(RP PUBLICS means that this place can be accessed by a God even while he is in his own Realm and several other places; however, as a REALM SAVAGE, the God must first find a way to reach the Realm Savage before he will be granted access. One cannot just rock into the Realm Savage, after all. A God may only be in one RP SAVAGE at a time.)

Not much is known about the Sunken Jungles of the Nation of Logthsahsave that, along with Apath and Karnala it is the cornerstone of the might of the Conclave in the Realm Savage. An ancient city, built by a race of Shage long extinct, it slowly falls into the Lost Undersea of Thsah, that magnificent underground ocean which has, over the years, risen to claim the overland. The city itself is practically abandoned, sprawling through the swampland, most of the superstitious Shage abandoning it to its fate.

Still, it is perfect for most of the shadowier operations of the Conclave. While the city of Logthsah above is given to the vicious squid-fiends and the brave brigand bands that fight amongst themselves on the surface, Fort Sah exists in the perfectly sealed ancient Barracks Hall of the forgotten race of Shage which dwelt in that place. Accessible only via cleared manifestations from the Chapel of Methodes and the supply-tunnels which link to the far eastern mountain ranges that border Apath - as well as various drowned gateways - the Fort is the epitome of good defense, not only unassailable but practically unknown. Even the thieves and squid-fiends that skirmish above know very, very little of the place.

Logthsah is host to its own peculiarities above and below. Above, the rare water-weed Drowghoor flourishes, the prime hunt of various treasure-seekers, though it be guarded jealously by the fiend-squids. Drowghoor is routinely harvested by the Conclave forces below, though only in utmost secret as it is typically considered an illegal narcotic in the Realm Supernatural. Highly addictive, rumoured to be extraterrestrial in origin, it allows the user to reach various [CENSORED] and attempt, even, to [CENSORED]. Standard theory suggests that the squid-fiends have grown to become dependent on the Drowghoor. Nevertheless, it is the harvesting of this incredibly dangerous weed that funds Fort Sah in it's entirety.

Many of the temple-tombs on the above surface are themselves sealed esoterically, and are thought to contain great treasures. The opening and investigation of these chambers is not the Fort's highest priority.

The Fort Sah itself is incredibly large - at one point in time, the Shage race that dwelt there is thought to have conquered much of the Realm Savage - and is filled with all manner of ancient weapons and technologies. It is here that the Conclave run their main series of operations in the Realm Savage, and at any one time the Fort has three thousand men active and hundreds of thousands more that can be rallied at a moment's notice. It is run by Fort Warden Yogan, known and respect for his rather unorthodox (some would say unlawful) stance towards Conclave-Civilian trade.

Fort Sah joins the Sea of Thsah via various tunnels, and it is there that the scientific work of the Conclave continues. An entire system of life (and magic) exists beneath, and only a tiny fraction of it has been studied by Conclave scientists. Nevertheless, the main theory of the Conclave is that the Sea connects to the eastern Karnala and Apath coastline seas, and Fort Sah is primarily concerned with exploring the shining undersea as well as investing in a major, secret fleet to further support the Conclave's hold over the Realm Savage.

A blink of an eye, a shift of perception, and Pitcarn is in Logthsah. he hopes fervently that the Methodes Gate has taken him to Fort Sah, and looks around himself examining the surroundings. Draining his glass, he places it within his robes, paradoxing it to his self in another-where.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Wed 14 July 2010.

Pitcarn finds himself standing in a large, open room, built of shining, fluorescent stone. He is approached by a single, tall man wearing the robes of the Inner Circle, flanked by two guardsmen, each carrying light firearms.

"State your business and intentions regarding Fort Sah," said the man. "Verify yourself. We will need your Seal of Odin."

"I am Hallowed Leord Pitcarn the First of the Lesser Bilbligh, Mighty Ignorant and Vicious God of Food, Black Prince and Lowlord of the Conclave. I come here by order, to present myself that I might take command of 15th lowest Legion Therdenmanger.

"My intentions, in the short term, are to meet with my legion, longer; have not yet been ascertained.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

The man suddenly smiled, the grin eclipsing his otherwise dour face.

