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[personal profile] zerg_rush
[Kerrigan holds a beautiful elven sword up to the mirror like she's a little worried it's suddenly going to turn into a snake and bite her.]

Hey, uh. Who around here knows how to fight with a sword? I need practice. Nobody uses these things where I'm from.

[The protoss are outliers and should not have been counted. Also their swords are basically lightsabers, and she kills 'em with head shots.]

Everybody should get into a training routine. Last thing you want is to be puking your guts up because you had to run a few kilometers.

[She can smell the nerd on some of y'all.]
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[personal profile] wildestmods
[The events are seen happening in the background of several peoples' mirrors, in the wee hours just before sunrise. People that couldn't sleep or early risers. For those not on the mirrors, the noises are enough to wake everyone up.]

[The choice on where to go and when to leave is made for them. After several days of refuge, the protective crystal guarding Heartstone Trollmarket starts to make alarming crackling noises, like something electrical shorting out. Great groaning and cracking noises start to rumble through the cavern shortly after, like an iceberg cleaving off from a glacier. The glow from the crystal starts to flicker even more.]

[That's when they arrive, a wall of them, marching through the woods just before dawn. The screeching gives away that a frightening number of them has gathered under the leaves, even more than there were at the faire. The Nightrenders hang back near the tree line, as close as they can get to the Heartstone, sensing its failure is near. The mental effect they cause is still held at bay by the Heartstone's magic, but it feels almost like it's hanging in the air, crackling with menace, waiting to be unleashed.]

[With a final loud crack, the Heartstone shatters into a million crystalline shards. The sun still has not yet risen.]

[The Nightrenders start to advance - but something starts to advance towards them.]

Graga! Sgrabarabba rabba! [It is Gnome Chompsky, leader of the gnomes.]

[Oh, sure they kept trying to steal the gang's stuff, and they weren't overly fond of the trolls, who treated them like pests. But the gnomes' hearts aren't made of stone and seeing some of the squad pay their respects to the dead had still moved them, made them think that perhaps this was a group worth protecting. And many of them are far fonder of humans - especially Gnome Chompsky. The human Trollhunter and his friends, champions of the trolls, had always been kind to the gnomes. Many of the group is or looks human.]

[Need and Raistlin had reminded him of his old friends a little as well. They'd been very respectful. They hadn't had to be.]

Scragga ragga blagh!

[Who knows what he's saying but it's probably majestic! The gnomes pour out of Trollmarket in a surprisingly huge wave, beating the Nightrenders back towards the woods. The gnomes, not particularly prone to traumatic memories, are not easily hurt by the visions and are resistant to soul-sucking, and the massive horns under their hats make it impossible for the Nightrenders to bite their heads properly to get at the brains.]

[With each Nightrender tackled, it's a bit like watching a pack of wolves taking down a massive elk.]

[The wave of gnomes manages to push them back to the edge of the woods just long enough for the sun to rise. The Nightrenders back far away from the light but still freeze the second the light dapples through the trees, locked into whatever pose they were standing in. They can be more easily killed this way - but the effort to destroy one, let alone that many - is considerable. They could work at it all day and still not have killed most of them by the next nightfall.]

Grakkagrakka [Gnome says it approvingly, waving at his troops to return home.]

[This respite means they have a day to gather what they can and put as much distance between themselves and the Nightrenders as possible instead of being chased away so fast they had to leave much of it behind. The simple kindness of a few has earned the respect of many, and now the squad has a much easier and safer exit, with more time to collect their resources.]

[Time to get moving.]
hasapoint: an old woman's hand proffering a sword hilt (Default)
[personal profile] hasapoint
[It’s just Elle and Lloyd ‘on screen’, since Raistlin doesn’t wanna and it’s pointless with Need, but her gravelly Mindvoice still sounds:] We’ve found something important, children.

[Elle:] Ooooh boy did we find some shi-stuff. We have good news and bad news. Well, bad news and worse news, really.

[Lloyd:] Elle and I made contact with the spirits of some of the previous inhabitants. They told us that other worlds are being pulled in–or parts of them, in some cases–and that the bigger this amalgam gets, the more unstable the magic holding it together becomes. The whole thing is in danger of collapse, if things continue the way they’ve been going.

[Elle:] Any world with magic is at risk of getting dragged in and torn apart. Non-magical worlds have a chance, too.

[Need:] The Market’s living inhabitants also left us some messages. A letter describes this place as a patchwork, like the two just said, and that it’s called the Wilderlands. Now, the Trolls who used to live here were harmed by the cavern roof being breached when it crossed over and their Heartstone was already dying, so they left to find refuge in a place called Rivendell.

...By the by, the little folks with the red hats are also people. This is their home. Speaking to them is difficult, but if they’ve taken anything of yours, come to me. I think I can negotiate to get it back. They're not going to try and steal anything else if we treat them respectfully.

