Dark Grove
A dark grove deep within an ancient and foreboding wood. An old graveyard and a decrepit crypt are situated at its center and a faint path winds westward out of the grove and back towards the main trail.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
| "out" to Dark Woods » | ||
Dark Grove is a part of 
Dark Woods.
1 Places in Dark Grove:
15 Characters Here
Ecstasy [17] A man with a strange sense of humour and a tendancy to joke about. He is a cold blooded killer, who only appears when his organization send him to take care of someone...
Anumos [13] Man it has been a long time since I have been out of there...
Luke Coliander [12] "Come on come on, let it pour out of your soul!"
Nobody Knoes [9] So? It is only death...I mean all my friends are already dead.
Doctor Durough [2] "i see your fate... it is sealed child, the last wisps of your life will pass and there is nothing that can be done
Dirge Niscar [1]
Cruor [1] A pseuododragon with too much blood in his alcohol stream
Clive Esteep [1] [quote]My Queen...[/quote]
Eileen Fenstner [1]
Silhouettes [0] Outlines and sketches of what is, and what is to become.
Start Character Here »
Up ahead was a sickly smell of death wafting through the air around a stone structure, steel door cracked ajar, one open grave inside, blade pierced through their chest and skeletal hands clasped around the handle.
"Well, this is cheery," Alrion said.
Notable, the blade was exotic. Not western, that was for certain. A katana. The weapon had an artistic pattern in the handle, a delicate blade masterfully crafted. Whoever had made it had not just put the effort into the blade, but also into the design of the handle. It was a tool of murder, and it was beautiful.
"Well, this is cheery," Alrion said.
Notable, the blade was exotic. Not western, that was for certain. A katana. The weapon had an artistic pattern in the handle, a delicate blade masterfully crafted. Whoever had made it had not just put the effort into the blade, but also into the design of the handle. It was a tool of murder, and it was beautiful.
“Well, that sure is a fine piece of work. Beautiful craftsmanship. That what you two came all the way out here for?” Adriaan asked.
Tycho's mind travelled to the Katana, picturing its fine grip in his hand, imagining the weight. He began to approach it, cautiously, his eyes scanning the ground around him for visible traps. As he walked, he muttered, as was his custom.
"People in ghostly houses shouldn't point fingers, shrew. And hey, yet again, I'd like to point out that I'm alive, and you seem to be, y'know, not."
He paused a foot away from the sword, whirling back to face Alrion. "Is it what we're here for?"
"People in ghostly houses shouldn't point fingers, shrew. And hey, yet again, I'd like to point out that I'm alive, and you seem to be, y'know, not."
He paused a foot away from the sword, whirling back to face Alrion. "Is it what we're here for?"
"That's definitely it. Well, I have to say this was entirely easier than expected," he said, casually, letting out a sigh. "I hope they're all like this. We could open the vault in no time at all!"
Adriaan walked up with Tycho to peer at the blade, though he kept his hands to himself. Outside of appreciating the craftsmanship, he had little use for swords. “Say, does your friend often talk to himself?” Adriaan asked with a glance to Alrion. “Not that there's anything wrong with it, just idle conversation,” he added quickly.
"I agree. Too easy." The ex-drunkard narrowed his eyes, taking a cautious step forwards, his boot crunching into the undergrowth. Easily, gently, he took another step, finally approaching the blade with the caution of his once thieving self.
Hm. No booby traps.
"Yer really beginnin' ta get on my nerves, wench. And I do not," he turned to Adriaan, his teeth bared. "talk to myself. So shaddup." One hand clasped around the handle, giving a mighty pull.
A wrenched shoulder was all he got in return. "Tha hell?" He asked, looking at the sword, still embedded in its resting place.
Hm. No booby traps.
"Yer really beginnin' ta get on my nerves, wench. And I do not," he turned to Adriaan, his teeth bared. "talk to myself. So shaddup." One hand clasped around the handle, giving a mighty pull.
A wrenched shoulder was all he got in return. "Tha hell?" He asked, looking at the sword, still embedded in its resting place.
"Are you...?" Alrion let out a low sigh.
"Sir, could you kindly help him remove the blade?" But the moment Adriaan stood inside the crypt, the doors would suddenly fix themselves, and slam shut behind the duo.
"Sir, could you kindly help him remove the blade?" But the moment Adriaan stood inside the crypt, the doors would suddenly fix themselves, and slam shut behind the duo.
"Wench? On the contrary! I can understand how my effeminate looks might cause confusion, but I assure you I am most definitely a man," Adriaan replied before glancing back to Alrion. “Help him? It doesn't generally take two people to pull a sword out of some dead guys chest. Though there are typically unhealthy repercussions to robbing graveyar-” he was cut off by the sound of stone doors slamming shut. “What'd I tell you.”
"Um." Tycho said, in the pitch black, one hand still fixed to the blade, his grip white knuckled. Fear curled inside him as the slam of the doors reverberated about the crypt. He tugged in vain at the sword, one boot raising to the man's chest for a final pull before he gave up, shrugging back into his longcoat. Something told him he'd need the protection.
