectual. I thought it was understood that we are all jerks, and that I wouldn't have to clarify a mean comment. No offense personally was meant by it, but it seems this vindictive nature goes beyond the throes of character development. This seems personal. Look, I obviously don't have as much time every day to post as much as you guys, so I at the very least try to make my posts have at least a little punch when I get the chance. Having two characters around to write for is challenging enough so I usually just let one or the other speak. I didn't get around to it for awhile. I was going to have Aspros say he was fine with scouting anyway. I never threatened you though, but now you've cut off my legs right out from under me. Darsis is right, you just f&!%ed me for no other reason other than a supposed "character motivation" which I really don't bite. It was a mean comment, sure, and it's obvious your character is that kind of brute, but could you have at least threatened me first? No, I'm not going to alter my comment so I can soothe you or your character's ego. Fine then, kill Aspros, but you had better roll initiative first. It's obvious that you'll just nick him and blast the bastard away. At least give my snake the chance to bite your shins before you go along brutally murdering it. I've got one use of Corrosive touch left, and dealing 1d4 damage to the barbarian isn't going to do shit but give you reason to teamkill, so I guess I'll just eke out the next few weeks as an impotent hanger on who acts all solemn because his one hugely important character aspect was killed in an act of vengeance.
Mavro narrows his eyes at the woman. Speaking darkly and casting the apple core over his shoulder, he moves forward with intent. "Well yes, if it does 'die' I can resummon it again... only after a day of recovering the necessary strength and performing a ritual again to summon up the snake made weaker from an unnecessary sacrifice, leaving me exposed and our party down a combatant. But I'm sure it was worth it to scout out a bloody doorway." Pah, out of all the lowlife scum here I would have never figured you, woman, for a coward. And, yes, that is 'woman.' If you are going to refer to my blood god's aspect as 'the summoned snake,' then I suppose I shall have no patience for your name either. My snake's name is Aspros, and I assure you it is just as intelligent, perhaps more so, than you. Now, if are truly to escape, then I suggest we stop acting like a troupe of mummers and get on with being Talingarde's most dangerous criminals. With that, Mavro opens the door to the outdoors, stepping aside, and motioning his arm in the same way a doorman might entreat upon nobility with a flourish of his arm and a bowing of his head.
Mavro steps gingerly over the body of the dead woman, hardly even glancing at her before grabbing one of the apples and happily munching away on it. He points to his blood god's avatar and motions for it to move over closer to the door.
Mavro dons a chain shirt and ties the light mace to his hip. He decides that further armaments are needed as well and sheaths the rapier and picks up the club for added security. These should do nicely enough. Finished, Mavro looks scronfully down at the sergeant. Though we are not finished with this whelp. He is a sick fool... and a detriment as well. I have a hunch. I don't think you were being entirely truthful, even when it was in your best interest to be so. You believe the guards wont attack us on sight with you with us? I think not. I think you'll attempt to flee at the first chance you get, coward that you are. You think also we are fools enough to lied to.
"The snake has been a symbol around since the earliest days of man. It is long, sinuous and sinister, and thus it is marvellous to see that even in the earliest, most brutal examples of cultural foundations, the symbol of the snake wrapped in a circle, eating itself is so prevalent. It is a symbol so universal, and so esoteric, that it feels almost out of place. The snake, in this instance, represents eternity, and maybe also the savagery that accompanies it." - Bardwen Opal, "Symbols of our Past, Present and Future." Mavro sighs as the fight concludes, moving back over to his supposed "god's avatar." He kneels down and grasps the snake creature by it's jaw, holding it taught. Are you a worm? He asks, vitrol emanating off from his voice. He points the creature towards the dead men the litter the floor. See how many of these scum were felled by the others, and see how many bite wounds there are! None. If this is an example of how you'll fare for the rest of the fights to come, I might as well wash my hands of you, unsummon you, and leave you for eternity in what astral pits have spawned you. After releasing the snake, Aspros backs away slowly, baring its fangs and retreating to leap back out at him, madness and fury in its eyes, but this hunger abates as it finds itself utterly unale to assault its master. Mavro glances over to the whimpering sod of a sergeant. Hrm, but perhaps I might have better use for you... Perhaps you are hungry, starved. Is that it? As Mavro's words fill his ears, Aspros bobs and shakes his head, glancing over at the guard fallen limp next to the great troll's body. Perhaps it is time you had your fill. Get on with it then. Absolute glee spreading across it's face in a sunrise of absolute ecstasy, Aspros slithers over to the fallen guard, bares his fangs and digs them deep into the guard's shoulder. The sounds of snarling and the smell of flesh, muscle and tendon flying about fills the air. This lasts for only a few minutes as the creature has his fill. Meanwhile, Mavro moves over to the still pining and fetal sergeant, standing next to the pale man with a sword pointed at his throat. As the snake finishes its final morsels, the energy of the blood feast fills Mavro up. A sensation not unlike that of a transformation fills Mavro's senses. Knowledge of human nature and the telltale signs of misdirection imbue themselves within his mind. It is a subtle change, subtler than others he is capable of.
