Posting...

Posting will be a bit irregular for the next week or two, I imagine... Just reassuring everyone that I don't intend to quit the blog.

Chapter 2, Part 2

Porphyria paused for a moment, then answered, "I need you to put me in contact with a Ringwielder by the name of Lethik Nardan. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do... But I think you might have trouble getting him to help with your plan. He's not known to work exceptionally well with others."

Porphyria frowned slightly, her attention momentarily distracted by the passage of an imaginary fish through a wall of the strange house. The denizen of the Exoma flitted about the air for a bit before exiting through the opposite wall. Finally, Porphyria said, "I'll worry about securing Lethik's cooperation, if you can get him to agree to a meeting. At any rate, I'm banking that he wants to see the Justicars get a black eye as much as I do... The Justicars have been a fly in his lord's ointment for quite some time."

Cynlew nodded. "I'll get you in touch with him then. Although I really would appreciate a little something for my trouble..."

"What did you have in mind?" Porphyria asked, quickly adding after catching a fleeting thought in Cynlew's mind, "And I swear to Eris that if you suggest anything uncouth, I will lobotomize you with a rusty icepick, and I'll do it slowly."

Cynlew quickly popped a piece of the maggot-ridden cheese from his plate into his mouth, as if to stifle any words that might accidentally slip their way out. He chewed pensively before continuing, "In that case, I suppose I'll just have to settle for a favor to be named at a later date." Cynlew finally swallowed, sparing Porphyria any further sight of the crunched up larvae and stale cheese from milk of indeterminable origin. Again, Porphyria wondered what this little creature's charm could possibly be, while Cynlew added, "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Just get in touch with Lethik and let me know what he says. Pull in a favor or two from him if you must, and you can put them on my account. You know I'm generally good for them."

Cynlew's face crinkled into a genuinely-happy grin, and he cackled, "I know, I'm still recovering from your last one!" Even if Porphyria had not been idly scanning Cynlew's thoughts, the vulgar fantasy behind Cynlew's statement could not have escaped her. Porphyria just rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew Cynlew was (mostly) harmless, and that his vulgar sense of humor was as inevitable as the tides.

Porphyria stood up and moved towards the door, announcing, "In that case, I'll leave you to your snack. Thank you again for your hospitality."

Cynlew nodded and waved. Perhaps thinking it wise not to push his luck too far with his old friend, Cynlew kept quiet any further ribaldry.

Porphyria exited the strangely-proportioned house back into the streets of Losthaven. She could feel her plan coming together, and she whistled happily as she strolled through the dingy streets of the poor quarter towards the Lost Lamb Tavern.

Chapter 2, Part 1

Losthaven was a city of crossroads, where people and cultures from across the continent of Almeria mixed into a confusing melange of sights and sounds that made many a fist-time visitor gape in awe. The city had long ago been a simple market town, where farmers from the surrounding area came in order to trade their wares with each other, and some of the old types of commerce lingered in the various quarters of the city. But the city had also long since outgrown its common roots as visitors from across the various lands had come through the city in increasing numbers, first as a stop on the road to more glorious locations, and then as a destination in and of itself.

Through the years, Losthaven gained a reputation as an open city, allowing anyone inside its walls as long as they remained relatively well-behaved. The city had seen its fair share of orcs and elves existing and doing business alongside the occasional oddities such as demons, pixies, or even dragons. The all-welcoming nature of the city lent it a cosmopolitan air, even despite the fact that the existence of so many different races and cultures gathered side-by-side led to inevitable conflicts, keeping the Losthaven Guard very busy.

Porphyria stood in front of a relatively nondescript building in one of Losthaven's poor quarters. Had she not known better, Porphyria might have passed this building with no comment, much like thousands of people did every single day, as it appeared almost identical to many of the other dwellings on its block. The building was a squat, single-floor house that had obviously seen better days, as the little paint that was left on the exterior seemed to be clinging on for dear life, as if a stiff gust of wind would cause more of the well-worn wood to shed its dirty-white coat. The window shutters were slightly off alignment, and the gaps between them and the window frame showed open windows whose owners were too poor - or too cheap - to afford glass, with sheets of rat-gnawed leather keeping the window frames from simply being empty. The front door was about the only part of the house that appeared not to be in utter disrepair, and even it looked as if it had served honorably as a shield in some forgotten conflict between ogres.

