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| [ARCHIVED] - MiniQuest™: Alarik's Arthurian Adventure; Alarik, Jhael, Margo, Ronnie | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 (4,631 Views) | |
| Alarik | Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 Post #1 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Schloss Weinberg, Waren, Federal Republic of Germany Standing on a pier that jutted outwards from the shore, Alarik Blücher looked southwards over the Binnenmüritz, watching the lakes' ripples turn from dark blue to black. His long, beige coat fluttered about his body in the gentle breeze. The cold tingled against his cheeks, but it was not uncomfortable. The winter had been mild and, even now, there were a few ships about the lake, their sails set for home, to ferry their sailors towards warm meals and warm beds. More distantly, the traffic of the Elbe flowed, a steady flow of large, flat-bottomed ships. Beyond those black-rippled waters lay the forested shores of Müritz-Nationalpark, over three hundred square kilometres of forests, interspersed with swamps, meadows, lakes, runs, ditches and brooks. The place, he'd learned, was heaven to red deer, cranes, white-tailed eagles, hawks, rodents, countless species of fish and God-only knew what other beasts that wouldn't be in any tourist manual. It was close to a Kindred's idea of hell. A no-go zone that lay far beyond the cities' brightest lights. They would go there tonight. The sound of footsteps on the wooden planks could be heard. Jhael had summoned the party here, as he'd been ordered to do. The lad had been very busy during the last two nights, overseeing the private transport of three crates to Berlin, and then again by truck to the Ventrue headquarters of this small, East German town. A white-washed Grand Villa on a hill that pretended to be a Schloss. Even the day had been spent usefully, visiting the Müritzeum and then scouting out the park itself. Only a few hours of sleep had been permitted to the him before sunset, and the inevitable briefing. He's been a useful lad. He shall be fed if he survives the night, the Ventrue resolved. He turned around, nodding first towards Jhael, and then towards the two 'volunteers' who had agreed to accompany him. The young Brujah and the young Toreador. His heavy and his third eye. "Mr. Lockhart and Ms. Moreau. So grateful that you could join me here, tonight", he intoned gravely. "I apologise for having been... scant... in my explanations of this journey's purpose. Things will be made clear to you in a few moments, after which there shall be time for questions." He turned his back to them, gesturing across the shore to the great, wild beyond with a wide arm. "Over there in the forest is the 'place of crows', as the Slavs called it. My grandsire helped to conquer it from them during the time of the Wendish Crusade, and his seven childer constructed a small fortress there. A stronghold to keep these lands from the fiends. At least, so one of my ghouls told me, before he met his demise." He turned again, sideways now, placing his cold, white hands in his pockets as he continued on a lighter tone: "Jhael here has been busy during the day. He's identified three areas whose features match both the description of the stories told by my sire, and the geomorphology of the terrain. Conveniently, they can all be reached by boat. So we should be able to avoid too much travel through the thick of the woods." The distant humming of an engine could be beard as the Prince turned his head towards Ronnie and Margo: "Any questions so far?" |
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| Jhael | Sunday, 9. February 2014, 15:20 Post #101 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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Jhael tucked his hand behind his back, up under his coat where his knife was sheathed. He stood several paces across the room behind the small Toreador and watched the transition from nutter to something out of the Exorcist with a look of morbid fascination. When she... he? It. When it demanded the sword from his boss, his grip tightened on the hilt with a chill in his gut. He wouldn't want to hurt Margo. She had only been kind to him, in spite of Uncle Praz's warnings of witchcraft and succubi. The old ghoul's fears never materialized, at least not for Jhael. He wouldn't want to, but there was one thing in the world that will make him want to cut any bitch. The young man narrowed his eyes, tired eyes with blood crusted in the cracks and lines. Whatever it is, this thing that was one amongst many childhood horrors thrust in his face as too real to be amusing, it better not damage one overly gelled hair on his Alarik's head. I'll die if I attack one of them. He shook his head, trying to shake free of fear that would paralyze him. If Alarik fell, he knew he would too. He had nothing to lose. Ron was already far too wounded. Jhael's gaze darted to Sir Arnold. He would follow his signal. |
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| Arnold | Monday, 10. February 2014, 02:48 Post #102 |
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Childe
