Quest II. The night the towers cried [open]

[Bob Barton]

Desperate, Bob picked up the pace in pushing the liquid into the container more and more. It was not enough, none of it was enough but as he was doing his work in the pool of ooze, it happened. His heart started beating faster. Was this fear? No, it was excitement from the adrenaline of the Ravarisk's influence. Bob felt more active. Stronger. Smarter even although he was already pretty smart in his own opinion. To another this might have felt as an intrusion into his body, but to him it felt like a gift of great power. Everyone, especially Bob might be able to survive all this after all.

Thank you to whoever reminded Bob to take others to the pool. Bob kept his waterskin away and ran right into the middle of the most concentration of people. It did not even hurt anymore which was great. It means that Bob can try for another shout. There was only one god which Bob was impressed with so who the hell would care about Priskil and the other gods when they can... "Everyone! Our chance of salvation and victory is here. This ooze, it is not the enemy. Its a gift which can help us beat the monster out there. Look at me! I was injured earlier from an attack but after I got it on me I feel as strong as a Myrian and as smart as a Nuit. Quickly lather it all over you, bathe in it if you have to. Anything which will help you fight against it." If they had to believe in a lie then so be it. Bob only wanted them all to get into the pool like he knew they were supposed to. To show them how well it affected him he started flapping his arms and running through for his next task.

But Bob did not know who the pregnant women are and why would he look for pregnant women anyway? He won't have a chance with them and they normally won't be that beautiful. But still, if those pregnant women wanted to survive they would have to follow his advice as well. When all was said and done, he started to look around. Looking for any women with a bulge in their stomachs. Then he will drag them into the pool whether they want to or not. Maybe that moment of insight to get people into the pool was from a god since there was so many voices in his head so he should obey. All this was crucial for his survival and no one was going to risk it for him.

[Zlakalia]

The first voice that rang in Zlakalia's mind was clearing. The headache itself seemed to dissipated to nothingness, fade out to nothing more than a tingle. It was right; she was weak. What she had done amounted to nothing, didn't even count! She would bring someone down this time! A toothy and malicious grin played at her face even as Miro threw her. Her hands were shaking, her mind wandering towards the crowd. She landed in Kinneas's arms with a soft grunt, eyes blank and grin wide. One of these lumbering fools were about to be her victim this time. Zlakalia felt like her brain was rushing at a million miles an hour. But the second voice Kali heard was definitely foreign. It forced its way inside her mind, it pushed and prodded so loud. Priskil. Perfect. This must be the will of fate, the threads are all aligned! Priskil was here, and Zlakalia was ready to take her out! Most people froze at the voice, covered their ears as if to block out the sound from within their own head. Kali just unsheathed her blade from under her dark cloak. Watching for the sign of the one speaking. Where was this god hiding? And when the voice stopped Kali was one of the few watching, waiting for the sign of the one responsible. And Sira falling to her knees, the tired expression on her face, was PROOF. Priskil was that red head! Now was her chance to strike, finally show the gods that she meant business! Kali would now take their hope! Kinneas and Miro no longer mattered. She jumped out of his arms, slipping free of his grasp as good as a pliable pycon can. So extremely well. Kali hit the ground with another grunt, her voice wet and mad, disconnected. Her eyes were wide as she started running, back towards Sira and away from Miro's ice bridge. She hoped over a stream of the red liquid as it attempted to herd Miro's group, a huge hop that she barely made the other side of. One of her legs actually splashed into the red thickness that covered the disc, but the liquid wasn't her concern. But other people also eyed Sira as a target. They wanted Priskil for themselves! A haggard looking beggar was getting closer, but didn't seem to pay any attention to Kali. His focus was stolen, and a little clay girl wasn't even in his field of vision. 'No! She's mine' Kali screamed in her own head. This was the first one to cripple. Kali pushed forward with her djed, focused her blank eyes at the beggar. She sent a flash into his brain, focusing the image to hit him suddenly and hopefully distract him. The beggar would suddenly have a memory, but more a vision. Still standing on the disk he stood now, someone in front of him would suddenly pull a knife and stab him in the gut. With speed he couldn't even focus on. The memory should almost seem prophetic. Almost Kali rushed forward, knife raised, and slashed at the back of the beggar's ankle. Cripple him now, come back for the kill later. For now, she could focus on Priskil. Turning herself towards Sira, Zlakalia sent a single emotion, the same kind that covered her shield which just now began to flicker and weaken, ready to go out like a candle in a heavy breeze. She would crush this goddess now, stop her from spreading more of her lies, from poisoning the minds of these people around her. Kali would crush her spirit and then slice her throat. It would go so well. The emotion? Depression. Crushing sadness, sickening despair. The strongest emotion she could muster. The headache was back, stronger than before. But it couldn't stop her focus, couldn't stop her from flooding Sira's mind with the deepest sadness Kali could make. Like when Kali's father died. When the mage... when the mage invaded her mind, controlled her like a puppet. When she had no hope, no future. That's the emotion Kali tried to capture and fill Sira with. The knife was sharp in her hand.

