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The tip of his claw a white hot point, it grips tightly around his claymore sword along with his other hand as he raptor-trots through the brush. His own essence overtaking his consciousness. All blood shall be MINE. War, my slave! Minister to me AGAIN!
"Be wary, folks. This is what we came to rout. If your feet are not swift to shed blood, I will abandon you in the fray.
The claw of Vehemence begins to erupt in crimson, with faint red lightnings crackling from it, into the air.
I prefer no maps. What is in your arsenal currently, mouse? If that question is deemed metagame-y then don't answer it.
whatever takes place will.
"Well little one, If they impede us from this Nothingman bastard, we cut them down."
Blood for my cup, crown for my head... Perhaps things will be right again.
Let us not let this die.
Vehemence's irritation with the forest fades as he hears the new pipsqueak swear.
In front of the new one who caused him to chuckle, the king crownless actually acts with a sense of civility. "Hello, small one. We are ones who seek to find this burglar, the 'Nothingman'. What do you know of him? What is this being?" Vehemence's humored joy is not wholly the sum of Sniller's slur, however.
Vehemence crosses his arms and clicks his teeth in exasperation. If he destroyed this fool like he desired, he might not find the cave, and lose trail of his thief. But the trail will soon end... as will you Orin Warren, witless fool. He picks up his heavy sword and prepares for another wretched roll through the thicket.
...and before I SMITE HIM
Vehemence had a special place in his heart regarding the insane. On one hand, they would take the blessing he gave them and burn down worlds without second thought- sometimes literally. On the other hand, they could be so unfocused, so disconnected from both the Real and the Myth... They would often be the ones to pray to him with the most fire, only to have that costly flame wasted for something as trivial as a shiny object, or a riddle. His blade sunk into the ground, almost stuck. He left it there and composed himself for a moment as he came to grips that it had happened again. Why wasn't I able to spot it in this one... What's becoming of me? I'm so out of it... Blast. Curse these days... Norgorber will bring me my thief and I will set this aright. ...I hope. The flame of the kings' skin settles into an almost clammy tone, and he decides to listen in on the mouse's ploys with the small deranged one.
"I'll turn you INTO a nothingman, MITE." The crownless king growls as he reels from the pricking in his side, his black eyes burning into morose suns.
Vehemence snorts with a pomp displeasure. He had learned to really hate tricksters over the past few days. This blood would taste sweet. "Deny my blessing and PROFANE THE HONOR OF MY DUEL'S OFFER!? OH ORIN WARREN, YOU INSOLENT FOOL! I WILL DEVOUR YOU."
Vehemence takes his sword in full grip, ready to flay and rip the small mocker. No more would thieves and liars take away his dignity.
They would soon learn remorse.
Vehemence cackles further, and in his revel his claws' hue begins to spark up his arms to his face as flashing lightnings, and his left foreclaw, the larger among the rest, begins to crackle alongside the crownless Vehemences' laughing. The king issues his decree:
What happens should Orin or others accept 'Vehemence's Blessing': Crimson energy like lightning spurs from the pronounced foreclaw of the king to the beating hearts of those who take upon themselves the blessing of rage, reddening the skin of those who do, to look almost as Vehemence himself. All who partake also have their eyes blackened out, as their pupils begin to widen and cover the whole breadth of their eyes.
Attempting to hex a king is never an action returned in kind, in any empire, regardless of its' status being whole or broken.
As he sees the frame of whom challenges him however, the wrath flushes from his frown and the king grins. He even chuckles. "And who might you be, to be worthy to face the King of War in duel, little thing?" But even while his face remains jovial, he scans the potential climax of this encounter before him.
It is such a small thing... perhaps a small pint? Something to do, at least, drink this little one...
I will reward him. Vehemence finds joy in the pretense of conflict amidst this dreadful sea of foliage.
The King of Pride, also bereft of his breastplate, is adorned only in his sterling morose lavender cloak, wrapped around his full frame. In his contemplative state, he seems almost civil... almost. He speaks from his maw of daggers out of pithy empiricism. "I do not know, knave. The tales I spin are those of the wars in the Real...
Vehemence clicks his teeth together as he broods, shifting his jaw side-to-side in his mouth. Agh. I need my crown back... How many pacts will it take... I'd rather not negotiate with Asmodeus again... Perhaps Norgorber. His services have been rather keen within the past aeon... We will see what he knows of this heart.
Vehemence almost gets lost inside the verdant wasteland, following suit behind those who may yet help him in ways they do not know. The whole business is a drudgery, and through several more annoyances and outbursts, the night settles. However, with the night settles Vehemence himself, his fight drifting into cold comatose again, the waves of unsure apathy coiling and cradling 'round his soul. "Yes, let us make camp... Set ourselves apart from this despicable wild..." His composure looks almost bluish within his pale.
We certainly have options! It'll be fun to see how it all plays out.
Vehemence spits on, then retrieves his fleshly token. He gives a glazed glare to the hysteric woman, thinking her cracked of mind, then burns his pupils into Macario for a prolonged moment. "You'd not know the viscera of this vendetta, mouse."
