A realm of low, sloping hills, covered by fields of cultivated crops, separated by small, dense forsets and dense scrubland thickets. The crops grow in abundance, soil is estremely fertile and farming is easy. In the forests and scrubland small and medium game thrives. In the forests, darker creatures lurk, and many thickets house large serpents. Frequently these monsters will depart their lairs in packs and search out larger prey then rabbits and small deer. Often they will come across the walled settlements of the people of Bilbligh. The settlements have high, strong walls and are built in the most defendable locations in the landscape, but at the same time, their interiors are spartan, and the people live in small huts.

Predominantly life is dedicated to collecting food and martial disciplines.
A caste system exists for the human-like Ackee; Priests, Defenders (soldiers), Hunter/gatherers, and Farmers.
Food is processed incredibly well by the locals; their bodies are incredibly efficient at processing fats and nutrients, and they have a lean appearance. The only members of society who differ are the priests, who seek to emulate their god in appearance. The priest caste are largely celibate and their numbers are made up of shildren who do not easily shed fat when young. These youths will never be able to match the lean physiques of the rest of society, and the priest caste is considered the place they will do the most good.

On a small hill covered with hand-high wheat crops, Pitcarn came to himself.
he was sitting, looking into the west, with his knees drawn up to his stomach
(he couldn't pull them tight enough into his chest), and his arms resting on
top of his knees. The sun was setting, a bright orange-red, with streaks of pink
and purple covering the clouds in contrast to the fields of yellow and light
green, as well as the darker green of the borders between the fields; the forests
and scrub that Pitcarn's Ackee feared.

Beside the god, to his right, a sword lay, in it's scabbard, as well as the belt
that Pitcarn used to fasten it to his waist. On his left, in immediate reach,
was a walking stick, of fine appearance.

Pitcarn tracked his head from left to right, in the distance, two thin, wispy
streams of white smoke could be seen emanating from walled villiages. Pitcarn
examined these for a while from his vantage point before nodding in approval, and
yawning.

He placed his right hand on the ground, in a gap between the wheat stalks and
absentmindedly began to paw at the ground; scraping dirt away until his hand
found a tuber. He plucked it from the earth and looked at it thoughtfully, before
placing it into a belt pouch on the ground next to his sword and laughing.

Taking the walking stick from the ground, Pitcarn levered himself up, then bent
down to take his sword, belt and other accoutrement and restore it to his waist.
"Well," he said as he eyed the closest villiage. "I begin."

He laughed again and began to walk down the hill.

He passed many, many farms, wandering over more hills than he could count, and the people always greeted him with the utmost respect. As he walked, a cloud passed over the sun, and Pitcarn felt a chill fall over him. Soon, he was at the great gates of one of the middle villages, towers reinforcing the gargantuan walls. A guard called hail to him, and the gates were opened.

By the time Pitcarn was inside of the village, the chief priest as at his feet, bowing politely.

"My Lord, you honour us all by coming to Gach, and you honour my conjurations by basking this place in the fruits of your eternal light."

Pitcarn laughed at this, like a generous and boisterous uncle amused by his favouite nephew's antics.

"You honour me, good priest. No, no, stand up straight, every person on their feet, we're all fit and well, and why do we have food for? To dwell in luxury and gluttony, or to use the sustenance it gives us to make better things of ourselves and the world? Hah! The physique of every man here does me proud,"
Pitcarn paused to look around at the strong, fit, tall people who were now abandoning their villiage tasks to watch Pitcarn and the priest.
"Although you sir," he said, motioning the priest. "You do me extra proud." He laughed as the priest glanced down at his belly, the girth of which rivalled Pitcarn's own expanse of stomach.

"So, do you have a name priest? Who is the leader in this villiage? Is it you, who come to greet me with such polite obeisiance? Hah!" Pitcarn laughed loudly again in amusement.

"Oh, you're all so polite, but so fit and ready to do your duty. Gather round my children, all of you, for I seek information. "

Here Pitcarn halted, and looked kindly at the priest who he had bombarded with questions before preventing him from replying by continuing to speak. He nodded his head at the man, to get across that he would be able speak to the god in a moment.

"Now listen carefully children," he said, now addressing the assembled crowd. "I need to know as much as you can tell me. How much you know of the other villiages, where they are and how far. What are your relations with them like? Do you have feuds or do you trade? Or both? Ha HA HA hahahaha. What are your long term resources like? does the villiage have the ability to survive without producing food for any length of time? I have sudden plans for Gach, plans that may see the villiage effectively emptied for a period of time but for guards on the walls, but I will not put them into place unless I know that Gach can survive them. I wish no suffering on any my people."

"We have enough food to last for six months without farming, Lord, but the lands must be maintained, lest the next harvest fail," said one of the farmers. There was an excitement about the people, a buzz that betrayed their curiosity towards their Lord.

"Enough for six months you say... interesting." Pitcarn's normally jovial demeanor had vanished for a moment as he pondered the situation.

"I want as many of the farmers from the local area to meet me here tomorrow night, I wish to talk with them concerning farming practices, especially the most viable ways of producing. " He pondered a moment before a large grin crossed his face. "We'll need a hall of some kind to meet in, too."
Pitcarn's laughter was already becoming very familiar to the villiagers.

"I also want half the defenders, all the hunters, half the farmers and a quarter of the preists from the villiage to assemble before me in 2 hours time. This is more important than labour, this is more important than food or eating." Pitcarn had become quite serious. "Know, my children, that here in this villiage, great endeavours are about to begin. The history of Bilbligh is about to change course."

"We will adjourn now, but return in 2 hours, this is of the utmost importance." Pitcarn made eye contact with the preist who had first addressed him. "You, priest," here the warmth and laughter returned to Pitcarn's eyes. "While the rest of the villiage assembles, let us talk."

"Yes, my Lord," said the priest, commanding a few servants to gather those who his God wished to speak to. "How might I serve your delicious presence?"

Paradox strikes Pitcarn and he is ripped straight to the Valley of Mist, his form being torn asunder and rebuilt in a single instant.

Pitcarn returns to His realm, and looks around at the place he departed, too long ago, but he wonders if any time has passed here at all. A preist looks at him expectantly, but the God of Food is unsure of it is the same one as before.

"Priest, I need to know many things of you, but I'll begin with the basics, just until I have recovered my bearings.
"The leader of this villiage, which individual or individuals might that be? and whom are you; that is to say, what are you called?"

(Sorry, no dice; privileges of time are lost when you're hit by paradox.)

Pitcarn blinks, shakes his head as the world around him shimmers and is gone; a hallucination. He remembered being here, seemingly only a second ago, but it was clear that hours had passed at least.. it was night in the small village, and stars littered the sky.

A man looks at him expectantly.

"Lord.. Lord? You've returned? Oh, we thought you'd abandoned us!"

Picarn looks at his subject, and asseses the villiage.

"No, not abandoned, just left for a while. How long was I gone for? Was anything done, or unusual happen, while I was away?"

"My questions still stand: Who are you, and how is this villiage lead? ((OOC; like I asked before))

"I.. yes, Lord," said the man. "I am Grigori, a tradesman. Nothing strange has occurred within the few hours since you first arrived.. and the village is run by a single elder, the Stave, who has declared his wish to meet you."

"Naturally tradesman, naturally. Of course he does.

"Lead me to his dwelling, but as you do, tell me: Are you a travelling tradesman? and if so, have you traveled far? I am very interested to know how much my people know of their own land, as I know so little of the mundane layout."

As he spoke, paradox caught up with Pitcarn and he suddenly found talking incredibly painful.

Grigori started to lead Pitcarn to the more densely populated area of the village. As he did, he informed Pitcarn:

"I make weapons, Lord, but the market for swords and bludgeons is a slim one; I travel quite often, from village to village, selling what I can. I hold a forge in Amthsbury, and caravans here and in several other locations.. I've traveled through much of safe Bilbligh."

Suddenly, Pitcarn saw that Grigori was looking at him in horror.

"Lord - Lord! Are you alright, m'Lord? Your face - it is smashed!"

"Ecksellent Grigori, and yesth, don't mind my fathe htoo much, but I will need medical attention. hOnce you have showed me to the Stave, please, find a healer.

"You stheem like a wealthy man Grigori; tell me, do you have maps of saef Bilbligh? Or doesth the information rethide only within your mind?"

Pitcarn continued his walk to the Stave's house with Grigori, very intersted in what the man knew.

"I have maps of safe Bilbligh, yes," said Grigori. "As should the Stave. Would you care to see them.. ?"

They reaches a large, yet squat, house, built of thick stone. It was the only house with gates, but they were unlocked.

"I can run for a healer, Lord, if you'd care to make your way in.. the Stave scares me a little," he said.

"hPLease Grigori, do fetsh the healer. Tell him to enter himmediatly."

Pitcarn stooped his shoulders a little before entering the hut, attempting, just a little, to hide his warrior nature

The man within was short and fat, wearing elaborate silks and wielding a silver stave. He was a priest, obviously, and his home was incredibly well furnished, especially for the standards of Bilbligh.

"Ah, Pitcarn, I assume," he said. "How are you doing? Good of you to see me."

"Chieftain, you do more than I assume; you know your God when you see him."