"Captain Sur of the Sah Guard," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome to Fort Sah, General. "I have been instructed to find you, to make sure you are adequately fed and watered, and then to show you to High General Oura of Gilligan. Would you care to sample our delicacies, General, or do you wish to cut straight to business?"

"Captain, you do tempt me. How did you know I love my food?

"Is it possible to combine both business and delicacies, or would that be improper?

"Maybe if I were to meet High General Oura, in an informal setting, say, while we ate, then go on to discuss the situation that stands ahead of us."

Pitcarn was enjoying immensely the thought of food.

"Of course, of course," said the captain. "That was what the General suggested to begin with. Please, cleanse and prepare yourself within," he said, guiding Pitcarn to a small, private room furnished with a shower, a basin, razors, a comb, a mirror, a bed and various other bits and bobs.  "I will prepare a private feasting chamber and inform General Oura."

With that the captain was gone and Pitcarn was free to do whatever he needed.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Pitcarn realised how he looked. Blood from Lictros' punch was still smeared on his lower jaw, and his robes. Mud from Perigo was on his shoes and hems. A smell on incense, from the Methodes chapel was clinging to his robes and Pitcarn knew he could smell the grapes of his home. In a vague attempt to brush part of his robe down, he was sure a minute amount of sand fell out, courtesy of a current paradox. There was a slump in his shoulders, he felt that he had failed, himself and the Conclave, and his attitude reflected that.

Sighing, Pitcarn found a goblet and concentrating slightly, filled it with a light, clear wine, then filled a basin with the cold water that was his preferred way to wash. Ensuring that his actions only affected his appearance here, at the Hall of the Sun and in Bilbligh, he stripped down and scrubbed himself vigorously.

He was about to use the razor, when he remembered Lictros' advice towards his broken jaw, and simply imagined himself free of unwanted hair. Laughing for the first time in a long time, he drained his glass of wine, and refilled it. He imagined the same cleanliness to his robes. Over his robes, he affixed his armour, that received during the Alkan crisis and then strapped all the weapons he had present to himself, in an obvious military manner, and ensured his Oathblade was present hanging from the exterior of his robes.

It was more than his appearance that had changed as he stepped from the tent. He felt lighter in spirit, as though some of the defeats he had suffered had slipped from his shoulders. He was a Vicious God, in the Realm Savage. A General, going to meet and feast with a peer, to discuss war and plot strategy. Once more, his laugh was heard in the Fort.

He felt at home.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Fri 23 July 2010.

His hair was cleaned; his flesh was; his face smoothed. Pitcarn felt good, if a little tired - his energy being exerted in several places at this stage - and he was just relaxing as there was a sudden knock at the door.

"Forgive me, Lord General," said the voice of a young woman from behind the door. "But I have been sent from the Valley of Ten Towers to pass to you a parcel of some importance. Will you allow me to enter?"

With Jonaht's words in his ears, Pitcarn grasped his oathblade before he responded.

"You may enter."

The young Shage girl bowed, placing a small wooden box in front of Pitcarn. There were several colourful stickers slapped across the front - FOR THE EYES OF GENERAL PITCARN ONLY, FORT SAH; PUNISHMENT IS THE GUARANTEE OF THE SENDER; CAUTION, CONTENTS FRAGILE; DECREE OF CIRCUMVENTION, H. C. L.; DO NOT OPEN - and, ironically enough, the box itself had been wrapped with red ribbon. It was a gift, of sorts.

The messenger left immediately after giving Pitcarn the box.

Pitcarn smiled and rubbed his jaw when he saw the red ribbon and the 'H.C.L.'

Waiting a few minutes after the girk had left, Pitcarn picked up the package and unwrapped it

The ribbon was rather difficult to take up, designed more as an unsophisticated of keeping people out than any real gift-giving purpose. Nevertheless, Pitcarn succeeded, and opened the box. Inside were two objects of importance: the first was a second, smaller box - the size of the box a jeweler would place a small ring within - stamped with the seal of Lictros; the second was a small stack of papers.

