A Demon in Red (Private)
Dec 6, 2023 2:43:45 GMT -5
Post by coleus on Dec 6, 2023 2:43:45 GMT -5
The night is long and cold. Winter's calm breath blows steadily between the masonries of the city that would otherwise be silent, and that would otherwise be lightless if not for the stars above. There's no better time of year to see it -- that scintillating blanket that spans the heavens. It is fitting that the night sky would be a sight that inspires so many dreams: What are they? Where do they come from? Where do they hide when the morning comes? It could be debated that the answers to those questions are less important than the curiosity, and the hope, that they stir in the wondering soul who dares to look to the stars at night.
But there are places where the stars cannot be seen.
From one of the infinite pitch-dark alleys that tributate off the city's streets, a scream can be heard. It might have woken some, and that would be the only sound they heard before a grim and ominous silence seeps into the air. But if one were so brave or so perturbed as to follow that deathly wail into the darkness, feeling their way through the clutter and trying to ignore the strange textures beneath their feet, they would eventually find a new scent joining the putrescence. It's the stench of a freshly dug grave. And it would soon be followed by the sight of bloodstains on the masonry, illuminated by lamplight that spills from an open door along with that gravely stench.
Here, if someone were to risk a peep inside, then they would witness a woman clad in cloth as red as the bodies around her. Her eyes are concealed behind a devilish mask, but her lips portray nothing -- cold as the scattered weaponry. In one hand, she holds a great and arcing scythe whose blade hums a serene monotony; her other hand is digging deep into the eye socket of a corpse that kneels before her. Calmly, carefully, she pulls the eye out from the man's skull, releasing him with unceremonious disconcern, and holds the bloody orb in her palm. Aqua-green...
A shuffling sound draws her gaze. From the shadows, something limps toward her, dragging a sprained ankle behind itself. It is, by all appearances, a dwarf in studded leathers, but its movements are lifeless like a marionette's[1]. It stops before her and holds out a document. She accepts it, calmly, and begins to read.
Dareel,
She should be arriving in the city soon. Watch the port. I can't guarantee that she'll be alone, but honestly, it might be better if she isn't. You aren't beating her in an open fight; get creative, and don't underestimate her. I've attached what you need to know below.
-Grackle
"..."
The handwriting is sloppy, and the page is specked with what appears to be spit, but it's legible. And below the sign-off are the promised details.
Name: Astrid Stormstone
Residence: Dragon's Cradle
Profession: idfk
Blonde, short, probably decked out, and she's got little horns and a smug smile. She might not look like much, and I don't think she has any education to speak of, but she's been a pain in our ass nonetheless. She's got more armor than the kings' guards and more weapons than the Blackdagger boys. Plus apparently she's a master electromancer and knows other magic as well, so don't think she'll be easy to deal with even if she's a
"...?" There's a subtle glimpse of expression -- surprise -- in the woman's face, and she has to read the end once again.
even if she's a kid.
These last words hold the woman's gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. But aft the moment passes, she simply mutters and nods.
"Port... Kid... Astrid."
Without another word, she turns and exits into the unlit night. The lifeless walker does not follow; instead, its usefulness expended, it falls to the ground, joining the corpses of its once-companions.
A few days later...
The stench of fish and salt; gull-shrieks on the wind. The Gold Port: the first and last thing that anyone sees of Sol City, save those that die there. The rustle and bustle of the market echoes down the alleyway that sits beside a quiet warehouse. That same woman is here, still dressed all in red and still carrying that great humming scythe. But she isn't silently revelling in viscera. She's just sitting on a crate, lazily tapping on the wood. Waiting, waiting, waiting...
"Hungry..."
She stands. But before she can go anywhere, a tiny flitting disturbs her. She looks to the pale sky, and just cresting over the roof of the warehouse is an abnormal and grisly sight: a flying eye[2], coming toward her. Its ophthalmic artery has split into a pair of bloody wings that flap diligently to keep it aloft while the optic stalk trails behind it like a sort of tail. Uncanny; but as it comes close and looks to the woman with its aqua-green stare, she looks back with something like excitement.