Pitcarn softened his rebuke. "But I an here, and to sthee you. I haf pressing buthiness to discuss, and I desire events to hmove quickly. You are the individual I require for assistance with this.

"Asth for how I ham doing, hwell, you can sthee my hjaw. An unfhortunate hevent, but han event non-theless. It occurred somewhere else, just as I was walking here. I won't hexplain the metaphysics hof it now, but thome attention on it would be gratifying. The ackee I met houtside has gone to hfetch a healer.

"I digress, and I haf little time, as I said. We hafn't the time for the basic pleasntries, we mutht be to business immediately.

"When I dithappeared so suddenly earlier, I traveled, and I saw, among other things, a realm struck by great calamity, but still at least twice as populace and productive as here. The thing that I most thought about was that all in my realm, under my dominion, are warrior folk, yet I have no approximation of out abilities, as the leader of this force. What are our weapons? What are our defences?

"I need my entire people to work in concert. I need to know the layout of my realm, the villages, the dark places, and where it all fits in relation to my temple.

"Farming must improve, and we need to be able to export what we have in abundance to others. I can begin this process soon, and If I am able I will provide raw materials, but it is rarely guaranteed. The realm needs to be able to continue what I have started, here.

"Succeed me in this and you personally, your descendants, as well as the village you and they lead, will be rewarded. I don't feel that this is a hard task I set you, so I assume that You will see it done. You have only to begin the process, not see it completed.

"Have you anything you wish of me? Answer my questions, and I will address any of yours."

"Lord," said the Stave, "I will answer your questions.

"First and foremost, while many of our men are more than capable of wielding a sword, our weapons are created primarily for support - rapiers, sabers, short knives and the like. We do not have an abundance of such things, either, as forge-work is found only in certain villages, and ours is not one of them. Our warriors are built not for war - there hasn't been a war in Bilbligh for many, many centuries - but for duels, and it would be difficult to train them for anything other than sport, though I know the talent and skill is there."

The Stave rolled a long map across his desk. Pitcarn saw that it was a map of Bilbligh. The Stave worked his Lord through it..

"Lord.. see where I am pointing? This is Gach, the village which I run," he pointed to a small mark in the center of the map. Pitcarn saw eight, nine similar marks in the center of the map, surrounded by a large ink circle, but to the north, south, east and west there were only vague glyphs which he did not know the meaning of. "This area in the center, where the large circular border rests? That is safe Bilbligh. Here, here and here.. are Amthbury, Riold and Vol. They are forge towns, Lord. With Gach rests Hosk, Urd and Jant. This is where most of the clergy rests, and where the largest farms are held - food often comes from these two. I am the High Priest of Gach itself, but even I must bow to the Lord Priest of the Grape in Hosk. These two villages on the border.." He pointed to two marks to the west. "Are the border-towns of Yurn and Gand. They have no farming capabilities at all, and exist simply to repel the hordes of the Witch-Woman of the Starved. They are the greatest fighting men we have.. and perhaps they alone are suited for war. We send them supplies and most of our weapons."

He grimaced. He pointed to the western sign.

"To the west exists the Witch-Woman of the Starved and her legion, within the Forests of the Starved. She threatens to destroy all of Bilbligh, and our greatest defense are the battle-towns of Yurn and Gand. Each of our cities are highly walled, too, as this adds an extra defense.. in the event Yurn and Gand fail."

He shuddered.

"To the east are the Sacred Lands of the M'naar. We do not travel there. To do so is to meet death by the vine-creature M'naar. We cannot defeat such a beast. Those in Jant," he pointed to the town closest to the east, "Worship the M'naar as an aspect of yourself, Lord. They sacrifice criminals to the beast when they can. But it rarely travels into safe Bilbligh, and when it does it is only to feed - it skulks off, always, not long after.

"To the north lies the Ruined Farmlands of Bilbligh, where we had many more villages, and even a city, once.. until the Witch-Woman of the Starved came and destroyed that, laid ruin to our crops, and drove us to the south. Harb, Oln, Reord.. those were only some of the towns lost to that battle.

"Finally, to the south is the River Gjoln. It is customary for the priesthood to experience pilgrimage, as far down the river as they can go, before they die. The mysteries of the river itself are unknown, but it is known throughout every village that it is a sacred place, and that commoners are not allowed to travel there."

He smiled.

"Does that help, my Lord?"

(Congratulations, Pitcarn. You have explored Bilbligh, and the subsequent boost in percentage has netted you an extra Degree; you now have two spare.)

"hGreatly it helpth me, Cheiftan of the Stave. I have so much more now that I may consthider.

"I have businessth elsethwhere to see to, and I hintend to see to it immediately. However, I hdo now have an order which I intend events to run here. I hdesire that you sthend messengers to Hosk, Urd and Jant, enssure that they know that I, Pitcarn, hdesire that they have a hnumber of members of their hpopulaces, however they chooze them, to hbegin zearching their areasth for hmetals and zuch. This is himportant, as I intend to move against these starvation Witches. I cannot abide such a blight on my lands."

This last sentence was so vehement that Pitcarn forgot for a moment his broken jaw.

"You will htell the leaders that this is an order from your lord: szearch for metal. Any metal. Dig it from the ground. You need not tell any other soul of the reason why this is happening. I do not want the witches forewarned.

"The people of dJant are not to trespassth on the landsth of the M'naar, but they are not to fear it, not until I return properly. I feel that I should meet with thisth part of my nature.

"I will wait now for the healer to come, then I will depart sthwiftly. There isth a battle that I must be a part of. The pity isth that I do not know whether it be wordsth or sthwordsth that will be the weapon of choice. "

Pitcarn sat down on the closest seat level object to hand, not too fussy what.

"Oh, and grab some glasthesth, or hgoblets, or bowlsth or sthomething. I hneed a hdrink."

"Yes, Lord. I will send messages to the temple-villages immediately.." The Stave smiled, filled a tall glass goblet with red wine. "If you'll excuse me, Lord.."

As he moved out a thin, nervous man dressed in the robes of a physician entered quietly.

"I, um, I am to see if I can mend your jaw, Lord," he said.

Draining the glass in one long swallow, Pitcarn turned to the physician.

"Pleashe, begin immediately. I hafve little time to washte."

The physician examined the broken jaw, prodding and measuring. He was quickly finished.

"It is broken," he said, sadly. "You should rest, my Lord, and let it heal naturally. I have herbs that may speed up the process, but there is nothing else I can do."

"The herbsh then healer. Sthadly, speed isth of the esthence. Even a little boostht in my recuperation isth better than none."

The healer pulled out a leather pouch, and gave it to Pitcarn.

"Drink these with tea, my Lord," he said. "They'll help."

Pitcarn gestured for the healer to put on hot water, and removed some of the herbs from the pouch, placing them in the bottom of the same vessel he had lately drunk wine from. He didn't bother with a teapot or straining the leaves at all. Once the water was boiled, he waited a little until it was cool, and motioned the healer to find the Stave, and bid him return, once he had finished sending his messengers.

Soon, after Pitcarn had finished the tea, the Stave returned.

"Lord, it is done," he said.

The food god sat back, and regarded the Stave.

"My thanks, lord Stave. It seems as though events are transpiring slower than I had anticipated. I am not needed to depart from here as fast as I thought. I will take some leave here, for a day or two, if you would be willing to share your house with a divine?" It wasn't a question.

I will rest and recuperate, just as the healer suggested, and while I do, I might talk to my people.

Pitcarn stays in the villiage of Gach for two days, speaking with his people and asking about their lives, their greivances, their joys.

Mostly he listens, and watches, to allow his jaw to heal, and especially revels when he visits a nearby farm and the farmer tells him of the growth of his plants. As the farmer expertly extrats food from the soil, Pitcarn begins to recover his spirit, not just from his physical ailment, and he becomes more boisterous and his laughter is stronger the whole time.

After two full days, Pitcarn decides to leave, and on the dawn of the third day, he says simply to The Stave that he is travelling east, to Jant. He doesn't say why, but he suspects that The Stave knows it has something to do with the M'naar, and the Sacred Lands.

In two days of rest, with very little worry him, the God of Food's jaw had fully healed. Soon, however, it was time to go; the road to Jant was a fairly long one.

"Will you be taking the official roads?" asked the Stave. "Or will you be cutting through the hills? The short-cut might shave a day or so off the trek, but it is more dangerous.. are you sure you would not care for an escort?"

"I will stick to the mains paths, no fear. If you can arrange an escort at such short notice, I will happily take with me up 5 or 6 warriors. I am happy with fewer, but I do not wish to be accompanied by many."

"I have five soldiers already prepared," said the Stave. "They wish to return from their patrol back to their village of Jant, so it is indeed fortuitous that there is where you wish to travel. Nevertheless, they will protect you, though they are simple fighting folk and not accustomed to the higher company you would provide."

"Hahahaha. Higher company. Lord Stave, you do so well by me. No, they will accompany me and I will be gald of them. I am a simple warrior myself, I just have many other things that I must have my attention on at the same time. This often means that the simple warrior me must take a step back from time to time.

"I thankyou graciously for your hositality Lord Stave, and for the warriors who accompany me. You village will do well, be sure of it."

Pitcarn set off down the road, with the warriors in tow, and his laughter boomed back over the villiage, as he walked towards Jant.