[Lloyd:] One more thing. [ His expression sobers. ] The spirits we were talking to have disappeared–the Heartstone’s magic was helping them stick around long enough to make contact with us. We’re going to have to make a decision on what our next move is, and soon, because I don’t think we’re going to be safe here for much longer.

[Need:] The Trolls’ mages suggested we follow them across the desert to Rivendell. Supposedly, that's a place of greater safety and more answers.
zerg_rush: (15 - 08)
[personal profile] zerg_rush
[Given how badly people reacted to (in Kerrigan's opinion) nothing at all, she figures she needs to go public before someone finds out she's a psychic and loses it over the possibility she overheard them thinking about her ass or their bank password or where they hid their ex's body.

Sigh.

What would Dan do? Something friendly and open, probably, so she writes that possibility off and decides to wing it. Kerrigan pulls out that stupid mirror that won't just stay broken, and with a minimum of fiddling, gets it to a decent size, hovering in front of her.

A twenty-something redheaded woman is sitting on one of the rocks outside the canyon, wearing sci-fi armor and a neutral expression.]


I'm Sarah Kerrigan. I've met some of you already, but in the interests of...group harmony [she says that like she doesn't believe those words just came out of her mouth] you should all know that I'm a telepath. I can read minds.

Hearing is a good analogy for it. Anytime I'm near people, it's like being in a public place where a lot of conversations are going on. It's easier to "overhear" someone closer to me, or someone whose thoughts are more focused or emotional. I can't turn it off.

I can go deeper than surface thoughts, but I don't do that without a good reason. You're just going to have to take my word for it on that one.

If you decide you're going to avoid me, fine. I'm used to it. I wanted to tell people so no one can accuse me of keeping secrets later.

[Kerrigan doesn't sound defensive or hostile, or even resigned. Just matter-of-fact. Nobody likes telepaths! She knows! Buuuuut it looks like they're all stuck with each other, so people are going to have to deal.

OOC: Lookie here, it's a telepathy permissions post!]
prettycoolguy: (f)
[personal profile] prettycoolguy
This is Spartan One-One-Seven broadcasting on an unknown communications array.

[ A few members of the team have seen the Master Chief around, but he hasn't made major contact before now. For most of the group, it's the first time they've seen this scarred face. And for one of them, it's far from the first. ]

I understand that this is a different world than the one I come from, and we have no way to return until we accomplish an... objective.

[ An objective that they all have only vaguely heard about from a weird hallucination. He doesn't have to say that part. They already know. ]

This being the case, I'm offering my skills.

I have significant experience leading teams on a variety of ops. I can work longterm on terrain like this. You can count on me in a fight.

But first of all, I do need to know who's in charge of this outfit.

[ Bless his entire heart. ]
hasapoint: an old woman's hand proffering a sword hilt (Default)
[personal profile] hasapoint
[Need's Mindvoice is gravelly and contemplative, and seems to come from right between the ears of whoever's listening.]

I've been considering, children, and just so you know - this is a large group to be living off only what can be hunted and foraged within the space we've been given. It won't happen today, it won't happen within the week or moonturn, I think, but available food will run out. If you're thinking we can just switch to farming: no. So I want to think about medium-term survival here.

In case anyone hasn't noticed, if any one of us tries to go too far into the woods we're Fetched back to within some invisible perimeter. I've got a question. 'Chosen Ones' or not, are we bound to the area around the Heartstone, or to each other?

You're welcome to come up with some alternative to 'Chosen Ones', by the way. I know a lot of you are less than pleased about being selected.
hellbentley: (012)
[personal profile] hellbentley
[Crowley is sitting in the afternoon sun in a casual sprawl outside, with a rock to his back. He's mostly healed and cleaned up. The little cut on his neck is almost gone. His voice is still a little bit hoarse but not as bad as it was. He had to trash his little gray scarf. No way was he getting the blood stains out. Fortunately his jacket and shirt are darker so it helps hide the blood stains.]

[He's definitely trying to cultivate a cucumber cool look, because vulnerability just isn't his thing.]

[He doesn't know how many people happened to be on their mirrors during the...incident. But at least one of his two attackers walked away angry, yelling about how he'd set the place on fire. The Easter Bunny is also awfully suspicious of him.]

[And word gets around.]

[He's got to control the narrative, especially since Aziraphale would absolutely get between him and a mob. He's not used to there needing to being any narrative at all since humans never pick up on what he is, so he's not sure how to go about this.]

Alright. I don't actually know how many of you saw me exposed for what I am on these things, but I know at least a few people know now. And people talk. At this point, it's best if I'm just up front about it.

My name is Crowley and I'm a demon.

That probably means all different things in all different worlds. In mine it means a former servant of the Lord, fallen from grace, now an infernal being from the Pit, tempter of souls, et cetera et cetera.

