Fantasy Eisar: A World Abandoned By God

[The Grand Fool]

Kael grunted as he felt people escape. As support for the people escaping, a few... smarter?... imps flew at him. They hit him, and bounced off, but not without scratching him. The pain radiated over him, and then he felt it disappear as if being absorbed by his muscles. He more felt than heard the growth of his muscles. It wasn't much, but his eyes opened wide. Gee, a pain tank, how wonderful. He lifted the pew with one hand as he found a pillar to support it with. He snatched another imp out of the air and snapped it's neck.

A caramel-skinned person appeared next to him. He felt something akin to a sheet covering him. Blinking, he looked at her and then around him. "Damn talk about a Harry Potter reference," he snickered to himself. He listened to her as she told him to follow her. Being an orc, sneaking wasn't exactly his strong point. Then again he never was good at sneaking. He rolled his eyes and ushered out memories threatening to distract him from his sneaking. "If needs be, I can pick both of you up," he said looking at the other person fighting, vainly, against the demons, "and throw ya'll through the window."

 

[LostHaven]

• Oncoming Rescue
• Outside the Church
• Definitely NOT Capra Demon

• Lord Inquisitor
  The response had been swift. From the initial point of time where the presumed portal to literal Hell had been forced open, to when he had darted out of his office to respond to the situation, Caelan estimated ten minutes approximate. Credit was given where credit was due, his overly panicky subordinate ran bloody fast to deliver the news to him. While the messenger had been sent to rally armed forces to suppress the demon invasion, the Lord Inquisitor had thrown himself right into the chaos. The faster the 'big one with horns' that could have been anything between a mildly large trash mob to literally Balrog could be neutralized, the better.
  
  Nearing the district, the chaotic clamor of blades and tearing flesh assaults the ears. Cries for help, screams of unbridled madness, praises to their Demon-God. "Sing in the name of the Death Immaculate!" Caelan unwittingly picks up on the mad proclamations of one of the cultists. Death Immaculate? Many Archdemons hid their true names from their own worshippers with strange aliases, but no Devil came to mind from that nickname. Darting past fleeing civilians running the opposite direction, the Lord Inquisitor finds streets overrun with a downright obscene number of imps, tearing at just about any and everything between them, be it inanimate objects, living flesh, or corpses. And among the hordes of lesser demons, humans wielding a plethora of crude, jagged ritual blades. One glance at their eyes, swelling with utter, senseless lunacy told Caelan volumes. Not only were they insane, they were probably under the influence of some potent drug.
  
  "Death in the name of the Necromancer!"
  
  The fuck? The who now? Which crazed moron would worship the Necromancer? As several Cultists move in to intercept the Lord Inquisitor, Caelan reaches to his side for a dagger.
  
  "Be blessed-"
  
  There wasn't even enough time for one of the madmen to finish their sentence as the dagger pierces their neck, and their head rolls. Four more rapid motions, far too swift for the eye to see even a blur later, all four limbs detach cleanly from the torso, leaving only an expertly dismembered pile on the ground. "Now back off," the Lord Inquisitor warns the rest dozen-or-so cultists that had surrounded him. In but a second, one of their own had been turned to mincemeat. Even a blind animal could recognize when they were outmatched, and Caelan had little patience to meddle with these insects - that menial job should be left to the Knight Order that would arrive shortly after.
  
  At least that was what he had hoped for. Unfortunately, after a few seconds of awkward silence and exchanged glances from the cultists, an instant unanimous decision had been made. And in the next moment, all dozen of them suddenly charged at Caelan. Simultaneously.
  
  "Oh fuck off-"
  
• Slowly, the otherworlders begin to discover their newfound 'powers'. Escaping one hellscape only to be faced with another, the writer Matthew is spurred into decisive action. Take or pay the price. Kill or be killed. The newcomers knew this well. As numerous imps begin to pile toward Matthew and Actias, the writer takes up a fighting stance that by all means should have been utterly alien to him. Despite this, he battles the bloodthirsty creates with movements that were unfamiliar to him, yet seemed to have been inexplicably committed to memory by his muscles.
  
  Taking note of these strangely-dressed individuals that held more combat potential than the ordinary citizen, several cultists close in. However, Actias swiftly follows the writer's lead, wielding a shard of broken glass as a blade. Their movements are practiced, as if violence had been familiar to them.
  
  As the brawl drags on, the duo would come to take notice of a peculiar phenomenon relating to the corpses left behind by the demonic creatures - only moments after dying, the corpses of the imps would crumble away to ash, scattering into the wind, as if they never existed to begin with. The same, however, did not apply to the bodies of humans that began to scatter the streets, hinting perhaps to the nature of demons?
  