The soldiers were a rowdy collection of ragtag fighters, but they were all respectful in Pitcarn's presence. They smoked tobacco and drank what liquor they had, but only when they figured their God wasn't looking. But Pitcarn saw that they were good men. Kind men.. the type of man that Bilbligh would have to start producing on a mass scale.

There is a feeling of unease, however, within Pitcarn's heart. They are hiding something - or one of them is. But what.. ?

They'd been traveling for a day when night fell.

"Better make came, m'Lord," said one of the soldiers. "Where would you like to stop?"

Pitcarn looks around for a likely spot.

"Well," he said, looking at a small, shallow slope off the path a few metres. "I don't know about you, but I do enjoy sleeping under the stars. I may sleep just there:" gesturing to the nominated spot.

"You are more than welcome to camp as near or as far from there as you see fit. Whatever your preference is for setting up your camp. Since we are on the road, and to home for some of us," he beamed at the troops. "we shall stay awake a little into the night, as our journey should not be too taxing, and I do wish to hear some of your experiences of your tour of duty.

"And no, I will not have any of you giving up anything of yours just for my convenience. I can provide for myself, and thus you do not need to provide for me."

He allowed the soldiers to set up their camp as they wished, and he wandered off a little way, hunting for some small game with a borrowed sling from one of the soldiers and some pebbles from off the path.

Soon Pitcarn has caught enough of the white rabbits to feed his company and himself. As he does so, he stumbled across a small stream. He could hear the sounds of his men setting up camp behind him. They would start the fire, set up the canvasses and blankets, and generally clear the space. He knew they had no qualms about sleeping in his presence.

Pitcarn smiled as he walked back to the camp, but inwardly he was in turmoil. He had to report to Perigo very quickly, yet he was accompanied by these men. Highly tempted to take them with him, but they had already seen action, and was he right to send them into a fight again, when they were on their way home?

Pitcarn knew that his godly prerogative over his realm allowed him to do whatever he pleased, but it was so fragile. What if one of the men came back mad. What if one of them was forged by the experience. he didn't know if the gamble was worthwhile.

Walking back amongst the men, her began a fire, and cooked the rabbits, both spit roasted and in a stew. The soldiers would eat well.

As they all sat to eat, Pitcarn lookeda t them all and tried to engage them in trivial conversation, to try and draw out the man with the secret, and to see if they could cope with the extra hardships that an additional battle, or series of battles might take on them.

Four of the men seemed to be friends. They gave the fifth man a wide berth - he had cunning, intelligent eyes, and spoke like a warrior. Nevertheless, there was something odd about this man. He did not openly speak about his experiences. There was less muscle about him than the others.

As the night wore on, Pitcarn tried to talk more to the fifth man, allowing the other four to enjoy each other's companionship on the road home.

Attempting to engage to man in conversation, the God asked what the man was returning to, what awaited him at his home. He was interested to know why the man was a pariah, but did not want to be too direct. Whatever the gap, this man was highly interesting to Pitcarn

"My home, Lord? There are many things.. I will miss the food, perhaps, the most. There was a very certain taste about the village.. the product of the spice farming to the north, I believe. It ran through everything. Some men said that the spice allowed a man his madness, to see things others could not. I do not know. I am a simple warrior. It made things tasty, though."

He smiled thinly, fingered the area around his neck. There was nothing there. An eccentricity.

"And the people. Lamb. A flock of sheep.. or so the priest-folk, bless them, are telling us. So they say. Still, lovely creatures. Spicers have a .. delight about them. It's mysterious. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm not sure i know of this spice my friend. I may have to investigate it. Especially if it has the properties you describe. "

Picarn wasn't sure about the substance, but if it could be exported... maybe.

"Are the other men here your companions in the villiage? "

"No, not at all," said the man. "They.. come from a different village. A different life."

"Ahh. I seem to understand, just a little now.

"Tell me, how desperate are you to return home? I am needed on business elsewhere, sadly, but I would absolutely welcome company as I travel, as you can see from the very fact that I have you and these other fine fellows with me. If you would like, if you are prepared to be away from your villiage and from the spce there for just a little while longer, would you care to accompany me?

"Would you be willing to follow your lord into a wider Universe? to see things that one might never expect?"

"I am not desperate, my Lord," smiled the warrior. "I will happily follow you to wherever you might go. I am no stranger to secret knowledge, my Lord, and welcome it in whatever form it might come."

"Well, Soldier, if you truely are willing to delay your enjoyment of the spices of your home, I feel that it would be enjoyable to have company as I travel beyond this realm. It will be dangerous, and I'm not entirely sure of the nature of what I seek to accomplish, so it may be very brief or quite extended. If you'll excuse me, I'll inform the others of my departure, and insist they return home."

Pitcarn goes to the other soldiers, and tells them that he will have to leave them, almost immediately. He asks them to return to their homes and that when he returns, they are guarunteed to have a role in Pitcarn's next action in Bilbligh. Once done, he returns to the other soldier.

"Shall we depart? We are headed for an island, probably a fairly dark one, and a long way from here. We shall be there shortly."

Pitcarn opens a portal for the warrior, and allows him to step through before stepping through afterwards himself.

"Oh, by the way... Have you a name by which I might call you?"

((Posting in Perigo))

"I am ready to depart, Lord. You might call me Jasper," he said, walking with his Lord, and suddenly, there -

- was a shimmering of light - the cries of a dead force - a thousand bloody worms - the hands of a killer - sunny, tropical vacations - eyes -

And they were in the Isles of Perigo.

Returning to Bilbligh, Pitcarn and Jasper appear only a few hours walk from Jasper's villiage. Annoyance and worry are on Pitcarn's face, as well as a tiredness.
In another place, he curses the Pirate God for his idiocy, but here he seems calm, as he consiously smothes the lines from his expression. He straightens his shoulders and stands up straight, once again taking on the posture that once gained him the monker 'Friar'.
Pitcarn turns to his Ackee, and addresses him.

"Well, Jasper. What did you make of that?"

"If you'll forgive me, Lord," said Jasper. "It was a waste of time. I am not.. entirely sure what occurred, but I know that it was unsatisfactory. Why did you not smite the man down?"

"Pay attention, my privileged child. It will result in a longer life for you and yours.

"Desafon is a god, just as I am, and my equal. yet while you may strike another Ackee of your own village down in anger, you might hesitate if he was of the next village over: Your personal brawl could become the blood feud of two neighboring centers of population. The situation is similar with the Lord of Duels and I. He has his village, I have mine, and we must work together if we are to survive when the great serpents slither from the forests and assail our walls. The situation was far more complex than what I have told you, yet that is the essential core of the problem.

"The reason I ventured there was in an attempt to clear the spoor and toxic slime of the serpent from his home, but he rejected me, and the help my village was willing to offer him. As much as I would have liked to strike him down, it would have achieved nothing.

"Go now to your village. I want you to take a message on my behalf. Two priests of your village are to make their way to my temple, with all haste, for an internship of an indefinite period of time. For obvious reasons, they should not be the leaders of your village.

"After you have done that, runners are to be sent to all other villages, including the same instructions I have given to you. Every village is to send two priests, and only two priests, to my temple. Their stay at my temple may be for life.

"If your village is hesitant to send the runners, you are to make the journey.

"Finally, Jasper, you asked for my forgiveness. You do not entirely have it, yet you may earn it in time. You have interested me. If you wish to continue in my direct service, once you have completed the task I have just set before you, you too may join me at my temple, for a different sort of internment.

"I am leaving now. I hope to see you, or at least your villages priests, within three weeks time."

Pitcarn began walking towards his temple, taking as long as he needed to get there. He made sure, on his route, to detour at least once at another village. There, he repeated the orders he gave to Jasper, and also took a small boy of about 6 under his wing, promising him a feast of epic proportions. From this village to his temple, accompanied by the priests of that village and the child, Pitcarn walked the final leg of his journey to his home within his home.

Sura arrived and quickly took in his surroundings.

Pitcarn

"Yes, my Lord," said Jasper, and was off.

Just as Pitcarn had found the boy, he sensed a presence in his Realm - another God had come to pay him a visit.

Sura

Sura had manifested within the center of an empty town square. The moon high above the night sky indicated that it was deep in the night, and that most of the villages would be sound asleep. Sura saw high walls to the north, west and east of the village, and steep mountainous cliff face to the south.

Sura began creating sand.

OOC: Pitcarn also senses a strange breach of paradox.... Sura.

Ignoring the other presence, Pitacrn left for his temple. Upon arrival, he immediately set upon his vines, and began devouring the grapes. He insisted that the child he had brought with him follow suit.

OOC: Ah shit yeah. I forgot because this stuff with Odin is dragging out in my realm and the huge lapse in updates lol. I'll come back here later. I guess
This message was last edited by the player at 03:05, Wed 07 July 2010.

OOC: Not if we meet somewhere else first ;) say... coffee in Niborkerese?

(Good catch, Pitcarn.)

Pitcarn felt a high sweetness in his mouth, the taste of the red grapes caught forever between his lips. It was intoxicating, the blood of the fruit sending a buzz throughout his body, a vibration, that made him at once agitated and calm. He felt everything outside of him slip away, his shoulders sagged, and his neck anti-prickled, a deep pressure placed upon them for a single moment - the experience associated with someone suddenly not watching you.