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Seeing the spirit's display of power, I drop to one knee and lower my head. My little brother follows suit, presenting the blade to Ingfried, the Champion of our House with his hands held aloft. I am in awe at this moment. The champion of our House, its Real Leader, has returned from the dead to command us once again. If this spirit can cling to mortal vessel, he will be the old and new leader. The days of Alphonse's money-grubbing will be over. Alongside these ennobled thoughts, darker things come to lurk. Why would the spirit still be haunting this place? And if it was, why would Alphonse have abandoned it, rather than seeking help for his disembodied, fallen comrade? Or was this perhaps a design on behalf of my unlikely Sire? Were his attempts to dissuade us from going on this quest more self-interested than even I imagined? The answers to these questions will have to wait. "We are at your service, Champion", I say, giving the young ghoul a cautioning look that he, too, better take a knee. |
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| Jhael | Monday, 10. February 2014, 17:29 Post #103 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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At the withered old soldier's command, the only living thing in the room bent the knee. One arm stiff across his leg and head bowed, he was only physically compliant. His wary eyes focused on the triangle of Kindred before him while his other hand didn't stray from his knife. Alarik and Sir Arnold kneeling for the little Toreador who wasn't. Jhael didn't understand what was going on, but that was a feeling that he had grown well accustomed to under the tutelage of his boss. His gaze briefly flicked to Ron. If only he had been given the order to help patch him up a little. More bodies on their side that weren't battered and broken would be nice, and even though it happened so fast and he didn't have the best view of that werewolf takedown, he caught enough of a glimpse to be impressed with what the Brujah could do in an emergency. |
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| Ronnie | Monday, 10. February 2014, 20:40 Post #104 |
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Ancilla
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What was happening now? All of this got more weird by the minute. Ronnie could just about understand what Margo was saying. But surely Margo couldn´t speak very old German, so it must be someone else speaking through her. Like in such films where "satan" took posession of somebody, and then an exorcist came. Just that it surely wasn´t satan in this case. Ronnie didn´t believe in the devil anyway. But Tzmisce, they for sure were real enough devils. And then all went on their knee, Sir Arnold, the Prince and Jhael. Must be somebody very important then, who was even above Sir Arnold. Champion? So Sir Arnold knew who that was, obviously. But surely it was no sports champion who was meant by that, but Ronnie didn´t know which other champions might exist. But hadn´t Margo called the two Ventrue brother´s childer, then maybe they were the nephews, sort of? Damn, Ronnie should better get on his knee, too, if he only knew how he should manage this, and getting up again would be even worse. Maybe it wasn´t expected of him because he was injured, but surely it would be good to make an effort. He just managed to sink on both knees, and it hurt like hell. He tried to keep a pokerface, but didn´t quite manage. At least he managed not to moan with pain, that would be even more embarassing. |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 02:26 Post #105 |
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"Papers, Please."
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OOC Having made their formal introductions, the three Blüchers made themselves comfortable in their ancestral home. After a few minutes of discussion between them, they reached the conclusion that it was best to stay in this castle during the night, rather than risking a direct confrontation with an unknown number of werewolves. After 'Margo' had asked Ronnie to surrender the silver dagger, he and Jhael were sent downstairs, to the basement where they had first entered. The ghoul was to prepare one of the tombs in the windowless room for the injured Brujah, so that he could rest. After Ronnie had been put to bed, the ghoul was ordered to try and get some sleep as well. As the pair left, they could just see how the three vampires sat about the stone table. Margo sat down at its head, in a chair so large that she seemed to shrink to the proportions of a child within it. Her composure didn't show this, though: she sat like a man, with her legs apart, her arms resting on the armrests as if it were her personal throne. And, in a way, it was. Arnold, meanwhile, took Victor's old chair, while Alarik occupied the seat of their Sire, Alphonse. Thus, the three men started a long discussion in vastly different dialects of the German language, nearly all of it completely alien and incomprehensible to the half-suppressed soul of the petite Toreador. What she did realise, though, was that neither Alarik nor Arnold mentioned her name at any point in their long exchange. Perhaps even more disconcertingly, she could begin to sense the feelings of the spirit that had occupied her body. Its mood was euphoric and increasingly confident. This remained so until the lethargy of the rising sun set in. She felt how her body was being laid down in to a cold stone basement tomb of its own, her small hands clutching around the bastard sword. What followed was the blackness of a dreamless sleep.... Jhael was awoken by Alarik as dawn approached. The Ventrue forced some of Jhael's own food and drink on him, then whispered his instructions: "It appears the werewolves are no longer here - but they cannot be far. You will wait until around eleven in the morning before you hike back to civilisation. You will call this number..."