The Ogre waves his hand, and the flames turn a strange blue color. "What you will do is probe your memories. We are going to unlock some of the mysteries inside that head of yours."
"I will do my best, is there any place you would like me to start?" Roger began to think back to as early as possible, for some reason he kept having glimpses of what he could only think of as nightmares. Hellish landscapes, swarms of undead, fear. However, it was nothing he thought was useful. What could he possibly know that could help them return to... Grixis?
He summons a small, clearly undead creature that is just as clearly foreign to Dominaria. "Focus on this creature," he says. "Examine it. Tell me what you see."
Roger leaned forward to get a closer look at the creature, it was clearly undead, had wings, and claws fit for pouncing and gliding. It did not, however, look like it could fly unaided. There was a resonance that he could sense with blue mana in the creature, along with something else he couldn't figure out. Perhaps this was what he wanted?
Roger almost reached out to touch the creature, but pulled back. The thing was... alien, that was the word, yet it didn't have the same sort of feeling that Deraxas, whom he knew was alien, had on him. He began to wonder what this sort of thing was capable of, or what it's home might look like.
A flash of memory: "I see...A Dreadwing swarm. Must escape. Can't go home. All of us won't make it. Split up. Watch Jonathan get ripped to shreds, overwhelmed. "
Roger's back shot back, his eyes wide. No, can't stop now. This time Roger did reach out and grab the thing, it reacted by trying to bite it's hands. "Tell me what you know." He muttered to the thing.
Another flash: "Fire everywhere. Have to get through the smoke. Everything smoldering. Everything dead. Why? Nothing is right here. Or maybe it's that everything is wrong."
"Damnit! Why do I know you?!" Roger's grip tightened, the dreadwing was locked in place inside Roger's grip.
Again: "I was back atop the a crumbling stone surface, it was the castle of my nightmares. I was alone. These days I was always alone, not even my family wanted to see me anymore. How long I had been living like this, surviving of the barest of supplies and what little magic I could use? Was it weeks? Months? Years even? My childhood, my family, my life even, all of these things I wanted to get away from." Archdemons, zombie hoards, fire and smoke, twisted creatures and even more twisted people. Roger was sick of it. This was the worst life imaginable; yet this was HIS life.
Roger knew this place. Damnit, what is this?
"I had escaped to this place, knowing... something. I had to get to the tallest place I could find because... because."
Roger finally broke his concentration. The dreadwing's claws were digging into his arms. Roger got frustrated with this, dug deep into the creature and ripped the thing apart as best he could, then tossed it aside. "What the hell was that?"
"I saw... It's hard to explain." Roger tried to explain to him what he could about the castle and the dreadwings. However, his memories seemed to be slipping away from him as he spoke. "It is difficult. Almost like trying to remember a dream."
The Ogre reaches out, and puts his claw on Roger's forehead. Roger can feel a blue glow appear in front of his eyes, and fade. He grunts, and nods. "It's a start."
Grol then stands up, and summons another zombie. "Now focus on this. Focus on before the castle."
This second creature was even more strange than the dreadwing. It looked like your standard undead, but it was resonating with something Roger was sure he had felt before. There was something about it that struck home to him. Something twisted. The creature before him seethed with hate; Roger wasn't sure how he knew this, but there was something in the nature of the creature that wanted both him and the ogre dead. There was great power here, power Roger had once used very efficiently. This was true undeath.
There once was a time when Roger wielded undead hoards masterfully. He was able to, not long ago, efficiently summon, command, and empower these creatures to do his bidding. That was before the hunger. He was addicted to life itself, but his own life wouldn't sustain him. He, wanted, no, needed other's lives to satisfy the hunger deep in his subconscious. This hunger almost drove him to fighting a dragon-mage head on simply for the taste. This creature in front of him, however, had the power he knew all too well. This was a power Roger knew he could handle; necromantic energies unlike he had ever seen before. Although he didn't know it before, this was the power Roger had been searching for. The power of home, power had been born to use.
Another flash. Roger was standing atop the castle. Fear, anger, frustration; all these things had driven him to this point. "Why do you run from destiny? Surely you know that this will not let you escape it." A man in a black cloak stood about 5 arm's lengths away from him, his face shrouded by a hood.
"Silence!" Roger was getting more frantic. He knew he needed to finish this once and for all. "You don't know anything!"
"Oh, but I do. You're running away from you're life. You can't escape this."
"I said be quiet!" A sickly bolt of purple lightning blasted out of Roger's hands toward the cloaked man. Before the bolt reached him, however, it seemed to fade into a swirling void.
"Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?" The cloaked man said. There was something pleading in his voice.
But Roger only called him the liar that he was. And Jumped.
The last thing he remembered before the hit was the look on the cloaked man's face. Disappointment.
"NO!" Roger jerked back again. "Damnit! I'm not... I swear I'm not..." Roger kneeled forward, holding his head in his hands. I should be dead. Why the hell am I still alive? Why am I here? "That castle was my escape. But I didn't go there to get off of that forsaken plane; I went there to kill myself. Why am I still alive?" Roger tried to explain to Grol what he saw, but he couldn't explain what it means. "I think that... No. I know that I've seen that place before. It was somewhere safe, even though nothing was ever safe. For whatever reason the swarms seemed to avoid that place. I always found it to be very comforting. There was an aura to that castle that felt good. None of my friends would follow me there, they always said... Well I don't exactly remember. Everyone knew that this castle was bad news. But I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was my sanctuary in hell." He stopped speaking for a moment, it seemed like everything was getting clearer to him.