Porphyria walked up to the door and knocked on the deeply-rutted wood. As she waited for an answer, Porphyria allowed one of her fingers to trace the furrows in the age-stained wood. She could hear a faint rummaging behind the door and a moment later a small head-height window opened in the door. "Who's there?" called out a squeaky voice from behind the door as a grey eye and the top left quarter of an oddly-wrinkled face appeared in the small window.

"You know me, Cynlew, now open the door and let me in," Porphyria said impatiently.

"Not before you tell me the password." the voice answered, cracking with suppressed amusement.

Porphyria sighed, "You know as well as I do that any competent mindreader could pick the password right out of your brain, so what's the use of one?" Porphyria concentrated for a moment before answering, "The password is 'Chicken Cacciatore. You miss lunch today, or what?"

A moment elapsed before Porphyria heard the door's bolt drawn. The door creaked open, revealing a small, profoundly unattractive creature of no more than ten dimins (1 meter) in height, and of almost equal width. Porphyria wondered again to which race Cynlew belonged -- he seemed to be a cross of some sort between a goblin and a gnome, or perhaps a pixie and an orc. Porphyria once again convinced herself not to ask, more for the possible horror of the answer than for any particular sensitivity towards Cynlew's feelings. "Malkeshni promised me that mindshield was one of his best," the small figure grumbled before breaking into a smile and motioning Porphyria in through the door. "Come in, my sweet. It's been too long since I've seen you."

"And the same to you, Cynlew," Porphyria said through a genuine smile, allowing herself to be led into the house by the diminutive creature. The interior of the Discordian safe house was much more opulent than the exterior, and much larger. Cynlew had built the house on a natural warping in the local dimensional topography, and had been able to place much of the construction on the plane of the Exoma -- the ever-changing and twisted plane of chaos. As a result of its strange construction, several of the house's proportions and interior angles seemed oddly unsettling, their seemingly-impossible geometries nagging at the back of any mind unaccustomed to the exotic physical laws of the Exoma. One of the doors towards the back of the house was heavily-barred and carried a warning sign in brightly-glowing letters that exhorted its reader against opening the door, as the Exoma lay beyond. Needless to say, knocks at that foreboding door were rarely answered. Porphyria felt right at home, the Discordian safe house reminding her of the home in which she spent most of her childhood.

"Haven't I told you before not to trust Malkeshni? And what's with this password business, anyhow? You don't recognize your old friend anymore?"

"You can never be too careful," Cynlew said, waggling his finger in Porphyria's direction, eliciting a bemused smile, "you taught me that much, at least. Well come and have a seat. I was just about to dig into a snack when you showed up. Want some?"

Porphyria looked at the mess of strange shapes and colors that presented itself upon the plate which she found suddenly thrust under her nose. The smell alone would have made even the most adventurous eater take pause, and the combination of sensations was almost unnerving. The maggots in the cheese were probably the worst bit, as they appeared to still be squirming. For perhaps the first time, Porphyria felt glad that her new metabolism was unable to digest almost anything aside from blood. "No thank you," she squeaked, "I can't really handle solid food anymore."

Cynlew nodded and withdrew the plate, shoveling a piece of the maggot-ridden cheese into his mouth while the plate was in transit back to the table. "You been doing well? I heard tell that you got yourself into a bit of trouble with some Justicars not too long ago."

Porphyria chuckled, "More like they got themselves into a bit of trouble with me... That's why I'm here, actually... I need you to put me in contact with a friend of yours."

Cynlew, despite his ungainly and somewhat disturbing appearance, had a great many friends, making him one of the best fixers to be found anywhere. Cynlew had parlayed a great and nearly-paradoxical personal magnetism into a network of contacts that spanned both continents and alternate planes of existence. It was rumored that Cynlew could procure just about anything, if the price was right, and Porphyria was one of his more frequent customers.

"I figured that you'd be here for business, and not for pleasure," Cynlew grunted, vulgarly patting his groin in consolation as Porphyria suppressed a gag, "well, who are you looking for, then? We may as well just get down to business."