PM
This message was last edited by the player at 14:08, Mon 12 July 2010.

QUESTION: 'Please inform me about the protocols (ANALYTICAL, other) contained within SUIT?'
ANSWER: The ANALYTIC protocols of your SUIT are famed throughout the EARTHBORN TERRITORIES. It contains encyclopedic, ever-expanding information on any range of objects about you. Name the object mentally - declare a SCAN (SCAN: ROCK) and information will be gathered and sent to you via the store-feed. You will receive it in seconds. More advanced items require more processing time. If you do not know the exact name of an object, hold it in your hands and declare the SCAN. If you wish to name a living individual, concentrate on their image and declare the SCAN. Other protocols include: SHIELDING, DRAWING, JACKING, MONITORING, STORING, MEDICAL, DEEPWARE (ENCRYPTED META-PROTOCOL), MESHWORK.

The secret actions continued.

PM

Scan: complete. The six priests are currently waiting in your antichamber, Pitcarn.

<tt>

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT define the SHIELD protocol?'
ANSWER: The SHIELD protocol is designed to allow the body to withstand extreme temperatures, dangerous pressures, or other natural hazards. The SHIELD protocol also protects against: standard toxins, standard diseases. The SHIELD protocol can, if fully activated, resist bullet and other physical wounds by weaving energy from the user's body, though SUIT would remind the user that this is optional and disabled at this time. Other aspects of the SHIELD protocol unactivated: dehydration/nutrition dampener, underwater oxygen allowance.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the DRAWING protocol?'
ANSWER: This protocol allows SUIT to draw energy from it's user's body. It can be deactivated, but this is not advised.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the JACKING WETWARE protocol?'
ANSWER: This protocol allows SUIT to bond with it's user in times of extreme stress. This is an instantaneous action which bonds SUIT to it's user's skeletal and nervous system, allowing him to draw on reserve banks of energy to enable his hidden potential of strength, speed, and vitality. This protocol is currently disabled.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the MONITORING protocol?'
ANSWER: This protocol allows SUIT to monitor the user's levels of adrenaline, oxygen, nutrition, and other necessary and artificial chemicals needed to ensure the health and vitality of the body. It also allows SUIT to change these levels as it sees fit, though MANUAL MODE may be activated if the user isn't satisfied with SUIT's control.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the STORING protocol?'
ANSWER: This protocol allows SUIT to store both energy and information within the human body. It may be deactivated, but this is not advised.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the MEDICAL protocol?'
ANSWER: This protocol allows SUIT to diagnose the user's body and, if it is a viral or toxic condition, treat it. SUIT can also activate FLOWING mode, which allows SUIT to take energy from the human body and convert it into healing processes for the physical body, in the case of wounding and the like. In this energy-intensive mode all other protocols except for the MONITORING and DEEPWARE protocols will be disabled. The FLOWING mode is currently disabled.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the DEEPWARE protocol?'
ANSWER: DEEPWARE is the system that allows each other system to function and interact. It also allows the SUIT's almost-intelligence. ENCRYPTED.

QUESTION: 'Could SUIT describe the MESHING protocol?'
ANSWER: MESHING is a new technology that allows the SUIT, when given the proper commands, to fully utilize modern SigilusTechnology and network with pseudotechnological and technomagical artifacts of a relatively stable nature. It also allows full integration into various aspects of the Earthborn Glyphic Internet matrixes.

Grabbing an extra large bunch of grapes, Pitcarn walks out to meet the Priests.
"Very good, SUIT"

Naturally, the priests bring in the wine-makers, but are too fearful of their Lord to force their lessers to make the product. They begin, slowly, to make the wine.

Pitcarn allows the priests to continue.

The days pass, the product is slowly made, and Pitcarn finds himself, several days later, with a Fine Diamond.

Noting he quality of the work, Pitcarn decides to make a fine Pearl, but to spend longer doing it, so as to not tax himself too much. Grapes are by his side as he makes, and he eats constantly.

The days pass, and a fine Pearl is made. The priests complain of sickness and of pains. Some of them are even losing weight. They are tormented by their holy work.

Desafon (unless otherwise stated by the GMs) moves into Pitcarn's realm via a gate, moving to search for the God.

Placing the gems in a safe place within his temple, Pitcarn feels the presence of Desafon, but is unsure where the Pirate God is within his realm.

Saddened by the plight of the mortals who fear him, Pitcarn begins work on a feast, going through his stores and choosing foods that will make an excellent meal, but also that will preserve, that the priests may eat of them for the next few days without them having to pull themselves too far from their duties. Relaxing into the thoroughly mundane task, Pitcarn relaxes by cooking for his priests.

Afterwards, he takes one priest, and gently but forcefully pulls him away from his work. Like a doctor, he examines the Ackee, examining his pallor, checking his breath, his weight. "Have you been eating, little priest?" he said, kindly. "Be tormented not by your task. You are performing great work, yet it need not be the end of you. Come."

Pitcarn hailed all the priests together, away from their work, and to him. He also called the winemakers to him, so that they might listen."My children, the work you are doing is marvelous, and with great purpose, but your death does not serve me. Maybe on a far away battlefield you may have the honour of being struck down in my service, but I have asked you here that you may aid me in this task. The stores here are mine, but in this task you have my blessing to eat as you will. The grapes are yours to consume, as is anything else I have here.

"I have prepared a feast for you. Eat, be merry, relax for the next few hours before you return to your work. Make use of all that is available to you; the winemakers should be a part of this holy process.

"Do not forget, that while the task set before you is holy, those in the priestly caste have a responsibility to emulate my form." Here Pitcarn rubbed his extended stomach. "I firmly believe that you are able to complete both to my utmost satisfaction. The creation of great wine can take months, so do not pressure yourselves unduly.

"Now sit, eat, enjoy."

Pitcarn

Pitcarn could feel the electric climb up his back; the feeling of excitement, contagious amongst his priests. He knew that morale had recovered almost immediately. They ate and drank and talked merrily. They began to relax for the first time in several days. Some even considered the idea of work to be not so bad after all.

Pitcarn felt Desafon's position; he was outside the temple.

Desafon

Desafon found himself within a small, walled village. Bustling about were the skinny, yet warrior-like people of Bilbligh, the Ackee. He found himself looking at a wide, open temple with sun-bleached white steps..

"Don't'cha know the Lord resides in there, manifested in his work?" said one of the Ackee, smiling. "Rude to stare."

Chuckling, Desafon bows his head lightly in respect to the Ackee, "I did not know, actually. I am here to see this 'Lord'. I have much to discuss and only a short time to do so." He says, moving to enter the temple, no motions to draw his blade as he doesn't seek conflict. If he will be allowed in, he will seek out Pitcarn.

Suddenly aware that events had come to a head, Pitcarn became worried. Manifesting his diamond rifle, vibroblades and oathblade onto this person, as well as one of his grenades, he placed them down upon the ground next to his seat at the table.

"Priests, your attention for a moment. I will very soon be leaving for you a brief moment. Worry not. However, I have a guest outside who I do beleive you should ask inside. Give him comforts, but this is not his place, and he is not lord of any of you. I do not think he will be overly demanding."

Pitcarn took up his staff and walked into his inner sanctum, and viewed his vines. He ordered any Ackee inside the room outside. Pitcarn wanted to be alone for this, he was so confused.

He took the box from Lictros from the air, and placed it in the same safe place that he had placed the gems in. It seemed almost a shame to have the gems in the same place as that wonderous gift.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:47, Thu 29 July 2010.

Pitcarn

(Sorry, for very quick reference, what were the gems again? Cheers.)

Pitcarn received the paradoxed tools and entered the coolness of his inner sanctum. The grapes shined a soft red-purple, at once mysterious and tantalizing. Pitcarn felt the power of what he held in his hand. It vibrated at a certain occult frequency; perhaps the most certain frequency.

Desafon

Desafon is greeted by a kindly, pleasantly obese priest. The priest seemed to come specifically to see Desafon; he'd just left the temple, searched around, and made a direct line for the pirate god. Nevertheless, he seemed joyful enough to meet a guest.

"Ah, friend," said the priest. "How are you on this fine day? Forgive me, but I noticed you are no Ackee - a guest both to this sacred temple, then, and to Bilbligh. Do you hunger? Are you thirsty? Come, traveler, and rest with us."

(a safe place somewhere, lets just say a safe or something. It was basically just to safeguard the gift just in case there was an echo effect on Pitcarn's other forms from the grenade explosion :P )

Ensuring that the gift was safe, and feeling the rush of power from his death, Pitcarn straightened himself up, took another bunch of grapes, and went to meet with Desafon in the main hall, where he had held the feast.

Desafon looks to the priest, again bowing his head lightly in respect. "I would love to, though I have come on terms of business for the Lord Pitcarn. And no, I am no Ackee and do not come from this land. I come from the Island Chains of Perigo which I rule." He moves to find Pitcarn, "Can you lead me to him?"

Pitcarn and Desafon

"Of course," said the servant to the God of Pirates. "Follow me."

Desafon was soon met by the God of Food in the main hall, where several priests slept, talked, joked and continued to eat. The platters were stacked high with a huge assortment of foods, and wine flowed freely from the jugs. The servant introduced Desafon to his Lord, smiled, bowed and left the room.

Wary of the flames-haired god, due to their last Pitcarn non-theless greeted Desafon warmly.