Opening the smaller box Pitcarn found a small vial, protected by dark foam. It was barely big enough for him to grasp, and it contained five or six drops of liquid. The liquid itself was formed of the deepest blue, and Pitcarn found it hard to look at it straight on; as difficult as staring at the sun.

The first paper, a scribbled note: A gift from me to you, friend. Use it well in the conflict to come. Also illegal, by our own Law, so do not be a fool and advertise the fact you have it before the invasion begins. You can thank me after. H. C. L.

The second note seemed to be an academic paper of some sort. It detailed the theory - virtually unproved as no non-Callisti could verify it, and the Callisti themselves dodged most questions - that the Realm Certain contained the prototype of every other form of matter within the World-Tree, and its worlds, acting as a sort of repository for perfect images. From these images, matter - emanations of the true divinity and perfection of Certitude - was created. Fire and heat was formed by the Fire Most Certain, for example, a pure energetic force entirely destructive and chaotic; the Stone Most Certain would be the rock by which all other rocks were judged. It is unknown what effects these Certain Creations might have on non-perfect beings (i.e., non-Callisti), but the theories associated with Yggdrasildic Lore suggest that they would be powerful and irreversible. Entering the Realm Certitude was a hanging offense, if ever a thief survived the exploration itself. As to how these forms could ever be extracted, or even if they existed at all.. that was a mystery none could solve at this moment.

The third note seemed to be a clipping from an dossier of one sort or another: Councilman, OPERATION PURITY (Fourth Stage) has been considered a success.

Putting the clippings and the small box within the larger, Pitcarn paradoxed both to Bilbligh. His mind was struck by panic. What would he do with this? How would it work? How could he be the underling of Ruse and work for Lictros, what was he doing?

Fear had struck Pitcarn, and he was suddenly so very worried, and yet calm at the same time. There was rage, and desire, and a feeling of betrayal, but also a determination and clarity.

More time passed; the items were easily transferred to the Bilbligh manifestation. The room seemed awfully cramped around him. He heard the footsteps of the patrolling guard once, twice, thrice outside of his room.

Pitcarn felt the room around himself, and worried. He made sure his armour was straight, and was about to exit the tent when a thought struck him, and he spoke:

"SUIT. Using any and all records available from the time that you have been in use by me, as well as any Conclave records that you are able to access with my clearance, Identify the Divine that attacked me in Tushmuthut. I want any details that can be supplied to me.

"If you encounter any data that you can access but not under my clearance, flag it for me.

"All information gathered is to be displayed to me though my Conclave channel, NOT here. I do not want it presented anywhere other than my conclave channel."

Pitcarn then left the tent, to meet with General Oura.

Opening file: mystattacktush/1.
File opened.
Encrypting file..
File encrypted.
Gathering information.. 4% checked.
File to be placed within the Conclave Channel upon Completion.


Pitcarn was guided by a friendly servant waiting outside his room to High General Oura's room. He knocked thrice, and she bade Pitcarn enter. Within the sparse chamber was the same basic set out as his own - he figured each of the rooms, while fluctuating in size, where pretty much created with equal intent in mind - with the exception of a long leather couch and a broad writing desk covered with maps of Tushmuthut. Sitting at the writing desk was the High General Oura, an ancient woman with dark grey hair, strong blue eyes and a warm, grandmotherly smile.

"Ah, welcome, Pitcarn," she said, gesturing him to sit at the couch. "Please, make yourself at home. I am told you are quite the oenophile. Have you tried Sah root-wine? Highly valued within the Realm Supernatural, yet common as mud here."


Gathering information.. 10% checked.
File to be placed within the Conclave Channel upon Completion.

((OOC: 'mystattacktush' makes me think of: "Filthy assisstants, ready your attack wombs!"

Also, should Pitcarn be able to sense Oura's divinity, and if so, what are the details?))

Pitcarn found himself warming to the general almost immediately, and laughed happily at the thought of something more to drink.
"General, ma'am, I'm afraid you have struck at my social weakness, I do have a great fondness for wine, and I have not tasted the fruits of Logthsah at all. Thank you for the opportunity."

