event Round 4 The Horned Feast of Brenn-Tyr!

[Bellossom]

On 5/31/2023 at 11:40 AM, Tychris1 said:

The Music spreads

 

Merlyn Zan Cuddlu mustered all their poise and pleasantness as the gaggle of Tancourt sycophants and silver tongues made themselves abundantly known. "Ah! You're looking very... rustic! And you, so refined in rubbery! Is this imported? No? Just homegrown dirt? Fascinating." Their eyes grew a particular sharpness as Truth Bash spoke, a glimmer of the hunter's light flickering in the black pools the Blood Elf called an iris, and a thin smile stretched from fang to fang. "We are truly blessed here today! I thought only luminaries graced my hall, but lo, a mystic! The glorious fire watches and bathes us here in Ruin. May it warm your bosom as it has stoked our fervorous spirit!" A joyous cry rang out throughout the hall and several Merlyn's approached and dissected the group of Tancourt, splitting them off in social conversing, sharing of drink, and inquisitive prodding. A Merlyn in flaking brick red armor sidled behind the Sunpointer and ushered them to seat near their host at the great table.

 

The Witches produced a small frown from the crowned master of ceremonies, Zan Cuddlu stroking their chin, leading to a lean on the table, and a brief sigh "Hosting another party at the same time as me? How gauche, I'll let this slight pass in the name of the Wyrm's rare recent grace, and in the name of... How'd you say. Forging? Yes." They gestured at a pie and a buzzing host of Darkkin floated it over to the two delegates "You seem tense. Relax! We haven't even begun the sporting. Fretting before the action is just a waste of your inner fuel. Eat, drink, deeply if need be, and descend." 

 

"Merswin! Why that's practically Merlyn!" Uproarious laughter tittered from the line of flirtatious Merlyn consorts behind "Are you sure you don't have some of our blood in you? A particular hunger in the light of the Moon? If you've a sharp ear for music, the odds are ever in your favor! Let me tell you the tale of when we battled the oldest most terrible Lion! A beast who knew no death, no pride, no fear. I tell you I tell you with a warrior's heart~~~..."

Afon paled at the thought of displeasing this most amused Merlyn and began plan B. With a swift kick in the rear, Hefin was sent out into the night only being told to find out if the Merlyn's truly drink blood. With a hearty laugh, Afon settled into the warmth of the nearest pie. "It would be wrong of me to truly claim that High Witch Bryn is preparing for another shindig when in fact, we have waited for these same celestial traits to align. Oh how lovely they will look with the blood moon temple doused in red! You must send a delegate!"

Hefin let out a bemused sigh and began to circle the perimeter of the room, looking for a conversation partner and gulping down the nearest goblet of wine. If he was going to get away with lies, might as well wear red.

[Tychris1]

On 6/4/2023 at 11:37 AM, mystic1110 said:

Arabella squeals with delight as she is bitten, and blushes at the Merlyn's guess, she is about to reply when someone sternly yells "Ella!"

Tanner Finchley and Matron Finchley are seen walking angrily towards the couple. They, like Dampwood, are wearing Pigskin, as tradition asks Tanners and their spouses to wear, but there's is pink leather made of the softest piglets, softer than calf, almost as soft as silk. What else to say about them? Whereas Arabella could be called beautiful for a human, if perhaps a bit jaundiced from lack of sunlight, her Parents are exaggerated angles. Sharp elbows are connected to sharp faces with sharp lips and sharp noses. Sharp hips hold sharp legs with sharp feet sticking out. They talk at once, contradictory. "Hands off my daughter your Cur!" "Honestly Ella, what have we told you about teasing the Help!" It is hard to tell which one said what.

Truth Bash keeps eating as his listens and in between mouthfuls tells the host "I am too afraid to see the Sun Rise. I heard it from my cabin on your ship. I had to lock myself in the dark while it went screaming over the shade. It was awe inspiring."

Merlyn Gul Twir looked at Arabella for a second, then at their parents, and then back to Arabella. They pulled out a knife from a hidden sheathe on their thigh and brandished it at the Finchleys. "Who are you calling Help?" The lingering taste of venomous bile was thick on their tongue.

 

Zan Cuddlu quirked an eyebrow at Truth Bash's story but said no more on the matter, seemingly at ease with their response. A quick somatic command beckoned a lumbering beast of rotten wood in the shape of a bear to come forth and begin cleaning the empty plates off the table. Preparations were to be made.

On 6/4/2023 at 4:28 PM, BladeofOblivion said:

If Waxil seemed startled by the intercession, Aporie's face bore a faint smirk instead.