"Pirate Lord, what brings you to my hall? I hear that you have valuable and expensive wares, wares that might have ceeased to exist had I been allowed to continue my work. It is best for you then that you joined your 'trade group', eh? But I cannot buy them, I have no need, so it cannot be them that brings you here.

"I had thought to take revenge for the slight you did to me, and yet here you stand in my own realm, alone, and asking politely of my priests where I am. You do not seek war then?

"God of duels, you confuse me, and yet I feel an affinity towards you, but that may just by a homophone, I do not know. So what is it? What do you require of a God of Food?

"Come, sit, eat, at my home we discuss business over food, and drink. My priests are good folk, they are making me wine, the best wine I can think of, better than that which I create with my own hands even!"

With that, Pitcarn filled every goblet on the table with a deep red wine, and turned to sit himself down.

Desafon shakes his head, "Oh, I don't seek war with you. War wouldn't be profitable for either one of us, nor do I seek a duel with you since the solution and problem has been solved to both of our advantages. I do, however, have to ask about something important. I hear you need a God named 'Sura' taken care of. At least given a fair warning by giving him a death. In fact, if I could, I'd enjoy giving him more than one. However, I hear the only way I can join in on this expedition or 'Bounty hunt' is by talking to you. No doubt, both of us being Vicious Gods, we can come to some sort of arrangement." He grins.

"No, as much as I'd be honored by a meal, I find I want to take care of this as quickly as I can. I've got things I need to purchase to repair my realm from the slight of the Mad God and people I need to recover. No doubt if I could help take care of this, of course representing the Circle that I do, you may find yourself in higher esteems with the Conclave. Would this not please both of us?"

Pit and Des

About the two Gods, the people of Pitcarn spoke and danced and drank and were merry. They were joyous for guests.

Pitcarn roared with laughter.

"A worthy foe, Desafon, a worthy foe. That is who you are. Yes we are both vicious, and share a goal. You have a crafty mind."

Pitcarn's laugh subsided to a chuckle.

"But you think to small.

"You think the Conclave would officially sanction a Bounty-hunt for a newly promoted Low-lord? A Low-lord who obtained his rank through... questionable means?" Pitcarn gave a knowing look to Desafon.

"No, Lord of duels, This is a greater event: Sura is a distraction here, not the goal." Pitcarn's grin was slightly menacing, like he wanted Desafon to get a private joke, but one that Pitcarn refused to enunciate properly.

"What do you think now, Trader-king? What of this event can you tell me now? Tell me, and I will consider how best I can include you. Prove your ability beyond doubt and enhance your divine aura, and I'm sure I will be able to find you a place of honour in my... army."

Pitcarn drained his goblet in one long swallow, then cast it down and looked at Desafon, waiting for his answer.

Desafon looked towards Pitcarn with an eyebrow raised, "I might be included in your army, but in a manner of speaking I'm still a Mercenary. Dueling is an individual thing, not a team. The price offered was for Sura, not the whole of cultists. I've killed Cultists before and almost got banned from the Conclave's grounds for doing such. If you offer me an amount of money or, perhaps, even a great and worthy respect, I'm fairly certain my blades will remain unmatched. I'm nothing much for magic or anything else, but blades... that's a different matter."

A fire sparked in Pitcarn's eyes at Desafon's comment, but something changed and he visibly calmed. His posture relaxed and his shoulders slid back. he no longer stood as tall, but there was more refinement in his figure

"I had more faith in you, Desafon, and I had hoped that you had more faith in me."

"I'm not speaking here of fighting in the line. Mercenaries serve a very different purpose, and they are often used to fill weaknesses that otherwise might break a force. You're a God of Duels, of Piracy; by your very nature working with others should offend you." Pitcarn narrowed his eyes, "I have an altogether different idea for you."

"As a member of the Apotheosis Circle, you are almost certainly banned from joining any Conclave force directly, especially as a member of the command structure. I do not desire you as a junior commander. I have no need of your services as a lieutenant, and we have enough bad-blood between us that putting you in such a position would raise eyebrows of both my superiors and yours."

"Being a mercenary, a trader, a... pirate," Pitcarn smiled, "I'm sure you can appreciate the value of an independent contract. I hire your services to perform a job for me. You get paid on completion, and I get what I want from the result of your actions. Neither the Conclave nor the Apotheosis Circle need to be directly involved in the terms, only in the final result."

"If you're interested, we can discuss terms. I don't suppose I need to tell you that Sura must die at least once for you to be paid the full amount though."

To this, Desafon seems perplexed, though as he hears Pitcarn out, there's a large grin on his face, "Darn certain you are, I'm agreeing that if Sura doesn't die even once by me... or a byproduct of what I do, then I don't get paid for the bounty on him. However, if I bring back anything of value of the Cultists, I expect at least a portion of the bounty that I have heard is out on them. Truth be told, I might be more than a little upset at you wanting to obliterate my realm when there are others solutions, even that Max guy told me there are, but I'm not about to try and kill you. I'm a Duel God, not a Rage God. Albeit, as much as I say that I am pretty certain that with my blades and my deadly skill with them, I'll be able to cut quite a swath of destruction in this Tush-thingy place. Sura will die, that much I promise. Even if I have to die in the process, that bastidge will die. Do I have a grudge against him? Not personally, but he's worth quite a pretty penny since Chalybis is dead."

He then strokes his chin, "You needing me to go in covertly as a 'scouting' force to set up a spot for you to be able to come in safely and set up? Or just want me to get in there, wait for you all to pop in and then start swinging from further inside the city?"

Pitcarn felt a familiar Divine presence manifest somewhere nearby in his realm. He gained the distinct impression that the visitor was not a friendly one, and thought for a moment before understanding where he had felt the presence before: it was the mad knife-wielding cultist that he had exploded in Tushmuthut.

"SUIT: Activate Jacking wetware protocol and have Shield Protocol on standby. Analyse foreign Divines in this realm that do not fit the profile of 'divine/Pitcarn' and 'divine/Desafon' and add the information to file: mystattacktush."

Pitcarn looked at Desafon.

"My past actions in your realm we will resolve later, but it is not as you suppose. Right now we have a more immediate issue. The first part of your payment is here, as well as a test. A divine has entered my realm, a cultist of Osiris-Ra. He is strong. You will face him alone, in a duel, so I can judge your combat ability. I will watch, but not interfere unless I feel that you would otherwise die. When you have vanquished him, the reward on his head will be the first part of your payment. His weapons and cult-talisman will belong to me."

Pitcarn took up his weapons from where they lay next to the table and began to walk to the door, to outside.

"With the exception of Sura, you make take the cult-talisman and weapon of every cultist you kill in Tushmuthut. The bounty on Sura's head, as well as the prestige for his assassination shall be yours. His head will belong to me, I have a need for it.

"You role in Tushmuthut will be not as a scout or a sleeper, we have the intelligence we need, rather you will deploy with the army and once we have broken the wall, you and a squad will be inserted into the city. Your squad will be there to make sure you are able to reach Sura without molestation. They will know the stakes, and will die in your place if they must. Use the confusion of a city under attack as your cover, I will have other elite squads attempt to penetrate the city quickly to act as a diversion for you. Once you have found and killed Sura, take his head and bring it back here, to Bilbligh. I will ensure that the Conclave allocates you your reward and prestige.

"Come quickly, if you have things you wish to do yourself, the faster this cultist dies, the more time you will have before the attack starts to rescue your lost people.

"If you are wearing the SUIT that was given to you before the Alkan crisis ended, I suggest you activate the 'JACKING-WETWARE' protocol. It will allow you to draw on extra reserves of strength and speed shoudl you need them. Have the 'SHIELD' protocol on standby as well."

Pitcarn leaves his temple and searches for the Cultist with his divine aura.

Desafon looks towards Pitcarn, listening and nodding. "Alright, Suit, do as he said. Activate Jacking wetware protocol and also have the Shield protocol on standby." He says, looking to Pitcarn, having never actually activated the suit. He wonders if he just happened to lost the instructions or whatever. He smiles warmly, looking to Pitcarn, "You point the way and I'll get my blades into this Cultist." He says, grinning. He moves outside, hoping that this cultist doesn't attempt to slaughter Pitcarn's polite monks.

Pitcarn and Desafon

Pitcarn hears the confirmation of the SUIT within his own mind:

JACKING-WETWARE PROTOCOL enabled. SUIT has entered Combat Mode. All other actions will be held.

SCAN other Divines..
Failed.
SUIT is in Combat Mode.
All other actions held.

SUIT is in Combat Mode.
SHIELD PROTOCOL already enabled and prepared.

mystattacktush/1 status..
Status: Frozen.
Gathered information.. 23% checked.
File to be placed within the Conclave Channel upon Completion.
<tt>

Desafon experiences similar:

<tt>JACKING-WETWARE PROTOCOL enabled. SUIT has entered Combat Mode. All other actions will be held.

SUIT is in Combat Mode.
SHIELD PROTOCOL already enabled and prepared.


The two leave the temple. Outside, it is a glorious day. The sun was out and filled the land with bright sunshine. In the main square, children played and mothers chided them. Soldiers and guardsmen went about their business. Merchants hawked their wares.

Pitcarn felt the presence was somewhere to the north.. possibly in another town. This one seemed untroubled enough.