Pitcarn stands, until he is invited by the general to sit, but he attempts to examine the maps as well as he possibly can, to see what about the Tushmuthut in the maps is different to the Tushmuthut he saw in person. If he can be more valuable to Oura, Ruse's own wrath will be of less consequence. Politics is not Pitcan's goal here; the mission is.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:49, Wed 04 Aug 2010.

(Nope, Oura has her divinity fairly concealed.)

The maps are fairly detailed, but Pitcarn can easily spot where he was. The destruction has also been detailed quite accurately. Conclave intelligence in these parts was nothing to scoff at.

"Please, Pitcarn, call me Oura," said the High General, filling Pitcarn's goblet with wine. "There is no need for formalities here. In front of the men we shall be High General and Low General, but here.. friends, I think. This will be a magnificent battle, but I fear there is much danger involved. We may not survive. If you are not willing to risk everything you have.. you do not serve the Conclave's purposes here. I need to know you are serious; that you are committed to the cause."

Gathering information.. 16% checked.
File to be placed within the Conclave Channel upon Completion.

While he was slightly suspicious of the secrecy surrounding Oura's divine aura, Pitcarn pushed it to the back of his mind.

"General, as a vicious god, this battle doesn't represent the risk of everything I have. It is everything. There is nothing else. Questioning my commitment loses time that we could use for warring."

Pitcarn waited a moment, but his mind was focused on business, on the coming battle.

"What are the reports on the ground? I know that the wall," he traces Osiris Ra's wall with his finger, "is in solid, almost perfect condition near the west gate, and the gate itself has suffered some superficial damage, but not enough to really impair function, sadly.

"From the ground the wall is imposing, like a force. I'm wary as to what effect it might have on mortal troops, simply by existing, let alone in their attempt to cross it. Do we have a definite way of overcoming it yet?"

"Not as yet," admitted Oura. "That is the wall known to the Cult as the Third Boundary, and in general parlance as the Last Hand of Osiris-Ra. It is named so because at every half-meter point in the wall is the blackened image of Osiris-Ra's own left hand - which, I believe, was literally burned into the rock. There is a powerful power here - not yet Divine, or sorcerous, but something more. Our own magic will become bizarre, erratic or shut down past that point. Mechanical technology will fail. Morale, I believe, will be crushed.."

She sighed.

"And, of course, it has incredible strength just as a mundane wall. It can be destroyed, though. It was made by Osiris-Ra's own hand - and as such, should easily be undone by the Dread Lord's own bane, at least according to my esoteric understanding of these things. Water should do the trick, but it dehydrates at a ridiculous rate within the desert, and trapping it in vials or spheres may be too complicated. If we lose the water, we've practically lost the battle." She looked at Pitcarn. "Of course, with trebuchets and catapults and cannons we could simply bombard the wall with slabs of stone. Even a defense made of solid still would falter under our consistent attack.."

Pitcarn takes two empty goblets, and tips them upside down to make sure. He then tips water from one to the other, until both are full, and then places them down in front of Oura, both are filled to the brim with cold, crystal clear water.

"I think we may have a chance with the water effects, Oura." Pitcarn smiled. "I also intend to create a creature to aid us in the wall assault, either to directly batter the walls, or aid forces in capturing and widening a breach. I havn't had the time to mythcraft it yet, but as soon as I do, I will."

Done showing off, Pitcarn gestured across the map. "What caused this devastation? The wreckage is incredible, smashed buildings and architecture everywhere. It may allow our scouts to close on the city walls easily, but whatever it is has also had some effect on the buildings inside the wall"

"Do you think breaking the wall would destroy the enchantment? Allow our technology and magics to work in the inner city again?"

Oura laughed at the summoning of water. "I am impressed by your skills," she said. "It would seem that they picked the right God for the job. Nothing could please me more than working with a suitable partner."

She looked at the map.