Now, Guardsmen Sergeant Blackerly, if you do want to live, and I know not all of us are keen on that proposal, I suggest you get off your wretched arse and tell me everything I want to know. If I sense any kind of trickery, your life will not end well. Now tell me, what are the other guard positions in this prison. Tell me how many, and indicate their patrol routes. Also, tell us who leads this place. Oh, and lastly, tell me a means by which we can get off this blasted rock.
[ooc]Please let me know if I have to make more.[/dice]
At the moment of the guard's entrance, Aspros moves in to sink his teeth into the dastard sergeant's chest.
Mavro, seeing his snake miss yet again, moves to disengage from the seargent's reach, maneuvering, weeving and ducking away.
Aspros's eyes seem to gleam as the mans head rolls, his eyes still open in wild shock. "Well that's taken care of," the snake says. Now will you let me eat him?" Mavro gives his Blood God's Aspect a look of disgust. "Later," he says disdainfully. "Right now, we need to cover the other doors. Move up, I'll be able to cover you from the side."
"The fight'ssss won," Aspros loudly proclaims, slithering over the body of the dead guard and looking balefully at the still-alive guardsman. "Can I eat him now? I'm practically parched; it'ssss been sssso long you know. Mavro moves forward and kneels down next to the entranced white snake. No, not yet, Aspros. This one may yet have some more use for us, but I understand how much you like... live prey. He lifts his head up, inspecting the grappled guard. "Of course, he's only useful so long as he provides us with useful information. We need a layout of the complex, guard patrol routes, the immediate vicinity in terms of guards or traps. If he isn't as cooperative as we require... then I suppose we might need to reconsider... food for thought."
Now at the back of the group, Mavro crouches down and touches the head of his blood god's aspect. There's your feast right there, Aspros. Try not to get too carried away.
"As I'm the only one here with arcane abilities, I think I'll take those spell components, thank you very much." Mavro takes some of the civilian's clothing and, standing there, unabashed in the middle of the room, strips off his disgusting rags and puts on the fresh ones. As he stands there naked, you can see the ritual scars and tattoos that dotted his arms, hands and face actually spread to cover his entire form. "Aspros can fend for himself. He'll remain in the back of the group, behind the Ogre. Trust me when I say he'll be able to keep himself out of sight. I've seen the animal upon which he is based first hand, and that creature could skulk through the forest with nary a hiss or a disturbed branch," says Mavro, putting the final touches on his garments. Mavro stands towards the back of the group in front of the Ogre, to be close to his blood god's aspect and not in the way of the group's frontline hitters.
It's name is Aspros, Mavro says.
Summoning is just as much a matter of belief as it is a matter of science and skill. To summon without belief is to speak without words, it is to breath without air for a summoned creature is more than just particles of planar elements, it is the embodiment of the summoner itself. - Helmesh Jagger - "The Beasts Above - The Art of Summoning." If anybody could spare a knife, I'd appreciate it. I'm not skilled with longswords or bows. Those kind of weapons were for the stronger of my 'kin.'" He makes sure to emphasize the word kin with as much venom as he can muster with his wounds. After the fight, clutching his side where red stains are beginning to show through his dirty garments, Mavro steps out of the guard's barracks into the torture chamber where he grabs a malicious looking bladed object.
