Page 2 of 7 FirstFirst 1234 ... LastLast
Results 21 to 40 of 137

Thread: [QUEST] - Fate/Blumenkrieg: The Threefold War of Flowers

  1. #21
    リビングデッド Living Dead Wyvern's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2019
    Location
    Brazil
    Age
    24
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    83
    Location: Streets of London
    Time: 11:01
    I.D: Dolores Morela
    Condition: Stable
    Magic Circuits: Numb


    Day 0 - Prologue 3




    Throwing caution to the wind, Dolores dashed towards the alley, hair whipping back as a violent blast of wind washed over her. Crippled as her circuits were, the young woman would need to rely on brute force alone to push her way through the tempest.


    Thunder roared once again, or perhaps it was the man’s voice.


    Followed by the clash of lightning and wind for what much have been the upteenth time.


    Trying to follow the duo’s movements was an exercise in futility. They were far too swift for her to see without magecraft. Not to mention that the wide, dark clouds which seemed to blanket the skies, making it even more difficult to see them without the brute’s lightning blasts.


    The fact they were too busy fighting one another was her only saving grace.


    Bellefronte was out there, right this moment, and an attack like this didn’t happen without support. Quite frankly, using two angry gods for cover was nearly suicidal. At best. But she was also painfully aware of what it meant if she was caught. Her only refuge was in the absurd and so, as glass shard cut into her feet, she moved.


    Rain pricked her body like thousands of cold needles as she ran, heels having been long discarded. Her dress, once a particularly modest yet formal attire, clung to her body like a second skin. Restrictive. Uncomfortable. At least where it wasn’t torn to shreds or stained with gore.


    Turning down the alley, she thanked whatever gods were listening that it wasn’t a dead end and dashed across the damp pavement. Her veins pulsed with adrenaline, small feet carrying her as far as they could. Dolores ran as fast as she could and didn’t dare look back., the sounds of battle growing more frantic the further she moved away from it.


    It was then that she felt it. A familiar chill of her spine, the static running through her body.


    A familiar sensation of pure dread.


    She looked upwards, heart stopping as lightning seemed to spread over the dark clouds in a spiderweb pattern; lines of wrathful energy coalescing at the eye of the storm,


    Right over her, that is.


    ‘Not again!’


    This close, the wind was even more intense. Debris, thankfully mostly only garbage and leaves, was kicked up and thrown at her. Perhaps it was the nearby trees, who were already starting to show roots, that had acted as a makeshift windbreak. Perhaps it was just good luck she wasn’t picked up and thrown about like a common whore at a noble’s party.


    Either way, she was hurting, the filth smeared across her body was being stripped away by the water in the wind, and things could be worse.


    Morello was going to light a candle for both of her parents and another for her guardian angel if she got through this. Not having her torso atomized and flash fried was, without a doubt, a miracle. And not one she’d take for granted, despite appearances to the contrary.


    And then, a particularly violent gust of wind swept the streets clean. Falling to her hands and knees, the young woman had to shut her eye as water and raw air pressure stung them. Things had just gotten worse because, even with her own circuits still numb, Dolores could feel an unimaginable amount of magical pressure gathering in the sky.


    As in, several orders of magnitude greater than any other attack so far.


    Despite herself, despite the iron will she had depended on to save her from death and worse, despite the horror of her situation… she laughed.


    A full bellied, high pitched, almost insane laugh.


    “Oh my God! T-t-that is a Servant?!”


    Dolores was hysterical.


    The power peaked and her eyes went wide.


    Racing towards the nearest sign of shelter, that being a seemingly empty pub, she didn’t bother with the door. Instead, she grabbed a public trash can, a few, mild enhancements and terror giving her the needed strength, and put it through the large, plate glass window. Without bothering to be careful, she tore off the outer layer of her dress and threw it over the broken glass; punching out the shards in the window and covering most of what she’d knocked on the floor.


    Just as she stepped into the room, it hit her.


    With the howls of something truly monstrous dying, the world exploded. Her last thoughts were of a sudden pain in her back and everything went black.






    The world was dark.

    Silent.

    Numb.

    She didn’t feel hurt anymore. Didn’t feel fear or anger, surprise or awe at the revelation of what her attacker and accidental savior had been. No. It was hard to work up any sort of feeling. Her head felt thick, filled with cotton, thoughts slowing down as she felt herself cease to be.

    Engulfed by something else entirely.

    Images, unbidden, filtered through her mind’s eye.

    A circle of light, shining over empty streets.

    The roar of a thunderclap as it drove through a great tower, a roar of triumph as lightning engulfed the sky.

    A man, standing before a helpless crowd, a monolith of pale flesh rising behind him.

    A handsome man, with timeless features and a trenchcoat, watching from afar as the city burnt.

    He turned back.

    Her eyes met his, and he spoke.






    She woke up with a start.


    Pulling herself out of the wreckage, many things were going by Dolores’ head.


    The first thought was, predictably, oww.


    The second one, less restrained, would be, what the Hell is going on? Bleeding, battered, toasty, but still alive, the diminutive teenager somehow managed to pull herself out of the smoking remains of the pub’s storefront, the lightning blast having turned most of it into charcoal.


