Rea Family/Dancer/A Little Bit Of Truth
My Roleplays are for flavor only, please don't abuse them
Bym, Obia'Syela, Beluaterra
| 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 from Kethan D'Espana | |
| 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. | |
| Kethan D'Espana | |
| 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
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| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| A Little Bit Of Truth 7
Sunrise had just started to peek over the horizon, coming up behind his pair of 'flying' sacrifices. The howling had gotten steadily louder as he had been working, now undoubtedly hounds on the hunt. The spell had taken, circles glowing a steady, blood red. Dancer stood at the crest of the hill, last two scrolls laid at his feet. Sulfur permeated the air, a byproduct of the energies he was holding in sway; he was nearly stumbling from the effort to hold them in check. Peasant blood ran down his face in thin rivulets, like a crimson sweat. He drug his hands down his face, clearing his eyes, and leaned down, wiping his bloodied hands across both scrolls. Harsh, guttural sounds tore free from his throat, "Capy ph pulualw, ruwy oar hafr piwzyr! Bh zmy easyr ao Jactosh, xe wfppal zmyy! Hyyv ph tidd, vorv weryiv hafr wmivas itraww zmuw dilv!" Energy ripped free, sending a boiling gale across the treetops. Trees near the circles whistled in the burst, the first several layers bending back in protest. The leaves facing the circles browned, and withered, several small forest creatures perched in the branches and nestled in the bushes boiled alive on the spot. The very air dried to the point that every labored breath burned down Dancer’s throat like hellfire. Magic screamed over the treetops, spreading across almost a mile of forest before fading into the air. The temperature dropped, returning to normal. What was left of the peasants was slightly charred, bodies swinging back and forth from the burst. One of the scrolls lay in ashes, the other, completely disappeared. Dancer allowed a smile to creep across his face. He was covered in dried blood, exhausted, and his throat itched like crazy, but he’d done it. For the first time in years, he’d successfully harnessed the infernal powers. Snarling interrupted his celebration, and he turned to the edge of the forest. A pack of hunting hounds burst through the trees, teeth bared. A shout stopped the beasts from tearing him limb from limb, but it didn't stop them from growling menacingly in Dancer’s direction. The dogs spread around Dancer, sulking at the edges of his upper circle. Four men untangled themselves from the undergrowth, jaws gaping at the scene in front of them. Bloodied noble glared at them, remains of the peasants down the hill flanking his ankles like gruesome bangles. Their nostrils were saturated by the stench of iron simmering below burnt flesh. The air was crackling with magic residue, making their hair stand on end. The largest of the four walked forward commandingly, sword drawn. "Halt! By order of the Grand Inquisitor! You stand accused of Daemon worship, Heresy, murder, and kidnapping! Submit to the mercy of the Veiled Goddess!" The man brandished his sword at the heretic. Dancer smiled his wolfish grin, and chuckled. The sunrise caught the edge of the horizon, lengthening Dancer's shadow across the grass and over the lead man, covering him in darkness. "Do you even know who you are speaking to, peasant? Do you understand how much danger you are in?" The circle of hounds paced as he spoke. His voice dropped to a raspy growl, poison dripping off every word. "I have spoken to the Daemon Lords. Fought shoulder to shoulder with things from your nightmares." His voice rose to a roar, conviction pouring out of every word, "I've murdered thousands of peasants! Built the Library of Truth! I am one of the chosen of Jomorosh! I am Dancer Rea, Last of the Soldiers of Truth, and the only remaining true Daemon Worshiper on the Island!" His voice bounced off the burned treeline, pure heresy echoing in the early morning air. One of the dogs rose its nose to the air, and with a nearly unanimous yelp, the hunting dogs scattered into the trees behind their befuddled handlers. Dancer laughed wildly, his stalling with grandstanding paying off. Out of the tree line opposite the men, two massive Hell Hounds marched, stench of carrion overpowering all else. Thick muscles rippled under their midnight coats, fangs longer then a mans forearm dripping saliva into the burnt grass. "Kill them." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| A Little Bit Of Truth, Final