  The freedom to ponder such thoughts were a luxury in the given situation. Though many adversaries fell, many more rampaged through the streets. And as the outliers amongst the 'civilians' began to draw more attention to themselves, more cultists would begin to target them. Amongst the new wave of crazed humans approached, one among them would stand out amongst the rest. Surrounded by a group of lackeys was a pale, gaunt man dressed in tattered, black robes. He seemed to be giggling to himself in a completely unhinged manner, twirling a long, jagged knife.
  
  As numerous cultists move in to attack, the one that seemed to be some sort of leader stood in the back as they seemingly schemed something. Raising the jagged blade toward their wrist, the cultist slices through without as much as a tinge of hesitation. "ARISE!" They cry as their blood spurts uncontrollably from their slit artery, spraying unto the ground. Immediately, what seemed to be some crazed ritual yields results. The ground around them glows a dark violet, as lines of glowing arcane energies draw themselves into a complex, if unintelligible circular pattern. "Rise and be born again!"
  
  In unison, a cacophony of sickening snaps and gross, unintelligible moans echo across the streets. The bodies that littered the streets begin to crawl to their feet. Flesh that had long departed from their mortal coil spur to action once more, joints and dislocated bones snapping back to place as the dead cease being... well, dead. The reanimated corpses soon too join the fray, clawing, biting and lashing out at anything that moved, including several cultists, though the cultists didn't seem to resist, but rather seem to cry in joy(?) as they drown under reanimated bodies.
  
  At this point, the outside had become just as hazardous as inside the church. However, in the distance, the clashing of blades and shouting appear to slowly draw closer, perhaps suggesting incoming reinforcements?
  
  ThatWhichShouldBe Cumulonimbus
  
• Clementine's decision-making demonstrates an exceptional mastery of her old life's video games. In a relatively narrow space such as this church hall, there was only so far one could run, with an adversary far larger than herself, wielding a weapon with great reach that dwarfed her own. And thus, weaving around an enemy's devastating swings become more imperative than ever, a single mistake being far too costly for one to pay. It was both a sound strategy, yet also a huge gamble.
  
  It wouldn't take long for Clementine to realize that her 'swings' at the creature's blind spots were of little effect, serving only to agitate the demon to ever increasing heights, culminating in the demon dropping their weapon without warning, and lashing out with the backside of their arm, swinging backward and slamming the woman square in the stomach with sufficient force to throw her across the hall, sending the former streamer flying somewhere into the rows of decaying pews. As Clementine would inevitably reorient herself, her vision begins to flash a violent red, an all too common indicator for HP loss. Accompanied by this was an additional notification flashing at her in the corner of Clementine's mission.
  
  Optional Quest
  Hopeless Boss Fight
  "It seems like the world of Eisar is intent on forcing you to suffer the infamous scripted loss! Show them you're not f*cking around by defeating it anyway!"
  Slay the Horned Demon before help arrives.
  Time limit: 12:58
  Rewards: ???
  
  Having 'dispatched' the current nuisance, the horned demon sets its sights on the others present in the hall. Only to be met with absolutely nothing, leaving its gnarled, seething expression to be rather confused. If there was any upside to the situation, it was that the creature, whilst maintaining some degree of intelligence was still incredibly, incredibly dumb. It seemed almost satisfied with smashing Clementine into the opposite side of the hall, and prepared to leave to find more flesh to pummel, until it seemed to have caught a whiff of something. It seemed that where it lacked brain cells, it had inhuman senses. That, and the Orc-like person that was also hiding in the Cloak of Invisibility probably wasn't doing much favors.
  
  Orcs weren't known to tend to their smell.
  
  And so, it begins to poke its nose in the air and let out several more loud, very wet sniffs before slowly closing in as it following the scent. To make the situation worse, holding up the cloak was beginning to become extremely taxing on Chrystal. With every passing second, it felt as if a fire burning inside her veins was threatening to boil her blood and turn her insides to charcoal before she could even live to see the hellscape that was outside the Church's walls. They may have been bestowed power by what was probably 'God', but Eisar's 'magic' still had laws. Creating a cloak that was blatantly breaking the laws of physics was taking a toll on Chrystal; though it wasn't physical stamina it was draining, it was burning something in her. And fast.[/FONT]
  
  The Grand Fool BFabulous PlusUltra
  

 

[Cumulonimbus]

Actias Luna.

IC post #7 | bittersweet

The fight crawled on, despite Actias's best efforts to cease it. Matthew ruthlessly lashed out at their attackers, the few hints of remorse washed out with blood and sweat clinging to his hair. Quickly blinding an imp with glass so that Matthew could take them down, Actias uses a rotten but steady shop table to get to some high ground. It crumbles pathetically right after.