    She couldn’t stay here.


    But where to go?


    Her home? Likely stripped bare of any and all valuables by that bastard Rosenberg and his merry band of bootlickers. That meant nearly two hundred years worth of research and collecting gone, something that would have likely killed her father twice over had he been alive to begin with.


    Even if there was nothing there, however, it's unlikely that her captors had the time to take down all of the manor’s defenses. It would be a prime location to hide at and wait out until this insanity was over and done with.


    Failing that, it was far enough that she would be able to stage a quick getaway.


    But that meant not having any other resources than what she managed to pilfer from the bodies. Not that it would matter much once she had control over her circuits again. But that meant waiting even longer before acting, even if some of her hidden assets weren’t located.


    Feasibly, she might be able to contact an ally, perhaps even the one person she’d trust to actually explain the kidnapping to her in detail.


    The other option was to try and sneak into the Clocktower without being noticed.


    A laughably terrible idea.


    There was no way she would be able to get past security, not with the city thrown into chaos as it was. The Association was likely throwing a fit over this, which meant that the majority of London’s magi population was most likely hunkered down beneath the Clocktower. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.


    Not to mention the Department of Policies and Bellefronte.


    The man was still at large and there was a chance that he had returned to report her escape. While she took solace in the fact that they wouldn’t kill her amidst this madness, she would rather not spend what little time she had left locked inside a cell.


    But on the other side her teacher would help her. He was like a father and they were close enough that he’d actually set aside one of his sub-crests for her. The man’s heir was a pompous douche and if it wasn’t for their blood relation, and particularly picky crest, he’d have probably adopted her despite there being only the most minimal of relation. In the end, if Dolores could get to him first, she’d be safe.


    But if not….


    It was perhaps the riskier idea of the two.


    Neither one would help her regain access to her resources, however.


    Which lead to her... less solid plan.


    A Workshop.


    Well, more of a storage facility, really.


    Her mother’s original home, which had been later converted into a fully functional workshop, wasn’t something her family liked to advertise. Magi had their secrets, after all, and her family took secrets as seriously as they took life and death.


    If she were to buy enough time for the chain’s curse to fade, as well as obtain some resources she might be able to cook up something. Might, because she’d only been there three or four times, but it did hold a good deal of the Morello family’s work. Lesser versions, of course. It would also give her… further options.


    One thing was for certain, if Dolores didn’t choose fast, she might get caught again by the fighting.


    Now, where to go?






    Choice Time!
    Where does Dolores choose to go?


    1 - The Clock Tower!


    2 - Back Home!


    3 - Mother's Workshop!





    Congratulations! You have unlocked ???


    Inventory:
    Spoiler:
    - Gandr Staff (100%)
    - Mana Jewels (5 / 100%)
    - Mystic Lenses (100%)
    - Ring of Concealment (100%)

  2. #22
    リビングデッド Living Dead
    Join Date
    Aug 2015
    Posts
    66
    1. The Clock Tower!

    Have that ring of concealment, can probably manage to reach her teacher alright? An ally would be good to have.
    Last edited by Cain12; March 4th, 2020 at 09:00 PM.

  3. #23
    So Many Ideas, So Little Time SleepMode's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2017
    Location
    ...I forgot.
    Age
    20
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    1,144
    Blog Entries
    1
    While getting a minor Crest is very tempting, I'm biased to the White Lily Route right now sooo...

    3 - Mother's Workshop it is.
    The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
    Coffee would be nice, though.

    [Collection of my Servant Sheets]
    Now Revamped!

  4. #24
    死徒 Dead Apostle zikari8's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2017
    Posts
    715
    Blog Entries
    1
    3 - Mother's Workshop


  5. #25
    Evil of Humanity Half-Blood Master's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2017
    Location
    Argentina
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    149
    Route or no route, I'm a bit of a sucker for scenes in big storage facilities so 3 it is
    Quote Originally Posted by Faux, July 20th 2019
    We gave HBM, of all people, access to a morals loosening field
    Quote Originally Posted by Faux, December 25th 2019
    Senta deserves the right to a life where she gets to choose if she's actually a Nazi
    True Rider
    A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!

  6. #26
    吸血鬼 Vampire Ayr's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2014
    Location
    Glasgow, Scotland
    Age
    23
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    385
    JP Friend Code
    141208538
    1 - The Clock Tower

  7. #27
    Dancing Fairy Sunny's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Location
    The Daydreamy Side of the Moon
    Posts
    2,320
    Blog Entries
    23
    Mm, the Clocktower does feel like a long shot... and there’s a good case for 3.


    A collection of silly little Saint Graph fragments

    心に抱くその物語
    何を知れば満たされるのだろう?

  8. #28
    リビングデッド Living Dead Wyvern's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2019
    Location
    Brazil
    Age
    24
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    83
    Location: London
    Time: 11:45
    I.D: Dolores Morella
    Condition: Wounded
    Magic Circuits: Numb


    Day 0 - Prologue 4



    The walk to mother’s old workshop had been long and grueling, not at all helped by the wound’s Dolores had accumulated over the course of her morning adventures. The cuts on her feet still throbbed and bled with each step, held back by flimsy improvised bandages and a pair of slippers she’d lifted from a ruined shop on her way. Blessedly, the burning from where she’d used rubbing alcohol to clean them out had long since stopped.

