Rea Family/Dancer/A Little Bit Of Truth

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Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 1 The scroll turned to dust in his hands. Again. He growled, crunching the rapidly disappearing scraps of paper in his fist. He had known he was out of practice, but this was ridiculous. By Akkan, nearly half of the scrolls had disintegrated, the other half whispering across the breeze, rather then the earthquakes and hellfire he was used to. He looked to the horizon, glazed eyes staring into the sunset. He could see the coast from here, his city of Rines peaking out from behind the spiraling towers of Grehk off to the east. The sea breeze whistled quietly across the coast as the sun set, licking it's way up the the hillside Dancer stood on. He could taste his homeland in the breeze. It made him feel nostalgic, faint echos of his past flashing through his mind. He growled again. He'd made his choice then, when Riombara fell. He'd stripped to only his trousers, and inked infernal runes runes across his body in blood, the goat carcass discarded a little ways down the hill. He'd carved circles of true daemon worship across the hillside, blood and dirt mingling in grotesque patterns speaking of death and ruin. His scars stood out across his back in the waning light, visible proof of his dedication. He remembered walking to the post that day, the crisp morning air raising goosebumps across his bare skin. He couldn't even remember why he'd been punished anymore. Just that he had failed, failed his Brothers, failed the Lords. He remembered tossing and turning in the healer's tent, fading in and out of consciousness. They'd been given strict instruction only to keep his wounds clean. He'd lived through every agonizing second of the pain, screaming into the darkness. Never again. He narrowed his eyes, staring right into the red streaks when the sun had set moments before. He had no direction from his Lords, no contact from the netherworld. His brothers had not returned this time. He was entirely alone. He snorted in disgust. He may not have any orders, but he knew. He knew what the biggest Lie on the continent was. He grinned into the rapidly fading light. He'd do what he'd always done, and root our the Liers and Pretenders. Obia'Syela would fall. He would drag it into hell himself. A cackle rose from his breast, a mad howl taking over as he rose from the ground. He roared into the countryside, into his home, defiled by the Liers. Sickly red lines began to travel from his bare feet, tracing the lines from the summoning circles. The goat, innards still spilling out from where it had been eviscerated, rose drunkenly, eyes growing the same sick red. Dancer quieted down, grinning at the goat. It would spread, over time. Let the Liars deal with some invaders. His signature wolfish grin spread across his face. He had two scrolls left. He had a few ideas to make them more successful.

Dancer Rea

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 2 He had set off straight away, but not to the coast. He needed ... more, for his final two scrolls, something to really raise the dead from their slumber. There was a small town nearby, nestled below an imposing castle. While it was quite the walk, he made it there in record time, nearly bouncing with what he had planned. Dan slunk around the edges, searching. Darkness had fell fully during his travel, and the peasants had gone to bed. First, he found the smithy, unguarded. He procured additional materials for his ritual, wrapping the metal in cloth to keep his pilfering activities quiet. It took him a long while to haul the materials back to the hill, and longer to haul them to the top. He sat for a moment, resting his body. His legs were on fire, his arms numbed from the shoulders. He wasn't as spry as he had used to be, and all the heavy lifting was accentuating that fact. He hadn't gotten a workout like this since before he woke from his dirt covered prison. He looked back towards the hamlet, hidden around the side of a mountain and rows of tall trees. Earlier, he'd scouted out a small merchants house, near the edge of town. The next part would be harder, but it would be much more satisfying. It was quite a ways past midnight now, the stars of his homeland shining down. The house sat on the very edge of the town, backed up to the woods. He dispatched the single man the merchant employed with a quick slice of his dagger. It'd been a long time since he'd done anything like this either. Fortuitously, dulling his sight had sharpened his other senses. Darkness cloaked the cultist's movements as he slipped in a side door, his fingers easily picking the simple lock. He went upstairs first, ghosting up the stairs, and through a short corridor. Only one room had its door shut, making his job even simpler. His face broke into a grin as he peeked his head inside the door. The merchant and his wife slept, side by side. He could hear them breathing, like an orchestra playing slightly out of sync. He slipped out of the doorframe, softly closing the door. He refrained from latching it again, simply letting it sit slightly ajar. Like a cougar, he slide into a nearby open room, crouching down, and waiting. He only had to wait a little less then an hour, before he heard the unmistakable sounds of someone shuffling to use the loo. He waited, just a little more. Just enough to let the shuffling go towards the other end of the hallway....