"This way."

Pitcarn began to run to the town. Whatever Desafon did, he knew his role and would fulfill it, Pitcarn trusted, but Pitcarn did not want to risk his people against that divine he had fought. They wouldn't last a second. Hoping to engage him before he could do any damage, he'd leave off as soon as Desafon was able to join the fight. he didn't want to be in the way of a dueling-god's duel.

As he ran, he issued new orders to the SUIT
"SUIT, analyse all divine presences in this realm and add information to file: mystattacktush. I want an aural presentation of information discovered as soon as it is discovered."

Desafon followed Pitcarn, "Right." He can no doubt feel the rising of his blades' need for conflict, seeing that they may now know that they would be required very shortly. He smiles, his hands on the blades, ready to draw them at the first sign of the other divine entity. He was ready for combat himself, pumped with adrenaline even without the suit, prepared to kill this enemy the correct way: dead and in pieces. That's the way that the wheels in Desafon's bus go round and round with Cultists.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:48, Thu 12 Aug 2010.

Pitcarn and Desafon

Pitcarn heard the familiar voice bounce within his mind.

Apologies, General Pitcarn, but your SUIT is in full Combat Mode and thus unable to process that request. Would you like to exit Combat Mode?

Desafon followed, and felt his blades twinge with the familiar need for battle. They were excited. It had been too long since blood had been spilled.

They exited the village gates, and the maddened cultist was nowhere to be seen. Pitcarn knew there to be a village only a forty minute run from where he was at the moment, and all of his Divine senses told him that the murderer could be found in that precise location.

"Yes, exit combat mode until the divine is within 20 metres, then re-enter combat mode." Pitcarn began running towards the village.

As well, Desafon continues after Pitcarn, certain that there will be an interesting battle as he has yet a chance to test out his new capabilities.

Pitcarn and Desafon

Another message reached Pitcarn:

I apologise, High Lord, but there is already a Divine within twenty meters of you.
/Desafon of Perigo.
Do you still wish to exit Combat Mode?

The two began their short run to the next village. Desafon was amazed by Pitcarn - that a God of that size and, ahem, shape, could continue to run at such a pace!

They smelled smoke and blood before they even saw the village. The evidence of a large fire billowed high into the sky. The village was only five minutes through the woods - the woods that were meant to guard it from attack - but even now Pitcarn felt a plunging feeling in his gut. He knew that great murder had been held.

"RIDICULOUS SUIT! ENGAGE FULL COMBAT PROTOCOLS!" Pitcarn screamed in rage at the loss of his people. He charged through the forest and upon exiting he roared his challenge to the invader, wordless and incoherent.

Desafon, through sheer force of will, holds back the laughter that would come from hearing the conversation, even if he only hears one side of it. He, instead, focuses his attention on trying to get there faster. He sees Pitcarn getting all angry, raising an eyebrow, curious if he will get a chance to duel the invader before Pitcarn goes rampaging towards it. Of course, seeing the large and robust figure of Pitcarn going on a rampage aught to be entertainment in and of itself, though he is certain the blades will disagree.

Pit and Des

Combat Protocol activated. SHIELDING at full percent. WETWARE JACKING activated. May you meet swift victory.

The SUIT, of course, monitored the rush of chemicals within his brain, the surge of adrenaline, the marked fury. Pitcarn felt himself run faster, felt the crackle of the shields pop and twist across his flesh. His muscles were at once strained, under immense pressure, and yet light and free.

A few moments and Pitcarn saw what remained of the village. Flames licked the sky, and the bodies of the dead were strewn across the ground, many missing limbs. Blood in surprisingly large amounts stained the wood and dirt, and broken or abandoned weapons had been scattered haphazardly where the doomed men had dropped them. The walls, designed to protect the village, were burning, in many places already ruined. The place smelled like shit and blood and smoke.

There was no sign of the murderer except for screams and howls of agony, somehow thrown across the cackling and the crackling of the flames, from the other side of the village. Torture. The village had been ruined, two hundred lives taken, blood spilled upon Bilbligh..

Desafon followed behind Pitcarn. He saw the ruination of the village, saw the pain in Pitcarn's very form. He smelled the blood, saw the flames, and - without realizing it - drew the Blades of Efficiency from their sheathes. They twinged for battle, lusted for the kill. There was combat here, and they had missed out.

Influenced by another realm, the red haze in front of Pitcarn's eyes abated slightly. The haze that remained he knew, was the blood of his people that still hung in the air.

He drew his blades, and ran to the centre of the village, the town square where he would have the best line of sight, the best place to avoid ambush. When he arrived there, he surveyed the damage, and once more roared his challenge.

"COWARD! HONOURLESS LACKEY OF OSIRIS! YOU WOULD MASSACRE A TOWN WHOSE ONLY CRIME WAS EXISTENCE? SHOW YOURSELF, REVEAL YOUR UNWORTHY HIDE AND FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS!"

The tactician in Pitcarn kept note of Desafon's position the entire time. He knew that together they would have a better chance of defeating the monster, but Desafon might do best alone, dueling the foe.

Desafon looks towards the whole carnage, angry not just for missing the conflict but that the conflict happened at all. He wasn't happy when his own people were getting killed by the Mad God, so Pitcarn might notice that Desafon takes no joy in this. "Which realm did he come from? If he's gone from here, maybe he's gone back there. We take the fight to him and we deal to him a death blow, then follow up with another and another and another until the bastard is dead."

Pitcarn turned to Desafon

"If he's fled, he'll have gone back to Tushmuthut. But surely not yet. Not after the insult that I did him."

Pitcarn ginned, fire in his eyes. "He seems to have survived two grenades to the face."

Part of Pitcarn reached out with his divine power to locate Khor within Bilbligh.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:44, Thu 09 Sept 2010.

Smiling, Desafon ponders something. "Anyone figured out yet how to tell where someone will portal to in a realm?" Something... feral and vicious glitters in his eyes.

Pit and Des

"There is no need to yell," said the voice from the smoke. Antagonistic, slightly bitter, harsh and yet beautiful, like the primitive blade. "My work here is done. Retribution has been made. Vengeance has been had. Murder.. has been brought to this place."

He was entirely naked, grime and sweat covering his perfectly-chiseled body. Perfectly bald, with a self-assured smile that barely turned into a self-righteous grin, Pitcarn saw the the zealotry caught within his burning eyes, that urge to kill and destroy until there is nothing left. Desafon, meanwhile, noticed the scars adorning most of his body - most of them ritually inflicted, he knew, possibly for mistakes in the past or worthwhile enemies killed; both sides of his torso were lined with them. Both noticed the intricate tattoos lining his entire body, explicit in their adoration to Osiris-Ra.

It would take a fool not to notice the weapon in his hand. Gleaming, bloodied red - though not simply from the death of innocents. It seemed to throb with lust, and Desafon's swords throbbed in response. Desafon knew, suddenly and dreadfully, what his Swords of Efficiency were, and what they may cost him. He felt only disgust. The knife glinted magnificently in what little sunlight made it through the smoke and ash.

"You came to the Holiest of Deserts and destroyed several of my brothers," said Khor the Murderer, calmly. "You wished to destroy us, Conclave dog. And yet.. you could not. Your strength was not enough. Your dedication, your resolve, were lacking. Honour has been met. You cannot defeat me. You cannot defeat the Murder Knife. If it is your wish, I will leave this place, my needs satisfied," he grinned. The three of them knew that this wasn't an option. "Otherwise.. blood will flow and murder will reign supreme."

Pitcarn snarled at Khor, and pulled out his Oathblade.

"You're going to be dead like Metatron."

Oh, yes, he did know what his Blades of Efficiency were. Hungry, being one of the things. No doubt he looked towards the cultist man after he speaks, though Desafon grins. "Murder knife, hmm? My swords are bigger than your blade... and I'm pretty certain we've got similar sword-smiths." His eyes deepen into anger and a passion for the fight. He turns to Pitcarn, "Unless you're wanting to renege on our deal, he's mine." He says, turning his attention from Pitcarn to the naked murderer.

"Generally I don't issue duels to those whom are naked and pitiful examples of fighters, as you had to focus on his civilians and not him. However, as the needs of a fellow God are in necessity and the money is good, my Honor will survive that little..." he emphasizes the word 'little', "mistake. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to put on some clothes before we fight, though I doubt my peer Pitcarn would allow you time to do so." He moves closer, "However, if you have any shred of honor, more so than that blasted coward Mad God I killed, then ready your blade for the culling of the wheat. Desafon, God of Piracy and Duels, has come and has not yet been defeated. I have killed a number of cultists myself, including one efficient in blades, and have not been impressed. Perhaps you will not disappoint me." He says, his blades twirling in his hands.

He's pretty certain the words 'Murder' 'Death' 'Kill' are being whispered or felt by the blades, each an echo of some of his own thoughts, though his are a little more honorable... unless accepting money to duel a killer is dishonorable.

Pitcarn steps back.

"The floor is yours, friend Desafon."

Internally, a semblance of sense is returning to Pitcarn's mind. He is processing th erage, and beginning to analyse the situation tactically.

Desafon and Pitcarn and KHOR THE BLOODIED

Clash!

"Let us duel, then, Champion of Cowards," said Khor to Desafon's challenge. "I need neither clothes nor armour to defeat you."