"I think I can remember now. A bit more, at least." There was some sort of block in Roger's mind that had begun falling way. However, his thoughts kept returning to his death. "The day I died was the day I had given up. Everyone I knew was dead, I was hardly 19. My family... there was a hatred there that tore us apart. Yet I knew that I was a survivor. I knew the habits of every form of monstrosity, I had figured out the demons's patterns, and I even knew that the mana of our home was not as it should be, or at least I suspected. Yet that day..." He paused for a second, trying to organize what he was attempting to say.
"This doesn't make any sense. I wasn't sad that my friends were dead and my family was gone. I wasn't scared that I was going to die tomorrow. Those were thoughts from my childhood that I had long abandoned. I... I was strong, I was clever." Roger's eyes lit up, as if he remembered something important. "The day I died wasn't sad. That was the day I made my escape."
Roger took his broken dagger and stabbed the zombie in front of him. The creature fell apart easily as the dagger's blade snapped. "This creature. It is a manifestation of necromantic powers unlike any I have seen on Dominaria. You can bring it back simply by channeling mana into it's remains. But, it is not perfect, when it returns to unlife it can only survive for a limited amount of time before the mana burns through the body and the creature is destroyed."
The Ogre still stood, watching him. "The day I died I thought I had figured out a way to escape Grixis, using a similar method. Grixis is not perfect, it is lacking 2 of the 5 basic elements of magic. The plane, however, still tries to draw these magics to itself. The pull of life and nature to a plane of death must have some sort of nullifying effect, but that's not important. The castle, my safe haven, was a "hole" in Grixis. The reason I liked it so much was because it was here that other mana was able to leak into the plane. It was also here that I formulated a way of juxtaposing myself with the hole to escape. At least... I think I did. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking."
I'll be taking over the quest now. Third times a charm, right?
"Good." whispered Grol as the blue flames of the torches took on a black shade and began pulsing outward to the beat of Roger's heart. "Walk away from the memory of the castle. We'll return to it. Now I need you to focus on this..."
Inside the ring of fire an illusion appeared in front of Roger. What he saw was a heavily armored zombie wearing a demon's skull as a helmet. Before the zombie lay a sea of dead bodies, constantly rising at his command...
Perhaps, as long as the quality stays up, I don't care how long this takes.
Roger instantly recognized the creature who stood before him. His name, escaping Roger currently, was one that would strike fear into the people of Grixis sane enough to still possess it. This man held the magic Roger had, conscience or no, been searching for for a large part of his life. Absolute power over dead, the life blood (or death blood) of Roger's home. There was something else about this man Roger couldn't quite remember, something he thought was important. But, for lack of memory, Roger ignored this fact. He, instead, focused on the rising tide of undead. Everything seemed to bend to the Traitor King's will. This force, so prevailing in Grixis, was the type of force that could bury planes; a relentless onslaught of death and redeath, all at the hands of the Traitor King. However, Roger knew that the Traitor King was trapped on Grixis, if he was still around, so there was little to worry about in the present.
"I know this man." Roger paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, "some call him "Traitor King." He holds much of the power of Grixis in his hands."
"I do not, but if I were to guess I would say that he took it for himself." There was still something about the image that bothered him. It likely had to do with his form. His deformed, skeletal, rotting body seemed an amalgamation of creatures and humans, wanting the strongest body for himself. As though he were living necromantic power.
Roger caught a glimmer of disappointment flicker across Grol's face as he dismissed the image. Grol's face then became stony as he contemplated what to show Roger next. Time ticked away as Roger stood in the center of the black and blue flames still flickering in time with his beating heart.
Then Grol stirred summoning forth the image of the castle from Roger's memories. "Focus on your memories around this castle. Bring them forward and recall the days before you tried to leave Grixis. Focus on these memories and the power you once held."
Grol waited a moment for Roger's mind to drift into the memories being coaxed forward by Grol. Then he asked, "Do you remember how you survived in the sea of undead?"
His thoughts were scattered, furious, and confused. He suddenly remembered a trick he learned... somewhere, that was used to calm himself. As he went through the motions, bringing up a void and plunging all his fear, hatrid, sorrow, and anger into the void, he began to realize exactly where he first did this. In the darkness of that place Roger occasionally encountered others, people who were trying to survive, just like him. There was one man he encountered, a man who must have been 40 or more years old, who astounded Roger. The man, who referred to himself as "The Monk," was an impossibility. He claimed to have been 46 years old. Roger didn't believe him, but he still listened to what he had to say and committed to memory the things he taught him. The man claimed to have lived so long by knowing how to control his emotions, keeping the panic away and allowing him to act and think clearly.
Finally, Grol's words settled in and Roger could think about them clearly. The darkness of his mind fell away, the fog parted, and everything was clearer. "Survive, yes I did that. I did much more than that. There was a man I encountered as a child who taught me, over a few days, what it took to overcome the dread. Fear became a weapon just as much as my dagger and spells. I was no longer a slave to emotions and could think without trouble. That was a turning point for survival, just as the castle was a turning point for my life. I became so good at pushing my fear aside that it became second nature. But that night, in the darkness of the castle, my fear finally broke free. There was a hoard after me, and... something else was hunting me. I had evaded them successfully for several days, but was running out of options and time. The castle, once the last place I had ever wanted to enter, was the only "safe" place I knew of anymore. Yet this time, the hoard didn't stop. The castle was wrong, as if something had broken it or corrupted it. I could feel it everywhere inside. The walls felt dead, more dead than usual. It was as if a Maelstrom was brewing with the castle as a focal point. But I didn't dare leave, not with half of Grixis on my tail."