Vehemence clicks the tips of his fangs together as he grates his jaws. He was so different from these among him. Their mettle was so alien to him. Jairdan, who bore the form of a warrior, gave him some flickering hope... He needed to keep his flickering ardor alive if he were 'ere to catch his thief.
- Also Jairdan, our characters may very well have crossed paths many a time throughout the aeons. Most likely, Vehemence would not have paid you any heed, or even noticed you as a living entity, but you would remember him. And perhaps even hate him! As you would guide the heroes who wielded you with their light, you could see Vehemence as he crept up to them, piercing their heart with his red claw, filling them with their righteous furor, sometimes to their victory, and other times to their doom. You would have seen Vehemence on many an occasion throughout history imbuing righteous heroes with pure rage in their last battles, knowingly sending them to their doom. Then, once the dust had settled, Vehemence would almost ritually gather their blood into a dark chalice, and drink it as a wine. It would seem odd, but most often when Vehemence imbues heroes and antagonists with his 'blessing', he is invisible to mortal eyes. (you are not a mortal, in the mundane sense. I don't think any of the 'kin are.) The truth of the wicked occurrence of the wine is that Vehemence must take the blessing he gives back, or he will lose essence, and power. When he does drink the blood, he takes the vehemence from both the blessing imbued, AND the vehemence which already dwelt inside that heroes' heart, gaining MORE essence and power than before, much in the manner of an interest rate. But I don't think that Jairdan would neccessarily understand that. He might, but if he does, then it would be a very very big red flag to you, and a very very big reason for you to hate him. You might just view him as a force of nature, like gravity or friction, because in truth that is all that he is. But you, specifically, would know of him, and have seen his cruel deeds. Do with it what you will,
Some rambles: - These interactions between Vehemence and Amaterasu may end up violent, are you prepared? If it ever turned out to be a grinding PvP, you'd probably get the win on me (Though I assume our compatriots would bar our skirmish, at least for your sake). To Amaterasu, obvs. I love the angle and am ready if you are to continue this how it would naturally go, lol. - Pandora, our shattering is somewhat the same; a curse of passivity. What if our malefactor, then, is also the same? DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN - This is going to be a really freaking fun PbP. - Slothsy, you have complete creative control over what this thief and this heart pendant actually is. I have some ideas if you want them, but it's yours to play out (or not) in whatever fashion ye may desire. The 'thief' might not even in truth be a storykin/woman/entity but an avatar of the Destruction... or whatever.... but yeah. - I love you guise already.
He holds the lustrous box in his hand, with a sort of contained apathy, and tosses it back to the pale child. From their stories Vehemence feels nothing of their furor, and thus, feels nothing once more. No empathy. But the mouse's query makes him remember. Brings him back. His pupils enlarge into blackened holes of vile hate as he summons the memories... "I have built a kingdom upon which all manner of souls entreat. A kingdom whose business is exaction. To do this, I found the secret holes... the portals. I broke into the Real, and made pacts of heart with not just men, or dwarves... but fiends, and goddesses, and eternal terrors alike. I am VEHEMENCE, and I bless those who love me, with my spirit..." He inhales as he envisions the damned thief. He sees her in all her vivacity in his mind, and the vermilion tips of his claws flash up his limbs like bolts, until the whole of his skin is covered in a sacred, scarlet tenacity. He vomits the end of his tale thus: "...but there was one who dared ME. Without word, they came and struck me unawares. My fortress was sacked, and this FOOL thinks that they may freely DO THIS, to ME, and then MOCK ME TO MY FACE, WITH THIS PUTRID HEART, WITHOUT PENANCE!!!" With his free hand, he grips the beating heart pendant which lay on his breastplate, rips it from the chain, and throws it to the dust in front of him. This was good. In losing control, he began to feel it again... He began to thirst for the bloodwine. I... I AM alive...
Vehemence briskly strides through the forest with his reptilian feet, however not without moments of awkward movement; his cloak billowing into branches, his anklet wings sometimes catching roots. He holds his claymore's hilt resting in his hands, the blade tilted up, resting against his shoulder. As the trek continues, he begins to frustrate at the wood. His tail begins to thrash and snap against the trees, threatening their bark; with his own emitting small, quick sharp flashes of red, dancing on his skin. But the fires of his pores settle, retreating back into his fingertips. He feels cold. "So... who are the lot of you? What are your stories?" Within the depths of his own cruel heart, Vehemence knew that if he could be inspired by these mere before him, that his intensity could kindle, and feel more like himself. And then, potentially... He could dispose them to gain some of his power back. For he would do anything neccessary to find his damned thief of hearts.
Hey guise I might not post that regularly, I'm traveling in foreign lands until the 12th. But I'll be trying my darndest to.
At Brambleson's word, Vehemence leaves the tavern and storms to the gate, waiting. If he had more of himself left after the thief took everything from him, he'd know where to find the cave, the wizards, and the thief herself. But now there's not much that the king does know. As he leans on the gate's posts pondering, the cursed passivity claims him, this time winning. He feels small. Alone. Without fight. He considers the gate, and promises of the cave and its' answers to his drama, but finds himself bereft of desire, void of enthusiasm or boil. What... ...what am I doing here? Vehemence had been fighting to be himself of late, and this one skirmish had been lost.