"Give me a hand, then. The amount of tears your bitching gives off would easily help with that." He growled, though he seemed to take solace in the comment somehow, as if it took his mind off his current situation. Turning to the highwayman's voice, he jabbed a finger, unsure if the man could even see him. "The shankin' statement still stands, robber."
"Give me a hand, then. The amount of tears your bitching gives off would easily help with that." He growled, though he seemed to take solace in the comment somehow, as if it took his mind off his current situation. Turning to the highwayman's voice, he jabbed a finger, unsure if the man could even see him. "The shankin' statement still stands, robber."
The sword sank downwards, into the chest of the skeleton, and the dirt that covered them. It would not stop until completely covered, as if the skeleton was forcing it through their empty rib cage with their hands. And only then would the door of the crypt open once more, revealing a blank world outside. The ground had simply vanished, now nothing more than mist. A single transparent path floated mystically in the air.
And in the distance, like a beacon, was the ethereal blade.
And in the distance, like a beacon, was the ethereal blade.
“Bitching? My good sir, you again seem to misunderstand me. However, it must be stated that if I end up with some curse or having to do penance for an untold span of time for this, you owe me one." Pulling a string of prayer beads from his pocket, he entwined them around his hand for a touch of good fortune to help counter the bad fortune of looting a graveyard.
With that accomplished, he moved over to assist Tycho. However, once again, his intentions were suitably disrupted, this time by the sword sinking into the ground. “Well, that was peculiar. Say, where did your friend go?”
With that accomplished, he moved over to assist Tycho. However, once again, his intentions were suitably disrupted, this time by the sword sinking into the ground. “Well, that was peculiar. Say, where did your friend go?”
"Not you," He shot, darkly, but he too was incredibly shocked by the doors opening. "So here's the booby trap." He muttered, moving towards the plane. His fists clenched at his sides, moving out into the transparent path, testing it with the toe of his boot experimentally before deciding that it was stable. He put both of his feet on the path, hopping experimentally before beginning his slow walk forwards, emboldened by the sight of the etheral sword.
It was beautiful.
His footsteps carried him onward towards the blade, his eyes locked as he called backwards. "You comin', or not?"
It was beautiful.
His footsteps carried him onward towards the blade, his eyes locked as he called backwards. "You comin', or not?"
“Well, there doesn't look to be a lot of other options, eh?” Adriaan asked as he strode after Tycho. “Kind of surreal, huh?” he added with a look about their surroundings.
The ethereal world would seem devoid of any real life, at least in any direction that wasn't up. But in the misty sky was dozens of burning blue orbs, sailing gently and providing life to the otherwise dead plane. The path lead upwards in a winding fashion for the sword, which was maybe a arrow shot away, but it would not by that easy.
From behind them the skeleton rose from their tomb. While their upper half was that of a normal man, their lower half, previously buried, was made of equally skeletal snakes, hissing from their rising skulls. The snake-legged being rose up behind them. "You desecrate the graveyard of the Battle of Yazarum to claim the Relic of Souls."
From behind them the skeleton rose from their tomb. While their upper half was that of a normal man, their lower half, previously buried, was made of equally skeletal snakes, hissing from their rising skulls. The snake-legged being rose up behind them. "You desecrate the graveyard of the Battle of Yazarum to claim the Relic of Souls."
“Oh boy. What I tell you. There's definitely going to be some penance paying to be done before this day is through,” Adriaan said as he shifted into a readied combat stance.
Tycho grunted his acknowledgement, and sized the new enemy up. With a deep, slow nod, he decided on a course of action. "Right. Get ready!"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was running back down the path, headed for the sword, his legs burning and lungs expanding with each breath and each stride he took. Fuck fighting, he'd do that as soon as he had a fucking sword of power.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was running back down the path, headed for the sword, his legs burning and lungs expanding with each breath and each stride he took. Fuck fighting, he'd do that as soon as he had a fucking sword of power.
A screeching hiss came from the skeletal snake-legged man as he surged forward, body writhing as the creatures he rode slithered forward, snapping at Adriaan. But they weren't after the monk. They were after Tycho. As such, the undead being would not try to harm Adriaan, just knock him off, and send him falling below to the abyss.
Fortunately for Tycho, he was already making good ground towards the blade. Through the mist its position was becoming clearer, sat on a display stand with the crypt door beyond it, closed tight.
Fortunately for Tycho, he was already making good ground towards the blade. Through the mist its position was becoming clearer, sat on a display stand with the crypt door beyond it, closed tight.
“Right with you-” Adriaan began, but just like that Tycho was gone. “Well then, I guess it's just you and me,” Adriaan remarked with a crack of his neck. As the serpent lunged for him, Adriaan's coiled muscles sprang into action and he leaped forward to meet the skeleton head on, gaining lift and momentum with a deft stroke of his wings. Thrusting his spiked gauntlet towards the serpent's open jaws, the prayer beads entwined around his hand helped him to focus his ki into a single devastating blow.