"The wall is the physical manifestation, the loci, of the strange protective power," said Oura. "Not quite an enchantment, as I fear that the affect itself isn't magical in nature, but definitely a hyper-amulet of sorts. Nevertheless, I have seen its like before - if the Wall falls, so does the Hand. One break in the wall should be enough to release the power.. but the wall itself, I'd imagine, is incredibly, supernaturally tough. It won't be easy. And if dousing it is the route we decide to take .. I fear we'll need a lot of water."

Her eyebrows furrowed together.

"The destruction. We believe, according to our limited intelligence, that the same mechanical Mad God that sieged our Fort in the recent Battle of Alkan - this has been confirmed by our news sources, and will probably break to the public sometime today in the Herald. The Mad God must have overextended himself - sources state that he also assaulted Niborkerese in addition to Alkan and Tushmuthut. Courageous, but deeply stupid."

"A Mad God? Do we have any assisstance from the Dracheorden, or will they be present looking for traces of the Mad? They could be an asset or a liability depending on the role they decide to take on.

"My water creation skills may not be sufficient for taking down the wall, and if I'm minding the water stores to ensure our troops have something to drink, I can't be leading. There may have to be stores aiding my efforts on the wall.

"Physical destruction may be a fantastic aid to any attacks we make using water. I don't want to be the only method we have for tackling a huge hurdle in our invasion plans. As you've said, death is going to be easy to come by in Tushmuthut."

"I have been given a Drachenorden cell of six members to assist in the conflict," said General Oura. "Alas, the Drachenorden has lain dormant for too long, and their numbers are still stretched thin. We have their official support, but besides the six-man team, little else. It is, however," she smiled, "More than I was expecting."

She smiled further at Pitcarn's worries.

"Do not worry on that front. The Drachenorden are known for their stubbornness, their ability to get mixed in business they have no right to, their arrogance and their status as a wild card.. but I have been given the commanding seal from Grand Constable Dracul himself. They will obey me, or their lives will be forfeit. Odin's Tables support us. There is no ulterior motive. They are there to purge the area."

She glanced again at the map.

"And, to be honest," Oura continued. "You weren't considered, truly, in my calculations for bringing down the Last Hand. No.. I did have something else that might help. Dhelvanians. I think.." She shrugged. "When Janethus was still a young Goddess with dreams of dead lands I was her guide and lover. Now, as you know, she is Councilman and the Ambassador to the Realm Void. Even one could be enough to rattle the magic out of Tushmuthut, but they are the Conclave's greatest assets - and the rarest."

Pitcarn considered the notion. Use one of the rarest of creatures that the Conclave was allied with, in an attack on a city that they may be able to break without it?

He aired his concern to Oura, but added: "It may be that they are incredibly powerful, and able to shatter the walls, but what if the life of the Dhelvanian? It would put my mind at rest if we had one, but I personally would not want to deploy it unless other options had been exhausted. However, Janethus is your friend, not mine, and it would be you that would suffer should the Dhelvanian come to harm.

"Would the Dhelvanian's power affect Mythcrafted creatures and divine power? if not, Highlord Anik may be able to assist us in battle, as a craft god, I'm sure he would be able to fill small holes in our tactical forces on the fly, if need be."

"They are intriguing, the Dhelvanians," said Oura. "We know that they can be killed - but we are not sure how, or even why. Sometimes they simply disappear. There is never a corpse. Sometimes, in battle, they can take hundreds of gunshot wounds, knifings, slashings, explosions.. and return completely intact. Sometimes it is one bullet - or even a word - that strikes the fatal blow.."

She sighed.

"There is still so much we do not - perhaps cannot - know about our friends from the Void. They may, in fact, be killed in this battle. Day certainly strikes down night, at least according to," she smiled. "Conventional mythology."

He looked down, fear on his face for the fate of his people. He steeled himself and looked back up.

"We should do whatever it takes to remove the cult from existence. Too many innocents have suffered at the hands of them. If the Dhelvanians are willing to join us, any of them, they will know the risks. This is war. The cult attacks anyone without thoughts of anyone but themselves. We know we fight for a cause greater than ourselves.

"Need we discuss anything more, or are we ready to greet our troops?"

Pitcarn wanted to smite the cult, and smite it now.

"You're.."

Oura smiled, softly.