Dancer Rea

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 3 Both the merchant and his wife had gone down easily, the wife, choked to unconsciousness on her way to relive herself, and the merchant, similarly dispatched with a pillow. He smiled his trademark wolfish grin. It had gone much better then he'd hoped, with almost no struggle. He hadn't even had to kill anyone, save the guard outside. These Pretenders really were coddling the masses. He made his two trips, moving both unconscious people to the first floor, near his ingress. He stopped for a moment, surveying the short grass strip outside. The town was quite, the night guard long past. He hurried the man across first, glancing quickly for any lights, listening for any footsteps. He returned to the woman, hoisting her on his shoulder. He turned, ready to rush the grass again, when he heard a soft cry. He crouched, placing the woman down as quickly as he dared. He waited, closing his eyes, crouched just inside the door. The soft warble echoed though the house again, echoing out of one of the first floor rooms. Dan pulled his dagger, stalking the first floor warily. Another, slightly louder warble rose from inside one of the ground floor rooms. He took a hushed breath, and pushed his way through the offending door. Instead of danger, however, he found a small bassinet, teeny babe squirming inside. He curled his lip, disgust rising from deep within him. He hadn't even considered what to do with a child. He stood awkwardly inside the nursery, perplexed on what to do about this new development. He couldn't leave it, it would cry unattended and alert the town watch. The child cried, louder this time. In one motion, Dancer flashed across the room, scooping the child up, cradled it. The child quieted, and stared at him with baleful blue eyes. Dancer blinked, surprised at himself. He hadn't touched a babe, not since his little brother was born, many many years ago. The child made a small hiccup, burbling goo all over Dancer's shirt. He stood there, staring into the child's eyes. "Oh for Jomorosh's sake." He mumbled to himself. It's not like he could leave it alone anyways. He dug around the room, finally finding a sling for the babe, and seating it on his back. "Cry and I'll tear your toenails off" he growled at the child. The child hiccuped again, getting baby slobber in Dancer's hair. He ignored the mini shower, returning to the door on the side of the house. He looked down at the woman, and sighed. He hefted her in his arms, rushing the grass gauntlet only slightly slower.

Dancer Rea

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 4 He made it halfway back, swapping between his two captives. The trees pressed in on him, the forest animals burrowed in for the night. Darkness had settled between the trees, silence only broken by Dancer's labored breathing. He had refused to leave the babe, muttering to it the whole trip. Finally, he sat, covered in dirt and sweat, defeated. Hauling unconscious bodies across rough terrain was a lot more then his abused body could handle anymore. Dancer sat against a tree, cradling the babe. "I hope you are happy, you hell spawn. Your fat carcass is really quite heavy after this long." Absently, he gently rocked the child. He wasn't sure why, really. It had fallen asleep from the constant movement long ago. He sighed. There was no reason he couldn't just leave the babe in the forest now, it wasn't like anyone could hear its cries. Sickly revulsion rushed through him at the idea, and then revulsion at his revulsion. What was wrong with him? He absently played with the babe's dark curls. Perhaps his encounter with Eva was leaving him sentimental. Allova appeared from between trees, interrupting his internal monologue. Dancer yelped in fright, and angrily got to his feet, carefully cradling the baby. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself, tempering his anger. "Allova! Don't scare me like that!" Dancer paused for a moment, attempting to choose what he wanted to yell about first. He growled, "Why are you here? I left you in Fronepu, with explicit orders to stay there!" Allova looked her interim master over, noting the twigs stuck in has hair, and the unconscious pair of wealthy peasants at his feet. She'd expected that, but not the baby cradled in his arms. "Sir Dancer, I was concerned for your safety, and have been a few hours behind you for days. You should not leave yourself completely unprotected like this." Anger rose in Dan's breast, but he pushed it down. It would do him no good to rage about the forest, even if she had ignored his orders. "So be it, Allova. Make yourself useful and pick up one of these peasants."

Dancer Rea

Roleplay

It had probably not been the best day to spend sealed up and with strict orders to not let any messengers in. When he finally managed to find the energy to read through all of his piled up letters, the reports of the unwanted visitant were the first he felt the need to address. Having a wandering infiltrator stabbing the faithful of the Veiled Goddess was already bad, but this one had left summoning circles reminiscent of those found during the invasion, plus the small horde of undead appearing out of nowhere on top of that. Well, he knew how to deal with heretics. As Grand Inquisitor, all the tools of the law and the might of the Inquisition were at his disposal, and he would manage to get this one either dead or alive, no matter the time if would take or the efforts needed to arrest him. The latest reports, however, had left him wondering about his true intentions. A wealthy local merchant had been apparently kidnapped, together with his wife and young baby. The criminal was obviously going to use them for some sort of maleficent ritual, be it daimonic in nature or just an offering to the Great Unholy One. However, a question floated on his mind... Why those merchants? In fact, why merchants at all? He dispatched his agents and hounds with the rise of the moon, still wondering what was up with this entire situation. Then, he waited for any reports while he continued answering letters.

