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Tzeentch's teeth

Feel like burning like a bright wizard? Being as green as a gobbo? Robust like an Ironbreaker? Bloodthirsty like a witch elf? Feel free to speak as them here.
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ilyana1965
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Tzeentch's teeth

Post#1 » Mon Dec 23, 2019 2:34 pm

Author's Note: What we have here is a role-play for a solo magus who is being driven insane by her dark worship to Chaos. This character has endured by killing mobs solo, one at a time. I'm a couple levels from the final level--just having fun. I took some time off, but now I'm back. Don't worry, I have other toons that participate socially. A couple of those characters will cameo here from time to time--if I last that long.


I

Izobella knew she'd had lost time. How much time had flown—she had no idea. But in her jittery head, there played a show of images, feelings, sensations. Tentacles, yes; her screams, of course; her stooping pleas for mercy—unfathomable.

Taken from the rage of battle, she had endured some time, some years in direct service of the lowest kind to—she bet—agents of Tzeen'neth. What degradation she endured was beyond fantasy, but now she was back again, naked under the snow-conspiring clouds, before the demon statue in High Pass What an irony. To be supine before a Chaos orderly was symbolic of her abduction. True, she was a high level adept of Chaos, or what knuckle-dragging Order sycophants called, “magus!” But all the pomp and circumstance was for mere show, for here be the raw gallows of her true office.

She arose, sneering at the impression she left in the snow. How angelic. How divine, yet if only the viewer knew what she knew about dark worship, they would be quick to dash crimson dust upon that shadow, for that was her truer hue. Movement between her breasts brought her eyes to see the abomination that squiggled there. Six inches of tentacle, thrashing too and fro, like an infant demon seeking succor. She took it in stride. Run with the agents of change and soon enough they could be driving you, or something like that.

Protectively, she covered the little guy, wishing for a robe, why Tzeentch's teeth, a wide bandage to gird her round and brace the growth before it got broken off. It was a priceless treasure, a gift for her pandering, for her oaths, a herald prophesying her correct direction.

II

Robe in hand thanks to a merchant with darker than average leanings, she gathered her whereabouts on top of the mountain, submerging her shattered memories deep down with the slaughter of mountain denizens. Wild-men burned and screamed by the dozen; dutiful undead over at the ruined manor jangled to the tunes of sizzling bone marrow, dancing in magus fire, falling into a heap of smoldering nothingness at the end of the dance.

She was as she once was...again. The quest for perfection licking at the coals of her mind, Izobella took in the delightful realness of the frost laden air, swearing that never would she mistake the average world as mundane, not after the dark reality of her abduction.

“If once, then again will I seek to rise to the peaks of peril where greatness dwells, though Tzeentch himself be not impressed with such matters. The main is the personal quest for betterment, and the thread used to sew that blanket is nothing but adherence to the work of Tzeentch. Let no man come before that shadow even if highest day has the field.”


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Did you know that William Harrison's "The Theologian" was published in 1965?

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Kwatchi
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Re: Tzeentch's teeth

Post#2 » Mon Dec 23, 2019 6:21 pm

The first two paragraphs of part II were really well crafted. Nice story!
Slayer - 40/7x
Archmage - 40/7x

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ilyana1965
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Re: Tzeentch's teeth

Post#3 » Mon Dec 23, 2019 6:35 pm

Thank you very much.
Did you know that William Harrison's "The Theologian" was published in 1965?

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ilyana1965
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Re: Tzeentch's teeth

Post#4 » Thu Dec 26, 2019 9:20 pm

III
(Note: Izobella is going insane, so trust carefully. By the way, I finished leveling her yesterday. That was a push)

One moment Izobella was staring at her memories as they danced above the dust of the Chaos Wastes, shimmering with the perpetual winds, and the next she was following a crowd, her disc skipping quickly after. It was easy to understand the Chaos teachings in crowds. Every bristling weapon, every hand was an extension of the will of Tzeentch. Yes, she raged on in her head, the encroaching tentacles of the Raven god implicitly symbolized that every being in this crowd, and every being who yet drew breath, lived in Tzeentch. The average being, at every moment, was nothing but an instrument of the Raven god himself: Some knew the truth, and others were ignorant of it. Izobella smiled at her conceit, her eyes wild with understanding. Sweet was it to dance in the secrets of the Great Conspirator.

“Move,” a dark elf said, shoving Izobella aside. “Arms before chaos magic.”

“Of course,” Izobella smiled, her eyes yet glazed with understanding. All were the tips of Tzeentch's will, mere puppets. The crowd had stopped abruptly before a keep's door. Afore the door chanted the mixed forces of Destruction: orc, druchii, Northmen, and goblin. They chanted as one. Their weapons bristled as one. Here was the ultimate truth, truth beyond the sanity of the average being: Tzeentch's conspiracy never ended.

“Come,” the druchii summoned, “stand here and let loose your red fire. Aim at the snipers on the wall.”

Nodding, Izobella lifted her hands, joyful as the energy of the disc met her own just below her navel, happy as the fire blasted at the snipers. “Move now,” the druchii grabed her by her belt and pulled her and disc out of harm's way. “They have a fix on you. Always move out of their range.”

The rough hewn camaraderie between the two grew as they toured the battle of the keep. Stopping on hillocks to cast fire, dwelling to draw in the “enemy” long enough for the druchii's swords to cut, and Izobella's disc to flail its tentacle, toppling the unwary.

All in all, it was less than a saga for a hero from the North.

Sometime later, around a fire with others, someone procured meats from the keep, and the smell of cooking flesh brought uniformity to Izobella's drifting mind.

“How did you make it this far in this life without a nanny to direct you,” asked the Druchii with a laugh. The laugh, demeaning, was not meant for the easement of its target.

“The dark gods and the Raven has always directed me.”

“Judging by the scars, it seems misdirection is the topic.”

“You cannot ascend without burning your toes in the fire once in a while. It's to the stalwart the dark gods give their blessings.”

“Judging by that scar on your face, I'd say that be a blessing to tell about.” Again with the demeaning humor.

Izobella smiled, accepted her portion from a prisoner, and chewed in grim silence of the fire.

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Did you know that William Harrison's "The Theologian" was published in 1965?

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