Keeper of the Gate...

An illustration from the 1st edition AD&D Deities and Demigods book depicting Yog-Sothoth, proving once again that the Cthulhu mythos is pretty much all about the tentacle rape.

About the story...

I'm planning the story that I'm writing at the moment (the first few pages of which have appeared here on the blog) to largely follow my character Porphyria around, although it will probably occasionally switch focus to others of my characters. I do sometimes have a pretty short attention span, and from time to time get fixated on how 'cool' something or other would be. For the most part, I do want to keep the narrative of this story fairly focused, but we'll see how that goes.

For the moment, I'm also planning to more or less exclusively use my own PCs, NPCs that appear on the MUD, and other characters I create just for the sake of the story. So for the person who asked in the comments about an Arc crossover, I can only really say that there aren't any plans for one, although I might be open to the possibility, just like I could be open to the possibility of using other peoples' PCs as characters within the story should I get permission to do so.

I do hope that people enjoy the story, and I look forward to working on it.

Chapter 1, page 3

The shimmering blue lash seemed almost to hover in the air as time crystallized into a moment of fear for Wyrena. The short-lived spell was broken as the twisting beam of energy alighted against the bare skin of Wyrena's shoulder, and the nerves under the welt it left were instantly overloaded with pain, heat, cold, pressure, and a multitude of other horrible sensations. At the same time, Wyrena could feel her psyche faltering as she missed a line in her prayer to Tyr and her concentration almost shattered.

Soon, another stroke came, this time across Wyrena's face, and her prayers became even more frantic as the confusing sensations evoked a profound disorientation as her tactile senses rebelled against the insults to their integrity, and began to spill over into Wyrena's other senses in a brutal synesthesia. Wyrena began to truly hallucinate after the third lash, nameless horrors seeming to claw paths through the edges of her senses, with the horrifying pain all the while eating away at her defenses. Stroke upon stroke landed upon Wyrena's skin as she strove to maintain the integrity of her mind solely through her willpower and the discipline instilled upon her through years of Justicar training. After what seemed like hours, the lashing stopped.

Porphyria looked upon the form of the Justicar. It was covered in superficial cuts and welts, each of which lay as raw testament to a moment of suffering and terror. Idly, Porphyria considered the Justicar's fate. Porphyria could see the potential for Wyrena to betray the Justicars of Tyr and in turn become an agent of chaos -- her scanning of the threads of fate had told her that much at least, although Wyrena's resilience to the tortures with which she was being inflicted had been unforeseen. While Porphyria admired the discipline of the Justicar, she ultimately saw it as just one more bond to break.

Idly, Porphyria wondered if telling Wyrena the truth of her existence would hasten her transformation. Porphyria knew that Wyrena's parents had been sharecroppers on the farm of a Discordian priest when the Justicars had come. The Justicars, adjudging the taint of chaos to be too pervasive within Wyrena's parents, had slaughtered them and taken the infant Wyrena to be raised into the order as one of Tyr's disciples. Porphyria knew that this news could very well push Wyrena over the edge, but she also knew that it would ruin Wyrena as a potential spy -- she would not be able to conceal her rage at her parents' deaths as well as she could conceal her shame at her own betrayals of Justicar values.

"You're really quite good, you know," Porphyria purred into Wyrena's ear once she sensed the dim echo of gibberish within Wyrena's mind fade as the speech centers of Wyrena's brain sorted themselves out from the remnants of confusing sensations from the flux whip. "Most of your order buckle after the first or second lash, but it seems you've really taken your lessons to heart. I will advise you though, that the next part actually has a pretty good chance of causing permanent damage to you, so if you'd like to save yourself, now would be a good time to stop praying and let me know what I want to know."

Porphyria could hear Wyrena continuing her litany weakly, half in her broken voice and half in an almost as broken mind, "Live to serve Tyr and the Universe. Live to defend Tyr and the law..."

The prayer was cut short as Wyrena felt a void opening up in her mind. It was as if the most precious parts of her identity were being ripped away and replaced with nothing. Wyrena could feel her willpower fading along with her sense of self as she struggled to maintain equilibrium and the natural order of her thoughts. Unassailable horror grew within Wyrena's mind as she sought any solid thought upon which to anchor herself, ultimately finding nothing.