[Hadrian]

"Brilliant," he muttered, and released his spell, the res-born wind carrying his Shield energy up to the shell that kept their air in, doing his best to fill in the cracks. The concentration made the protections he had cast about them peter out, but he could only focus on the one thing just then, shielding not being his forte. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, too focused on surviving to get all dopey about a Konti sorceress calling him by honorifics. "I hope the stories are accurate." Often stories were coded information, but there was precious little time for academic pursuits just now. Speaking in Nader-canoch was a good start, however, closer to the language with which the Ravarisk might be familiar. It was only then he noticed what was happening to Cassandra, her aura conflicted with ancient patterns, hungry and tumescent at the same time. They were well and royally petched. The mental voice slammed into his head before he could call out, not that he really wanted the notice of what Cassandra had become. All the same, whether it was the goddess Herself or merely some trickster with some form of telepathy, he thought it was good advice. "Priskil help us," he prayed quietly. Certainly She was the driver away of evils, and this things desire to destroy them might not be exactly evil, but She was the goddess of hope, and perhaps their only hope. Nothing else seemed to be working. "Gods, Priskil..." He forced his eyes up, his focus back to his makeshift Shield to keep the air in. "Help us help ourselves." He liked to have a hand in his own salvation, after all.

[Satu]

Satu caressed Ash’eny’s arm, but the Lust she had felt was slowly losing its hold upon her mind. Without reinforcement, the hypnotism faded against the bombardment of the other emotions that surrounded the HeartSeer. Narrowing her eyes Satu studied her companion again, as if he had tricked her… and suddenly she was free from the foreign feeling. With its absence, both the chaos and the unruly emotions in the Dome were ignited more strongly in her Heart and mind. The crowd moved, undulating with panicked men and women. Even Cassandra in the red ooze was energetic now; the barmaid had changed, strengthened… had not Satu prepared her as promised? And though Satu was aware of what transpired around her, the pandemonium did not touch her sprit. The weak would be culled from the strong! It was a natural process, a needed process, Satu knew. She was alone, removed from the small world they were trapped in. Effortlessly, the Konti stood tall, self confident, a beacon of calm within disorder. And with renewed vigor, the Konti’s sight surveyed all before her, with the intense gaze of her people… and patiently waited for the time the healer (Riki) and herself might cross paths…

[Kamalia Timandre]

It dawned upon Kamalia that she must have looked daft to the human scholar while she uttered phrases in the Ancient Tongue, attempting to confer with a cedar staff. What could she possibly offer that would matter to a piece of wood? Madness and lunacy! Then again maybe he would understand. Wizards were often a quirky sort after all. There was no time for this foolishness.

She could not help but admire the man’s superior command of djed as he attempted to fill the cracks in with shielding energy. For a while, she was only content to marvel, but she fought the urge to summon her own magic and add her own djed to his design. It was a pull so strong she was about to be jerked off her feet. Kamalia balled her free hand into a fist, stamping out the whispers that seduced her to call on her power. It was not yet time. A few breaths later, the spell was complete. “Well done,” she said weakly, as if she had been the one doing the spellcasting. “I am Kamalia. What are you called, my lord?”