    Her back still felt numb from the chain’s curse, not as stiff or uncomfortable as it had been before, but not yet unshackled from the limitations which prevented her from using anything but the most basic of mysteries without agonizing pain.

    And all of that wasn’t counting all of the small burns she’d gotten away with after that spectacular showing of raw power.

    Seriously, what was a servant doing here of all places?

    From what she recalled, Subcategory Grail Wars weren’t exactly rare, but uncommon enough that one could go a few years without hearing about one. They were extremely costly to set up and more often than not lead to incidents that exposed the existence of magecraft to everyday people.

    Not a good track record to be had.

    She didn’t know much about the origin of the ritual, only that centuries ago, the titular Holy Grail had been created by three powerful families of magi. An all mighty wish granter which could make one’s wildest dreams a reality.

    That was the promise of the conflict.

    But of course, it turned out to be too much of a temptation.

    Like moths lured to a flame, the denizens of the Moonlit World flocked towards the Grail; ambition and desperation driving them forward as they sought the wish.

    Magi.

    Vampires.

    Executors.

    Mercenaries.

    Regular humans.

    Freaks of nature of any and all kinds. They swarmed Japan in hopes of gaining the device, their hopeless struggle scarring the land and destroying the city where the original ritual was being held. The nature of its destruction was itself treated as a mystery, with new theories being suggested every now and again.

    Failure was a harsh teacher, but nonetheless effective.

    The Second Grail War had been much less… eventful, yet even more puzzling, as there were no records of it.

    Not that it existence was being kept as a secret, of course not, which made it even more confusing. Why would an event sanctioned by the Mage’s Association and sponsored by three giants of the mystic world have no records at all?

    Neither the names of the participants.

    Nor the servants who were summoned.

    Not even the current whereabouts of the Grail.

    There wasn’t even a winner listed!

    The scholar within Dolores reeled at the thought.

    The Magus within her said that there was a reason. Probably one she wouldn’t like.

    Either way, it was currently, likely, irrelevant. This war was a subcategory conflict, probably, and that mean there was another goal outside of gaining a wish. Most likely. Assuming she wasn’t totally wrong, that a normal war had not been secretly declared, and London’s ley lines were being used to bring about a localized apocalypse.

    “Some magi are just born wrong.”

    Thankfully, she came from a relatively normal one. The kind that was sensible about their security and didn’t bother with wagging their metaphysical dicks at every supernatural entity that moved in its vague area. She’d turned down a block, eyes carefully scanning the walls around her as they transitioned from concrete to more traditional brickwork the further she moved down the street.

    She stopped, placing a bloody finger against a seemingly random brick, one with a faded marking that might have once been a rune, Dolores sighed in relief at the welcoming tingle that traveled up her spine.

    “Subtlety is best, after all.”

    Simple bounded fields, weak on their own, fragile even, formed an interlocking latticework of invisible threads. Opening a hole, ever so slightly big enough for her to step inside, through an illusionary wall that had been made out of hard air, it immediately resealed itself. The magic was designed to be low impact, have a low profile, and not to interact with any other kinds of magic that occurred around or near it, except to raise itself to maximum defensive status.

    That’s why it was an abandoned, boarded up building on the outside.

    Stepping inside, before she could even turn the lights on, Dolores felt her throat seize up.

    “Momma.” Her voice came out in a harsh croak when the smell of her mother’s perfume hit her with all the subtlety of the earlier lightning blasts. She took a minute to just cry. Hiccuping, coughing, snotty nose and all. In the dark, cool entry room, where no one and nothing could hurt her, Dolores allowed herself to sink into the emotions sizzling within her.

    To show weakness before others meant death.


    When the stress of the morning had left her, and her bloody feet were aching just a little less, she wiped her face as best she could. Turning the lights on, she shuffled towards the bathroom of what looked like an upper class apartment. Furniture worth five figures, expensive electronics just a year or two out of date, even a cute tile pattern she was smearing filth and blood over.

    Peeling out of the ruins of her dress, what few tattered strips of rain soaked cloth was left, the young scion grabbed a first aid kit out of a cabinet under the sink, shuffled to her bathroom, turned the bath on, and plopped down on the side of her tub.

    “Aaaaaah, yes~” She crooned in delight

    The warm water by itself heavenly. A balm to her battered body and spirit alike. Still, the water ran brown and red, but it was flowing fast enough to run clean soon enough. Taking out a pair of tweezers she began to run them along the cuts dotting her body. The mystic code, requiring only a drop of power to work, pulled the few remaining bits of debris out of her cuts.

    Thirty minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing an over large T-shirt and gym shorts, with her feet wrapped in bandages and smeared with a healing ointment. Each and every little nick and cut had been seen to and, thanks to the bounded field working to purge the curse from within her, Dolores Morello now felt a bit more human. And, of course, she was starving half to death too.