Roger had another flash of incite. Rumors. Why where there rumors about HIM floating around? Roger knew he wasn't anything special, he was a survivor. He was just like everyone else who wasn't a rotter. Yet the rumors persisted.
"It really was half of Grixis too. At least half of the Grixis that I knew. A few days before the chase began I started to pick up the rumors. People wanted me, and they didn't care if I was alive or dead. So I packed up stores for a long journey and tried to get as far away from "civilization" as possible. Someone must have betrayed me because it wasn't long before I was dodging spells and running from the undead. So I planned my retreat to my sanctuary." Roger began pondering why there would be rumors about him floating about, but pushed that thought into the void.
For Roger, Surviving the hoard was easy. All you had to do was have distractions ready, have good athletics, and something tall to climb or made of stone to hide inside. They were not intelligent. Even when they were driven by a demon or slaver they lacked basic problem solving skills. But there were times when running and distractions were futile, that was when Roger had to take control the the situation by force.
Control. Was the only word Roger could think of to describe how it worked. He simply took control. It was hard for Roger to describe exactly how it worked, but in the few situations where it happened the zombies would start to fall apart, or attack one another, or flee, or a myriad of other strange reactions. The event always left Roger with a hole in his memory and a feeling of accomplishment. He would also feel drained, like he had overchanneled.
In the castle, however, when he was overwhelmed by the oncoming hoards, climbing higher and higher to the the top. The control wouldn't come. He reached the rooftops and sealed the gates behind him. This is the closest Roger has come to realizing his true memories of the event. It was at the top of the castle, with the hoard driven to chase him, that he saw it. It was a hole, of sorts, but it was also a hurricane of nightmarish reality. It was unnervingly peaceful, yet furious as berserker demon. That hole stretched above the castle and seemed be pulling something out of grixis, like a sieve or drain. Now that Roger could think about it coherently and knew more of the multiverse, he realized that it was pulling white and green mana out of grixis into the blind eternities.
So, Roger and Roger fought one another, one embodying the void, and one an avatar of fear. Each of them struggled to take the control. The hoard was approaching and there wasn't much time. The struggle grew in Roger's head, he knew that he NEEDED to act now or he was going to die here and now. Each side was siezing for control grasping around it, trying to get a strong hand hold. Then, finally, each had a firm grip on it. The Malestrom shuddered and the drain's spiral accelerated. The control was no longer being directed at the hoard, but it was being pulled into the maelstrom. The wasn't anything for Roger to do but hold on, and brace for the fall.
Roger snapped back to reality. The Ogre stood in front of him, waiting. Roger took a moment to rethink events, then finally said, "I remember." A dark purple aura began to dance of his back like flames.
Grol watched Roger intently looking for the slightest facial expressions. Then as Roger claimed to have his memory the ogre smiled saying, "Yes, you do..."
Then stepping forward the ogre brushed a clawed finger at Roger's forehead causing a momentary black and blue hue to blind Roger's vision momentarily.
"Almost there..." muttered Grol. "Focus on the very last memory you just experienced. Focus on that funnel. Recall it's pull, relive your escape and envision your arrival here."
Something at the back of Roger's mind told him what he was doing was impossible. But the void, which held firmly in his mind, prevented such thoughts from becoming cognizant. The control was building. Purple fire danced around them, a tango of light and darkness sending unnatural shadows across the walls of the dark alleyway. Roger could feel the energy building around him; mana was building up and drawing into him, it seemed to ignite. The Maelstrom felt close. Like he could reach out and take it.
The control raged around him as the sky-rupture seethed. It was as if, for the first time in his life, he could really feel the world around him. He reached out and could touch something new. It was life and growth, love and peace, but most importantly it was salvation. As the control surged around him he felt himself become weightless. His consciousness suddenly became aware of another place; one full of life. He felt drawn to it and his consciousness moved toward it. After a short time the control began to get heavy and he was losing it. Pain began to build up inside him and he began spiraling out, losing his orientation. He reached out for the closest thing he could get and pulled. His vision stretched out before him and pain exploded out of him as the control escaped. He could feel the earth around him, the ground was wet and there was rain above him. The air was different. He recognized the smell of death, but it was mixed with something new, something alive. The smell of it, let alone the sight and touch, nearly caused Roger to collapse. Roger took hold of a tree, pulling himself out of the bog and onto dryer land. He could see the an enormous light in the distance. It was warm and full of life. He almost reached out to it before he finally fell unconscious from exhaustion.
As Roger relived his memories he could feel the Maelstrom again. It was a far of beacon, pulsing through the chaos, he thought he could sense other beacons, but they did not resonate like this one did. As the control raged around him Roger began to pull again, this time lighter than before. He was "testing the waters" and trying to get a feel for it. It was like remembering a dance after years of unuse. After a short while he could feel it, if he wanted he could simply take it. For some reason he paused.