"We actually just needed more time to calibrate our instr-" Waxil started to say before Aporie cut them off, grabbing the knife: "Gladly."

While the level-headed elf rolled their eyes and set back to getting their instruments set up, Aporie happily partook of the opportunity provided. She crudely scratched her best impression of a scroll into the bones, then a shaded circle, and then a series of swirls that might be a raging sea. "And it goes into the inferno?", she asked, more quietly than before.

"Yes, when you are ready to embrace the end throw them into the inferno before us."

"But no later than when the Convergence is nigh."

They nodded their heads in sage agreement, not looking directly at the bone scroll out of a sense of respecting privacy, and the sanctified nature of this task.

On 6/4/2023 at 7:40 PM, Bellossom said:

Afon paled at the thought of displeasing this most amused Merlyn and began plan B. With a swift kick in the rear, Hefin was sent out into the night only being told to find out if the Merlyn's truly drink blood. With a hearty laugh, Afon settled into the warmth of the nearest pie. "It would be wrong of me to truly claim that High Witch Bryn is preparing for another shindig when in fact, we have waited for these same celestial traits to align. Oh how lovely they will look with the blood moon temple doused in red! You must send a delegate!"

Hefin let out a bemused sigh and began to circle the perimeter of the room, looking for a conversation partner and gulping down the nearest goblet of wine. If he was going to get away with lies, might as well wear red.

"Yes! I will send my fastest Raven or Vulture to your estate. If only I could witness such a sight myself, rapturously rupturing with red ruby rays, and yet I will have to sate myself with the description doubtlessly embellished by them. Tearing you so far from home, I hope tonight's festivity is worth missing your own people." Suddenly a thought occured and Zan Cuddlu perked up "Indeed I think a cultural exchange is in demand. A witness in both our lands to recant to the other. One for one what could be more fair?"

 

Hefin found himself with no lack of wine or for conversation either. As soon as his cup ran dry a swarm of bees made from smothering ash would buzz over and hand him a new cup nearly overflowing. His departure from Afon lead him from one group to another, whisking him from conversation to conversation, and finally ending up at a table down the way in a secluded corner of Caler Myrffdin. Knucklebones were being tossed by several Merlyn and Darkkin, their eyes all swiftly falling upon the drunken witch, and bloody lips sliced open to cold smiles as they bid him sit to join the pot. Who cares if he had anything to bid? His was the most valuable resource in all of Ruin. Fresh crimson. As unfortunate rolls compiled one after the other, dept began to collect, the door began to close behind Hefin, and carving knives sang from their sheathes as Hefin was All In.

Edited June 8, 2023 by Tychris1 (see edit history)

[mystic1110]

Tanner Finchley swells up with a surge of anger and indignation as the Crewfolk Merlyn brandished his knife before him and Matron Finchley. With a sneer curling his lips and a haughty glint in his eyes, he squealed in a voice that resonated with entitlement, "How dare you, you wretched scoundrel! Do you know who I am? Such insolence!". Making fists of his hands and hooking his arms such that the curled fingers point towards his face, he prepares to engage in the art of fisticuffs and to strike the sailor with all the force his privileged upbringing had endowed him with. Meanwhile, Matron Finchley, a woman as cunning as she was not motherly, maintained a composed façade despite the perilous situation. Her eyes flickered with a mix of calculated interest and icy disdain as she assessed the sailor's actions. With a voice laced with an air of condescension, she spoke, "Honestly Gregory, put your hands away, can't you see the strapping buck that our whore daughter has ensnared would pummel you." Arabella, for her part, red with embarrassment, just whimpers "Mama, please."

Edited June 8, 2023 by mystic1110 (see edit history)

[BladeofOblivion]

2 hours ago, Tychris1 said:

"Yes, when you are ready to embrace the end throw them into the inferno before us."

"But no later than when the Convergence is nigh."

They nodded their heads in sage agreement, not looking directly at the bone scroll out of a sense of respecting privacy, and the sanctified nature of this task.

Aporie smiled placidly a moment, staring at her crude scratchings. "Mmm. Tell me more.", she said, eyes twinkling with a spark of odd nostalgia. "What does embracing the end mean to you?"

[Tychris1]

56 minutes ago, BladeofOblivion said:

Aporie smiled placidly a moment, staring at her crude scratchings. "Mmm. Tell me more.", she said, eyes twinkling with a spark of odd nostalgia. "What does embracing the end mean to you?"