    Rooting around the pantry, which was protected by its own bounded field, she pulled a Dagwood, as fresh as the day it was thrown together, and a bottle of coke, a guilty pleasure of her own. Plopping down on a couch she hadn’t sat on in… years she chowed down. The picture of her parents holding a newborn her, their smiling faces and her squalling red cheeks, didn’t make her cry. But tears were pricking at her eyes.

    Another hour of light napping and eating later, she was up and moving again.

    ‘Mother’s Workshop really is amazing.’

    Modeled after an ancient temple of greek design, her Mother’s workshop was a series of chambers dug into the underground of London. Just beneath the Thames. Mother had insisted on placing it here due to its secludedness and the proximity to a major leyline.

    Father often joked about how ridiculously expensive it must have been, though mother neither confirmed nor denied it.

    Her heart twinged in pain, a cold agony.

    Hollow.

    Thinking about them hurt. But it was a good hurt, reminding her of what she had lost, who she was and what she now had to do.

    And she had much work to do.

    Sleep would come later. For now, she had to rectify the situation regarding her circuits and the lack of resources she’d been faced with since her capture. Whatever had been left at their home had likely been stripped away and taken to Rosenberg. That was fine. He could take it all.

    It didn’t matter.

    So long as she had the Crest on her back and this Workshop, she would be able to start again no matter what. Stepping into her main lab, she pricked her finger on a thimble, magical energy rushing through her body, and grunted in pain.

    “At least my circuits are back.”

    The prana in her body was a bit excited, rushing around a bit, but it was most certainly flowing freely.

    “Now, it’s time to get things going. Let’s see what tools we have left!”

    She pressed a sequence of bricks along the walls, causing it to shift open and reveal a set of stairs leading further down into the darkness. The dampness of the river kept at bay by the specific runes set along the ceiling, which gleamed amongst the shadows, illuminating her path.

    Undaunted, the young magus set down the narrow path, pushing open the heavy set iron door at the end of the tunnel.

    Revealing HER workshop.

    She walked inside, the door sealing itself shut behind her.




    Congratulations! You have reached Dolores' Workshop!

    Magus Customization Interface has been unlocked!

    Magus Customization Interface
    As a magus, Dolores Morella has been raised to take up the responsibility of furthering the advances of magecraft in hopes of one day reaching the Root. As a result, she has come to learn and understand the properties and uses of different mystics from both her Father and Mother. The secrets of two bloodlines recorded on the Magic Crest emblazoned on Dolores' back is a constant reminder of her responsibilities as the last of the Morella Family.

    The Customization Process is threefold, with each voter being allowed to vote once per selection. The three choices are:

    - Magic Crest

    - Magic Circuits

    - Foundation


    Choice Time! - 1


    What form of Magic Crest does Dolores have?

    1 - Battery

    A Crest which facilitates the process of spellcasting, cutting the amount of energy needed by a given percentage depending upon Dolores' own affinity towards the spell. Starting at 2%, it will grow as Dolores acclimates to the Crest.

    2 - Archive

    A Crest used as a storage unit for a variety of spells of Dolores' own Foundation, while not helping to actualize the process itself this form of Crest will give Dolores access to different spells and rituals earlier, with the amount increasing overtime as she acclimates to the Crest.

    3 - Second Foundation

    A Crest which acts as a crutch which Dolores can use to perform mysteries from a different foundation of her own at an increased cost. These spells will drain her faster and often times cause physical complications, but as she acclimates, the drawbacks will grow smaller.


    Choice Time! - 2


    What form of Magic Circuits does Dolores have?

    1 - Core

    Dolores has a large pool of od to draw from, naturally higher than the average magus. This increased capacity will allow her to perform mysteries that have higher costs earlier. However, her recovery rate is average, meaning she will take longer to replenish her inner reserves.

    2 - Reactor

    Dolores has an increased production rate which allows her to quickly recover od that she has spent. The process will leave her physically drained, however, it is entirely possible to cut her recovery by a quarter, from a maximum of 8 hours to 6.

    3 - Burst

    A strange mutation, these Circuits possess an allignment connected to Dolores' own Foundation, cutting down on the amount needed to perform her mysteries by a solid five percent. As a result however, mysteries outside her Foundation will cost an addition five.


    Choice Time! - 3


    What Foundation does Dolores practice?

    1 - Entomopathy

    The Foundation rooted in the concept of controlling arthopods. Simple minded creatures which Dolores can command, breed and modify through varrying methods. Their degree of customization is the smallest due to the simplicity of their bodies, however, their rate of production is second to none, allowing her to build vast swarms of minions.

    2 - Necromancy

    The Foundation rooted in the manipulation of corpses. Far from the usual necromancers one hears about in fantasy novels, Dolores bases her craft on the works of Victor Frankenstein. By rebuilding corpses and animating them as minions, she can create highly customizeable minions to fulfill most tasks and roles. However, the rate of production is atrocious in comparison, requiring many preparations, tools and resources to be available.

    3 - Shamanism

    The Foundation rooted on communication with denizens of spiritual nature. This foundation does not focus on controlling the actions of another as prior, but in controlling one's own body as it is shared with an outsider such as sidhe, daemons and spirits. The more powerful her 'partner' the more energy it takes to properly synchronise with them, with the rarity of spirits severely restricting her options, lengthy rituals are needed to properly utilize this Foundation


    Congratulations! Your Magic Circuits have been Unlocked!