Grol seems to swell with power as his muscles ripple in response to his movement. He strode slowly around Roger moving a hand around him as if probing for an invisible barrier. Then stopping at Roger's right side he whispered, "There... You're right at the edge of awakening... Yet still you're repressing something... A part of your psyche..."
A red flare of mana sparked forth from Grol's left hand connecting with Roger's purple aura mixing together. In reaction the flames returned to their flashing Indigo color shifting occasionally to a bright azure casting shadows about the room. There with the lights pulsing across their faces Grol spoke saying, "Completely release your mental barriers so I can guide you in discovering this Maelstrom inside of you. Any interference from you could set off some unpleasant incidents for you. Free your mind and open yourself to my power and I will show you the truth behind your escape from Grixis."
Deep inside of himself Roger could feel something like two strings moving inside of him, both faintly drifting towards one of the distant beacons. There was another sensation felt numbly next to the two drifting strings, like three paralyzed limbs drifting aimlessly...
Why did he have to trust? There was nothing in mulitverse that Roger wanted to do less than trust. Especially considering the one he would have to trust was a domineering Ogre-mage hell-bent on going to Roger's home plane at any cost. And yet Roger was asked to trust him. His worry began to spiral around the void, drawing other, less than pleasent thoughts, from it. He would not surrender control, he would not let go of the void.
Roger almost said "No, I refuse" to the Ogre. He almost lashed out against him, but, like the other spiraling thoughts, these were quickly drawn into void to be contemplated later. It began to pulse, as if it were angry with him, but that was of no matter at the present.
Two strings were moving about inside of the Maelstrom, wanting to be completed by... something. It was as if a third string, some sort of catalyst, was lying dormant, ready to flare up if needed. Roger tried to pull it, activate it, or even ignore it; but it persisted. The composition reminded him of music. His background on the lute gave him notions about how resonance worked. If certain pitches were played on one string, it could cause others to vibrate in harmony. Roger imagined that a similar property would work here. So he began to play. It was freeing; it was music from his own soul.
The Malestrom that was in Roger's mind began to spin out of control, as if it were fighting to stay alive. The music kept playing soft, but strong. The storm began to break, memories began to leap out of the nexus, escaping in bursts so the entirety would not crush Roger's mind from shear force. The music persisted and Roger took it's calm melody for shelter. The void collapsed, perhaps it was inevitable, nonetheless Roger's repressed mind exploded out into the Maelstrom. Still, the music persisted.
The melody continued to dance through the breaking storm, dodging around nightmares and horrors from Roger's past, housing Roger's sanity and consciousness in its lullaby. After what felt like an eternity, the song was nearing it's end. For the first time in Roger's life he felt clear and open and unafraid. The sun was rising in Roger's mind for the first time. He believed he would be able to try "Trust" once again.
Grol smiled as Roger finally released himself. Then as Grol placed his right hand on Roger's forehead, everything vanished from sight. All that exists lay within Roger's mind, his eyes were useless now. Those three numb limbs writhed slightly as if responding to some new stimulus.
Something new yet familiar had shown up. Roger could feel an ancient and long lost whisper coming from Grol, calling to Roger ever so slightly. In his mind he could see a small flicker of essence inside of Grol, an essence that felt wrong there, an essence that seemed to belong to Roger.
As Roger focused on this familiar yet alien essence, a stream of mana began to flow from the base of Roger's two active limbs into his core and then out of his chest towards Grol and the blob of strange essence floating there...
Roger basked in a moment of real trust, it was something he hadn't ever felt before, at least before Tilia. Too much of his life had been spent being someone else's toy. His childhood began with a constant fleeing from the undead and even his family. Demon lords pursued him, people he met used him, and Roger knew there was always only one person he could trust. But he had a new trust again, for a moment at least, until he could feel the wrongness. It was like discovering a family heirloom worth thousands of gold in your attic wrest from you by some tax collector. But Roger could feel again, he was free and his mind was open to him. He knew what was right about himself and what was not. The essence, which was the only way he could think of it, had always been there. It was a part of him as much as his hands. He remembered the first time he used it clearly. He remembered what it felt like, the calming rage and icy fire burning through him. It had pulled him through the Alaran sky to his new home and, if he could help it, it was about to bring him back.
But the Ogre was another story. Suspicion, something he had for the other mage since he first met him, suddenly returned to the surface. It had always been there, but the storm had taken ahold of it and pushed it aside like it had to all of his other thoughts. He almost began to wonder why hisessence was no longer in his core. It should be at the center of the mana nexus so he could guide it properly. It was like it was being led away from him.
He grappled with himself, a chain of mana pulling and wrapping itself tightly around it. The beacons around him became clearer as he moved, he could feel them, he could almost see them. He was disoriented, unsure of where he was anymore. He knew his old home was somewhere behind him, at least it felt like it was, and his birthplace was glowing in front of him, getting closes with each moment. The feelings were strange, because he was confident he was still in Estark.
The mana surged around them both, their auras were mixed in their disembodied movements.
The trust was breaking, Roger began to wonder if it had existed in the first place. It might have been an illusion, a false memory, or worse. Images of a man in a blue cloak, members of the Dimir, and betrayals bombarded him. It was something he would have to face again someday. Now, however, he had another thing to worry about.
He could feel the struggle and pain coming from both of them. Trust? The notion was almost gone from his mind. He had traveled alone once before; why should he need assistance now? The magic was flowing around him and everything was slippery and hard to grasp, he felt like he could hardly keep himself together anymore.