"You saw her?"
The eye doesn't convey any meaningful response, save that its wingbeat hastens briefly.
Still, the woman lets out a breath. "Finally..."
With quick steps, she makes for the street, still carrying that arcing scythe. With every bend of the alley, the sounds of the market grow louder. But before she reaches it, she sees something that stops her, and she quickly hides around the corner. There, just at the mouth of the alley, is a contrasting pair of individuals: a tall, burly figure whose brutish facial structure betrays orcish blood; and a diminutive, tubby thing wearing a light-blue tunic, whose only visible features are a long beard and a bulbous nose (the upper parts of his face are concealed by a red, cone-shaped hat that nearly doubles his height). It could be said that his appearance is more gnome-like than an actual gnome. And, strangely, it's him that seems to be giving the orders.
"No, no, all YOU need to do is stand there and look big and scary." he tells the half-orc with a nasally, but otherwise indiscernible accent. "And if I need anything else, I'll tell ya. Kapeesh?"
The half-orc scratches their head. "Grosh not understand how this help Grosh get into culinary school..."
The smaller creature puts his wrists on his hips, while his beard bristles like the fur on an agitated cat. "'Cause to get into culinary school, ya need money, Grosh! Moolah! Dough! Money makes the world go 'round. And I have just the way to get it for us. Now help me pick out a chump from the crowd..." He then walks over to a nearby crate and, with great difficulty and a few curses, clambers on top of it. Visoring his eyes from the sun (despite it being a very overcast and dim day), he surveys the crowd while trying to further boost his height by standing on his tip-toes. The half-orc, still boasting a greater height than the little gnome-man, does the same, albeit with visibly less enthusiasm.
The woman steps away from the corner after having observed the suspicious conversation. Still flapping about beside her is that animate eye.
"It looks like they might be there for a while..." Her gaze wanders up to the rooftops, and then to the fluttering eye beside her. "Go find the kid again. Keep watch on her. I'll wait for these two to leave."
1. Raise Dead
2. Peeper
Bringing Pets
Peeper (Eye Spy)
But there are places where the stars cannot be seen.
From one of the infinite pitch-dark alleys that tributate off the city's streets, a scream can be heard. It might have woken some, and that would be the only sound they heard before a grim and ominous silence seeps into the air. But if one were so brave or so perturbed as to follow that deathly wail into the darkness, feeling their way through the clutter and trying to ignore the strange textures beneath their feet, they would eventually find a new scent joining the putrescence. It's the stench of a freshly dug grave. And it would soon be followed by the sight of bloodstains on the masonry, illuminated by lamplight that spills from an open door along with that gravely stench.
Here, if someone were to risk a peep inside, then they would witness a woman clad in cloth as red as the bodies around her. Her eyes are concealed behind a devilish mask, but her lips portray nothing -- cold as the scattered weaponry. In one hand, she holds a great and arcing scythe whose blade hums a serene monotony; her other hand is digging deep into the eye socket of a corpse that kneels before her. Calmly, carefully, she pulls the eye out from the man's skull, releasing him with unceremonious disconcern, and holds the bloody orb in her palm. Aqua-green...
A shuffling sound draws her gaze. From the shadows, something limps toward her, dragging a sprained ankle behind itself. It is, by all appearances, a dwarf in studded leathers, but its movements are lifeless like a marionette's[1]. It stops before her and holds out a document. She accepts it, calmly, and begins to read.
Dareel,
She should be arriving in the city soon. Watch the port. I can't guarantee that she'll be alone, but honestly, it might be better if she isn't. You aren't beating her in an open fight; get creative, and don't underestimate her. I've attached what you need to know below.
-Grackle
"..."