Khor threw himself at Desafon, the ritual Murder Knife held in his left hand. He was fast - faster than any opponent Desafon had ever fought - and before Desafon knew it his Blades of Efficiency had deflected the blow, and two more, and then riposted seemingly of their own command. Steel met steel, and the clang and screams of both were terrible to hear. Khor was deeply powerful - his blows had incredibly force behind them - and his movements were graceful.

His tattoos seemed to change and dance as Khor moved - giving one the idea that they were, in fact, living.

Desafon grins at the combat scene that presents itself. No doubt he had felt himself somewhat faster in this combat than others. He attempts to look surprised, and perhaps isn't acting, but attempts to get ready to throw a feint to his enemy before activating his Flurry of the Duel power to try and get an upper hand, "I am not your champion, Cultist!" His blades, hopefully, get the feeling and sensation that he does. In fact, Desafon actually seems to be somewhat more... angry than his normal self, but rather the self that pits the rage. "Ye in fact might wish I was, curr!!"

Desafon and Pitcarn vs. Khor

They step forward and back, shining silver and bloodied red shimmering in the glow of the flames. Pitcarn saw that at this point they were both much faster and more skilled than he himself was - he could just barely follow their combat. Desafon stepped forward, forward, back - parrying and riposting. Khor seemed to hold his own with the much faster Murder Knife, though he had neither the reach nor, it seemed, the immaculate footwork of Desafon. Blades fell, and he ducked or parried. The clashing of steel rang across the flames, and Desafon felt his Blades of Efficiency, ironically enough, be reluctant to land a blow against the Knife of Murder.

Khor grinned as he fought, a madman consumed with the red haze of battle. Desafon felt himself grit his teeth as he flurried madly, the twin Blades swinging left and right, feinting and striking in a hurricane of skill. Khor dodged most of the flurries, deflected two of the blows, and grunting as a third slashed his right arm - a flesh wound. The next strike came hurtling down, threatening to cut his shoulder from his torso, and Khor seemed to tense and caught the blow with his Murder Knife in a ring of steel louder than all that had come before -

The Blade of Efficiency shattered, throbbing violently and then exploding in a shower of twisted shrapnel. It had been shattered down to the hilt, and Desafon felt three individual, seemingly scalding shards enter his torso and cheek. Khor had been struck with worse - no less that half a dozen pieces of the sword had struck him, cutting his arms, cheek, forehead, torso..

The remaining Blade of Efficiency seemed to dull, to lose focus. It almost seemed disheartened at the loss of its brother. Khor struck at Desafon's belly with the shining knife -

Ruse

Ruse appeared, far above in the clouds. Below he saw acres and acres of wild vinelands, most of the roots fresh with grapes. There were distant figures below, trying as best as they could to pick the grapes. Further ahead he could see a high-walled village - civilization.

Seeing Desafon in trouble, and hoping not to have to take this recourse, Pitcarn brings his diamond rifle up to his shoulder, and awaits a perfect moment for him to shoot a round into Khor's head. He knows that he'll interfere in the duel if he activly particiates, but aiming, while dishonourable, will not disturb the combatants until the trigger is pulled. If the only time he can fire is when the Knife is buried in Desafon, them so be it.

((ooc: By the way, unless Nat tells you otherwise, assume you two and Khor can not sense or detect ruse's presence or divine signature. You will know he's there, of course, but where will be a mystery.))

This was an excellent starting point for Ruse's assault. He had only rarely flexed his powers, but Khor was a SERIOUS threat that could probably stomp individually over either Desafon or Pitcarn. But if they worked together, along with Ruse's tactics, they may be able to take him down.

For now, Ruse flexed his divine sovereignty over the mist, and commanded that a huge swath of the Realm itself be filled completely with it, similar to the Valley of mist itself. The focus of this mist, of course, would be the battlefield where they were fighting Khor.

Desafon and Pitcarn will find, to their amazement, that this mist doesn't hamper their sight or hearing or anything really any more than clear air would (i.e. not at all).

No doubt this didn't go the way Desafon had considered, most especially the loss of the Blade of Efficiency. That he would mourn but he didn't have the time to do so at the moment. However, in his mind, there was one main advantage that he had that he didn't think the Mad Murderer did. Desafon attempted to step into the blade early, to surprise the cultist, though he doesn't look to try and get struck in the stomach by the blade, but attempts to give a less vital blow to the enemy for the sake of trying to pierce his own remaining blade somewhere vital.

.oO(Damn it, blade, did I get the coward blade or the Efficiency blade? Honor him!!!)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:35, Fri 24 Sept 2010.

Desafon and Pitcarn vs. Khor

Pitcarn swings his gun towards Khor, and grits his teeth unconsciously as he keeps the Cultist in his sight.

Suddenly, as if by magic - but, of course, Pitcarn and Desafon knew better - the ground beneath them belched up massive amounts of heavy mist. To their shock, however, it did not hamper their sight at all - Pitcarn could at once feel his vision obscured and exist perfectly clear, though the automatic scope of the diamond rifle suffered - his enemy was occulted through the glass by the mist. Ruse was involved, of course, targeting him and Desafon personally..

Desafon dashed into the path of the Murder Knife, and grimaced in horrific pain - unlike any torment he had so far experienced in this existence - as the knife cut cleanly through his stomach. Even as he felt his guts wobble slightly, though, his right elbow connected brutally with Khor's nose and the Cultist was thrown back, even as he still held the knife. Half of a second slice ripped across Desafon's torso - though nowhere near as deep as the first slash across his belly - but Desafon was prepared for this contingency, and as blood fell from Khor's nose across the path of the remaining Blade of Efficiency he felt his left hand throw itself up suddenly. There was a sudden roar of agony, and Khor tumbled back further, clutching the stump that had been his right hand.

A clank across dirt, where the Murder Knife and Khor's hand had fell. The ground was christened with the blackened blood of the God of Murder. The Cultist was two meters or so away from the Lord of Pirates, with Pitcarn out of the fray entirely, and while Desafon felt a rush of pleasure at the cut it was countered by the searing pain. Something red and slimy had fallen out from his stomach, followed by a rush of bright ed blood - half of an organ of some sort. Hopefully not an important one.

Ruse

Ruse feels his will be imposed on the place, and has the pleasure of seeing swathes of heavy supernatural mist swarm about the combatants. It takes a little bit of effort from him - the specifics of the mist, the large area it contains, and so forth - but ultimately it was effort Ruse could more than spare.

((Desa, it's less that you have the blade of cowardice and more that Khor > the blade of efficiency, and it knows it, lol. However, good thing for you that your total potency has many more factors than just your weapons. ^_^ I am going to be counting on that fact to buy me time to try stuff to help take him down.))

The mists swirl around whimsically, with the beautiful, sensuous arrogance of their progenitor. For now, they "merely" are acting as a thick and dense veil to help conceal Pitcarn and Desafon from the lord of murder.

The mist appeared to be not doing much, anyway.

(Love the plan, Ruse, but I'll wait to resolve your action until Desafon and Pitcarn realise that the game's back on/act. I'll give them a few days. Sorry for the hold up.)

(( *cries!* Pit, Desa! Hurry up and post here! ))

Desafon, feeling himself victorious... of a sort, is almost excited enough to cheer aloud before he realizes that things are falling out of his body that aught not. Were he a God of Rage, no doubt he could merely try and shrug it off. But no, he wasn't and he had no such contingency for when his body would begin to come apart. The best he can do, however, is try and grab the Murder Knife and Khor's hand, then attempt to toss it to Pitcarn in order to keep it away from Khor. He tries to keep himself together, hoping that through his usage of his Luck Magic, he can keep from passing out and/or dying just yet, providing him just enough time to try and see if this S.U.I.T. has any form of healing ability. He whispers to it, "Suit, if you have any ability to heal me, now might be a good time."

Desafon and Ruse and Pitcarn versus Khor

Ruse concentrated on the plan at hand. A lot of his energy and focus was directed towards this scheme..

The mists billowed and danced about the combatants, at once thin and incredibly thick. None of the combatants could see the sun, and except for the cackling of the fires and the smell of burning smoke they wouldn't know they were within the devastated village..

The mist seemed to shift, a little, as if its attention were centered elsewhere.

Desafon felt what little innate Luck magic he had flow through him, lending him confidence and breath to fight on. Even as he stepped forward, however, he wobbled, feeling the tension shift within his gut. He stumbled, fell to the ground, picked himself up.. he closed his eyes, and their was a screeching in his head, copper-bile on his tongue..

Friend Desafon, your vital readings are at a critical point. You have an estimated 03m.45s counting to live..
Synthesizing and injecting hyper-adrenaline..

Khor had stopped screaming, and had picked himself up from the ground. He grinned, softly, as he stared at Desafon dying on the ground. The stump that used to be his hand still bled freely from the amputation Desafon had dealt him, but in his left hand Desafon saw the Murder Knife and felt fear..


Complete -

Suddenly, Desafon felt a surge of energy flow throughout his body. The pain was dampened, deadened - but not entirely gone - and he felt electric tension coil within his legs and arms. His heart beated strongly, quickly, and the world seemed to spin about him and then come into sudden focus -

Maybe he was hallucinating. He had lost a lot of blood -

Khor had the Murder Knife in one hand, and was cackling to himself, but it was shallow and see-through. There was another Murder Knife, half a meter's reach from Desafon, material and solid. An illusion? What..?