The one in white was silent, contemplating their words, and in contrast their ebony clad companion spoke quickly. “When the heat of my blood and the pounding of my skull have united in cause and effect! The fire of the Wyrm breathing down my neck, singing my doubts, and forging me anew!”

 

Quieter, more contemplatively, the white clad Merlyn sat beside Aporie and nearly whispered “When I am satisfied. When I feel no regret, no missed chances, and no remorse. It is to look upon a friend, an old friend at that, and to be ready for them to leave me forever. To embrace the end is to be at peace with chaos.”

2 hours ago, mystic1110 said:

Tanner Finchley swells up with a surge of anger and indignation as the Crewfolk Merlyn brandished his knife before him and Matron Finchley. With a sneer curling his lips and a haughty glint in his eyes, he squealed in a voice that resonated with entitlement, "How dare you, you wretched scoundrel! Do you know who I am? Such insolence!". Making fists of his hands and hooking his arms such that the curled fingers point towards his face, he prepares to engage in the art of fisticuffs and to strike the sailor with all the force his privileged upbringing had endowed him with. Meanwhile, Matron Finchley, a woman as cunning as she was not motherly, maintained a composed façade despite the perilous situation. Her eyes flickered with a mix of calculated interest and icy disdain as she assessed the sailor's actions. With a voice laced with an air of condescension, she spoke, "Honestly Gregory, put your hands away, can't you see the strapping buck that our whore daughter has ensnared would pummel you." Arabella, for her part, red with embarrassment, just whimpers "Mama, please."

“Do you know who I am?” Obviously not since Gul Twir was just the First Merlyn of the Last Chance “I could have you keelhauled. There’s a Leviathan out there just waiting for me to feed it.” Another bluff. “I would advise you watch your next step. It might take you over the edge.” Merlyn Gul Twir placed the tip of their knife on Papa Finchley’s chest.

[mystic1110]

As the tip of Merlyn Gul Twir's knife pressed against his chest, Tanner Finchley's eyes widened with a mix of fear and anger. His blustering demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty. But, in this instance, the wise might think of what the title of Tanner actually entails. In Tancourt it might be a sort of hereditary nobility, but at it's core, it is a job devoid of forgiveness. Think of the dark and pungent depths of the tannery, where the stench of decay and the hum of the worker's drudgery meld into a cacophony of despair. The master Tanner, strolls between his subjects, a figure engulfed in the gruesome alchemy of turning raw animal hides into supple leather. Even in a position of power, the Tanner is not removed from getting their hands dirty, as they navigate through the morass of blood-stained vats and piles of discarded carcasses. Their weary eyes, tinged with weariness and resignation, bear witness to the horrors that unfold within those grim walls. And so Tanner Finchley steels himself with a lifetime of transforming decaying flesh into a material of utility and the knowledge that if he steps back the gossip from the other onlookers will sink him into the thick soupy mud of Tancourt to be mummified in scandal and shame.

And so, Tanner Finchley steps forward, the knife biting into the soft pink leather he wore - but it was leather nonetheless, it did not yet break the skin "You proper Knave! Laying hands on my daughter and now you think you can intimidate me with your pitiful knife?" Either Arabella could not bear the tension anymore, or her shiny black leather outfit was too small for her expansive chest making it harder to breath, but during this outburst her face turns bright red and she breathily exhales "Papa No!", and faints into the body of Merlyn Gul Twir. Matron Finchley, very much, expressively and conspicuously rolls her eyes and loudly and contemptuously proclaims "What Drama! A Sailor and a Tanner's daughter, in Love!"

Edited June 9, 2023 by mystic1110 (see edit history)

[Tychris1]

Gul Twir had spent countless years out on the Ruinous Sea, where tidal waves the size of castles stalk you at every turn, and the watchful light of day is actually a treacherous mask. Obscuring the guiding light of the heavens laid bare at sacred night. Lovely midnight. Basking in its depth and darkness. Most of those years were as a commanding presence on the Last Chance, the first of Merlyn's Mamluk's. But many were also alone, adrift, and deprived of life's two bounteous unsung pleasures. Warmth and rest. Wondering endlessly if a vessel would ever come or if the world had simply ended. Gone like a whimper and left to rot. Days blinking by in rhythm with the great Sun above. Holding Arabella in her arms she smelled her still fresh blood. Could feel it pumping beneath her singed black leather. The rapturous rump rump rumping of the heart. In that moment Gul Twir decided to hold on. Jerking herself the Boatswain Merlyn dislodged a small handheld hook line from their waist and she swung it in a wide wild arc before Tanner Finchley.