A discordant scream burst in her mind—a dissonance of untruth— proclaiming she was Priskil, and demanding for everyone to pray. Whoever was trying to invade her thoughts must be lying, for there was no truth in those words, and Kamalia’s gift was sensitivity to truth. She closed her eyes and touched her temples. Her mind rang, and her chest grew tight, repulsed by the inharmonious voice that sang falsehood. “She lies,” she said softly.

And then there she saw what seemed to be a man, so small he was. Was he human? Maybe, but he was short as a child, and spoke with the voice of a full-grown male. There were no midget Konti. He had willingly succumbed to the Ravarisk’s corruption. A fool! Strangely enough, he spoke with truth. “That little man does not lie, but the truth he tells us may not be the truth we think it is. Pay him no heed,” she cautioned the human scholar serenely.

Kamalia searched for Satu, and found the Heartseer from a distance surveying the area with the thoroughness and the placidity of a Konti suvai warrior. Kamalia knew she was strong enough to handle herself, but should danger draw near to her, she would come to her friend’s aid. We would get out of this place together, she promised.

She heard praying. The man beside her stared up to the stars and prayed. A soft hand touched his arm. “Though all before us is shadow, yet shall the Seer be our guide. Blessed are those who open their eyes and see,” a pause, “that hope is not lost.” She smiled at him warmly and reassuringly. She must not show fear now.

It was up to them wizards to do the thinking and solve the riddle of this place. If they could not think up of anything, then no one will. “The Seer refused to reveal to me how this place came to be, for I will be unmade were I to look at it. These markings,” she used the tip of her staff to point at an ancient stone tile embossed with the symbol of Aquiras—the stylized lightning bolt, "these markings represent the Voyager, do they not? I wonder if this place was—“she was cut off when she saw another human maleDarik trying to catch her attention by waving his arm.

He stared at her so expectantly like a simpleton as if she would pull sparkles and rainbows out of her ass. Kamalia rewarded him with silence, and an eerie, expressionless stare. Nothing but a mysterious look in her eyes that seemed to pierce into the very core of his dark, dark soul.

[Hadrian]

"Hadrian Aelius," he said, giving her his real name. "A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Kamalia." His etiquette was ingrained upon him over long years by his dead mother. If he seemed stilted it was due to other things. "I didn't think that was the voice of a goddess, but I thought the advice good all the same." He crouched down and ran his hand over the mark of Aquiras on the floor, glancing up at the approaching man briefly before returning to the task at hand, which was deciphering some clue as to how to proceed from their environment, even as his will focused on holding the Shield together to keep their air from escaping.

[Istril]

If one were to ask Istril about what she was doing but moments before the voice of the "Goddess" rang through her mind, she would be unable to answer the question. It was as if the voice had broken her from a trance, commanding her to do one thing and one thing only-- pray. A little chuckle left Istril's lips. She might have been so inattentive that the world around her that the world had turned into a single, conglomerate blur, but that did not mean she lost all of her common sense. If this voice in her head was a deity, than said deity was a terrible orator, and was obviously as afraid of whatever liquid was leaking into the bubble as the people around her were. A true Goddess would not stutter and stammer, nor would they feel the constant need to reassure the people hearing them of their identity. Feeling a little pleased with herself for dissecting this forgery so entirely, Istril gave a glance around the disk, discovering that Chaos had taken control of the hearts and minds of the people. The red liquid, judging by nothing more than cursory glance, was causing people to fight one another. A sudden realization dawned upon Istril. The Chaos that raged upon her was bringing helpless men and women into harm's way, threatening not only their health, but their lives. In a world as dangerous as the one that they all lived in (presuming, of course, they ever got off of this disk), people who were honestly unable to wield a weapon to defend themselves were a rarity. Istril's mental set of scales were suddenly thrown off balance. The helpless had to be protected, so that balance may be maintained. Quickly, she ran through her list of questions. What was the primary source of the Chaos? The entity outside of the disk, of course, but there was little she could do about that, so she instantly went to the secondary cause-- the red liquid and the fighting it caused. Sparing no time, Istril fell to one knee, clasping her arms together. She wasn't entirely sure where she should look for prayer-- down to Mizahar, where to Gods could reside, or upwards to the blackness, where the Gods could reside. She decided on the former. It seemed more inviting. Then, in the midst of the Chaos that went on around her, she whispered out a quick prayer, her eyes closed. A feeling of irony hit her as she realized she was doing just what the False God wanted, but she quickly dismissed it. She was doing this of her own volition, not because some pretender commanded her to. "Gnora, give me the strength to maintain balance in the face of adversity," when the last word left her lips, she bolted to her feet, scanning the area for potential threats. Her eyes landed on one of the maddened men,The beggar that's shambling towards Sira whom she dashed towards without hesitation, readying her right arm for use as a giant, hardened hammer, targeted at the man's ribs.