    Inventory:
    Spoiler:
    - Gandr Staff (100%)
    - Mana Jewels (5 / 100%)
    - Mystic Lenses (100%)
    - Ring of Concealment (100%)
    Last edited by Wyvern; March 7th, 2020 at 10:03 PM.

  9. #29
    闇色の六王権 The Dark Six SpoonyViking's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2015
    Location
    Rio de Janeiro, RJ - Brasil
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    7,104
    Magic Crest: Battery
    Magic Circuits: Burst
    Foundation: Shamanism
    My fanfics:
    The Gift (F/SN): The last duel between Cú Chulainn and Scáthach.
    Passion Acknowledged (F/SN): Shinji X Shirou lemon
    He Was a Good King (F/SN): Was Beowulf a good king?
    A Fairy Tale of Love and Death (F/SN): A meeting between Scáthach and King Hassan.
    Palingenetic Descension (Tsukihime): The origin of the Tohno family's hybrid nature.

  10. #30
    リビングデッド Living Dead
    Join Date
    Aug 2015
    Posts
    66
    Magic Crest: Second Foundation (Shamanism)
    Magic Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Entomopathy
    Last edited by Cain12; March 8th, 2020 at 10:05 AM. Reason: Second Foundation, also formatting got screwed up.

  11. #31
    So Many Ideas, So Little Time SleepMode's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2017
    Location
    ...I forgot.
    Age
    20
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    1,144
    Blog Entries
    1
    Magic Crest: Second Foundation (Shamanism)
    Magic Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Entomopathy
    The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
    Coffee would be nice, though.

    [Collection of my Servant Sheets]
    Now Revamped!

  12. #32
    Evil of Humanity Half-Blood Master's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2017
    Location
    Argentina
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    149
    Magic Crest: Archive
    Magic Circuits: Burst
    Foundation: Shamanism
    Last edited by Half-Blood Master; March 8th, 2020 at 08:34 PM.
    Quote Originally Posted by Faux, July 20th 2019
    We gave HBM, of all people, access to a morals loosening field
    Quote Originally Posted by Faux, December 25th 2019
    Senta deserves the right to a life where she gets to choose if she's actually a Nazi
    True Rider
    A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!

  13. #33
    Magic Crest: Second Foundation (Shamanism)
    Magic Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Entomopathy

  14. #34
    死徒 Dead Apostle zikari8's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2017
    Posts
    715
    Blog Entries
    1
    Magic Crest: Archive
    Magic Circuits: Reactor
    Foundation: Shamanism


  15. #35
    リビングデッド Living Dead Faux's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2018
    Location
    A Vineyard by the Sea
    Age
    21
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    99
    US Friend Code
    688,011,841
    Magic Crest: 1. Battery

    Magic Circuits: 2. Core

    Foundation: 3. Shamanism
    False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

  16. #36
    吸血鬼 Vampire Ayr's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2014
    Location
    Glasgow, Scotland
    Age
    23
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    385
    JP Friend Code
    141208538
    Magic Crest: Second Foundation (Shamanism)
    Magic Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Entomopathy

  17. #37
    Hey, I ain’t no lizard! Draconic's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2015
    Location
    Miskatonic University
    Age
    28
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,778
    US Friend Code
    194,434,580 - IGN Ritsuka
    Blog Entries
    18
    Magic Crest: 1. Battery

    Magic Circuits: 2. Core

    Foundation: 3. Shamanism
    Likes attention, shiny objects, and... a ball of yarn?
    F/GO Supports

    I joined two years too late...
    Quote Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok View Post
    That makes me think of Rin as a loan shark.
    Quote Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok View Post
    Admittedly, she'd probably be the hottest loan shark you'll ever meet. She'd probably make you smile as she sucked you dry.


    Oh dear, that doesn't sound like yuri at all.
    Quote Originally Posted by Techlet View Post
    Not with that attitude.

  18. #38
    リビングデッド Living Dead Wyvern's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2019
    Location
    Brazil
    Age
    24
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    83
    Location: London
    Time: 12:15
    I.D: Dolores Morella
    Condition: Recovering
    Magic Circuits: Unlocked!

    Magus Profile!
    Origin: ???
    Element: ???
    Sorcery Trait: ???
    Crest: Second Foundation (Entomopathy)
    Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Shamanism
    Mana Output: 500 Units


    Inventory!
    - Gandr Staff (100%)
    - Mana Jewels (5 / 100%)
    - Mystic Lenses (100%)
    - Ring of Concealment (100%)




    Day 0 - Prologue 5




    “Well, Mother, what do you have left?”


    Her twin crests thrummed. Their houses had unified, her father being one of three and her mother being the last of her line. The Beaumont’s had been victims of their own experiments, devoured in an attempt at a ritual that pursued immortality. Her mother had been born from the ruins of her mother’s womb, imbued with her family crest and possessed of a nature eminently suited for a Magus.

    If the servants that had raised her mother not been so experienced, Dolores was painfully aware her family’s… eccentricities would have precluded her own birth.