"You're emotional. There has been great tragedy. Do not.. do not allow it to cloud your judgment, Pitcarn," she said. "It cannot help you."

Pitcarn felt the rage and the sorrow slowly ebb away, drained by the mystical forces of High General Oura. He felt better. His head felt clearer. Tears streamed down his face and Oura was stroking his hair.

"Fat Friar," she said, softly. "The God who gave you that title has passed from this world."

Pitcarn the balanced
"So he has." Max had not exactly been a friend, but his intentions had seemed honourable enough. The loss of Max was one more strike, but against whom, and how Pitcarn should feel about it, he didn't know.

"We should go, Oura. The longer we talk, the more the defenses of Tushmuthut will ready themselves. If the Dhelvanians will join us, they needn't be there from the start. We should ensure that our troops are ready first."

"Of course," said Oura. "And you are fully prepared? You need nothing else before I escort you to your Fifteenth Legion? Now is the time to speak up.. once the assault begins, once our Master Craftsman arrives, it will be difficult to step back."

"If I may, I will maintain a presence here. Otherwise... I think I am ready to go.

"Except for one thing. Oura, do you know of Khor? A Vicious God with a red knife that drips murder? I believe I and Apotheosis circle member Desafon of Perigo are just having the pleasure of meeting him."

Anik appeared here. He went up the the gate unthreateningly. "I am High Lord Anik of the Conclave, I beleive I am to be expected and brought to General Pitcarn and High General Oura."

Pitcarn

"Khor."

The word was spoken with dripping venom. It was obvious that Oura had, in fact, heard of the God of Murder, and that she hadn't been entirely impressed. She bit her lip.

"He is an unstable, religious zealot with a penchant for butchering those he comes across and a thoroughly blended sense of justice. He is a killer and the deadliest warrior that the House of Tushmuthut possesses. And he is hunting you? Pitcarn, I have read your energetics. You have experienced your first death. Perhaps that was worth it. Your second.." She shook her head. "Leave your Realm. He does not leave a foe unscarred, even when defeated. If you can destroy him.. he will take something of yours. He will mark you. It.. you are my comrade. Do not face this man."

There were tears streaming down her cheeks. Blood welled up from her bottom lip; she had bitten so hard that she had broken the skin.

"Do not.. do not fight him. Run, Pitcarn. Please. You.. must.."

She wept, and tears fell upon the stone floors.

Anik

"Of course," said the guard at the inner entrance to Fort Sah. "High Lord Anik. I trust that you have your Seal of Odin present for inspection? I apologise for the formality," he quickly added, "But the spies of Tushmuthut are tricky ones."

Anik raises the Seal and Dagger he wears around his neck.

Pitcarn

(repeat)

"Khor."

The word was spoken with dripping venom. It was obvious that Oura had, in fact, heard of the God of Murder, and that she hadn't been entirely impressed. She bit her lip.

"He is an unstable, religious zealot with a penchant for butchering those he comes across and a thoroughly blended sense of justice. He is a killer and the deadliest warrior that the House of Tushmuthut possesses. And he is hunting you? Pitcarn, I have read your energetics. You have experienced your first death. Perhaps that was worth it. Your second.." She shook her head. "Leave your Realm. He does not leave a foe unscarred, even when defeated. Even if you can defeat him.. he will take something of yours. He will mark you. It.. you are my comrade. Do not face this man."

There were tears streaming down her cheeks. Blood welled up from her bottom lip; she had bitten hard enough to break the skin.

"Do not.. do not fight him. Run, Pitcarn. Please.. you must.."

She wept, and tears fell across the stone floor.

Anik

"You pass," said the guardsmen. "Would you care to be taken to a resting chamber - where you can check your visage, prepare yourself for the meeting? I will inform General Oura that you've arrived."

Pitcarn started; he had not expected this from the General.

"Oura, please. This is worth the risk. If Khor can be detroyed, we may have the edge in the coming battle. I am not alone, either. I have an ally by my side, and help is incoming. Khor will be defeated.

"Despite my words of stregth though, your sentiments trouble me. What is it about Khor that makes you worry so? What has he done?"