[Faroul]

Faroul stared in astonishment as Cassandra rose from the ooze. Unlike the unfortunate Akalak, her skin did not melt, and in fact she showed no sign of injury at all. Something, however, felt entirely wrong. His instincts rang alarm though his limbs, only to be confirmed seconds later; locking lips with the young guardsman who had tried to save her, the dark-haired woman flung him like a rag into a crimson pool. What kind of woman could so effortlessly lift an armored man above her head? She was clearly changed, and worst of all, she was not the only one. A shambling beggar, the sclera of his eyes blazing red, passed dangerously close, nearly brushing against Faroul's robes. Not interested in tempting fate, the Benshira did not accost him. Pausing only to verify that the attention of these “infected” lay elsewhere, he hastened through the crowd, intent on his original course. Only now did he see that the ooze had crept over the floor tiles, spreading into some kind of viscous spiderweb. Several times, its strands blocked his way; rather than risk jumping over them, he retraced his steps and sought out new paths. Slowly, he neared the white woman and the man in black, though he was dismayed to realize that even if he reached them, they would soon be trapped. He ignored the yelling that ensued just paces later, the loud entreaties to bathe in the ooze. Despite the supernatural strength it seemed to grant, what good could come from a monster's blood? Everything has a cost, he reminded himself. Everything. Now, most of all, he could not afford to become poisoned by strangeness. It was one of the cardinal rules of the pit, a lesson bought through countless sufferings: to lose your wits means death. He did not intend to die like a fool. That resolve, however, did not stop him from stumbling as a new voice blasted his mind. “THIS IS PRISKIL!” Faroul reeled, nearly falling face-first onto the stone. At the last tottering second he caught himself, steadying his shaking body and fighting for air. It was not just the surprise that left him breathless, but the identity of the speaker. How could it be? How could Priskil be speaking to him, when he wore the names of Her forsaken at his belt? When he had slept and bled, murdered and rutted, on grounds She would not walk? Why now, when he had for so long been consigned to exitless dark? He would have shrieked with rage, if not for a sudden, overpowering thought. It is a lie. It was as simple as that. A trick, nothing more. Merely the witchery of some panicked woman, eager for all of this madness to stop. The longer he listened, the more he could hear the waver of uncertainty; and though the voice was loud and desperate, it lacked the awesomeness of divinity, the resonant power he imagined a god's words would carry. Pray, she pleaded. Faroul supposed it was good advice, an easy way to occupy the useless and flighty, to center hysterical minds in the midst of helplessness. But he had no patron to pray to, and far more important uses for his energy. Jogging the last few meters, he finally crossed to Hadrian and Kamalia, only to find that someone else had arrived first: the bloodied youth who had scavenged a corpse and kicked the dark-haired woman into the ooze. He was currently staring at the white woman – now recognizeable as a Konti – the way young guardsmen in Ahnatep oogled whores. With his drawn khopesh at his side, Faroul stepped forward to address the seer, careful to remain just outside of Darik's immediate striking distance. “A thousand pardons,” he said in Arumenic-accented Common, lowering his head in deference to the Konti. “But if you have not seen, the ooze is spreading.” He motioned to a net of nearby strands, now close to blocking them off from the rest of the disc. “I can tell that you and your companion are no fools,” he continued, indicating the distracted Hadrian and his work with the barrier's cracks. “Perhaps I could assist you." Though it was apparent to both wizards that this veiled man did not mean to harm them, both the blade in his hand and the coldness in his eyes left little doubt as to what kind of assistance the Benshira could mean.