Eying the mute one standing next to and performing his conversation ritual with the dirty and haggard-looking ogre, Mavro guffaws and moves over to the center of the room. As long as the brute doesn't raise too many alarms or abandons us to a doom unsuited to my tastes then let the creature be. I'd just have him know that we'd all kill him in a heartbeat lest he follows our orders and not the other way around, Of course the introvert would try and befriend the misbegotten elements of the other cells. They're clearly not going to be cut into this deal we've unwittingly made with the third party. I would have suggested we remove them from the equation. There'd be no need to kill them if they could stay quiet, but in the other case... Alas, it's just one more knife in the back that requires watching out for. They are the festering cysts on the already putrescent diseased corpse of a nation, and just watch as they make merry. And an ogre nonetheless! Mavro moves over to a corner of the main prison floor. "Well," he says, still quietly in case any other guards are still amok, Now that that sordid ordeal is over with, I'd ask your favors if you could stand back and away for a moment while I conduct a certain necessity. Have no fear, it shall not interfere. Before he turns around to begin the ritual, he twists and addresses the group again. If there are superstitious amongst you, please don't interrupt. I have first hand experience with how... plebeians react to these sort of performances. With that, Mavro kneels down on the floor and produces the wicked looking object he took from the torture chamber. He pricks each of his fingers and creates a shallow horizontal slash across his palm. He stabs his blade into the ground and places his palm on the ground in front of him, where the blood begins seeping out and covers an area precisely in the shape of his palm. He begins chanting furiously, incessantly, never stopping to breath even for the full minute. His eyes roll back into his head while the deep cadences of his voice flow and circle throughout the room. In Orc:
"I sacrifice my blood for the god of blood. I sacrifice this iron for the god of iron. I sacrifice myself for both for I am their vessel. With your aspect I drown the world in your touch. I am your servant." Repeated ad infinitum until the ritual is complete. At the center of Mavro's person a dark red light begins to be emitted and it appears like a man sized white snake creature is emerging from the ground itself. The blade in the ground turns to dust and the blood slowly flows back into Mavro's hand. After the minute is up the snake creature is fully emerged. Mavro sighs and hangs his head. He rests only for a moment of deep breaths before standing up again. It is done, he says to the group. The beast is awoken. How... delicious.
Mavro stares transfixed at the young guardsman as he, recoiling at the savagery of Lysander's blows, musters the last reserves of his strength and thrusts his sword forward, faster than the eye could follow, straight into Lysander's throat. Taking a moment to savor the irony, but just a moment, Mavro steps through the portal and maneuvers over to the kid after Katrin, trying his best to get behind him. "Well done, human," he says before grabbing for his head and casting a spell to corrosively burn him. It's been awhile since I've practiced the arcane. Lets hope I'm not too out of practice.
Mavro tries to let the others in before him. There isn't much he can do without his aspect and so decides to assess the tactical situation before leaping in.
Finally, as Mavro is released from his bonds he quietly drops his chains to the ground and stretches, back, exercising his sore limbs without making too much noise. "I agree with Darsis and Taemon." he whispers. We don't have the luxury of acting rashly. One false move and it's back in change. Nightfall will bring the cover of darkness as well as bring in new guards. They may be less tired just getting onto duty, but if their bodies are discovered it'll put the entire complex on alert."
Mavro cocks his head to the side. "Not enough weapons for everything then? Fair enough. Some might have to get their hands dirty. Get those shackles open quickly now, before the guards begin to suspect anything. Once we take them out we'll have a bit more breathing room. We'll actually be able to formulate a plan in confidence."
Mavro shakes the shackles behind him. Try it out then, he whispers. The longer we dally the greater chance we have in getting discovered."
Ice crawls along Mavro's skin as he feels the mute man's touch. His hand ball involuntarily. He stays silent though, listening to his plea without a bat of an eye. That was more than a little disquieting. The last time I felt the presence of divine magic was at my... capture. I do not trust the introverted fool, but it would be plain idiocy not to use him. "The mute one tells me he is an oracle and that he is willing to aid in our escape. He is as much ally as any of us here, then. Tell me, Taemondow, what hopes do we have of breaking these shackles if even our strongest are yet incapable of doing so?"