The wind swirls with tension and bloodlust. Corpses pile high, with some demons' bodies turning to dust. Dust? That's strange, Actias thinks to themselves from their perch. Matthew continued his practised stances among the concerningly thickening crowd of adversaries. Their train of thought shatters when giggles cut through the stocky air like glass on skin. An emaciated, sickly, person donned in torn robes with wisps of clothing stumbling over each other twirls a violent knife in their hands. They seemed to have formed a crowd over them, a protective barrier of sorts. Hanging from a lower windowsill from the bigger one they jumped from, Actias's grip tenses so they don't go tumbling to the ground. Their left foot searches for a good crack in the wall to further secure themselves.

Then, the mysterious cultist cut their wrist with no reservations whatsoever.

"Arise, rise and be born again!" They scream, their voice echoing all around the battlefield. Blood trickles to the floor, but they seem unfazed as if they've done this a thousand times already. Tunnel vision creeps in as Actias blinks hard in disbelief. A prideful purple envelops the ground around them in a moment of anger, and then groans and a disgusting cacophony of cracks rings out in the area as the previously lifeless bodies rise up.

"Shit." Actias lets go of their stance and slides to the ground. In the distance, the clanging of metal is heard by Actias, but they had no way to know if they were reinforcements, or merely more corpses ready to lash out mindlessly at anything breathing. Along with that, the group was split up - they strain to hear any sounds of movement from the Church, but their ears were not having it today. Apparently, they lost their hearing aids after being denied death. The only reason they could hear everyone in the Church was that everyone was yelling either out of panic or trying to give instructions as clearly as possible. Pressing their hand on the Church's outer wall, they felt timely vibrations resembling footsteps.

But there was no more time to think. Matthew and Actias were only two people in the face of two thousand. So they had to get out now, or they would end up like the reanimated corpses. A conformity. A familiar sensation introduces itself to Actias again. Smooth, yet jagged. Crisp, but soft. Beautiful, but lethal.

Glass.

Taking a deep breath, they gesture as if flicking paint off their hand. Large shards of glass - from the Church's shattered window - shakily but discreetly make their way to the ground. Matthew continues his rampage, but from Actias's perspective, he seemed to be growing tired. Then, they drop the shard of glass, crushing everyone in between, careful to avoid Matthew. They slowly build a careful barricade, isolating the assailants close to them and swiftly finishing them off using a balisong they'd luckily found in a sheath hugging their body. Matthew and Actias couldn't dig down, go backwards, or push forwards. The barrier curved in precariously, the screeching of fingernails and weapons haunting their actions.

So why not go up?

"We need to get to higher ground!" Actias rips off some clothing and ties a tight tourniquet on their wounded hand. They move backwards and look at the knife they're holding. χαρμολύπη. Bittersweet. They chew on their lip and laugh. That's funny, Da'at. I hate you if you can still hear me. Glancing at the towering wall and nothing else but themselves and Matthew to climb it, they brace themselves and get into position. They would ask Matthew for help, but they had no idea what his state was, especially after fighting for so long. And Actias didn't want to risk anything.

Then they launch at the wall at full speed, pivoting upwards. They miss the low windowsill with their left hand, but the knife drives deep into the wall, gleaming in the firelight. They hang limply from the wall, and with a huge heave, shove themselves onto the sill. They leave the knife there so Matthew can use it too. Then, using the top of the window as a foothold, they painstakingly crawl their way upwards to the Church's main window, the one they jumped up from first. Pulling themselves up and dusting themselves off, they call downwards.

"Please do me a favour and leave the knife there on the way up." They ask Matthew and hope he heard. Bittersweet in Eisar was a second chance Actias didn't want. "For everyone in there, don't jump out of the window!" They cry into the Church. "It's the same, even worse down there. We need to go up, but we need everyone here first."

MOOD: Anxious | LOCATION: Southeast Section | INTERACTION(S): (Observed) Matthew, the Reanimator

coded by weldherwings.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Matthew Sanli

---

He doesn't feel tired at all. The thought strikes him after the fifth cultist he downs with a kick to the sternum, like a thunderbolt from the sky. He's not tired. If anything, he feels free. Like he was a raging fire sweeping across dry glass, like a song being sung in a cathedral, effortless and flowing. His fists and feet come and go in their deadly dance, and eventually, he has a moment of time to breathe. For the weight of his exertion to catch up to him, if only just a bit. He sees their 'leader' approach, and Sanli brings up his hands again, wary, wondering what they'd do... And then they chant their ritual and speak their black words and raise the dead.