[Darik]

Reminder for Darik’s lootTwenty three mizas
Shortsword+Belt
Pouch filled with herbs
Nice pair of shoes

A man, hiding his body’s appearance with clothing, started to address the white woman. The weapon he withdrew was wicked, but Darik didn’t care. The man had done the unspeakable, he had butted into Darik’s conversation. The aspiring thief hated not having the center of attention on him. When he found the spotlight wasn’t resting on him, he found a way to attract its glamorous light. As the man talked, Darik tried to silently walk to his side. Once they were almost side to side, Darik tried to give a violent shove. His hand immediately went to his shortsword in case the man tried to retaliate with the kopesh. “Well hello loser, I see you can’t show your face. How ugly is it, on a scale of one to ten?” Darik spoke as mocking as he could, it seemed like he was trying to enrage the Benshira. In reality, he was trying to establish himself as the alpha male. Yes, he considered this man a dog. “You’re talking to my women which frankly is breaking a law. Usually I would kill you outright, but I am feeling quite generous today.” Partly because he had just looted a noble’s corpse. “So today I am letting you go free. But let me warn you, next time you do this, someone, that isn’t me, may end up missing a few limbs.” Darik didn’t even try to veil his threat through cleverly placed words. “So shoo.” Darik waved his free hand as if he was trying to rid of a particular nasty pest. ”Why don’t you go do something useful? Like killing yourself? Or maybe jumping into the ooze? It seems fit for a man of your intelligence.” Darik faced the konti again, but he kept his peripheral vision on the Benshira. Most people wouldn’t take insults from Darik, but maybe the man was hiding under the cloak because he was secretly a coward. Now where were we? Oh yes, the problem with the Konti. She looked at him, with a look lacking comprehension. She was either stupid or the barrier prevented sound from traveling through it. ”Can you hear me? He said this painstakingly slow, sounding out each constant. He was doing this so she could understand him. If he remembered correctly, most Konti were inherently dumb. ”Otherwise I will have to break this down.” He gestured to the shield. He was serious, if she didn’t respond he was going to have to blow that baby up. Nothing could stand between him and his one true love. No, not the Konti! He wanted all the valuable possessions she contained!

[Bob Barton]

Bob needed more people to grab hold of the new power that he felt through him in order to fight the octopus out there but they were all afraid. He could not blame them because he too felt the same thing about the ooze right until he was given no choice once he received that attack from the beggar. It felt good, it was good and he knew that but still failed to convince the others. With all these gods trying to help one of them had to be right but they won't find him praying anytime soon. So he will use the other suggestion which was to take people into the pools.

His attempts at guile failed but he still could not use force. Not directly on anyone anyway. He was only a human, one of the weaker species on the disk and he was the lowest of them all quite literally as a midget. The other enlightened woman, the one which caught the other boy by surprise and threw him into the pool before proceeding to fight with some of the Ebonstryfe. What she did was very effective. Could Bob attempt to use a surprise attack? Would he be successful? If he did then it would be good. The ranks of those with the power will grow. But if he failed then he might end up with a fight. Decisions, decisions...

Maybe should just aim for all the women on the disk. For some reason he knew that he was supposed to throw the pregnant ones into the pool as well. At least one of them would be pregnant and eventually he will get that one but sooner or later they will be wary of him once they find out he has been doing it. Still he started to look around. Search for a perfect victim. One that looked weak and isolated. Once he found those who fit into those requirements then he will get them into the pools one by one by any means necessary.

In his search he found something even better. Somehow there was a narrow bridge made of ice which crossed over the pools. Bob did not know how did that happen, but still this was an opportunity which was too good to be missed. Running through all the other people who would soon join him, he made his way to the bridge and gave them an offer that they would not refuse. An offer that "I will help you people to survive this" just because he was that sort of a person. One who believes that there is safety in numbers.

Numbers for those who will gain the power from the ooze. Without warning, Bob raised his cane and struck at the ice construct. Great fortune for whoeverKinneas, you're up was crossing it then because if Bob had his way, the bridge would shatter and drop the person into the ooze. Allowing them to gain the same new insight as Bob did. Even if it didn't it may just shake them around. Just enough for him to lose his footing and fall.