"Today is a grave day, for today is the day we discover ourselves." - Mikael Nedes, The Lamentations of Lemarque. "Fiends, swindlers and psychopaths. There was a time I was naive enough to believe these petty dregs could never exist in a society as perfect as the picturesque Talingarde, but look at me now, not only among theives but alongside them. They are the definition of lowly perversion, but shall I consort with them, the offspring of my societal enemy? These foul creatures epitomize the loathfull decadence that has befallen an agent of perfection, an ideal that, regretfully, never even existed in the first place." "They are foul and puny creatures... but to fight our enemy, we must play upon their strengths. They are their own enemy. We shall strike upon them with their own sword..." As loathe as I am to trust anything that dreadful Hoi ever taught me, there are some wisdoms to be had. Yes, I will work with these savages. If I escape, I will finally make this hellish system rue the day it succumbed to its ignorance. I will exact my retribution... by showing the swine just what they are... just what barbarism truly is. At the single mention of the word, "enlightenment," Mavro picks his head up. He begins his story to the ex-Knight. "Exhilarated I am, for I am always welcome to meet with the... enlightened sort. I have already stated my name. I am a convict wrongly accused of witchcraft, of which I have performed no such thing. These are a vile courts with which we deal, who will convict and execute at the drop of a hat if it feeds their bloodlust and it excuses their xenophobic natures." "In actuality, through a... roundabout manner, I am a man of philosophy and science. I have some certain skills that could be useful if what you say is true and we have a mutual benefactor on our side... provided we have a means of escape that is."
No, no, come to think of it I'm forced to agree. The memories flash before Mavro's eyes, images of cruelty, of sadism and the arbitrary wanton gluttony performed by the prison guards and especially the bloated luddite of a seargent. Mavro's eyes seem to take a mirrored shine at his reminiscing. "Yes definitely," he says, out loud for the guards and everyone to hear. "there's no doubt the most apt connection is swine."
Mavro fiddles in his uncomfortable position for some time. Eventually, he is forced to concede that there is no such thing as a comfortable position. The floor was hard, the shackles around around his wrists and shins chafing and his head throbbing from mild starvation and dehydration. The cell is deafening save for the muttered conversations of the few talkative inmates and even then it felt as if that too took on a stifled quality. It was taking Mavro far too long now to realize that he was waking up from another sleepless sleep again into the dreamless dream. His eyes watered from the dirt dust that assaulted them and his throat itched from its parchedness. Alas, he'd felt worse. Sitting next to Darsis, the half-orc begins to stir, moving slowly, sluggishly into different positions against the wall, yet finding none to his liking, he settles back down into a leaning position. The dirt and the grime do little to disguise his handsome features, barring even the jarring and disconcerting large scars and jagged tattoos that cover mostly every inch of his exterior. His eyes shone a limpid opaque white and his hair, brushed back behind his head, was jet black, filthy and oily from a lifetime of few bathes. His features, however, are attractively masculine and handsomely built, it is difficult to reconcile the differences with the average picture of an orc that comes to mind. At the top of his comely face sits a conspicuously drawn symbol that, oddly, seems permanently stitched into the fabric of his skin, not artificially but organically. It is a capital A letter mixed with the image of an upside-down horseshoe, both interlaced on top of one-another. Finally, after a few minutes of fidgeting, Mavro moves his head to speak to the other men. "The theatrics are moving, surely, but the setting is hardly appropriate. Perhaps we are but animals, but I have been called worse, but I could hardly call our oppressors anything similar to 'human.' They are more like the rats we find infesting our palace here than anything demonstrably human." He turns his head to stare outside into the prison halls, seeing nobody moving beyond the blank, endless labyrinth. "Of course, at least the rats have their freedom. We're the ones trapped here." He looks back at the two other men. "My given name is Mavro, but if that is too difficult than any one of you may call me "Charmer." It makes no difference in the end."
Congratulations to those that made it and best of luck to those who didn't. It's not easy being evil, chaps. We've got our work cut out for us.
Ahh, sorry to post this so late, even after you posted everyone else. Here's Mavro's finished character. I went a bit overboard (understatement) with his character background so I included an incredibly brief summary so you don't have to read to the full thing if you don't want to. |