 

A bolt of energy shoots through the Merlyn around. They rise one after the other, a living wave wrought forth from the crowd, and in each the same spark glinting and glimmering in the eye. Hunger. Claws scratching at the post find purchase in this chance encounter of two worlds and suddenly fangs are slathering. The air itself is almost solid with pent-up tension at the edge of this display, true bliss seemingly a stroke away, and Gul Twir seems prepared to rip it open.

 

"CEASE."

 

Zan Cuddlu commands and leaps over the fire, hanging above the scene on a chain, and sneering at the lot of them.

 

"Take your personal squabbles elsewhere or let it be done and buried in the name of our Red Rapture! Look! The Wyrm will reach its metamorphosis soon and the world changed! The Hunt is nigh!"

 

That same energy persisted, bubbling uncontrollably from the surface of each Merlyn who gazed longingly at the empty silence that followed those sweet words. Hunt. For a Hunter must indeed Hunt.

 

"Such an honor, such a great tribute, could only be made one way. Tonight, we shall hunt... Myself! Whosoever draws my blood first shall be gifted a boon or bloodoath from mine own Court! You have until the Convergence to find me in the halls of Caler Myrfddin!"

 

With that Zan Cuddlu spun and leaped into a hole in the upper corner of the wall, laughter echoing throughout the room. The Merlyn were stunned for a moment.

 

And Chaos ensued.

[mystic1110]

Tanner Dampwood was watching the Finchleys with Sir Rulman "The whole family is a bunch of hookworms. Feh. All this drama? Do not think it is accidental. They each just want all eyes on them." As the Hunt was announced, Dampwood raised a single eyebrow at Sir Rulman "A game of Tiggy?"

Sunpointer Truth Bash keeps sitting on the high table, eyes wide at all this food that would otherwise go to waste. Let the children play he thinks, the adults need to make sure that each crumb is accounted for.

The others of the Tancourt Entourage mill around, each talking with their respective partners, gossiping, scheming, but out of the spotlight. Let us not dwell on those that have not taken the stage at this hour.

Back to the Finchleys, Arabella is in Gul Twir's arms and Tanner Finchley is in shock as he finds that he has a new eyebrow piercing courtesy of a fishhook. Matron Tanner drawls at him "Gregory you look positively fashionable". The Tanner turns red with fury towards Gul Twir but pauses as Arabella wakes and sighs. She looks into Gul Twir's eyes and says "You caught me", and she blushes. Matron Tanner covers her mouth to hold in a snarky retort, but lets her hand drop as the Hunt was announced, she looks down at her daughter held by Gul Twir and then at her husband, fishhook and all, and says "Well you two might as well settle your differences by catching our Host if we're going to be seeing more of each other during family reunions".

[Bellossom]

On 6/8/2023 at 9:00 AM, Tychris1 said:

Merlyn Gul Twir looked at Arabella for a second, then at their parents, and then back to Arabella. They pulled out a knife from a hidden sheathe on their thigh and brandished it at the Finchleys. "Who are you calling Help?" The lingering taste of venomous bile was thick on their tongue.

 

Zan Cuddlu quirked an eyebrow at Truth Bash's story but said no more on the matter, seemingly at ease with their response. A quick somatic command beckoned a lumbering beast of rotten wood in the shape of a bear to come forth and begin cleaning the empty plates off the table. Preparations were to be made.

"Yes, when you are ready to embrace the end throw them into the inferno before us."

"But no later than when the Convergence is nigh."

They nodded their heads in sage agreement, not looking directly at the bone scroll out of a sense of respecting privacy, and the sanctified nature of this task.

"Yes! I will send my fastest Raven or Vulture to your estate. If only I could witness such a sight myself, rapturously rupturing with red ruby rays, and yet I will have to sate myself with the description doubtlessly embellished by them. Tearing you so far from home, I hope tonight's festivity is worth missing your own people." Suddenly a thought occured and Zan Cuddlu perked up "Indeed I think a cultural exchange is in demand. A witness in both our lands to recant to the other. One for one what could be more fair?"

 

Hefin found himself with no lack of wine or for conversation either. As soon as his cup ran dry a swarm of bees made from smothering ash would buzz over and hand him a new cup nearly overflowing. His departure from Afon lead him from one group to another, whisking him from conversation to conversation, and finally ending up at a table down the way in a secluded corner of Caler Myrffdin. Knucklebones were being tossed by several Merlyn and Darkkin, their eyes all swiftly falling upon the drunken witch, and bloody lips sliced open to cold smiles as they bid him sit to join the pot. Who cares if he had anything to bid? His was the most valuable resource in all of Ruin. Fresh crimson. As unfortunate rolls compiled one after the other, dept began to collect, the door began to close behind Hefin, and carving knives sang from their sheathes as Hefin was All In.