The king stoops, picking up his ironic fetish, his face a snarl which would chill devils. "I am Vehemence, Monarch of War. Show me this cave, and I will find the answers we both seek. Let us go at once." He scans the tavern's occupants. The figments of the tales of children. Underneath armored layers of sharp conceit, they perk a sort of wonder inside of Vehemence. They make him ponder... Remember. These... ...that WOMAN is not among them, but their ENERGY... ...it is similar... In this moment, Vehemence feels the cold abject peace grip his soul again, trying to drag his essence out of existence.
He burns.
Hey, my intro post doesn't have to be 'real' time if you want to place it when it might be more dramatic/convenient. I don't mind 'coming in late' in the story or the actual Ethere Court scene (which I imagine would take place after this one shortly). Whatever works best for you cinematically. I could be mourning my dissolved kingdom and contemplating the chained heart in the meanwhile of Brambleson's tellings.
It was all too perfect. As if the host of the ageless damned he had spurned to their glorious doom had made pilgrimage to each other from every plane, conspiring his breaking. As if the floods of their blood he'd savored so succulently had called out for poetic retribution from his belly, and were given their moment by whichever vexing powers that be. Unmade. His castle, his furnaces, his storehouses, his serpent-steeds, his crown... His domain. Unmade. Oh the aeons spent learning, searching for a hole, a tear into the real from Caesure. The centuries spent in the real, creating valor and war, the souls spilt, the blood imbibed, all unraveled in a moment... Unmade. And in their place? A horrid amulet, wrought of flesh and irony. Set in chain, a quivering, living heart mocks the king. BLASPHEMES him. Vehemence, the Provoker of Hearts, the Inciter of the First Fight, finds his kingdom vanished and left with the perfect token. He who made hearts dance and duel for eternity was himself unmade by the casual endowment of a heart itself. He suffers impotency. Rage, without strength. His black pupils grow wide, and he bears his fang-littered mouth to the sky. But he feels... nothing. He rises, and prepares to make war. To find the hollow chest to which this wicked heart belonged, and teach to this same trickster the meaning of reprisal. Vehemence, crownless but SHAMELESS strides into Caesure, and storms into the Ethere Court. He makes no request or gives heed to supplications or eloquence, for the King of Pride does not bow. He quells. "WHERE ARE THE DIVINERS? THE WISE? RECREANTS THINK IT SANE TO PLAY TODDLER TRICKS ON MY HILL, AND LEAVE ME WITH THEIR EMBLEM. GIVE ME THE NAME OF WHOM THIS HEART BELONGS, THAT I MIGHT EVOKE MY SELF UPON THEM." He throws the wretch heart to the floor in front of the Court.
We are starting legends here. I hope you're all aware. Vehemence, the Provoker of Hearts, Dethroned:
About the Marketplace, is that reference for potential interaction or is this an extra allowance allotted to us? I am confused. Thanks! I will soon go about reading all of your profiles. Edit: The Destruction/story-stealing has happened already, correct? Or is this starting just before?
Oh my god. I totally didn't think I'd make the cut. I'm freaking out.
Woooooot! This is so exciting
yo, save it for the gameplay thred, ladykiller.
the lulz are strong with these ones.
Hey Slothsy, if you haven't read my PM yet that's super fine, I understand the demand of projects. I just wanted to tell you I updated his descriptions in these areas, in case you've already read/skimmed the submission: Personality: The second paragraph is the only thing that's changed, here is the excerpt- However, there are long bouts in which Vehemence will possess the subjectivity of those he marks, and takes for himself their passion, and revels in their triumphs and defeats, for his own vanity and pleasure. This vain chaos also subsumes his actions when he partakes in the blood of those he blesses. He will send men to their doom, and take extreme joy in their suffering. Not because he is inherently a sadist, but because the doomed chosen was able to fight for what they believed in. However, he certainly does revel in their defeat, for he revels in each moment and aspect of conflict, for conflict is who he is. Within Vehemence is an intricate interplay of cruel impartial compassion and a certain transcendent lust for blood and war. The Missing Ingredient: I made it more holistic and hard-hitting to his own person, I felt it was somewhat 2-dimensional before, even though before it still gave him a pretty fleshed out motive. The excerpt- Vehemence is missing his crown; his kingship and the domain of power which it once held. He is missing his potency, and his very nature is being challenged. He is starting to 'fade', as it were, and while he still contains no mercy, passivity is beginning to creep into his being, strangling his fire slowly. Seemingly, his source is flickering.
Thanks so much for putting so much work into this submission process and reading 'all the things', I'm really excited about this campaign, even if I don't get in.
Ironically, of the things he has lost, Vehemence has lost most of his ability to incite fury into the heroes he meets.
I think this campaign is going to be one many will follow even if they can't play in it. These characters are already really sizing up! So many savvy ideas in this thread. |