"Unfortunately time is of the essence. I must meet the generals." Anik said.

Pitcarn

The tears continued to fall. Oura, High General and high-standing member of the Conclave, looked at Pitcarn with a heavy mixture of concern and dismay. Pitcarn could tell that she didn't know if he was stupid or courageous - or both. Her dark grey hair swayed softly.

Slowly, she pulled up the loose sleeves of her shirt, and showed Pitcarn the long, blood-red slashes that crossed in the dozens across her arms. The scars looked barely healed, as if they could burst open at any time, and seemed to bring Oura a great deal of pain.

"In my last.. incarnation, we faced, Khor and I," she said. "I was a great warrior, and I had broken the general of Tushmuthut, Sura Al'Amun, leaving a corpse of sand within the marble ruins of that terrible city. He came to me, livid, and we fought. I barely escaped with my life - I, despite all of my prowess, could not match him. He was ferocious." She stopped. "He was.. maniacal. We fought, and he slashed me with the Murder Knife, and my body was covered in wounds.." She looked away, suddenly.

Pitcarn knew, now, that she was ashamed.

"My body is riddled with these scars, reminders of my failure as a warrior and tactician. I have reincarnated once and experienced five deaths between those times, and each time my theoelectromagnetic field refreshes, almost entirely new - save for one feature. The scars. They never.. they never leave.."

She looked at Pitcarn, and something turned over in his stomach as he realised the full extent of her claim.

"What kind of monster.. can permanently ruin the image of the divine?"

There was a knock at the door.

Anik

"Of course," nodded the soldier. "Come with me."

He took Anik past soldiers and dining halls; past a barracks and a library; through a winding hall; until he was finally led to the door of High General Oura's chambers. The soldier knocked twice, bowed, and left.

((Waiting for Pitcarn, who for all intensive purposes may not know the game is going on... you might want to sense a mass-PM saying "yo game has restarted for all who want to play." That way it pops back up on the stick list.))

Pitcarn

(repeat)

The tears continued to fall. Oura, High General and high-standing member of the Conclave, looked at Pitcarn with a heavy mixture of concern and dismay. Pitcarn could tell that she didn't know if he was stupid or courageous - or both. Her dark grey hair swayed softly.

Slowly, she pulled up the loose sleeves of her shirt, and showed Pitcarn the long, blood-red slashes that crossed in the dozens across her arms. The scars looked barely healed, as if they could burst open at any time, and seemed to bring Oura a great deal of pain.

"In my last.. incarnation, we faced, Khor and I," she said. "I was a great warrior, and I had broken the general of Tushmuthut, Sura Al'Amun, leaving a corpse of sand within the marble ruins of that terrible city. He came to me, livid, and we fought. I barely escaped with my life - I, despite all of my prowess, could not match him. He was ferocious." She stopped. "He was.. maniacal. We fought, and he slashed me with the Murder Knife, and my body was covered in wounds.." She looked away, suddenly.

Pitcarn knew, now, that she was ashamed.

"My body is riddled with these scars, reminders of my failure as a warrior and tactician. I have reincarnated once and experienced five deaths between those times, and each time my theoelectromagnetic field refreshes, almost entirely new - save for one feature. The scars. They never.. they never leave.."

She looked at Pitcarn, and something turned over in his stomach as he realised the full extent of her claim.

"What kind of monster.. can permanently ruin the image of the divine?"

There was a knock at the door.

Anik

(repeat)

(Pitcarn'll be told properly, tomorrow evening (in person!) that the game's on. I did mention earlier in the week that I was making efforts to revive the game, but I don't think he quite believed me.)

"Of course," nodded the soldier. "Come with me."

He took Anik past soldiers and dining halls; past a barracks and a library; through a winding hall; until he was finally led to the door of High General Oura's chambers. The soldier knocked twice, bowed, and left.

After Anik was done retching all over the door, he quickly scooped up the material which came out crafting it into a ball surrounding it with a carbon shell from his raw materials.