Afon sipped their own drink and munched on a tiny pie. They looked on amusedly as the doors shut on Hefin, locking him into the other room. Leaning over to the nearest Merlyn, they commented softly, "Crimson is just as valuable at home as it is here. A preciously limited resource that every Witch worth their salt knows not to waste. He would have never been able to summon a familiar with that sort of regard for his own blood." After a pause, they added, "No one liked him anyways, but it does mean I'll get a new lab and assistants when I return. All in all this has turned out to be a very successful trip. No need to worry about any political repercussions, we're all on our own here." With that, Afon quieted and smirked into their goblet.

[mystic1110]

In an apothecary shop of Bethel Giruc, dimly lit by fat tallow candles, one could find Victor Blandheath. With his greasy hair and shifty eyes, Victor exudes an air of dubious intentions. Victor is not a Tanner, his connections towards the upper crust, emphasis on crust, of Tancourt society is through his procurement of various remedies and potions that allow the rich to live lives relatively free from the diseases that the mud generally carries, such as hookworm and the many causes of dysentery. His little fiefdom is built on keeping from shitting themselves to death. And yet, a man can dream, can they not, and years spent reading cheap tales scribed on leather, stories of daring adventures and blood-pumping pursuits fueled his wicked imagination. He yearned, quite, unreasonably, chiefly for it being beyond his station, for the thrill of hunting the most dangerous game. Lacking the courage and the means to pursue such forbidden endeavors has left him frustrated and bitter - making concoctions of debatable merit for his wealthier and more important clients. That is why he was here in Caler Myrfddin to begin with, he was on retainer in case any of the other notables needed any medicine after getting a tummy ache or other minor malady.

Imagine Victor's surprise then at Zan Cuddlu's offer? The opportunity to hunt down a supernatural creature was Victor's chance to finally fulfill his dark desires in a societally acceptable way. Already thinking of victory - of seizing the reigns of the rumor mill, to be more than a peddler of shit potions - Victor started into the corridors of Caler Myrfddin, ready for the hunt.

[Bellossom]

Afon turned an ear towards the sounds of the horns and the ensuing madness. The witch called forth his weakened apprentice in an effort to cajole the lad into joining. Fetch your longest bow and apply hexes to the tips, it is time to hunt! Don't let your lack, your weakened state stop you, blood magic is all you’re good for boy.

Hefin paused for a moment, just to consider his options. Finding no cause for alarm sedated the lad and he began to change and inscribed complex sigils into his arrowheads. He regarded his companion with curiosity and fear, using his last crimson and precious moments to carve a final curse into his last arrow. His small misguided hope.

Afon continued to gorge upon mince pie after mince pie, seemingly ignorant of everything surrounding him. The entirety of the hunt rested upon this one curse. Hefin breathed a sigh of release as he passed over the quiver, explained how to use the other hexes, and made clear that the last arrow was to be the penultimate danger.

Afon took the quiver and began to stretch out his legs. He transformed and leapt drawing his weapon of choice. Too close to the sun, but too far from his moon goddesses. Eirlys of the wheat, dearest goddess of the hunt, and most notable fair huntress. She would not give her blessing this time.

Edited June 13, 2023 by Bellossom (see edit history)

[TheDarkDM]

Sir Rulman's eyes narrowed as the evening proceeded on its bloody course. It was gratifying, in a sense, to see his earlier misgivings justified, but the knight still grappled with disappointment that this should be the Holds' first exposure to the wider world. Grunting amiable assent, his leathery paw patted Dampwood's leather-clad shoulder.

 

"Well, I am on a diplomatic mission, and it would not do to spurn our host. Help me rally some of these miscreants into a proper hunting party - we shall no doubt want for guides in this tumbledown ruin."

[mystic1110]

Tanner Dampwood grunts and fehs and then starts to try to gather the Tancourt group other than the Finchleys, who are their own mess, Truth Bash who was diligently cleaning the table, and Victor. Who knows where Victor ran off too - which was concerning, since Dampwood could already feel the effects of the few items of foreign food he ate on his digestion. Where was Dampwood's Husband Gene? Feh, better leave him out of it - he was always getting underfoot. And what about these other Merlyn? "We need Guides, Hounds or Large Rats. Feh, Children Games. Are we Children?"