The hunters only had a moment to scream before the hounds launched themselves on them. Blood and screams filled the morning mists, sickening cracks occasionally breaking through the uproar. Two of the hunters managed to break free early, running into the woods after their dogs. The Hell Hounds gave chase, leaving nothing but silence and offal behind. Dancer sighed, satisfaction settling over him like a thick blanket. The summon monsters spell would travel over time, awakening more beasts, but for now he was content with chasing off those foolish peasants. Hoisting his pack from the edge of the clearing, he began his travel back to port, with a short break at the nearest stream the only rest. Allova had been waiting, high in an old oak, watching the cultist. Whether or not Sir Dancer wanted her there, she was going to watch him, even if it was from afar. No matter how stubborn he was, he really shouldn't be wandering enemy lands alone. Fortunately she had been sitting in a crux of three branches when Dancers spell burst, so she wasn't thrown from her perch. The babe had slept quietly on her back through the whole ordeal, only briefly waking when the tree shook. She'd watched the Hell Hounds dig themselves out of the ground in a nearby clearing, and watched those same beasts murder two Inquisitors, and give chase to the others. Anyte would be very interested in her report. Allova just hoped the baby conversation went as well. She carefully climbed down the tree, hurrying to return to her Margravine, baby in tow. Owen ran for his life, Hounds nearly breathing down his neck. Luck had been on his side, so far he'd managed to keep to the closer growing trees, forcing the Hounds to pick longer routes to reach him. It was getting harder and harder to find the dense patches as he shot through the forest. Mournful howls were getting closer and closer, his death warning of its approach at regular intervals. Tears marred his vision, his memory playing back Garret's and Felix's deaths over and over. Jacob had disappeared into the forest behind him, and Owen feared the worst. The trees began to thin substantially, opening to the field outside of town, his salvation only a few hundred yards away. He broke through the trees, nearly tripping across a fallen branch. Howls rose behind him, a perfectly synchronized melody of pursuit. Shouting, he rushed the field with abandon, pure terror sending him careening to the towns edge. Townsfolk were looking at him quizzically, no guards in sight. "Help! Monsters! Daemons! Raise the guard!" His fatal mistake was trying to yell and run. A gopher hole opened under him, and he went down hard, his ankle twisting savagely. Getting up proved impossible, and he fell onto his knees for his efforts. He rolled over and sat up, staring back into the forest edge. Two pairs of yellow eyes bored into him from the shade, deep rumbling growls rolling across the clearing. The Hell Hound to the right lunged from the underbrush, streaking across the field like a bird of prey closing in on a wounded rodent. Bloodied teeth lunged at Owen's throat, ready to rip and tear. Owen shouted, covering his face with his arms, but the bite never came. Carefully, he peeked through his raised arms. The Hound lay on its side, a half dozen arrows sticking out of its coat. Owen spun around, relief washing through him. Ten armed guards strode across the field, Jacob hurrying behind them. "Jacob! Thank the Veiled Goddess! I thought you lost!" Jacob smiled warmly, staring at the dead Hound, "I had thought the same. Where is the other one?" Owen studied the forest, scanning for the second set of hateful eyes. "It was right behind this one, at the edge, there." Owen gestured, and the guards moved to investigate, weapons at the ready. Jacob helped Owen up, helping him walk towards town. Owen leaned on Jacob, heart still racing. "We need to talk the Grand Inquisitor." Jacob glanced at Owen, dirty and wounded. "Lets get you to a healer first." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Kethan D'Espana | |
| Kethan listened with his eyes closed to the report of the two field agents of the Inquisition. They were certainly not his best or brightest, but they had managed to come back alive where most others had failed, and that alone deserved to hear what they had to say directly. He took a few notes, but most of the time he simply recreated the scene on his mind as he made them describe it in painfil detail, raising more than one squirm as he kept closing his interrogation and even forcing the wounded man to break into nervous stuttering as he went over what had happened to him.
- "Is that all?" - he finally asked at the end, a cold voice so indifferent in its appearance that made both field agents even more uncomfortable, if such a thing was possible. - "Yes, Grand Inquisitor. Nothing remains to be told, from the ritual performed to the beasts unleashed, to the agents we lost, to..." A mere hand gesture shut off the man at once. - "You have done what you could, Owen and Jacob. It is certianly not enough, but I understand the difficulties you have had to endure. You may now rest in the barracks, though you are not allowed to leave the premises until I say otherwise. You may go." Both of them left the room, shooting back concerned glances and somewhat hurt by the apparent indifference of the Grand Inquisitor to their sacrifice. However, indifference was not exactly what was going on inside Kethan's mind. A hurricane of thirst for vengeance and self-righteous anger swept through his brain, making him reaffirm the most painful of punishments should the Daimon worshipper be apprehended by his men. Until then, there was only one thing he could do, especially considering that he seemed to have vanished out of the blue. He would have to open the chest. At long last, it was finally time. | |
| Kethan D'Espana | |