Tycho's thoughts were a mass of jumbled confusion, with the words "oh" and "shit" making quite a few appearances. Namely, together, strung in a long, repeated mantra that matched well with the clomp of his boots against the cobblestone.
He nearly tripped once, causing a stumble that lost him a few seconds, but behind him came the sounds of combat, making him confident in his head start to continue his all-out sprint towards the magic item. Adriaan would hold off the snake-man-thing, and he'd get the sword. With the sword, he'd go get help.
It was simple.
When he closed in on his prize, however, he actually did trip, on a boot lace that had become untied with the sudden activity, the worn leather unused to any activity that didn't involve sitting at a bar and drinking heavily. Staggering, he fell, his hand inches away from the sword as he landed against the pathway with a loud smack.
He nearly tripped once, causing a stumble that lost him a few seconds, but behind him came the sounds of combat, making him confident in his head start to continue his all-out sprint towards the magic item. Adriaan would hold off the snake-man-thing, and he'd get the sword. With the sword, he'd go get help.
It was simple.
When he closed in on his prize, however, he actually did trip, on a boot lace that had become untied with the sudden activity, the worn leather unused to any activity that didn't involve sitting at a bar and drinking heavily. Staggering, he fell, his hand inches away from the sword as he landed against the pathway with a loud smack.
Tycho's thoughts were a mass of jumbled confusion, with the words "oh" and "shit" making quite a few appearances. Namely, together, strung in a long, repeated mantra that matched well with the clomp of his boots against the cobblestone.
He nearly tripped once, causing a stumble that lost him a few seconds, but behind him came the sounds of combat, making him confident in his head start to continue his all-out sprint towards the magic item. Adriaan would hold off the snake-man-thing, and he'd get the sword. With the sword, he'd go help.
It was simple.
When he closed in on his prize, however, he actually did trip, on a boot lace that had become untied with the sudden activity, the worn leather unused to any activity that didn't involve sitting at a bar and drinking heavily. Staggering, he fell, his hand inches away from the sword as he landed against the pathway with a loud smack.
He nearly tripped once, causing a stumble that lost him a few seconds, but behind him came the sounds of combat, making him confident in his head start to continue his all-out sprint towards the magic item. Adriaan would hold off the snake-man-thing, and he'd get the sword. With the sword, he'd go help.
It was simple.
When he closed in on his prize, however, he actually did trip, on a boot lace that had become untied with the sudden activity, the worn leather unused to any activity that didn't involve sitting at a bar and drinking heavily. Staggering, he fell, his hand inches away from the sword as he landed against the pathway with a loud smack.
As the skull was struck it cracked and crumbled, turning to dust, but the snake parts only chose to dive forward, rushing for Adriaan's legs, to try to push past and around him. However, despite the skulls destruction, a voice ripples around the air, as if the mist itself spoke. "Eight thousand years ago to this day the serpent lord Orochi engaged the armies of the Xiu province in battle on these very grounds. But today neither army would survive, as in his defeat Orochi ordered the souls of his enemies into the blade that pierced his chest."
It was pretty obvious which blade they meant.
It was pretty obvious which blade they meant.
As the skull was struck it cracked and crumbled, turning to dust, but the snake parts only chose to dive forward, splitting off from the body and each becoming an independent creature. The multiple serpents surged across the ground, like a mass of writhing worms, all heading for Tycho. However, despite the skulls destruction, a voice ripples around the air, as if the mist itself spoke. "Eight thousand years ago to this day the serpent lord Orochi engaged the armies of the Xiu province in battle on these very grounds. But today neither army would survive, as in his defeat Orochi ordered the souls of his enemies into the blade that pierced his chest."
It was pretty obvious which blade they meant.
It was pretty obvious which blade they meant.
Adriaan blinked at the seeming lack of effect crushing the things skull had. “Well then,” he remarked as the serpent heads surged beneath him and towards Tycho. Twisting in mid air, Adriaan dove after the heads, skimming across the ground just above them as he raced them towards Tycho. As the man tripped and face planted, Adriaan spread his wings and skimmed to a halt, landing crouched beside him. Grabbing him by the back of the collar, Adriaan hoisted him back to his feet. “Time to go,” he said and half pushed Tycho back into a run.
As Tycho was pushed into a sprint, he stumbled, and then cursed, kicking the boot behind him. He reached forwards, grabbing the sword with one hand, and whirling to face the snakes, gasping for air.
"Orochi!? What in the fuck kind of name is that? And who the fuck cares about eight thousand years ago?"
"Orochi!? What in the fuck kind of name is that? And who the fuck cares about eight thousand years ago?"
The sword could be drawn, but also from the large crypt door that lay a few steps beyond it a voice could be heard. "Tycho! Are you in there? Hello?" It was the voice of Alrion, presumably on the other side. The snakes did not seem to pause for a moment, but they were outmatched by the sheer speed held by Adriaan and Tycho.