Porphyria knew that she could not drain Wyrena's mental energy for much longer if she wanted to avoid permanently damaging Wyrena. She could feel Wyrena's willpower crumbling -- the offensive prayer to Tyr had fallen entirely silent as Wyrena began to lose her ability to maintain coherent thought. Porphyria felt pleasure as Wyrena's mental energies mingled with her own, and it was only reluctantly that she broke off her drain when she heard a half-whispered thought from Wyrena: Coelwin.

As she closed off the mental contact between herself and Wyrena, Porphyria could sense the dawning sense of shame and self-loathing that Wyrena felt. Porphyria suspected that Wyrena would attempt to hide her betrayal of the Justicars, even as her shame deepened and made her more vulnerable to Porphyria's influences. A feeling of glee welled up within Porphyria as she considered the new possibilities that Wyrena could open up for her. Porphyria had in the past attempted to gain covert information from the Justicar organization through the use of psychic mindreading links with various Justicars, only to be thwarted by the Justicars' first line of defense against such incursions -- a powerful sensitive and mindshielder by the name of Aranius who invariably was able to detect and wrench apart even the most subtle of links. The prospect of having a willing agent within the ranks of the Justicars was almost too good to be true. Porphyria did not worry that the Justicars would sense the spread of chaos within Wyrena's soul. There were other Powers with whom a bargain could be struck in order to conceal that seed of chaos from the other Justicars -- even from Tyr Himself, if necessary.

Porphyria gathered up the limp Justicar, wincing against the bright sunlight that streamed in through the door of the small cell as she opened it. Porphyria spread her wings and began flying Wyrena back to the field from which she had been taken. She knew that there would be much to prepare upon her return.

Knights vs. reality...

There has been quite a bit of chatter amongst the Lost Souls blogs about Knights, and how the Knights of the Round Table on the MUD stack up against the historical ideals/realities of knightly life. Now personally, I've never been a huge fan of reality in my fantasy RPGs. Certainly, certain impingements of reality upon the workings of a fantasy universe might be unavoidable, since it tends to be a lot harder to imagine a universe where things like physical laws or biological taxa are completely divorced from the common, everyday experiences of the players of an RPG. A world where things like gravity and rabbits exist takes a lot less explaining between the time where players are introduced to a game and when they actually get to start playing.

Now, on the topic of knights, I really have to say that the disconnect between what knights were romanticized as being and what knights (for the most part) actually were tends to be pretty great. The knights on the MUD tend to follow more in the path of the legendary knights, living in a world where things like chivalry, courtly love, and crusades against definable and indisputable evil actually exist. While knights in reality were often little more than deputized and ennobled tenant farmers and thugs with shit in their armor, the knights on the MUD live to serve higher ideals and higher powers. And seriously, I'm perfectly okay with that. After all, we've got wizards, the Green Lantern Corps, and clerics whose access to divine power goes beyond selling fake indulgences. So why not have knights who profess and actually live up to the romanticized Knightly Ideals?

The main problem I really have with the Knights of the Round Table as they exist on the MUD today, and where I think the guild could benefit from an increased tie to reality is that they're essentially feudal warriors who are completely divorced from all aspects of feudalism. The Knight of the Round Table on the MUD is basically an adventurer whose obligations to defend anything from the forces of evil are completely illusory. As it stands, a knight's upkeep and equipment are paid for no matter what, and an evil bastard (like Porphyria) can completely ransack Camelot without having any effect upon whether or not the Knights have any equipment or followers. And since there's no real incentive or reason to defend Camelot (especially since King Arthur and the NPC knights are inestimably more powerful than most PC knights), the smart knight will stay the hell away as aforementioned evil bastard razes and pillages her way through the Crown Jewel of Avalon. I half-jokingly suggested over on Gavadel's blog that it might be a cool idea to tie at least some aspects of a knight's power to the development and defense of a particular piece of land (and its people), whether that be Camelot itself or a small keep or fief that would have its defense charged to a knight (or perhaps a small company of knights). Injecting a bit of real feudalism into the role of the Knights of the Round Table would not only give at least some real reason for PC knights to actually uphold the chivalric ideals of protecting the weak and defending the Crown, but also perhaps give knights a bit of the coveted "alternative route from hack-and-slash for advancement".