(by 'effort to revive the game', I thought defibrilators and long, intense periods of looking into the patient's eyes and mouth to mouth etc. Not updates :P)

Lest the visitor should enter and see the scars that shamed Oura so, Pitcarn placed himself between the door and the General, his back to her so that she might not see the worry that crossed his face, not just at the horror inflicted by Khor, but by the trauma suffered by a being he considered a friend, despite only knowing her for a short time.

Oura's revelation had set Pitcarn's course in his mind. Khor had to be destroyed, and if he shared a bond with Oura in such a permanent marking, then the sacrifice would be worth it. His face set, he glanced over at the General to ensure she was ready, eye contact seeking approval to allow the petitioner entry.

((Still waiting for the door to be opened or for someone to say "come in" Pitcarn.))

Glad that no one had been around to see him throw up he quickly put puke filled carbon container in his backpack.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:31, Mon 06 Dec 2010.

((Thats the point. I'm not letting you in if Oura isn't ready to see you :P))

Pitcarn and whoever is rudely knocking at the door

Oura nodded, pulled down her sleeves.

"Come in," she said, her voice a little strained.

As the door swung open, however, she smiled softly to herself.

"Low Lord.. Anik?"

"High Lord actually." He said though without any pomp. "Yes, I am here about the invasion. I am to observe how the conclave roughs up the cult of the sands. Though I can also offer my assistance in the form of tactical warheads if necessary.

But first there is the matter of Khor. While I have been ordered the fight, and Pitcarn refused the use of a mini fission bomb, I can do something about better equipment." He drew an assault-weapon sized plasma rifle from the side of his pack. I made this a bit ago, but I have grown in knowledge and power since then, let me make some adjustments."

Anik's eyes went white and suddenly the gun became and exploded diagram of itself. Anik's power ran through it quickly making adjustments to better improve efficiency and to reduce the theomagnetic imprinting needed from it's creation. But his main focus was on the laser improvement. "I'm strengthening the result of the laser, since that's the least destructive in terms of area (instead all that destruction is focused), so that should be your best setting. It's only a 20% damage increase, but a 40% power efficiency, and won't overheat the gun, so it can continuously be used."

He then continued working on the battery make-up and micro-powerplant He modified the nuclear-decay driven drive with an single atomic anti-mater power plant (though keeping the crystalline divine-energy transformer). He also put in a special over-drive feature in the current battery which can only use his own theoeletromagnetic power which fortunately he didn't have to be there or even have the gun to use. He reassembled the gun and then pressed his hand to his chest suddenly creeping out from under his skin a small forest green emerald came forward, as it entered the room the simple crystal seemed to fill the room with energy, like that of a god.

He placed his energy-stone into the battery in the slot he had just made. As he pressed it into the gun the feeling of power subsided.

He quickly did a once over on his work. ((aka gm check))

Pitcarn watches the creation of the weapon impassively; most of the science goes over his head, but the effects interest him. If the raw energy attack is powerful enough, it may be a tipping factor in the fight.

He turned and met Oura's eyes briefly, then commented to Anik: "Well met, Highlord. I'm glad you are able to offer your assistance regarding the emergency in my realm. it is, however, not the biggest threat. It is merely a distraction from the larger and infinitely more important fight to come; our fight for Tushmuthut.

"The High General and I were just discussing some possible tactics we may use against the walls of the city, but I feel this conversation is best continued as we awaken our armies. I have no doubt we will be able to fill you in adequately. Your talents may prove a boon in the engineering side of our assault, without you ever facing direct combat."

Outa nods . "High Lord Anik, my apologies," she says. She seems sincere. "I was not aware of your promotion. Forgive me." She stares for a long while in silence. The Gun fascinates and enchants her. "It is a mighty weapon..." she sighs.

"It may not be enough. The two of you may have noticed just how... strained Conclave operations are at the moment. We are beset on all sides: by the cultists of the Sphere of Force and Fire, by the Mad, by insurgent rebels, by the death of Yggdrasil itself."

She looks at Anik. "Nevertheless, a mighty weapon indeed. Please, gentlemen; discuss tactics and strategy for as long as you need. You have my support. Do whatever it takes to secure our realms."