The handwriting is sloppy, and the page is specked with what appears to be spit, but it's legible. And below the sign-off are the promised details.
Name: Astrid Stormstone
Residence: Dragon's Cradle
Profession: idfk
Blonde, short, probably decked out, and she's got little horns and a smug smile. She might not look like much, and I don't think she has any education to speak of, but she's been a pain in our ass nonetheless. She's got more armor than the kings' guards and more weapons than the Blackdagger boys. Plus apparently she's a master electromancer and knows other magic as well, so don't think she'll be easy to deal with even if she's a
"...?" There's a subtle glimpse of expression -- surprise -- in the woman's face, and she has to read the end once again.
even if she's a kid.
These last words hold the woman's gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. But aft the moment passes, she simply mutters and nods.
"Port... Kid... Astrid."
Without another word, she turns and exits into the unlit night. The lifeless walker does not follow; instead, its usefulness expended, it falls to the ground, joining the corpses of its once-companions.
A few days later...
The stench of fish and salt; gull-shrieks on the wind. The Gold Port: the first and last thing that anyone sees of Sol City, save those that die there. The rustle and bustle of the market echoes down the alleyway that sits beside a quiet warehouse. That same woman is here, still dressed all in red and still carrying that great humming scythe. But she isn't silently revelling in viscera. She's just sitting on a crate, lazily tapping on the wood. Waiting, waiting, waiting...
"Hungry..."
She stands. But before she can go anywhere, a tiny flitting disturbs her. She looks to the pale sky, and just cresting over the roof of the warehouse is an abnormal and grisly sight: a flying eye[2], coming toward her. Its ophthalmic artery has split into a pair of bloody wings that flap diligently to keep it aloft while the optic stalk trails behind it like a sort of tail. Uncanny; but as it comes close and looks to the woman with its aqua-green stare, she looks back with something like excitement.
"You saw her?"
The eye doesn't convey any meaningful response, save that its wingbeat hastens briefly.
Still, the woman lets out a breath. "Finally..."
With quick steps, she makes for the street, still carrying that arcing scythe. With every bend of the alley, the sounds of the market grow louder. But before she reaches it, she sees something that stops her, and she quickly hides around the corner. There, just at the mouth of the alley, is a contrasting pair of individuals: a tall, burly figure whose brutish facial structure betrays orcish blood; and a diminutive, tubby thing wearing a light-blue tunic, whose only visible features are a long beard and a bulbous nose (the upper parts of his face are concealed by a red, cone-shaped hat that nearly doubles his height). It could be said that his appearance is more gnome-like than an actual gnome. And, strangely, it's him that seems to be giving the orders.
"No, no, all YOU need to do is stand there and look big and scary." he tells the half-orc with a nasally, but otherwise indiscernible accent. "And if I need anything else, I'll tell ya. Kapeesh?"
The half-orc scratches their head. "Grosh not understand how this help Grosh get into culinary school..."
The smaller creature puts his wrists on his hips, while his beard bristles like the fur on an agitated cat. "'Cause to get into culinary school, ya need money, Grosh! Moolah! Dough! Money makes the world go 'round. And I have just the way to get it for us. Now help me pick out a chump from the crowd..." He then walks over to a nearby crate and, with great difficulty and a few curses, clambers on top of it. Visoring his eyes from the sun (despite it being a very overcast and dim day), he surveys the crowd while trying to further boost his height by standing on his tip-toes. The half-orc, still boasting a greater height than the little gnome-man, does the same, albeit with visibly less enthusiasm.
The woman steps away from the corner after having observed the suspicious conversation. Still flapping about beside her is that animate eye.
"It looks like they might be there for a while..." Her gaze wanders up to the rooftops, and then to the fluttering eye beside her. "Go find the kid again. Keep watch on her. I'll wait for these two to leave."
1. Raise Dead
2. Peeper
Bringing Pets
Peeper (Eye Spy)