The mana seethed, wrapping around the essence even tighter. That part of himself, the essence, was still burning bright, being fed by the cords of power. But it was his, so he would take it back. Power roaring through his soul, Roger pulled...
"What do you think you are doing fool!? You forfeited that piece to me when you first gave up on your life in Grixis! I will NOT allow you to tear away from me what rightfully is mine!" roared as the pseudo Estark Arena room shifted to a red hue. Red hot chains shot forth from Grol's forearms wrapping themselves around Roger's essence, black slime began to drip from the chains tainting Roger's essence in the process.
Roger felt like he had suddenly hit a brick wall and was straining himself as he pulled with no visible results. Then as black slime fell from one of the red hot chains, it fell upon Roger's blue limb severing the connection causing him to stumble backwards slightly dazed.
Roger suffers 1 life loss and cannot draw upon any blue sources of mana this turn cycle should he decide to enter combat. Right now Roger's full attention is being focused on maintaining the small grip he already has on his essence.
Combat and this encounter is a bit tricky so let me know if you wish to proceed diplomatically, through combat, or through a test of wills. Diplomacy is straight up role playing, combat or will has some special rules that you will want to know before proceeding down those paths. You've already seen a preview of what the will and combat aspect entails. Both are fun though.
As fun as diplomacy is against Grol, I think I'll go with combat/wills. And yes a month passes again... *school related excuse*
Is the following a what you were expecting for combat/test of wills?
Roger caught himself as he stumbled and leaped forward in his counterassault. A trail of blackness connected to Roger from the black limb, strengthening him and anchoring him. The chains bound Roger to Grol, as well as Grol to Roger, and Roger's mobility was halted by some unknown force. However they were not here in body, so physical strength was unimportant. Roger pulled against the searing chains, drawing Grol to him, then, just as powerfully, twisted against them causing the two of them to spiral around one another. Roger's anchor whiped the two of them around the essences, spiraling them both out of control.
Life = 19
Essentially, I draw black mana and attempt to pull Grol toward me and use his "momentum" to break him away from me. If he tries to hit me with something nasty, Roger is prepared to blast him.
thanks DarkNightCavalier for the sig!
My Trade Thread
He opens his eyes as the lights within fade, stands up, and steps over and out of the circle. He motions to where he had been. "Sit."
thanks DarkNightCavalier for the sig!
My Trade Thread
thanks DarkNightCavalier for the sig!
My Trade Thread
Roger almost reached out to touch the creature, but pulled back. The thing was... alien, that was the word, yet it didn't have the same sort of feeling that Deraxas, whom he knew was alien, had on him. He began to wonder what this sort of thing was capable of, or what it's home might look like.
A flash of memory: "I see...A Dreadwing swarm. Must escape. Can't go home. All of us won't make it. Split up. Watch Jonathan get ripped to shreds, overwhelmed. "
Roger's back shot back, his eyes wide. No, can't stop now. This time Roger did reach out and grab the thing, it reacted by trying to bite it's hands. "Tell me what you know." He muttered to the thing.
Another flash: "Fire everywhere. Have to get through the smoke. Everything smoldering. Everything dead. Why? Nothing is right here. Or maybe it's that everything is wrong."
"Damnit! Why do I know you?!" Roger's grip tightened, the dreadwing was locked in place inside Roger's grip.
Again: "I was back atop the a crumbling stone surface, it was the castle of my nightmares. I was alone. These days I was always alone, not even my family wanted to see me anymore. How long I had been living like this, surviving of the barest of supplies and what little magic I could use? Was it weeks? Months? Years even? My childhood, my family, my life even, all of these things I wanted to get away from." Archdemons, zombie hoards, fire and smoke, twisted creatures and even more twisted people. Roger was sick of it. This was the worst life imaginable; yet this was HIS life.
Roger knew this place. Damnit, what is this?
"I had escaped to this place, knowing... something. I had to get to the tallest place I could find because... because."
Roger finally broke his concentration. The dreadwing's claws were digging into his arms. Roger got frustrated with this, dug deep into the creature and ripped the thing apart as best he could, then tossed it aside. "What the hell was that?"
thanks DarkNightCavalier for the sig!
My Trade Thread
thanks DarkNightCavalier for the sig!
My Trade Thread
Grol then stands up, and summons another zombie. "Now focus on this. Focus on before the castle."
There once was a time when Roger wielded undead hoards masterfully. He was able to, not long ago, efficiently summon, command, and empower these creatures to do his bidding. That was before the hunger. He was addicted to life itself, but his own life wouldn't sustain him. He, wanted, no, needed other's lives to satisfy the hunger deep in his subconscious. This hunger almost drove him to fighting a dragon-mage head on simply for the taste. This creature in front of him, however, had the power he knew all too well. This was a power Roger knew he could handle; necromantic energies unlike he had ever seen before. Although he didn't know it before, this was the power Roger had been searching for. The power of home, power had been born to use.
Another flash. Roger was standing atop the castle. Fear, anger, frustration; all these things had driven him to this point. "Why do you run from destiny? Surely you know that this will not let you escape it." A man in a black cloak stood about 5 arm's lengths away from him, his face shrouded by a hood.
"Silence!" Roger was getting more frantic. He knew he needed to finish this once and for all. "You don't know anything!"
"Oh, but I do. You're running away from you're life. You can't escape this."