    Stepping into the lab, for it was a scientists creation of steel and computers and glass tanks, instincts she’d long kept suppressed stirred. It was like awakening from a deep slumber, almost. And the swarm thrummed.

    Chittering in their tanks, hundreds of very small familiars, all blood and chitin and blind, grasping hunger, awoke.

    “Shh.” Od danced through her body, slipping through her circuits as Potential itself rushed to fill a void she had forgotten was there. “Peace, I live. Mother is gone, but I live.”

    They had no mind, this swarm, but impulses carved into their very being. DNA encoded with mystic codes, every scrap of bio matter designed as tools. A raw extension of a Magus’s will. Pushing that will into them, they stilled, quieted, let her think. Still, beneath the surface, shaking off the edge of the mystical slumber they’d been in until she had woken them, they had questions.

    Their Existence was under threat, because she was under threat.

    “Peace, my siblings, I will call an ally. One who will aid us.”

    Their tiny, tiny minds, utterly, totally pointless on their own and terrifying in their full number, quieted. Ally was a word they were programmed to understand, after all.

    Striding through the lab, she came to another room, this one more ceremonial in appearance. Carved in the center was a great summoning circle, one that was impossibly intricate and almost painful to the mind and eye to behold. And at the center, an athame, catnip, clover, spring water, a small brazier, a harp, and a bowel. This was her father’s gift, “The Ties That Bind", and the source of their true power.

    If the Beamont’s had been obsessed with breeding a new Ultimate Creature for this world, then the Morella’s were obsessed with calling upon the most powerful beings possible through their specialized doctrine of summoning.

    Shamanism.

    Similar in procedure to Formalcraft, a Shaman must abide by a strict set of rulings and guidelines in order to contact and give form to spirits. The denizens of the Reverse Side of the World were notoriously difficult to call forth at times. Picky as some of them were, their help was nonetheless invaluable to the practitioners of their craft, and so her family had dedicated generations to building a mutually advantageous relationship.

    Something that even those posh blowhards of the Sophia-Ri bloodline couldn’t claim to have achieved. Arrogant Magi tended to put off semi-immortal being which could transcend time and space. Humility, and hard work mixed with rank paranoia, was the appropriate attitude.

    Dolores traced the summoning circle carefully.

    Its design had been painstakingly carved into a stone slab her mother had brought all the way from Scandinavia and powdered with various materials. Such as seashells from the mediterrenean, obsidian shards from Beerenberg, chalk extracted from the White Hills of Dover.

    The designs had then been filled with silver. Molten and purified from various artifacts collected over the course of an entire decade.

    Some of which were likely illegal to possess, let alone melt.

    You could only get blessed silver from one place, after all, and if the Church had even suspected what was stored in this place, well, they’d have torn it to shreds. And then quite violently died themselves. No evidence could be permitted to survive, not when it might endanger the family.


    This Altar was everything.

    The culmination of decades worth of study and experimentation passed down the Morella bloodline in hopes of constructing a gateway, a passage through which one could access the world of mystery locked away since the Age of Fairies came to pass.

    And it was hers now.

    She’s never used it. That thought was paramount in her mind as the chalk lines grew thicker, each rune and sigil checked and rechecked. The most she’d ever done was practice with a few template summons, always under her father’s watchful eye, and the summoning and banishing of her familiar. But even that was in a weakened state. Dolore’s hands and knees ached, her injuries from early still not quite fully restored.

    Eventually, when her work was finished, she rose.

    It was but the work of a single, long heartbeat to gather her tools, remove the candles that had lit the room, and kindle a fire in a low brazier.

    Perfect, flawless, and so intricate she could trace the lines of the circles of calling, binding, and protection with her eye for hours and never take in all of the details. It was no lie to say that forming a proper circle could be a form of self hypnosis in and of itself.

    But that was irrelevant. Now was the time to begin.

    “Athame, check.” She placed the dagger at the center of the altar. “Jar of milk, in virgin clay fired in a hand kiln of mud brick, check.”The small urn was set next to the blade. “Crystal decanter of blessed spring water, check.” Shining and glinting in the light of a low burning brazier, the flask was set next to the urn. “Bowl of clover, clay and fresh leaves, check.” This too was placed upon the altar, half of the cloves being removed and placed near the brazier. “A harp, woven strings in ivory frame, check.” Small enough to be played with one hand, large enough to produce a strong hand, the instrument was simple, unadorned, pure. “Catnip, bountiful and generous, check.” The gifts were gathered, the call was ready, the future of her life would be decided today.

    Stoking the coals in the wrought iron brazier, set in front of and below the altar, Dolores stirred the flames to a full heat, returning the poker to its sheathe. Everything was arranged. Everything was ready. Even the bounded fields had aligned themselves to funnel the power of the world around her into the circle. This would be the moment Dollores Morello became a woman and a Magus in full.

    Unbidden, the image of a lock bloomed over her mind’s eye.

    Positioned on her forehead, where the door to the spiritual world lay.

    She envisioned a key. She envisioned the slightly rusted metal, every bend, every scratch, every edge as it slotted into place inside the lock.

    And turned.

    Her circuits flared to life, lines of arcane fire coming to life with the heat of a furnace. The pattern formed over her shoulders, linking to the Magic Crest on her lower back, creating the illusion of butterfly wings.