Page 2

Wyrena's eyes darted around the room, searching for some tool she might be able to use to make her escape, but nothing presented itself. She glanced longingly at her waylaid equipment, piled haphazardly in the corner opposite her. Wyrena knew that even with her equipment, she would barely stand a chance of surviving; she had heard her superiors speak of the Erisian Liberation Front operative named Porphyria as if she was some sort of demon -- they said that she had sold her soul to some nameless horror in exchange for greater power, that she had killed or driven insane any number of guardians of Order, and dozens of other rumors, each horrifying and unbelievable.

Small flickers of amusement played across Porphyria's face as she read Wyrena's thoughts. "I see my reputation precedes me somewhat, although I assure you that most of the stories about my exploits have been exaggerated. Heck, I'm the one who probably spun quite a few of those yarns that are floating through your head right now," Porphyria said gently, leaning towards Wyrena. "But let's get to business, shall we? I am looking for something -- an artifact of sorts that is being held somewhere by your order." Porphyria smiled as an image flickered across Wyrena's mind, "You know it. Good."

Wyrena knew that she could not afford to let this creature of chaos and evil know anything about the item she sought. Indeed, she knew little about it herself, other than that it was a powerful implement of Chaos. Desperately, Wyrena focused on filling her thoughts with a litany to Tyr, praying for strength to resist betraying the secrets of her order to this agent of Chaos.

Porphyria frowned slightly as she perceived the prayer occluding the mind of the Justicar. "I see that you're going to make this more difficult than it has to be. In a way, I admire that strength, but it really won't do you any good. Just let me know where the item is and how it is guarded, and you'll be free to go." Porphyria waited, but could sense nothing in Wyrena's mind other than the plaintive prayer to her god. "Very well," Porphyria sighed, "I suppose reasoning with you will not work, so I guess it's time to break out something a bit more heavy-handed."

Wyrena continued her prayer to Tyr even as she saw Porphyria take a small crystal rod from a pocket in her long green dress. A moment later, a long, whip-like ray of shimmering blue energy sprang from the rod. It hummed slightly. Wyrena prayed more fervently.

"I suppose your Justicar training has probably made you aware of some of the intricacies of flux weapons -- how they assault the mind, but leave the body largely intact." Porphyria's voice was barely a whisper now, though Wyrena could hear it echoing in her mind, the alien thought somehow seeming to come from her own mind alongside her recited litany to Tyr. "Just tell me what I want to know, and you won't have to know what it is like to have a flux whip tear away at your consciousness and sanity."

Page 1

Wyrena found herself struggling against the bonds that held her fast to the iron chair on which she sat. Around the edges of her consciousness, the muted sights and sounds of a small unfurnished stone room impinged upon her senses, giving scant answer to the question which distracted her focus from time to time from the all-important task of freeing herself from the sticky white strands holding her: Where was she?

Porphyria watched the Justicar's struggles with amusement; Wyrena's bonds were spidersilk granted by the divine power of Ygelleth Herself, and it would take hours of struggling and straining just to loosen them. Wyrena's elven features betrayed her fear; sweat had matted her chestnut-brown hair into snakelike strands, and her deep blue eyes were opened wide with the strain of her efforts. Idly, Porphyria ran her fingers over the equipment she had stripped from Wyrena while the Justicar lay unconscious -- all of it was blessed by the order-god Tyr, and all of it was equally useless out of the hands of a similarly-anointed Justicar. Porphyria decided that she had given the Justicar enough time to exhaust herself, and allowed the psychic field which cloaked her presence from the awareness of the Justicar to drop.

Wyrena gasped as the figure before her faded into view; it was as if an image that had long been before her eyes had suddenly reasserted itself in her mind after a strange and disquieting absence. The figure was a tall, apparently elven woman with bright blue skin which was covered in strange runes; her narrowed, pure-black eyes were also speckled with the same runes, all of which slowly shifted form. The figure's long blood-red hair was reflected in the pure-golden feathers of wings which sprouted from her back and hung gracefully-folded. An aura of darkness surrounded the figure, dimming the lights around it, and making her features all the more difficult to discern for certain -- the Justicar doubted that she would be able to see the figure at all, if not for her elven ability to see in the dark. The dark figure moved forward slowly, until she was scant dimins from the Justicar's chair. "My name is Porphyria, and I've brought you here because you hold some information that I would like to know. But first, I would like to know to whom I am speaking. After all, there's no reason for us not to be friendly."