"I said be quiet!" A sickly bolt of purple lightning blasted out of Roger's hands toward the cloaked man. Before the bolt reached him, however, it seemed to fade into a swirling void.
"Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?" The cloaked man said. There was something pleading in his voice.
But Roger only called him the liar that he was. And Jumped.
The last thing he remembered before the hit was the look on the cloaked man's face. Disappointment.
"NO!" Roger jerked back again. "Damnit! I'm not... I swear I'm not..." Roger kneeled forward, holding his head in his hands. I should be dead. Why the hell am I still alive? Why am I here? "That castle was my escape. But I didn't go there to get off of that forsaken plane; I went there to kill myself. Why am I still alive?" Roger tried to explain to Grol what he saw, but he couldn't explain what it means. "I think that... No. I know that I've seen that place before. It was somewhere safe, even though nothing was ever safe. For whatever reason the swarms seemed to avoid that place. I always found it to be very comforting. There was an aura to that castle that felt good. None of my friends would follow me there, they always said... Well I don't exactly remember. Everyone knew that this castle was bad news. But I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was my sanctuary in hell." He stopped speaking for a moment, it seemed like everything was getting clearer to him.
"I think I can remember now. A bit more, at least." There was some sort of block in Roger's mind that had begun falling way. However, his thoughts kept returning to his death. "The day I died was the day I had given up. Everyone I knew was dead, I was hardly 19. My family... there was a hatred there that tore us apart. Yet I knew that I was a survivor. I knew the habits of every form of monstrosity, I had figured out the demons's patterns, and I even knew that the mana of our home was not as it should be, or at least I suspected. Yet that day..." He paused for a second, trying to organize what he was attempting to say.
"This doesn't make any sense. I wasn't sad that my friends were dead and my family was gone. I wasn't scared that I was going to die tomorrow. Those were thoughts from my childhood that I had long abandoned. I... I was strong, I was clever." Roger's eyes lit up, as if he remembered something important. "The day I died wasn't sad. That was the day I made my escape."
Roger took his broken dagger and stabbed the zombie in front of him. The creature fell apart easily as the dagger's blade snapped. "This creature. It is a manifestation of necromantic powers unlike any I have seen on Dominaria. You can bring it back simply by channeling mana into it's remains. But, it is not perfect, when it returns to unlife it can only survive for a limited amount of time before the mana burns through the body and the creature is destroyed."
The Ogre still stood, watching him. "The day I died I thought I had figured out a way to escape Grixis, using a similar method. Grixis is not perfect, it is lacking 2 of the 5 basic elements of magic. The plane, however, still tries to draw these magics to itself. The pull of life and nature to a plane of death must have some sort of nullifying effect, but that's not important. The castle, my safe haven, was a "hole" in Grixis. The reason I liked it so much was because it was here that other mana was able to leak into the plane. It was also here that I formulated a way of juxtaposing myself with the hole to escape. At least... I think I did. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking."
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"Good." whispered Grol as the blue flames of the torches took on a black shade and began pulsing outward to the beat of Roger's heart. "Walk away from the memory of the castle. We'll return to it. Now I need you to focus on this..."
Inside the ring of fire an illusion appeared in front of Roger. What he saw was a heavily armored zombie wearing a demon's skull as a helmet. Before the zombie lay a sea of dead bodies, constantly rising at his command...
Roger instantly recognized the creature who stood before him. His name, escaping Roger currently, was one that would strike fear into the people of Grixis sane enough to still possess it. This man held the magic Roger had, conscience or no, been searching for for a large part of his life. Absolute power over dead, the life blood (or death blood) of Roger's home. There was something else about this man Roger couldn't quite remember, something he thought was important. But, for lack of memory, Roger ignored this fact. He, instead, focused on the rising tide of undead. Everything seemed to bend to the Traitor King's will. This force, so prevailing in Grixis, was the type of force that could bury planes; a relentless onslaught of death and redeath, all at the hands of the Traitor King. However, Roger knew that the Traitor King was trapped on Grixis, if he was still around, so there was little to worry about in the present.
"I know this man." Roger paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, "some call him "Traitor King." He holds much of the power of Grixis in his hands."
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Then Grol stirred summoning forth the image of the castle from Roger's memories. "Focus on your memories around this castle. Bring them forward and recall the days before you tried to leave Grixis. Focus on these memories and the power you once held."
Grol waited a moment for Roger's mind to drift into the memories being coaxed forward by Grol. Then he asked, "Do you remember how you survived in the sea of undead?"
His thoughts were scattered, furious, and confused. He suddenly remembered a trick he learned... somewhere, that was used to calm himself. As he went through the motions, bringing up a void and plunging all his fear, hatrid, sorrow, and anger into the void, he began to realize exactly where he first did this. In the darkness of that place Roger occasionally encountered others, people who were trying to survive, just like him. There was one man he encountered, a man who must have been 40 or more years old, who astounded Roger. The man, who referred to himself as "The Monk," was an impossibility. He claimed to have been 46 years old. Roger didn't believe him, but he still listened to what he had to say and committed to memory the things he taught him. The man claimed to have lived so long by knowing how to control his emotions, keeping the panic away and allowing him to act and think clearly.
Finally, Grol's words settled in and Roger could think about them clearly. The darkness of his mind fell away, the fog parted, and everything was clearer. "Survive, yes I did that. I did much more than that. There was a man I encountered as a child who taught me, over a few days, what it took to overcome the dread. Fear became a weapon just as much as my dagger and spells. I was no longer a slave to emotions and could think without trouble. That was a turning point for survival, just as the castle was a turning point for my life. I became so good at pushing my fear aside that it became second nature. But that night, in the darkness of the castle, my fear finally broke free. There was a hoard after me, and... something else was hunting me. I had evaded them successfully for several days, but was running out of options and time. The castle, once the last place I had ever wanted to enter, was the only "safe" place I knew of anymore. Yet this time, the hoard didn't stop. The castle was wrong, as if something had broken it or corrupted it. I could feel it everywhere inside. The walls felt dead, more dead than usual. It was as if a Maelstrom was brewing with the castle as a focal point. But I didn't dare leave, not with half of Grixis on my tail."
Roger had another flash of incite. Rumors. Why where there rumors about HIM floating around? Roger knew he wasn't anything special, he was a survivor. He was just like everyone else who wasn't a rotter. Yet the rumors persisted.
"It really was half of Grixis too. At least half of the Grixis that I knew. A few days before the chase began I started to pick up the rumors. People wanted me, and they didn't care if I was alive or dead. So I packed up stores for a long journey and tried to get as far away from "civilization" as possible. Someone must have betrayed me because it wasn't long before I was dodging spells and running from the undead. So I planned my retreat to my sanctuary." Roger began pondering why there would be rumors about him floating about, but pushed that thought into the void.
For Roger, Surviving the hoard was easy. All you had to do was have distractions ready, have good athletics, and something tall to climb or made of stone to hide inside. They were not intelligent. Even when they were driven by a demon or slaver they lacked basic problem solving skills. But there were times when running and distractions were futile, that was when Roger had to take control the the situation by force.
Control. Was the only word Roger could think of to describe how it worked. He simply took control. It was hard for Roger to describe exactly how it worked, but in the few situations where it happened the zombies would start to fall apart, or attack one another, or flee, or a myriad of other strange reactions. The event always left Roger with a hole in his memory and a feeling of accomplishment. He would also feel drained, like he had overchanneled.
In the castle, however, when he was overwhelmed by the oncoming hoards, climbing higher and higher to the the top. The control wouldn't come. He reached the rooftops and sealed the gates behind him. This is the closest Roger has come to realizing his true memories of the event. It was at the top of the castle, with the hoard driven to chase him, that he saw it. It was a hole, of sorts, but it was also a hurricane of nightmarish reality. It was unnervingly peaceful, yet furious as berserker demon. That hole stretched above the castle and seemed be pulling something out of grixis, like a sieve or drain. Now that Roger could think about it coherently and knew more of the multiverse, he realized that it was pulling white and green mana out of grixis into the blind eternities.
So, Roger and Roger fought one another, one embodying the void, and one an avatar of fear. Each of them struggled to take the control. The hoard was approaching and there wasn't much time. The struggle grew in Roger's head, he knew that he NEEDED to act now or he was going to die here and now. Each side was siezing for control grasping around it, trying to get a strong hand hold. Then, finally, each had a firm grip on it. The Malestrom shuddered and the drain's spiral accelerated. The control was no longer being directed at the hoard, but it was being pulled into the maelstrom. The wasn't anything for Roger to do but hold on, and brace for the fall.
Roger snapped back to reality. The Ogre stood in front of him, waiting. Roger took a moment to rethink events, then finally said, "I remember." A dark purple aura began to dance of his back like flames.
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Then stepping forward the ogre brushed a clawed finger at Roger's forehead causing a momentary black and blue hue to blind Roger's vision momentarily.
"Almost there..." muttered Grol. "Focus on the very last memory you just experienced. Focus on that funnel. Recall it's pull, relive your escape and envision your arrival here."
The control raged around him as the sky-rupture seethed. It was as if, for the first time in his life, he could really feel the world around him. He reached out and could touch something new. It was life and growth, love and peace, but most importantly it was salvation. As the control surged around him he felt himself become weightless. His consciousness suddenly became aware of another place; one full of life. He felt drawn to it and his consciousness moved toward it. After a short time the control began to get heavy and he was losing it. Pain began to build up inside him and he began spiraling out, losing his orientation. He reached out for the closest thing he could get and pulled. His vision stretched out before him and pain exploded out of him as the control escaped. He could feel the earth around him, the ground was wet and there was rain above him. The air was different. He recognized the smell of death, but it was mixed with something new, something alive. The smell of it, let alone the sight and touch, nearly caused Roger to collapse. Roger took hold of a tree, pulling himself out of the bog and onto dryer land. He could see the an enormous light in the distance. It was warm and full of life. He almost reached out to it before he finally fell unconscious from exhaustion.
As Roger relived his memories he could feel the Maelstrom again. It was a far of beacon, pulsing through the chaos, he thought he could sense other beacons, but they did not resonate like this one did. As the control raged around him Roger began to pull again, this time lighter than before. He was "testing the waters" and trying to get a feel for it. It was like remembering a dance after years of unuse. After a short while he could feel it, if he wanted he could simply take it. For some reason he paused.
"I believe I have found what we are looking for."
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A red flare of mana sparked forth from Grol's left hand connecting with Roger's purple aura mixing together. In reaction the flames returned to their flashing Indigo color shifting occasionally to a bright azure casting shadows about the room. There with the lights pulsing across their faces Grol spoke saying, "Completely release your mental barriers so I can guide you in discovering this Maelstrom inside of you. Any interference from you could set off some unpleasant incidents for you. Free your mind and open yourself to my power and I will show you the truth behind your escape from Grixis."