    She took a deep breath.

    In.

    Out.

    The conditions were far from ideal. She had yet to fully recover from her wounds, and her mana wouldn’t reach its peak for three hours yet. But her safety required she make do with what was possible.

    Raising the dagger, the blade somehow coming to her hand, she pricked her index finger.

    The first drop fell into the brazier, the blood shining like a ruby as the flames darted up to snatch the liquid life out of the air.

    The second drop fell into the bowl of clover, green leaves turning the red fluid emerald and the clay drinking deep of the offering.

    The third drop fell onto the strings of the harp, white sinew turning blue as liquid sapphire, ivory bone rippling and dancing and thrumming with its own music.

    She began singing, her voice low and clear and slow.

    The Soul is the Key to the Lock
    The Lock is the Key to the Spirit

    Taking half the bundle of clover in hand, dagger in the other, she let the plant fall into the flames, and a thick, grey smoke began to fill the room.

    The Spirit is the Key to the Gate
    The Gate is the Key to the World

    Her chanting grew, words of purification and protection and invocation filling the air.

    All are Connected
    The Soul
    The Key
    The Lock

    Taking the remaining clovers aside, she poured out the milk into the clay bowl, a single drop lingering on the lip of the urn for a long moment, before it fell too.

    Now her voice grew lusty and thick, power beginning to fill her throat.

    The Spirit
    The Gate
    The World

    Taking up the harp and setting the blade aside, its point facing the brazier and she began to strum in time with her voice. And with this, the music called forth the spirits she had sought. Like formless smoke, black against the grey that filled the room, the crawled in through every crack and hole and imperfection in the walls. From every little shadow, every sliver of darkness, from the corners of her eyes and the slits of her pupils they spilled forth.

    Twisting, turning, climbing, running, crawling, writhing.

    The spirits came to a rest.

    Through the Soul, I find the Key
    Through the Key, I open the Lock

    A hundred, hundred eyes staring out of a pitch black darkness, crowding against the now pitifully then grey smoke, filled her world. In every direction but down, there was nothing but eyes and smoke and darkness.

    Then they started moving.

    Through the Lock, I call the Spirit
    Through the Spirit, I reach the Gate

    “Please, please, please pretty lady. If you let Scritch-Scratch in he’ll give you a pot of gold.”

    Long, jagged claws pushed against the smoke, thick gold coins as large around as a hubcap slid between gnarled, curled fingers. Dolores said nothing, her fingers continuing to pluck at the harp and never ceasing their movement.

    Through the Gate, I enter the World
    Through the World, I become Eternal

    “No, no, no! Ignore him, Tiddly-Tom can show you jewels and gems and a pretty necklace he can!”

    Once more, she began her aria.

    More began to leap and scrape and jump, flashes of twisted, gnarled faces, long, grasping fingers, and unnatural, unclean shapes leapt out in the flicker light. Tiddly-Tom’s massive, orb like glowing yellow eyes growing bigger and bigger within the darkness.

    “Let me in, let me in, let me in. Little girl, if you don’t let me in I’ll gobble you up. Old Nick will, he will, he will, he will.”

    Bipedal, with a voice low and cruel and perverse, a hairy, shaggy beast leered out at her with lusts darker than any Belefronte could dream up.

    Swirling around this monster’s feet, the spirits began to scream. Like some terrible wounded beast, howling in a thousand voices, with a thousand tongues, and a thousand throats they began to cry. Low, at first, it began to grow. Both in intensity and in horror, their chorus sounded every more like the damned and dying

    Again, even more stridently, she cried out with her aria!

    “Marry me, marry me, marry me, Mary my lady love. Thomas the Wit is Wise, Wise, Wise! He’ll show you secrets and tricks and teach you the Hidden Ways! Bare his litter once, twice, thrice and he’ll give you secrets to walk the ways for a thousand years!”

    “No, no, no! Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me! Give me a kiss or I’ll kiss your throat, bloody and red as a rose!”

    Thin and angular and all matted, diseased fur, just as the others, this unnamed spirit gazed upon her with malice, pure and unbridled. Morello felt her skin crawl, but still she played. She didn’t cease. Not until the beasts stopped throwing themselves at the barrier. Only when they’d halted all movement and sat there and screamed did she move.

    Howling out her own aria, she snatched up the catnip and threw it on the fire, orange-red heat exploding upwards and consuming the herb in but a moment.

    This time, the smoke that wafted about was sickly sweet. And, almost as one, the screaming stopped. In a flash, all of the spirits, no matter how twisted or perverse or deformed, rolled onto their backs and began to pur. Tossing and turning, they mewled and whined and kicked at the air.

    Finally, she stopped singing but Dolores dare not pause in her playing as she took stock of the spirits which now surrounded her.

    They were… indescribable.

    No two of them were exactly alike. Although some of them mimicked the form of animals and plants. Cats were particularly prevalent, namely because she chose milk as part of her offering.

    They lazed about under the effects of the catnip, the blood and binding the flames with the herbs intensifying and broadening the desired effect.