Activating coagulation protocols..
Synthesizing macro-Calcium, macro-V. K..
Synthesizing concreglue..
Complete.

There was an tightening in Desafon's stomach, and he felt the wound slowly begin to artificially bind..

"Do not think to run," said Khor, mockingly. "You cannot hope to escape me. Your fat friend with the gun - he, too, is usually. Does he not know that I have transcended blasphemous weaponry? I am better than bullets. You cannot defeat me."

Two..

You are still at a critical state, Friend Desafon. You will survive if given proper rest, but SUIT believes you to still be in a combat situation, and muscle exhaustion has set in prematurely due to the coagulation protocols and the hyper-adrenaline.

Would you like to activate JACKING PROTOCOLS?

Ruse devoted much of his focus and energy to this plan - something even many gods would be hard-pressed to implement. But Ruse was not many gods, no...Ruse was Ruse and Ruse alone.

The mists shifted subtly, although did not do anything apparent against Khor besides provide Pit and Desafon with some much-needed cover.

The mists twisted slightly around the "other" murder knife - at least, if anyone was able to notice it. If Desafon or Pit approached the "other" knife, they would find the mists would congeal around it and obscure it even from their view. As if the it was telling them to focus on Khor and leave it alone. To ignore it. To act as if it did not exist, and not be obvious about it. The mist would even cut their grasping hands with small little papercuts as a warning if they didn't get the hint, but otherwise, the mist remained harmless to them.

Desafon knew he was in much pain. He knew that he was dying. He knew a great many things of this type. The best he could do was nod his head, "Yes. Activate Jacking Protocols." Past that, the last thing he could hear himself do was make a hmming noise, perhaps like primitive warriors would while participating in their last conflict in their life before they died a valiant death. He felt no need to reply to Khor, nor any need to grab at the Murder knife. He still had his blade on him. He knew he couldn't rest and knew that he may not be able to kill Khor at all, nor possibly could Pitcarn kill him.

He knew he was not going to be able to do much and though he was in conflict, he decided to back off a little bit, trying to buy himself time. He readied his blade for defense in case Khor came at him, preparing to give his best to fight Khor, his eyes training on Khor himself, but his mind focusing on trying to remove the other hand if Khor charges forward, which Khor may or may not realize is his target. His thoughts, though, are coming less and less clearer.

Not hearing Khor's taunts to Desafon and seeinging only that the god was advancing on his woulded ally, Pitcarn sent a hail of bullets, targeting by eye, towards Khor's hand, the one that still held the Murder Knife

What the hell is going on?! Mist everywhere?!

Mists converged and swelled, swirled and danced about the battlefield, mated and mingled with smoke and ash..

Khor ducked and weaved at Pitcarn's fire, but was struck down by several of the bullets, even as many more missed. He picked himself up as fast as he could manage, however, using burning wreckage and Desafon himself as cover. His arms were blooded, and his entire body was steaming in the mist.

Pitcarn saw, with some satisfaction, that Khor did not heal the wounds given to him.

Ruse felt the pressures of weariness descend upon him as he worked to attack the Murder Knife. It was an incredibly powerful item, itself forged with a Forsaken Power, but he was slowly succeeding..

Activating Jacking protocols. Glorious battle, Friend Desafon!

Blinding red light, as bright as magnesium, burst upon Desafon's legs, torso, arms and neck. He felt stronger, faster, more able. There was a blinding pain as the SUIT permanently fused with Desafon's theoelectromagnetic field, and he roared in fury.

It was a duet of angry screams. Khor had fallen, clawing his face, screaming horribly into the mist. He dropped the Murder Knife he was holding, and it clattered against the ground as another, identical knife immediately fell into his hand. He was grinning with rage, now, and through himself towards Desafon, blade in his left hand.

Pitcarn couldn't yet get a clear shot without accidentally wounding Desafon. Ruse felt his grip on the real Murder Knife slip..

As Khor swung wildly at Desafon, the Lord of Pirates felt his right arm rise immediately to meet it. There was a loud ringing, and the two grunted involuntarily. Khor ducked and swung at Desafon's hamstrung..

ooc: Yes, the mists are everywhere. Mea hahaha hack cough wheeze!

Ruse's energy would not hold at this rate. He was surprised he was even able to do this much. However, he no longer had to worry about it because it appeared that the jig was up, given how Khor regained his real knife.

But that simply meant more energy for Ruse. But that was enough to give them an advantage they needed - and allow Ruse to focus on his true objective.


Now was the time to play puppet master for the fight. Ruse had another well of power to draw from. A Well that ran fairly deep, and that yearned for action.

The mists seemed to churn a lot more now, as if they received more energy. This coincided with the other murder knife (the one on the ground) vanishing into thin air. Then suddenly, the mists began to grow a lot thinner. They were still there, but they receeded quite a bit and thinned out (ooc: the mist is reducing its potency/radius/thickness/whatever by half until further notice).

A tendril of mist suddenly wrapped harmlessly around Desafon, and quickly pulled him backward a bit with much solidity. They deposited Desafon a few meters away from Khor - in exactly the opposite position Desa was in before, although a bit off to the side. The discerning eye would notice that Khor would now be clearly open to Pitcarn's rifle attacks.

His warrior's eye noting the switching of the knives in Khor's remaining hand, Pitcarn knew that the only solid conclusion he had about the Murder Knife at the moment was that he could decide on nothing definite. Pitcarn hated magic.

With Desafon out of the way for just an instant, Pitcarn released another volley of shots, less concerned with hitting Khor and more to provide Desafon a chance to recover himself and attack before Khor could move again. Pitcarn needed the gift that Anik was making. It could end this fight much sooner, he hoped.

Considering how much pain he was in just recently, he really doubted there was much else to do but put up a valiant effort and wind up dying on his next attempt to swing. However, the SUIT definitely surprised him by making things a lot better, even if it was momentarily. Desafon has been angry before, perhaps even mad, but he has never before felt so much adrenaline and so much blood pumping in his body as he does now. Its as if every little synapse in his body was on fire and he glared with glassy eyes and felt pure, concentrated rage...

However, that rage was momentary abated when he was prepared to charge forward and the mist yanked him back. Glaring at the mist, Desafon found Pitcarn firing. He waited for the ammunition to move before he leaps at Khor, attempting to focus enough of his rage to make Khor think his enemy was fighting on pure rage, before he would instead make a feint towards Khor's other hand, attempting to do the best he can on disarming his enemy entirely.

Diamond rounds struck the Murder God just as Desafon leaped into the offensive. Silver blurred about the enemy, and angry screams filled the din.

The mist subsided slowly but surely. Whatever assistance had been given to them had been deactivated. (Ruse, you begin to feel recharged. It is a slow process - or at least it seems that way - but your abilities grow slowly stronger as your energy levels increased.)

Pitcarn stopped firing once it became plausible that Desafon would be hit in the crossfire, but it seemed the Pirate Duelist was holding his own. The SUIT shimmered in the smoke and the mist, and Des moved faster than he had originally thought capable. Both blades sunk deep into Khor's chest and the screams grew louder as Desafon struck again, and again, and again -

The God of Murder fell still. Desafon fell across the body, utterly drained. Blood spurted from Khor's wounds. They hoped this was his final death...

Peace. Peace at last. Pe -

No.

In the corner of Pitcarn's eye, he noticed something red and sharp strike suddenly towards Desafon -

The Knife?!

((OOC: Ok I spent a while looking through several threads and kinda figured out what is happening here. LOL. I THINK that Khor isn't an immediate threat to them anymore, but the dagger still is. I also know there was a plan where Anik built an uber-gun and is coordinating with Ruse via the low lord tasks channel. Anik either gave Pitcarn or one of his manifestations (so thus pit has it in this thread if he needs it) the gun or is about to give it to him, if I'm following things correctly. Ruse then is going to use his forsaken power to immobilize the dagger and keep it away from Khor while the others finish him off. But I'm thinking with things as they are now that shooting the damned dagger with the gun would be better actually, as it would either fully kill khor or at least neuter him if his body isn't already dead.))

Ruse continued to conserve his power, and of course avoided using magic as much as possible due to the urge - although hopefully the urge would be relenting very soon. If Ruse could unleash his full magic he'd have Khor's hide. But for now, he'd rely on his psionics and divine power to keep things going, and to give his plans the time and positioning they need to manifest.

He continues using metastrategery to read the battlefield and especially the movements of the dagger, and depowers his mists even more, only proving little boosts of power to them when it became apparent to him that Desafon would be directly hit by the dagger, at which point a misty tendril would pull Desafon's prone body out of the path of the flying dagger and drag it away from both Khor's own prone apparently lifeless body as well as Pitcarn's position. But only if he needed to do so - Ruse expected the dagger was in "Stalk mode" and that even with Khor down and out of the fight, it was locked onto Desafon and would keep going after him until Desfon died or was ruined.

Unless the dagger was ruined first, which was Ruse's plan.

With Desafon now obviously beyond exhausted and drained, and literally down out of the fight, it was up to Pitcarn and ruse to make things work.

((ooc: I'm posting in the low-lord thread to have Pitcarn get ready and have things go))