Deep inside of himself Roger could feel something like two strings moving inside of him, both faintly drifting towards one of the distant beacons. There was another sensation felt numbly next to the two drifting strings, like three paralyzed limbs drifting aimlessly...
Why did he have to trust? There was nothing in mulitverse that Roger wanted to do less than trust. Especially considering the one he would have to trust was a domineering Ogre-mage hell-bent on going to Roger's home plane at any cost. And yet Roger was asked to trust him. His worry began to spiral around the void, drawing other, less than pleasent thoughts, from it. He would not surrender control, he would not let go of the void.
Roger almost said "No, I refuse" to the Ogre. He almost lashed out against him, but, like the other spiraling thoughts, these were quickly drawn into void to be contemplated later. It began to pulse, as if it were angry with him, but that was of no matter at the present.
Two strings were moving about inside of the Maelstrom, wanting to be completed by... something. It was as if a third string, some sort of catalyst, was lying dormant, ready to flare up if needed. Roger tried to pull it, activate it, or even ignore it; but it persisted. The composition reminded him of music. His background on the lute gave him notions about how resonance worked. If certain pitches were played on one string, it could cause others to vibrate in harmony. Roger imagined that a similar property would work here. So he began to play. It was freeing; it was music from his own soul.
The Malestrom that was in Roger's mind began to spin out of control, as if it were fighting to stay alive. The music kept playing soft, but strong. The storm began to break, memories began to leap out of the nexus, escaping in bursts so the entirety would not crush Roger's mind from shear force. The music persisted and Roger took it's calm melody for shelter. The void collapsed, perhaps it was inevitable, nonetheless Roger's repressed mind exploded out into the Maelstrom. Still, the music persisted.
The melody continued to dance through the breaking storm, dodging around nightmares and horrors from Roger's past, housing Roger's sanity and consciousness in its lullaby. After what felt like an eternity, the song was nearing it's end. For the first time in Roger's life he felt clear and open and unafraid. The sun was rising in Roger's mind for the first time. He believed he would be able to try "Trust" once again.
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Something new yet familiar had shown up. Roger could feel an ancient and long lost whisper coming from Grol, calling to Roger ever so slightly. In his mind he could see a small flicker of essence inside of Grol, an essence that felt wrong there, an essence that seemed to belong to Roger.
As Roger focused on this familiar yet alien essence, a stream of mana began to flow from the base of Roger's two active limbs into his core and then out of his chest towards Grol and the blob of strange essence floating there...
But the Ogre was another story. Suspicion, something he had for the other mage since he first met him, suddenly returned to the surface. It had always been there, but the storm had taken ahold of it and pushed it aside like it had to all of his other thoughts. He almost began to wonder why his essence was no longer in his core. It should be at the center of the mana nexus so he could guide it properly. It was like it was being led away from him.
He grappled with himself, a chain of mana pulling and wrapping itself tightly around it. The beacons around him became clearer as he moved, he could feel them, he could almost see them. He was disoriented, unsure of where he was anymore. He knew his old home was somewhere behind him, at least it felt like it was, and his birthplace was glowing in front of him, getting closes with each moment. The feelings were strange, because he was confident he was still in Estark.
The mana surged around them both, their auras were mixed in their disembodied movements.
The trust was breaking, Roger began to wonder if it had existed in the first place. It might have been an illusion, a false memory, or worse. Images of a man in a blue cloak, members of the Dimir, and betrayals bombarded him. It was something he would have to face again someday. Now, however, he had another thing to worry about.
He could feel the struggle and pain coming from both of them. Trust? The notion was almost gone from his mind. He had traveled alone once before; why should he need assistance now? The magic was flowing around him and everything was slippery and hard to grasp, he felt like he could hardly keep himself together anymore.
The mana seethed, wrapping around the essence even tighter. That part of himself, the essence, was still burning bright, being fed by the cords of power. But it was his, so he would take it back. Power roaring through his soul, Roger pulled...
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Roger felt like he had suddenly hit a brick wall and was straining himself as he pulled with no visible results. Then as black slime fell from one of the red hot chains, it fell upon Roger's blue limb severing the connection causing him to stumble backwards slightly dazed.
Combat and this encounter is a bit tricky so let me know if you wish to proceed diplomatically, through combat, or through a test of wills. Diplomacy is straight up role playing, combat or will has some special rules that you will want to know before proceeding down those paths. You've already seen a preview of what the will and combat aspect entails. Both are fun though.
Is the following a what you were expecting for combat/test of wills?
Roger caught himself as he stumbled and leaped forward in his counterassault. A trail of blackness connected to Roger from the black limb, strengthening him and anchoring him. The chains bound Roger to Grol, as well as Grol to Roger, and Roger's mobility was halted by some unknown force. However they were not here in body, so physical strength was unimportant. Roger pulled against the searing chains, drawing Grol to him, then, just as powerfully, twisted against them causing the two of them to spiral around one another. Roger's anchor whiped the two of them around the essences, spiraling them both out of control.
Essentially, I draw black mana and attempt to pull Grol toward me and use his "momentum" to break him away from me. If he tries to hit me with something nasty, Roger is prepared to blast him.
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