- Alarik thrust a piece of paper with a German mobile telephone number into the ghoul's hand - "... and convey to Dietrich that he must bring a replacement boat to our location, which is to arrive at exactly midnight tonight. He is Arnold's ghoul and will obey. Do you understand?" The Ventrue waited for confirmation before he continued: "The werewolves may have taken some other form. Do not trust anyone in the forest. Do not talk to them. Do not let them smell your fear. If things go wrong... use this." Though it was probably pointless to think that Jhael could defend himself against even one f those beasts, Alarik was not going to let Jhael go out without a means of defending himself. He offered Margo's silver blade to the young man, and reminded him once again not to show it except in a dire emergency. "We are all depending on you", he stressed. "Good luck." |
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 17:17 Post #106 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The compass aimed West from that window looking to the distant shoreline and wreckage of their escape route, so West the young pioneer marched. Pushing through dense foliage, with his heavy boots he plod over thick layers of damp leaves that have yet to decay. Breeze rose to wind, heavy flapping and the lad froze like a panicked bit of prey under a shower of droplets fallen from a disturbed branch high above. Clutching his knife, he squinted upwards to a shadow spreading over the afternoon sun. A wing beat and the shadow kicked off to soar in a wide circle above. Months ago, he was safe and warm in Keeper Mancini's bed with Dove. Dove had asked him if they had the power to fly. Now alone and encircled by this army of unfamiliar trees, Jhael closed his eyes and drew breath. If he imagined his body becoming light enough for his feet to lift from the ground, above all this wilderness, if the blood could sweep him up and take him where he needed to go... He tilted his head up, raised to tip toe, arms spreading... Snap. A cracked twig jerked him back to Earth and he whirled about, backpack swinging behind him as he raised his knife. He looked behind, left, right and up. The eagle or osprey or whatever it was still so far above and the soil solid at his feet. After a tense minute of silence, Jhael pulled his parka hood up and continued Westward. If this forest wanted to chew and swallow him, he wasn't going to be able to fly his way out. The only way to avoid being digested by so many roots and scavengers was to keep walking. They would expect someone to return in this direction, but he had no choice. It was either head for the water or head for a slow death meandering lost in the woods. Please, let them be like real wolves and be nocturnal. Don't know that one of us can walk in this sun. The fate of four vampires in his hands. No pressure. Don't panic. Do not let them smell your fear... The young pioneer held an image in his head. His domnitor's face softened in a rare smile. I won't let you down, he promised. A line of silver glinted through the trees. Tucking his phone away to conserve the battery, he pushed branches away and peeked out from a forest that at least sheltered him from the eyes of predators. Finally, he had at least reached the shore of the lake. |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 17:41 Post #107 |
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"Papers, Please."
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OOC The only sign of civilisation that Jhael could see were distant sails and a town that glittered in the distance, across the lake. On the northern side, there was only wilderness, and so the young ghoul decided to walk southwards, using the coastline as a frame of reference. He successfully navigated an ill-trodden path that led along the coast for about ten minutes. Then, he noticed someone coming towards him. Approaching him from the south was a boy who looked to be about sixteen years old, his curly blonde locks covered up by a fiery red winter hat. He was wrapped in a coat appropriate for the weather, a shawl, rucksack and sturdy boots completing the picture of another hiker. Within a minute or two, their paths were sure to cross... Edited by Alarik, Thursday, 13. February 2014, 17:42.
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 18:06 Post #108 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The bright red hat gave him enough warning to make sure his hood was drawn low over his face, but not enough to duck and hide. Damn. He had cleaned himself off best he could while the others stiffened to sleep in the morning, but a scabbed over scrape remained as evidence that he had been part of some scuffle. The young pioneer didn't know who came, but he wanted to be as bland as possible. A tourist wandering a national park alone. Foolish, but still just a tourist. Nothing to do with bloodsuckers. Nothing to see. Silver knife drawn, but clutched hidden in the deep pocket of his parka with his trail mix. Move along. |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 18:57 Post #109 |
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"Papers, Please."