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 5 Streaks of yellow stretched across the sky, the sun readying itself to peak over the horizon. Dancer's ever present stained pack sat, open, at the top of the hill. The goat from a few hours before was nowhere to be seen, but the magic had left an iron taste in the air. Allova had been instrumental to his mechanizations, doing exactly as he asked without complaint. Dancer had even had her help him draw some of the additional lines he needed. They had added several hundred more symbols, doubling the size of Dancer's original summoning circle. A little down the hill, a second circle had been laboriously drawn, and several lines, almost like a walkway, traced back to the main circle. Both peasants were chained up in trees, bound and gagged to an X shape, secondary circle viciously carved into the dirt around them. A few extra chains hung behind the captives, twisted hooks swinging in the light breeze. Dancer looked to the child, still slung across his back. Why was he so attached to the damn thing? The babe reached up, yanking Dancer’s hair. Never had he felt the need to care for something so badly as he did right now. Tenderly, he undid the babe from its sling, cradling it in his arms. It held out it’s tiny hands to him, grasping at the air below Dan’s face. With an audible growl, he put the baby up to his shoulder. He knew what he was, and no child was going to change that. It would have to go. He called Allova over to him, and held out the babe to her. "Take it back to Anyte." "Sir?" "Right now, Allova. I no longer require your help here. Wait for me in Unger once you have delivered it." Allova's face was covered in confusion, but she took the child. "Sir," she carefully started, "The Margravine does not like anyone from Obia'Syela. At all." Lacking sleep, physically exhausted, and having a deep personal battle with himself, Dancer didn't bother to quell his anger anymore. His face twisted into rage, and he spat cruelly, "Don't you dare defy me again Allova. Take it to Anyte. She can deal with it. The babe will be safe, so keep your foolish thoughts to yourself. Neither of you are staying here for the summoning!" Nearly growling, he stomped up the hillside, going to root around in his stained pack. Allova stood, babe in arms, disappointment etched across her face. Wolfen had been a brute, but she'd hoped Dancer would be different. She turned away, disappearing into the forest, babe quietly nuzzling her shoulder.

Dancer Rea

Roleplay from Kethan D'Espana

The reports were scarce, and showed little change on the situation at hand other than everything returning to normality after the kidnapping of the merchants. Kethan, however, was not at ease. He knew that, somewhere within his own region, the heretic and daimon ritualist still pranced free, summoning Obeah knows what horrors every second that he was left unattended, unimprisoned and uninterrogated. However, there was not much else he could do but wait until his agents made contact with the undesired visitor. As they kept patrolling the area where the event had happened, the circle began tightening around Dancer. He did not have much time left. His ritual, if he wanted to make it happen in Bym, would have to take place soon. That, or he would have to kill again.

Kethan D'Espana

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

A Little Bit of Truth 6 Heavy Gore Warning Dancer stood, alone, at the top of the hill. He'd stripped back down to his trousers, belt holding both sword and whip on his hip. A dim, sickly red glow paused through his circles, pacing like caged beasts waiting to be freed. Howling echoed in the distance, the woods rustled slightly with the sea breeze. Using some spare goat blood from the earlier, he took a moment to ink several infernal sigils up and down his arms. Carefully, he descended the hillside, coming to a halt in front of the bruised merchant. Bound and gagged, the merchant could only stare in horror at the advancing cultist. A low growl rumbled from Dancer, and, forming words of death and destruction, he unfurled his whip, infernal symbols peeking out around the barbs every few inches. The merchant's eyes widened, sweat beading across his forehead, as his wife looked on in fright. Dancer's voice rose to a deep bellow, and, in one fluid motion he cracked the whip, tearing a deep, jagged line across the peasant's chest. The man's wife let out a muffled cry. Dancer let at his whip again, still howling unintelligibly. This time the man's midsection opened up, muscle tissue tasting air; Dancer paid no mind, whipping the man several dozen more times. Energy began to build up around them, coalescing around the cultist’s feet, like a sluggish river. Feeling the energy trickle slow, he stopped, efficiently stowing his whip back to his belt. The merchant looked like raw beef, blood oozing down his exposed muscle tissue. Still muttering, Dancer walked around to the other side of the merchant, carefully pulling the tendrils of magic with him. The hooks lightly brushed his arm as he pulled his ceremonial sword, runes blazing a sickly red as soon they hit the air. The wolfish grin struck him again as he closed in on the merchants back. This was who he was, power licking about his feet, sacrifice strung out before him. Daemon cultist, Heretic. A Soldier of Truth. The sword cut through the peasant's back tissues easily, and Dancer's practiced hands made short, crushing work of the ribcage. Blood spattered across Dancer, covering his chest and face. The peasant began convulsing, blood spewing out of his dying mouth. Something vital must have been damaged in his excitement. No matter, he thought. With a maniacal cry, he grabbed at the lungs, ripping through the merchant's back, and hooked each to the hooks, creating a macabre effigy of wings. It only took a few moments for the peasant to fall still, blood dripping into a pool on the ground. Tears ran down the wife's face, a mix of devastation and fear. Dancer could feel the magic pulsing through him, the sacrifice's final moments forcing pure power into his spell. Both circles slowly pulsed red as he approached the woman. His eyes danced in the light of the lines, blood dripping down his face and chest.

Dancer Rea