    Finally, she managed to find the ones she sought, just off to the corner of her vision, the trio of wildcats pranced about midair chasing each other. Their fur shifted like smoke, their eyes reflecting the light of the moon much like mirrors. There wasn’t much that set them aside from the horde which now surrounded her.

    Yet she knew better.

    The first had shimmering lines of golden fur alongside its back, the face of a terrible beast reflected under the low light.

    The second, bore circles which seemed to fade in and out, a shimmering silver given the shadow an entrancing, unearthly grace.

    The last one had markings of bronze, jagged lines which reminded her of lightning ran along its face, pattern glowing like a wisp of fire amongst the shadows.

    Of the sidhe Dolores had studied, those who’d she been able to summon had always been restricted to temporary contracts. However, there were those who’d been sworn allies of her family, loyal companions who had fought and bled alongside her ancestors for generations without fail.

    And now she’d found.

    Yet the question remained. Who should she call upon?

    Holding out the bowl of milk, her single drop of blood having turned the pure white the palest shade of pink, she sat it down in front of them.

    “Berach, Ríoghnán, Suibhne, come, drink, you’re welcome to join me.”

    The three lumbered over, half drunk, and began to lap at the milk. Once they began to drink, she grabbed the other half of the cloves and held the edge of the bundle to the flames. Taking the smoking herbs, she began to walk about the circle, humming and spreading the smoke away.

    “I dismiss thee, I dismiss thee, I dismiss thee. Begone, Begone, Begone. Return, Return, Return.”

    Slowly, languidly, as if they were swimming in cotton, each spirit began to leave. Meandering away, they returned to the aether from whence they came. Eventually, all that was left was Dolores and the three cats. Pouring out another serving of milk, this time without another droplet of blood, she sat down on the floor next to them.

    “I greet you. It’s been a long time. I'm afraid to say things… kind of exploded. Rather badly.”

    Settling before her, the triad moved in tandent. They blinked together, wagged their tails together. Every twitch of their ethereal bodies seemed to synchronize and respond to the others like clockwork.

    “We felt as our contract with your parents was severed. You have our condolences.” The golden one, Ríoghnán met her eyes. His own burnt like embers, a deep orange which reminded Dolores of the setting sun.

    “Their death was sudden, yet strange, our connection was not so weak that we shouldn’t have been able to aid them” The silver one, Barech, grunted pensive, dagger-like claws lightly scraping the stone underneath him.

    “Our wish was to properly form a pact with you, though circumstances have a way of interfering it seems. Still, it heartens us to see you well and alive.” Suibhne, the Bronze one, curled along the floor, her tail wagging lazily behind him. “Your soul does not yet shine at its fullest. A contract with our triad is beyond your current abilities.”

    “However,” Ríoghnán interrupted. “A compromise may be within reach.”

    “Do not see this as a favor. But as an investment.” Barech cautioned.

    “A proof of trust!” Suibhne purred.

    Dolores nodded, the weight of the situation finally settling down upon her. The enormity of the favor being afforded to her. The trust which compelled these three, old spirits as whimsical as the wind, to remain and aid her.

    It was humbling.

    “Thank you. Your benevolence honors me.”

    “So now, it is your time.” The golden one started.

    “To choose.” Silver concurred.

    “But only one!” Bronze finished.

    Dolores swallowed, feeling her throat dry. Who should she take as her familiar?

    Choice Time!
    Dolores has successfully summoned her family's guardian spirits, yet her body cannot yet handle the burden of supporting all three. She has been offered the chance to select one of the triad and take them in as a familiar. Which one should she take?

    1 - Suibhne the Bronze: Playful and fond of trickery, Suibhne never runs out of tricks and enjoys messing around with humans. Illusionism is her bread and butter, and she possess a strange potential yet untapped. Something she has not displayed to the Morella Family.

    2 - Berach the Silver: Fierce and decisive, Berach is a hunter, a lethal killer who has trained and honed his abilities to take down enemies as swiftly and as painfully as possible.

    3 - Ríoghnán the Golden: Leader of the triad. A no-nonsence spirit that has high expectations of the Morella family and isn't afraid of demanding Dolores take action. He is temperate yet stern, wise yet pragmatic. With a power which commands the respect of those around him, it can be said that he has a King's Disposition.


  19. #39
    Hey, I ain’t no lizard! Draconic's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2015
    Location
    Miskatonic University
    Age
    28
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,778
    US Friend Code
    194,434,580 - IGN Ritsuka
    Blog Entries
    18
    1 - Suibhne the Bronze

    The happy kitty with secret powers
    Last edited by Draconic; March 9th, 2020 at 10:17 PM.
    Likes attention, shiny objects, and... a ball of yarn?
    F/GO Supports

    I joined two years too late...
    Quote Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok View Post
    That makes me think of Rin as a loan shark.
    Quote Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok View Post
    Admittedly, she'd probably be the hottest loan shark you'll ever meet. She'd probably make you smile as she sucked you dry.


    Oh dear, that doesn't sound like yuri at all.
    Quote Originally Posted by Techlet View Post
    Not with that attitude.

  20. #40
    死徒 Dead Apostle Bugs's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2018
    Age
    26
    Posts
    705
    1 - Suibhne the Bronze

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •