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[GRP] Winter's Chill Unfelt; Sebastian
Topic Started: Thu Dec 8, 2011 5:49 pm (437 Views)
Graham Sideas
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The feeling of the cemetery was a mixed bag of good and bad emotions. On one hand, he had quite a litany of materials to work with, though little of it was remarkably impressive. On the other hand all he had to sit down on or lean against was the dirt, tombstones, and trees that looked like they may collapse were they to support his weight. The necromancer snarled angrily as a cultist came over to ask him for assistance, not being in the mood to remotely deal with idiocy at the moment.
"Why did we think this was a good idea again?"
He knew he was mostly speaking to himself, the ghost Phillip not having left the tattoo that contained his soul for the last few days. He had helped to concoct this plan on the condition that he wouldn't have to participate. Of all the things he helped the necromancer deal with, the child still had an issue when it came to working with not-so-fresh materials. Perhaps it was the smell, or maybe the idea of disgracing a burial sight for people who could possibly be one of his ancestors. One could never be sure.

But still he had to admit that they were getting much done. In the last few months many of his cult had taken to the study of necromancy, which was especially successful thanks to many of the undead he had created as conduits to serve the culsts. The prime one amongst them was the first of the conduits, Empyrean, who had been quite an impressive woman even when alive. Undead she had actually become a force to be reckoned with. The glass that had been made part of her skull had become carved with sigils she had found over the past few months, each one glowing with magic that helped to bring life to the dead that laid around.

The necromancer still found himself remarkably irritated as he raised his fists, the effort that the rest of them put into raising the undead seeming like a waste of time as twelve of the graves around him stirred at once, the crash of fists trying to break from their coffins drowning out the noises of chanting and chattering bone until it had died down as those around watched. Slowly the skeletal undead found their ways from their graves, their eyes burning blue with ethereal flames as they gazed around, their vision blessed with the same power as their master's, discerning the living from the dead.
Or, from another view, the prey from the predator.

He spat the blood from his mouth as the spell bit back at him as they always did, a sigh passing his lips as the undead began to fall into rank and file with the rest that were being raised here. They were all beneath the will of the living, but the hunger could be seen in their eyes. Graham pulled the hood of his cloak back and began to walk up and down the lines, silently anticipating what would come of this march. He was quite sure there was a camp of humans nearby here to honor the ruins for midwinter, something they likely did every year.
He couldn't help but smile as he thought that this would be the last year they did their little ritual. Soon they would be joining the spirits they were honoring.
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Sebastian
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The power of cold was all around him, and the necromancer reveled in the frozen arcana. This was the power his father had known, the elements surging through him as he channeled the raw power of ice and rime. How any magician could choose fire, or thunder, when the wild magics of the north were dispensable puzzled the swordsman, experiencing raw power as his blood turned to liquid ice.

He and his master were here to investigate the strange energies empowering what had come to be called the "frostfell monsters," with Midwinter's strange wintry properties, creating self-animated frozen undead. Naturally, the necromancers had come to the ancient city to harness the power themselves.

Sebastian allowed his spell to find its targets, buried deep under the ground. The skeletons of several long-deceased defenders of this city felt the black arcana wrap itself around them, wrenching their bodies up through the frozen soil. Sebastian watched the coil of negative energy hum with a blue tint in its center, adding the power of winter to the skeletal abominations. The monsters rose to their feet, their eyes glowing frosty blue, jets of steam pouring from the holes in their skulls where nostrils once existed.

The three skeletons shuffled towards Sebastian, their joints cracking in protest as they learned how to move all over again. Their jaws snapped hungrily. The undead were empowered by winter, no doubt... but these weren't the frostfell monsters Sebastian had heard of.

"Mast-" he began, turning only to see that Graham Sideas was already hard at work animating his own batch of skeletal demons. Just calling them didn't seem to be enough to create the zombies Master Sideas sought. Perhaps only the elementals themselves could harness the power of the frostfell.

Sebastian uttered dark words of command to his new minions, and the skeletons shuffled away. The necromancer had commanded they hunt down the frostfell for themselves. In Sebastian could usurp control of one of them, perhaps he could find what made them tick.
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Telo Acosto
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It was warm by the fire that Telo had mostly to himself, he had been traveling with these Gypsies ever since he had left the city of Cascadia. In return for the strength, labour and protection that Telo provided, the Gypsies were more than happy to allow Telo to travel with them, Telo only asking for the odd sample of food anytime his hunting did not go well. Rarely did this happen.

Regardless, Telo traveled with them because he liked to be around people, even if he didn't like to interact, and besides, at the moment it was Midwinter, and so there were all kinds of celebrations going on, both within the Gypsy troupe, as well as around them as people from the surrounding country came to join in the festivities. Food, dance, celebration, and especially drink, were in great abundance. There were so many people, in fact, that a lot of times they spilled over to his campfire. Telo was not wont to begrudge them the warmth or the light, and people more often than not left the fire and the man alone only due to his size and the fact he was so heavily armed. Regardless, many people did stay, and many people tried to interact with him. He politely refused most of the attention, but many times Telo found himself holding a drink and discussing something or other with someone.

This was one of those times.

At the moment Telo was sipping on a warm hot chocolate and discussing the finer points of the Barbarian trade agreement, an agreement that Telo had had a hand in making, with an older gentleman who thought that the Barbarian tribes could have asked for so much more and come out on top a lot greater. Telo told him that the tribes were mostly independent and as such too much trade between them would hinder their way of life.

This discussion went on for quite some time, until the older man bid him farewell and walked off to chat with someone else. Telo decided that, before anyone else could discuss something with him and pull him out of his mostly quiet shell, he would go for a walk. Standing up he adjusted the straps that carried his various weapons, the strap on his back that held his sword in place, the strap on his waist that held a large mace, and then he picked up the large spear that had been leaning against the log.

Walking off Telo left his pack beside the fire and log, nobody would touch it for they knew of his friend, his friend the golem which joined him from the darkness, it's shining armour glinting in the firelight as Telo decided to explore the ruins.
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Graham Sideas
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The necromancer looked around the little 'camp' he and the rest of the necromancers had taken as their own, some-what pleased with how things had gone. While few, if any of them, were summoning more then their usual fodder, it was alright in his eyes. Their mission had little to do with frostfell, at least in his opinion. He could care less for the spirits of winter, though he would keep that fact to himself. From what he had seen of his apprentice, that fact of the venture was rather important.

Before moving on, Graham muttered to himself, and with a wave of his hand a shield rose around him. For his plans, he would be needing that. With a look towards his apprentice he tried to recall if he had ever taught the lad a similar spell, silently deciding that if he couldn't get through what was about to happen then he honestly wondered for his usefulness.

Undead began to burrow out of the ground, massive and shaped like snakes with their heads built for rapid burrowing. As they surfaced, sacs on their backs opened up and allowed for many of the necromancers and undead to load into them. Graham allowed his own undead to move into one of them as they surfaced, quietly glad that he remembered to bring along his 'troop carriers'. The opening act of this little play would have played chaos upon his troops.

He approached his apprentice with a mirthless smile on his patchwork face, "You may wish to find yourself a place amongst them, or a hiding place. I have a plan to begin this celebration of ours, and it may be painful for those on the surface."

He left it at that, letting the boy decide what to do and ignoring any questions that would come to him. Action could speak for himself, and he was quite sure the burning of acid as it rained down from the skies could speak for itself as well. The necromancer walked on, ensuring that he was on the perimeter of the camp of travelers who came to worship here, or at least the darkness around their camp.

He raised the blood red wand he kept with him into the air, muttering the arcane words that would summon the storm he desired. The final word seemed to boom from his chest as the spell began it's nasty work. At first, that would seem like nothing, but slowly the rain began to fall. One or two drops landed and little was noticed, but slowly as more and more came the terrain for quite some distance around the source of the spell was being showered in acidic rain drops.

Graham smiled, watching the rain drops pound into the shield that was raised over his head. He could see the veins of the dead moving beneath his feet as the troop carriers waited for the moment they would need to spring from beneath the dirt. His smile only grew wider as panic began to set in amongst the masses of mortals that were calling this camp home. Soon they would be looking into the eyes of their very ancestors, and that gave his undead body chills.
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Sebastian
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A sinister warning came from the swordsman's master, warning him to find cover. As usual, the necrolord was vague, but deadly serious, and the danger in his tone licked at Sebastian's mind, activating a sort of silent panic. The frostborne was familiar enough with some of Graham's plans, understanding well the phantom's penchant for sadism.

Sebastian watched his skeletal minions march into the distance, and for a moment considered following them, but the panic was overtaken by curiosity and an almost self-condemning sort of pride, and the swordsman found himself taking cover behind a stone structure, wondering what spell his devious master was conjuring.

For a moment, there was an awful silence in the camp of pilgrims following Graham's command. Sebastian himself whipped his head around, waiting for something remarkable, waiting for the miracle of Lord Sideas. But when it came, first in several tiny, inconspicuous raindrops, and next in a torrent of burning rain, Sebastian couldn't help but emulate the panic in the camp of the devout.

As the first sizzling droplet touched his skin, the genasi slapped at himself, thinking he had been bitten by an insect, but upon removing his hand from the wound, he saw the smoldering black mark on the back of his right forearm, a perfectly circular burn, which seemed to be eating its way into his skin. He watched as the tiny fibers of his azure skin split apart, the edges of the wound blackening as blood began to ooze from that pinprick where the acid raindrop had landed.

Sebastian dropped from his feet as the torrent began, the stinging rain falling upon him relentlessly, burning his clothing, his hair, and his skin. This was it. He had been burnt by hellfire, had his arm painfully removed from its socket, even felt blades in his gut, but this was it, the feeling of his flesh melting from its bones. The frostborne squeezed his eyes shut, the knowledge that even his eyelids would not protect his eyes from acid rain.

Struggling to regain his footing, the swordsman, roaring like a beast, limped away, trying to get out of the deadly raincloud's range. Though he cursed the hellish rain, and though he cursed himself, never once did he curse his dark Master who had conjured his misery.
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Telo Acosto
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Intriguing, the ruins were quite intriguing, or that was the way Telo saw it anyway. For the past little while Telo had been investigating the ruins, going across the glyphs, trying to translate anything he thought he recognized (ultimately failing in that department) and all around just basically sight seeing.

And he thought, and contemplating, trying to decide what to do with his new life next, trying to figure out whether he would move on to fight specific evils, or simply roam and go up against anything he found that needed to be dealt with.

But whatever I do decide to do, where should I start? Where should I head to first? If I'm going to fight specific evils, that means I need to gather information, the best places would probably be the big cities, maybe a trip back to Cascadia would be in order...eh, maybe not, maybe I'll just go to Norwood forest and gather some information from the bandits there, shouldn't be too hard, doubt any of them could stand up to me anyway.

These thoughts continued along similar lines as Telo stood below the roof of a temple. He thought of other places to go, such as Striberg or Kellen, or maybe even a trip to the mountains and the deep cities. Eventually, however, he knew he would travel back to Cascadia, where most of his business was done, he had need of a fine horse as walking everywhere and using his friend the Golem as a beast of burden was starting to get old.

And then he heard the sizzle.

Looking out from under the roof, Telo watched as a heavy rain began to pour, and in turn he watched as the stones and the ground hissed from the liquid that touched it. He didn't know why it was falling, but he did know what it was, and he knew that he would very well need to stay inside until the rain stopped, for as anyone of his experience would know; it was acid.
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Graham Sideas
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Graham waited a moment, listening to the soft whispers of scream of the camp before he began his jaunt into the camp. Every now and again his shield would fall, his lack of concentration paying off in a few more ways then he intended. Each sizzle of acid upon his flesh went unnoticed, the necromancer barely able to feel at all, let alone feel the pain that the painful corrosive liquid would cause to him. With an apathetic look to his hand, he turned his head and mused that the burn looked a bit like the sun.

He walked into the camp as people ran frantically for cover, those few who truly found it having to watch as those that they called friend, or loved ones, ran around in pain and agony. Graham found himself smiling, raising his hands slowly as if he were an orchestrator, his eyes darting from frightened faces who could barely take notice of him through their panic. He mouthed arcane words, slowly iterating every word as it bit at him, surging true pain through him. A harsh blackness covered his fingers as he pointed towards a man who looked to be the leader of the group of gypsy's, "Awartha Estel, a dant."

The words bit at him, the old tongue that he used searing at his dead flesh. The arcane words gave the spell he had prepared power, sending the arcane power into his target. Slowly, the flesh that had began to burn with acid was joined by a crawling, black death, moving it's way up the man's leg. The necrosis set in as the flesh shed from muscle, and bone. A smile spread it's way across the Undead's face, turning his eyes skyward and debating if now would be the best time to have his soldiers move, and strike out against the weakened people.

He decided they would not last very long in this torrential downpour of pain and death, and left the soldiers where they sat in waiting. Or well, remained cooped up within the stomach-like sacs placed upon undead abominations that carried them to their destination through underground tunnels. More to the point, but an irritating mouth full that even Graham would admit to being unnecessary.

With a scoff he rose his hands into the air again, going through another arcane chant, this time ignoring the more powerful words that would burn at him. An aura of unholy power began to emanate from him, the undead moving forward and grabbing the first man that ran by him by the throat. His fingers shook with the effort as he gripped as tightly as he could, his perfectly trimmed nails biting into flesh. He rose the man's face to his own, the fear evident, and obviously showing some confusion at the invisible shield that spared him from the painful rain. Graham's smile revealed pearly, bone white teeth, his voice hissing out as a whisper, "Let your people know the price of stepping upon such sacred grounds. How many of you can escape our wrath, child?"

He let the man go, letting the blood drip free from his fingers as the gypsy got his faculties enough to run, screaming of the raise and wrath of the ancestors. The necromancer was quietly pleased with himself, and now waited. The spell wouldn't last much longer, but he felt that was enough work on the plan until it did.
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Sebastian
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Grunting the agony away, the genasi crept beneath the cover of a ruined building. The acid rain still poured outside, stronger now than it was before, and Sebastian was already drenched, the liquid fire sizzling through his clothing, only having difficultly digesting his enchanted leathers. He could hear it pounding agaisnt the roof, could hear the snow melting away under its assault, sizzling just as loudly outside and above as it sizzled on his skin, searing into his flesh, melting it away from the bones.

Gasping to bite back the pain, he grunted an incantation, and the searing wounds in his skin began to close themselves, black sinewy threads of arcana stitching his flesh back together where it had split, or hardening to form new, bright blue flesh where the old layer had been burned away. He felt the lingering ghost of the pain, as if he were still being melted, but there were no traces of the stinging acid left on him, nor were there any wounds in his skin.

Sebastian staggered to his feet, leaning against a wall for support, its rotted surface leaving a smear of liquified wood on his hand. This building was not safe to stay in for long, but the storm of death was relentless outside. Better to be crushed by an ancient building than to have his skin peeled off his body by a rainstorm. Either way, he'd end up one of Graham's slaves, or one of the Frostfell.

As if cued by his train of thought, Sebastian's attention was immediately turned to the sound of shuffling footsteps upstairs, a moan of despair, shuffling down the antique, rotting staircase. He was among the undead, and something told him these weren't his master's minions.

Sebastian drew his twin blades as the Frostfell host shambled in. A pack of eight zombies lumbered towards him, their skeletal corpses frosted over with the chill of Midwinter, their eyes not unlike his own. Each wielded a particularly cruel weapon, great mauls and broadswords, and something told the frostborne sorcerer that they had more proficiency with these weapons than the average mindless servant.

Throwing his necrotic will into the monsters, he made his attempt to take control, trying to force his dark commands into their profane cores. The zombies shuddered and halted, but only for a moment, before Sebastian's will was repelled from them, and the genasi was physically thrown to the ground by the force of his defeat. There was something foul controlling the demons already, and Sebastian had a hunch that it was upstairs.
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Telo Acosto
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Acid rain, but where did it come from? It can't be a natural occurrence, it has to be magically induced, but who? And why...the frostfell? No, the frostfell would not use acid, it would destroy them too, and they don't have the power to call such a storm. Maybe someone fighting the frostfell? But why, they would have to know that there were others about, so either they don't care or they are just ignorant...gah, the screams, the pain me, but I can't do anything!

These thoughts, and many like them, ran through Telo's head, he wanted to help the caravan, but he had nothing that could do such a thing, he was utterly useless against the acid, and furthermore he was useless against magic in general. He would have to fix that soon.

But for now he needed to figure out a way to help the caravan...which would have to wait because as he paced under the stone roof, he felt one of the stones below shift. Leaping off he turned back just in time to watch as a large creature, a human that was the size of Telo, but cold and rotting, rise up from the space where one of the stones had been pushed up and off to the side.

It was the frostfell.

Removing the mace from the strap on his hip, Telo launched himself forwards, directing a mighty swing in a downward arc that crushed the skull of the evil creature, and then tearing it away he came in with a backhand strike, smashing through the creatures ribs. Watching as the light of darkness fled the creatures eyes, Telo knew that he had been right in bringing along the Bonesplinter, even more right when he saw that more of the undead creatures were rising up from below.

And so it began, the creatures rose and Telo struck, he would come out the victor eventually, but it would take some time, and he would flee to help the caravan as soon as the acid stopped, for he knew that the acid was keeping the frostfell at bay but when it ceased to pour, the caravan would be defenseless against such creatures.
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Graham Sideas
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The necromancer let his shield fall as the rain began to stop it's descent, any spare drops finding their way onto his flesh as it slowly died down. He smiled, unaware of the pain and simply embracing it as necessity. The undead had more important things to do now. With the rain gone, the mortals wouldn't be in one place long. He sent the command to the undead beneath the ground, and it did not take long for a response. Cracks began to appear in the dirt as the backs of the undead caravans revealed themselves, holes splitting open in their form to allow the undead and necromancers carried within to leave. The necromancers took special care not to make themselves obvious, the undead simply moving to find a victim.

The necromancer's smile was short lived, however, as other things began to grow out of the ground. Undead, at least, but things that were sheathed in the wispy blue of frost. Graham hadn't taken much stock in the rumors of the frostfell, but when faced with something he had little choice then to accept it's existence. With a wave of his hand he found that they were a bit more resistant then the usual undead. A smile crossed his face as a new challenge presented itself.

He began to guide his own legions, shouting orders to those he lead and using his iron will to control the undead that were under his command. The mortals became the second priority, though still large enough to garner some attention. Half of the necromancers broke off to follow after the fleeing and the wounded, the other half standing with their master to take on the frostfell as they rose. And at their center, Graham Sideas stood and smiled. He began to reach out one at a time, taking a grasp around the will of the frostfell, slowly taking control and turning the creatures upon their brothers.

He would have lied had he said he wasn't amused by such a turn of events.
He was reminded of a song from home, honestly, of a mistress and her skill to make even the most obstinate of puppets dance upon her strings. The necromancer showed his teeth in a grim smile as he drew from his cloak the two most dangerous tools in his arsenal. In one hand he held an orb that looked to be made of pure black marble, swirling figures moving beneath the surface of it. In his other hand he bore a wand, it's surface blood red and it's hunger undeniable as the dead began to raise in numbers around them.

The souls of the dead and dying found themselves drawn to the necromancer, the two tools doing their dirty work, splitting the spoils of the feast of souls evenly. The wand, however, had a limit to what it could devour, quickly the orb outpacing it's hunger as the living began to fall to the undead under Graham Sideas' command. His laughter was heard well over the screams and the clamor of battle as the undead lines met one another, and the frostfell slowly turned in on one another.
He could feel his body shaking in anticipation of the bloodshed to continue.

OOC
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