"Huh?" Wyrena asked, still attempting to process the sudden appearance of the frightening figure before her. She quickly regained her wits, "If you want to be my friend, let me go. I won't cooperate with you."

Porphyria chuckled softly, "Your cooperation is not really needed, although it would make things nominally easier, Wyrena." Porphyria caught the flicker of surprise that crossed the Justicar's eyes as she heard her name spoken. "I can simply pluck the answer from your mind. I knew your name just after I asked the question -- you spoke your name in your thoughts, loudly enough for me to hear. So, let's both just get this over with quickly and easily, and we'll both get what we want. You tell me what I need to know, and you go home."

Justicars: Last two powers.

Having decided to finally bite the bullet and get to the point where my Justicar can use the last two powers in her guild's toolbox, I went ahead and got Lenisa to level 20 today. So, I can finally give the last two powers their proper reviews.

First up is meditate. This is a pretty nice buff, since it gives a nice boost to Str/Con/Dex/Per, all of which make the Justicar tougher, which is a very good thing to be in a combat-oriented guild. I'm not entirely sure how this buff scales with skill, but it gives Lenisa a very (very!) respectable +65 to each listed attribute. The only real limitation on the buff is that it lasts in proportion to how long you spend charging it up, and you can't do much of anything (even OOC actions) while charging it. Luckily, the buff actually lasts a pretty long time, even with just spending a few minutes in meditation, so it's a pretty easy thing to maintain.

Deliver judgment is an area attack, and while it does have a 5 minute cool-down, it's a very very awesome thing. Perhaps the best thing about the power is that it hits everything in the room with you that has an ounce of chaos in its heart -- apparently, when the devs were around nerfing a lot of other guilds' area attacks by making them hit less than everything in the room (see: RWs, Elflords, Sentinels...), they either chose not or neglected to do so with deliver judgment (and Justies are one of a handful of guilds/capabilities with area attacks that hit everything in the room, so it's kind of a toss-up). Most of my knowledge of the effects of this ability runs from my having been hit with it in my sojourns in Jhan while playing some chaotic bitch that's slaughtering everything there, but it appears to at the very least slow opponents and do scads of damage. Plus, it's an area attack... What's not to like?

An interlude in which Jeliza is magically transformed into a torso:

deliver judgment
You extend your silvery steel target shield of Tyr above your head in a defiant gesture.
> A nearly-hypnotic pattern of swirling high-pitched tones rises over the pumping music, then fades back into it.
Your silvery steel target shield of Tyr begins to thrum with unreleased energy. A white nimbus forms around you.
Your silvery steel target shield of Tyr erupts in a startling flash, sending waves of righteous force in all directions.
Jeliza has been mortally wounded and will die soon if not aided.
Jeliza's right arm is structured into immobility.
Jeliza's left arm is structured into immobility.
Jeliza's right hand is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's white pine ring is torn from her.
Jeliza drops her white pine ring.
Jeliza's left hand is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's right leg is structured into immobility.
Jeliza's left leg is structured into immobility.
Jeliza's right foot is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's left foot is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza has been stunned.
Jeliza is affected somewhat severely by the attack.
lay hands on human
You place your hands on Jeliza.
An intense silvery glow emanates from your hands.
Jeliza's head is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's pale purple tin chaos amulet is torn from her.
Jeliza drops her pale purple tin chaos amulet.
Jeliza's right arm is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's left arm is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's right leg is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza's left leg is transformed into pure order.
Jeliza is affected somewhat severely by the attack.
> Jeliza dies.


Kaboom. Sweet.

Anyhow, two thumbs up, and well worth the wait -- not that level 20 is an onerous grind these days, even for an Amberite. I'm still not 100% sure on whether or not I will be taking Lenisa to hero levels yet, but things are looking pretty good for her at the moment.