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The other hiker approached swiftly, navigating the forest with apparent ease, hopping over small pools and avoiding branches out of habit. When he came close to Jhael he stopped and said a friendly "Guten Tag" in a voice that was broken, as was so common among teenagers. His nostrils flashed as he took in some air, which was then breathed out into a cloud of condensating air. His expression changed, seeming almost... disappointed. He'd smelt something he didn't like, and could recognise someone who was out of place in the woods. Coming to a full stop, be blocked Jhael's path, one leg lifted upwards and placed against a small rock. He inquired with the accented English that Jhael had grown familiar with: "Hey. Vere you with the Americans who were in the woods this night?" |
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 19:28 Post #110 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The pale young man stopped abruptly with an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He lifted his gaze from that boot on the rock and narrowed his eyes, which were shadowed under the deep hood. He tried to hide his fear, affecting a brief flicker of annoyance that faded to (false) relief. "Guten tag! I'm American, yeah. Did we bother anyone? Sorry, I suppose you locals are tired of tourists coming to get hammered in the woods all night. I've had enough! On my way back to town to meet someone and head out and I'm probably late, so... tschüss!" Clutching that knife in his pocket very tight, wiggled his other fingers in a wave and tried to walk around the boy in the path... |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 19:55 Post #111 |
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"Papers, Please."
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The boy continued to look sceptical. It seemed that he wasn't quite sure that Jhael was lying, but not convinced that he was speaking the truth either. "Really?" he asked while turning to continue to bar the way. He seemed a bit less friendly as he asked another question, rather more interrogative: "Where are you staying? What hotel?" |
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 20:06 Post #112 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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Again, the boy stopped him. This time, Jhael lifted his chin with a much less friendly expression. Though his nerves were trickling down his underarms, he clenched his jaw to look irritated. No, not merely irritated. He arched a sharp brow with a sniff and slight curl of the lip. Offended. "Excuse me? I'm staying at the Schloss Weinberg, as if that is any of your business. I could be mistaken, but you don't look old enough to be a cop, so could you stop treating me like a criminal and let me be on my way? Sorry if I'm being tetchy, but I am tired and I know I stink, so I would really like to catch my ride back to the hotel." |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 20:19 Post #113 |
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"Papers, Please."
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"You're lying. Weinberg's a Museum, not a hotel", the boy countered immediately. Though he was two years younger, he was just as tall as Jhael, and determined to stop the reeking ghoul from setting another step towards the nearby village. He tilted his head slightly to the left and looked at Jhael anew, his hand reaching behind him towards his rucksack. He retrieved a large and sturdy wooden branch that had been sharpened at one end. A stake. "I didn't think your kind could stink, but... you do. You're really pale, though." He paused for effect as he lifted the stick, holding it up towards Jhael as he added: "Like a vampire." Despite this rather dramatic conclusion, it didn't seem as if the curly-haired youth was about to attack Jhael. If anything, he seemed both curious and a little bit afraid of the American teenager. He remained on guard as he took another step towards Jhael, never losing sight of him. Edited by Alarik, Thursday, 13. February 2014, 20:20.
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 20:58 Post #114 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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Jhael drew a breath and stepped back with his eyes on the stake. Okay. This is not just a bored prick getting his rocks off harassing tourists. He could take his hands off the knife. Put them up. Surrender. Fuck no. "Are you crazy?" he asked in a quiet voice. Lightheaded, he swallowed and tried to save the bluff. "It's a yellow building right near the museum, but you've no right to question and threaten me in the first place." I am a very entitled American tourist who knows his damn rights. "Put that down. Let me go," he said in a lowered, tense tone. "... and maybe when I see a cop in town, I'll forget that someone is harassing people on the trail with his make believe. Vampires? Really?" He curled his lip again with one hand out in a dismissive flick of a gesture, his skin pale in the afternoon sun. |
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| Alarik | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 21:18 Post #115 |
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"Papers, Please."