Ah, the storyteller realizes, they did indeed worship a necromancer. Guess that wasn't just talk.

He comes to a similar conclusion as Actias, if tilted a bit. As the wall of glass comes down, he turns to the wall and starts to clamber up it with light steps, moving with impossible agility to seemingly run up the wall. It didn't last long, but he didn't need it to. It feels like he's riding a tiger, pushing his body just long and hard for him to take a flying leap up to the windowsill, landing besides Actias, having jumped off of the knife left in the wall. Then he looks in the Church and... yeah, no. Sanli shakes his head, as he takes a few moments to catch his breath, turning to Actias.

"They're pressed too hard. They can't make it out like this, not without leaving someone behind. So... Fuck, fuck it."

Sanli cracks his neck, takes a deep breath, and dives into the church, running down along the pew still propped up against the wall. He wasn't sure where the orc was, but...

"I'll distract it! Wherever you are, orcman, hit it with something big and heavy while I do!"

Here's hoping his enhanced agility was up to the task of dealing with *that* bullshit demon.

 

[Cumulonimbus]

Actias Luna.

IC post #8 | out of breath

Actias resists the urge to facepalm as they see Matthew facilely leap up to the windowsill. Of course, he wasn't tired. Similar to Actias's glass-manipulation abilities, Matthew must have some finesse that allowed him to fight like a professional - different stances, outrunning the exhaustion it entailed. Before they further embarrass themselves through an apology acting on the false assumption they made, Matthew speaks.

"They're pressed too hard. They can't make it out like this..." Actias leans forwards in an attempt to understand the muffled, incoherent words coming out of Matthew's mouth. I need hearing aids before I hear something incorrect or miss out on something important. Straining, they catch the gist of the sentence but haven't fully digested it before Matthew bolts down the worn-down pew. From the distance, Actias hears Matthew yell something. Not loud enough, they irritably think that an omnipotent deity somehow lacked the awareness to provide hearing aids of all things to them.

Maybe I shouldn't have left that cursed balisong behind, Actias cringes at their own sentimentality and instinctively pats down their sheath. To their surprise, a weight hangs from it; unclipping it, they see Bittersweet catching the cultists' firelight, glowing an iridescent spectrum of colours and reflecting it onto its surroundings. The sound of glass shattering pierces Actias's environment and they don't need to look back to know the temporary barrier had been broken. Of course, Da'at must've made it impossible for them to just surrender their weapons like that. Who in their right mind would do that anyway? I would, they answer themselves bitterly. Despite the apprehension of using Bittersweet, part of them was relieved that something stupid they did in an emotionally charged moment didn't go through.

I can't outrun my past. Actias twirls the butterfly knife around in their hands, swinging it in a familiar pattern, like knowing the lyrics to a song. It temporarily alleviates the pain from their wounded right hand, relieving it of the cramped sensation.

But I can accept the future. If I have one, anyway.

Actias slides down the pew with dexterity. Whatever they could make of Matthew's sentence was correct - the bigger imp had been severely agitated and everyone would have to attack it as a collective. Hitting the ground, they right themselves with a roll into a fighting stance. Bittersweet glimmers in their hand - mockingly, almost - coruscating prismatic colours onto Actias's clothes in a proposal of battle.

Here goes nothing.

MOOD: Resolute | LOCATION: Elysium Church | INTERACTION(S): Matthew

coded by weldherwings.

 

[BFabulous]

With each step, Chrystal could feel a fire welling up within her. It felt more like a muscle being stretched, one she had never flexed before. By the time they had gotten somewhat past the beast, she could feel the 'muscle' screaming to release and the internal fire was getting too unbearable. Chrystal figured this excruciating pain that was building with each step was from this sheet that she had conjured,"Ugh...W-well, Mr. W-w-weasly, t-this must be t-t-the part w-w-where we get c-caught." Chrystal released a half-hearted chuckle through her labored breath. Over time the sheet shrunk in size, until Chrystal tripped over a imp corpse, releasing her focus and dispersing the cloak back to nothing. She was so focused on keeping the cloak up that she hadn't even noticed that the demon was slowly tracking them,"Well, shit,"

Chrystal jumped back to her feet, grabbing the dead imp's club on the way up, readying herself for a fight. Although the young woman was willing to fight, she couldn't see a way she was even gonna make it out of this alive,"If you wanna toss me, now would be a good time! Or you could toss me into a wall and hopefully my neck would snap on impact!" After gaining her bearing Chrystal could feel whatever she used to pull the cloak was almost completely depleted but she still had energy to fight, but against this thing she wasn't so hopeful.