Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
the Month of Harrowing - Brothers Grimm Masquerade Ball
Post by Jovena Barbados on Nov 11, 2015 3:45:31 GMT
Her smile melted off her face and her eyes rose up - up - up to the tower as fire rained down. Then her vision was blocked by a white angle with his arms flung wide. He took on the debris as she and their nearby associates were huddled together. A cry went up (well, many did) and the white sheet came off. He stamped it out and turned to reveal the fractured glass in his back. She hissed through her teeth and tentatively reached up to pull them out. Her hand stalled as she heard Alistair's voice rise above the chaos and order them all to their post. She snapped up tall and reached for his shoulder.
"Thank you, terribly sorry, I must go," She waved her hand at the other women in their company, never having the chance to get anyone's names. Well except the one, the wolfie one that the ghostman called by name. What had he said again? Laini? Lara? Nevemind she didn't have time for this. She had to get to her post.
Jovena ran, pausing only to help people to their feet who had crumpled in the push and shove of the crowd. At least until she realized she had no idea where she was running to. "I'm an Administrative soldier! My post is in an office," of course that wasn't all she could do, but in peace times that is where she got stations...
That was going to have to change, right this second. She spun on her heels, facing the theatrically chaotic exodus. If the orchastra were playing, it would be a grand syphonic performance no stage could ever hope to reenact. Fire fell from the sky behind her, it shook the ground and knocked her off her feet.
Post by Kalum Wulfgang on Nov 11, 2015 8:16:42 GMT
Explosions, shattered glass, then the noises of panicked people. Kalum didn't even have time to register that something was happening to know he needed to react but still Victoria was with him. He left his vest in her possession whether she tried to deny it or not and shielded her from any debris that may have fallen on them. "Get to safety, now! Don't dally," were all the words he could give her before he parted ways. He couldn't dally much longer himself especially when danger was lurking about. He could only hope the girl would be safe as he rushed to his post.
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Nov 11, 2015 8:21:22 GMT
At the first sound of chaos, Lorraine was alert and reaching for her twin swords--only she did not carry them. The one time she had not had them present and she would actually need them--she could curse herself for that then came the glass. Thrakazog had been there, though, and she was all too grateful for the man as she took cover beneath him. With his advice of leaving, she looked up at him then around at all EIRAL personnel mobilizing to defensive positions and nodded. "Agreed," she breathed out then went to seize his hand. "Come on, not through the gates, we'll get trampled." Perhaps there as another way out or they could hop the fence. Either way, she had intentions of leaving without being stampeded on.
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Nov 12, 2015 2:08:00 GMT
Caitlin fell against Levi, whether he was repulsed by her or not after her omission. It couldn't be helped though, not with the rattling of the ground and the fire from the skies. Glass exploded from the palace windows and another mortar fell closer than the last.
Caitlin stared him in the eyes, shock, momentary fear, all of it riding the vulnerability that was already on the surface of her emotions seconds ago.
Then she snapped out of it and stood on her own two feet. Good thing too, as members of her guild hastily ran toward her. Crap, great way to draw attention to a girl who's supposed to be no more than a central-square snob. She held up her hands in a gesture of 'wait, don't move any closer'. Those who reached her the fastest shuffled in place, unsure what to do, couldn't undo it, and there was still chaos shoving at their backs, and well - quite frankly - all around.
"What are your orders Ma'am?" Skye. It had been him burning holes in the back of her skull earlier. She was right. Didn't matter anymore, he was right, they needed a plan of action.
"Let's not do this here, meet me on the IRONDREAD by sunset, Get the word out, I want everyone there! Go," she shouted, barely above the roar of the mob. all BoR go to: lodan-cityofgears.proboards.com/thread/616
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
All he wanted was to have a fun time. All he wanted was to go out on a night on the town. Maybe make a friend. Maybe a few. Get to know everyone a bit more. But fate had the trouble of knocking on his door, asking to come inside, and when denied, it would try again. And in this case, it knocked in the form of a mortar, and got in.
The light startled Wern, but the darkness only lurked for a moment as fire raced across the sky. Then, explosions. Shielding himself, pinpricks of debris, carried by the wind, no, it was ash, no, glass shards broken, broken by aftershocks from windows now dead, pierced his skin. Then, there was the screaming. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. The goose scrambled into his arms, fire burning their feathers as embers floated down from the sky and Wern stayed motionless, hands shaking as people ran around him. He remembered. Bright red eyes, coming from the shadow. Then a fire, devouring a cottage, catching onto the windmill, a beacon. A reminder of a job well done. Burning away remnants of a home, remnants of his home. His mother. His father. Succumbed.
“HONK.” The goose screamed into his ear, breaking him from his trance. He held tightly onto the creature, searching for its owner, just as another blast sounded. There was no time to search. No time to find. He had to get home. He had to get to Goya, and then from there, sanctuary. And so he ran. On a past note, he should have made sure his companions were alright. Should have made sure that there bodies were fine, not hurt, but he had forgotten. He could only think of a burning building, and inside, trapped, Goya, melting away.
Houses were aflame, spreading quickly, decaying as blasts sucked out the life from within them. People cried out, screamed, wept, but Wern held the struggling goose until he got home, the building still there, still upright, and not burned. Locking the doors behind him, Wern placed the goose down to run to Goya, still nestled in that velvet bed, the fire, long since gone out. “People are screaming.” Goya stated and Wern clutched the orb, ushering for them to hush as he ran down into the basement, the goose scrambling behind him. And there, under the stairs, Wern rocked back and forth holding both Goya and the goose, unsure of what to do. He petted the goose’s plumage, as it nestled in his lap next to Goya, who recited memorized poetry to calm the restless man.
“You had a dream, slithee, of lovers keep
and inside, the roots drove deep
to what was ours but no longer
for time renders hearts asunder."
”“Hush Goya.” Wern spoke, shutting his eyes as for he couldn’t right now. Could not stand, could not think of poetry. No. He could only think of how shameless he was. There, crying under the floorboards while others screams from above, burning, dying. But he remained there, his cowardice evident. And no form of kindness, no tears, could cover this.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
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