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The youth was startled by the sudden burst of assertiveness. He dropped the stake, then bent over to catch it again, retreating hurriedly from the path. His hand gestured towards the south, expressing his hope that Jhael would pass through without further incident. His cheeks meanwhile turned red with embarrassment, his eyes not even lifting to meat Jhael's. "I am... sorry. I mistook... I mean... was just playing a game. Please don't tell anyone." The youth went off the path and retreated into the forest, leaving a clear path for Jhael to reach the nearest village. |
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| Jhael | Thursday, 13. February 2014, 22:13 Post #116 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The pale young man audibly sniffed a 'hrmph' as he passed, though felt like he could be sweating silver bullets. He didn't know if that 'kid' was only pretending to let him go only to stab him in the back. That was no game. A wolf, like that girl at the fort? Could Jhael be walking into a whole village of... ... a village of werewolves. My god. Father werewolves. Mother werewolves. He hunched in his parka with a shudder. That kid knew and he was barely able to bluff it away. An older one would be tougher to deal with. By the time he reached civilization, his imagination had worked up enough that he looked upon the sparse village with more dread than relief. He stopped to piss in a bush before heading in. As he strolled about reading the signs, he kept that disgruntled American tourist face, just in case anyone else wanted to interrogate and wave pointy sticks. Leave me alone, his face said. I'm an American and I know my rights. Where is the damn McCafe? The bell at the door jingled as he ducked into a hotel. He eyed the receptionist warily, but when she passed the phone after he asked without wolfing out or giving him any fuss, he finally let go of that knife. "Danke." With that scrap of paper in his trembling hand, he fumbled twice before dialing right, leaving his sweat all over that phone. "Dietrich?" he asked at the answer. At the confirmation, he sighed relief and relayed Mr. Blucher's message in a mutter of novice German. |
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| Alarik | Tuesday, 18. February 2014, 01:58 Post #117 |
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"Papers, Please."
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OOC When Margo woke from her slumber, she was immediately set upon by the overwhelming power of the champion's spirit. It didn't ask to take her body this time - it simply took what it could possess, resulting in a brief struggle between minds that was entirely one-sided. Shaking in the coffin that had been hers since the last sunset, Margo arose, her small hands firmly clutching the blade. Although she could not control her limbs, she could sense that the blade was precious to the spirit. It was more important to it than anything else in the world - even her own body, or the other Blüchers. So strong were these feelings that Margo couldn't exactly make out what they were: familiarity? love? hate? or all of these? The remaining hours of the day were confusing. While Ronnie was permitted rest, the spirit ordered Alarik and Arnold to look out from the castle walls and see whether the wolves remained. Margo could sense some trepidation on its part. The world would be different, Alarik had told him. But how different would the world be after six hundred years? The elder's antiquated mind would soon be tested. At the stroke of midnight, a thunderous roar could be heard in the distance, growing closer every moment. While standing at the window to see what was happening, Margo's eyes became full of fear, and a scream coming from her lips as a huge, metal bird drew nearer from the skies! This black, demonic creature could fly, suspended by rapidly twirling blades that made his own seem insignificant. Its two giant eyes gleamed in the light of the moon. It flew in a manner that he had seen no natural creature do, descending from the sky in a straight line and then hovering twenty feet above the ground. It was powerful dark magick - of this he was convinced! Edited by Alarik, Tuesday, 18. February 2014, 02:00.
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| Margo Moreau | Tuesday, 18. February 2014, 09:13 Post #118 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo paced back in forth in the prison cell that her brain had become. Clutching at the bars in frustration. We really need to discuss this arrangement... Blücher. I don't really mind the company, but I'm the landlady of this body. LADY. In case you didn't notice you... strange man pulling my strings. Not that being a marionette wasn't fun for awhile. You're... not understanding a word I'm thinking are you... Margo paced. She had managed to talk to a few spirits since she learned about her medium ability. But they had not actually been haunting her. Margo started thinking in French. You know, Alarik is going to want that sword. You might not have noticed but its a bit LARGE for the body your in, hm? And... whup whup whup whup Margo felt like her body wanted to run and leave her part of the brain behind. While Blücher was in a panic she tried to seize her body back... and utterly failed. She rattled her cage in frustration. Hey! Margo thought. She tried to soothe her puppet-master. Frenzy-by-proxy was still unpleasant. Hey, it's just a helicopter.. don't worry about it... um... Margo had no idea how to explain a modern aircraft to a 600 year old ghost. This whole being possessed situation was getting rapidly less and less fun. Even worse? Margo realized she might have to talk to Vito again. Vito. That fucking backstabbing bastard. There had to be another Giovanni that could help her with this. Maybe, if she was a good little Rose, Blücher would stay behind in his little fortress. But she doubted it. It seemed clear, the spirit was going wherever the sword went. The sword was going to London. Edited by Margo Moreau, Tuesday, 18. February 2014, 09:21.
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![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Graham Mason | Wednesday, 7. September 2016, 21:24 Post #119 |
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Steak Tartare (YODO)
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This mini quest has been officially [ARCHIVED] Please, contact the Mods if it should be opened again for any reason. |
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Oh no! My souffle! "Words", stress level, "MetaMason", "THEVOICEOFREASON" | |
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1:57 AM Jul 11