And I was good at it. I was the serpent who talked Eve into eating the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. [He looks into the distance and juts out his jaw a little.] My boss took credit for that one. Bosses for you, am I right?

[The cavalier attitude fades a little.]

Look, I didn't ask to be here and I'm not going to cause any trouble. I just want to stay alive, carry my weight, and then take my best friend and go home when it's all over. Back home, I'm not even working for Hell anymore anyway. I got fired.

So how about I continue leaving everyone be and everyone leaves me be, and we leave it at that?

[He raises a finger.]

Also, I would greatly appreciate it if people would stop poisoning the food with blessed substances. You don't see me going around putting cyanide in everything or something, do you? The only time I've ever messed with a human food supply was the time I exchanged a truck load of communion wafers with stale cream crackers.

It was mostly just for a giggle. Nobody even noticed the difference anyway.
okayimin: (listen here duster)
[personal profile] okayimin
[ The view from the mirror is mostly blurred trees as shaking hands fumble with it and a furious voice rants. ]

-expect me to believe this isn't some Fade nonsense. Of all the Stone deaf, sunblind, nugfucked shit-

[ The rant dies down to muttering, some creative profanities still audible. When the mirror is finally turned the right way, it shows a young woman (Dwarven to those who would recognize). She's wearing a nun's habit and wimple, though the reds and whites are a bit dull from dust and blood. A large s-shaped brand covers her left cheek. There are dark circles under her eyes. And she is clearly furious. ]

Right! I don't know what you lot are up to now, but I've had my fill of it. We're in the middle of a blasted war, if you haven't noticed. I'm very sure there are others who would be happy to indulge in this kind of magic-y surface dream business, however. I. Am. Busy.

[ She gestures with her free hand for emphasis. There's a bone saw in it. ]

If what those. Whatever they were that brought me here. Demons or spirits or what have you- Whatever they were, I was told there are others here. If that's the case, my name is Sister Sara, I'm a sawbones by trade. I'm hoping you lot are in better shape than the crew I just got yanked from, seeing as how these Fade creatures didn't even do the decent and bring my bag with me. I ain't sanctioned for it, but if we're in a pinch, I'll do your last rites. Don't reckon the Maker is too picky about who says the proper words in situations like this, so long as they get said. And if there's any of my company that happened to fall through with me, tell Sister Eloisa she can go to the fucking pit if she thinks for one minute-!

[ The rant and the recording will be abruptly cut short. Sawbones, resolutely marching away from the magical tugging feeling, is finally teleported to camp in all her bloody, exhausted fury.

The bone saw, however, has been lost to the forest.
]
hasapoint: an old woman's hand proffering a sword hilt (Default)
[personal profile] hasapoint
[Need starts in the Mindspeech whisper she's used over the network before - a voice seeming to come from right between the ears of any listener.]

So! We've learned that some of us are analagous to various horrible entities in others' home planes while, this's important, not actually being the same thing. I'm willing to bet there's more than one case of this. And what I am might fall into that category and is also inevitably going to come up, so let's just get it out now.

[The visual comes up - a small sword laid on a table. Now Need comes out of the whisper. Sometimes her voice sounds human enough, like that of an old woman who's breathed a lot of smoke. Sometimes she sounds like metal scraping on stone or ringing off more metal.]

To make a long story very short, I was an old mage-smith and I bound my soul to this sword so I could empower and guide my apprentice at a difficult time. I don't have eyes or ears, so I borrow other peoples' and sometimes their hands as well, and I speak mind-to-mind. If my binding seems blasphemous, fear not, I was sanctioned by the Twain. If you have something against gods, don't worry about it, the Twain died a long time ago. If it's spirits, you've got me there, but I'm not interested in taking what's not freely given and I can't make anyone do something against their will.

Now. I've taught a lot of youngsters over the years. If you want to learn the sling, the bow, or the sword, you can ask for my help and I can get you to proficiency faster than a normal teacher. If you've got an injury or a chronic condition, I'm also a healer. I may not be as good as usual, but I'm discreet and nothing will be lost by coming to me. If you need a blacksmith... well, that takes more of an arrangement. I can also show people old memories while they're asleep, which displaces nightmares so they can wake up all nice and rested.

Call me Need. If you have questions, I have time.
konman: (031)
[personal profile] konman
Okay, so...

It's great that people keep hunting today? That's super.

But we need to dress these animals and preserve as much of the meat as we can. Like pronto. Before it goes bad.

[He looks skyward, as if beseeching the gods to deliver him from this but here he is.]

I know how to do both because I live on a farm but there's no way I'm descending to the ninth circle of farmboy hell - presumably led there by Kenney Chesney as my Virgil - by myself.

So if you know how to dress animals - or are willing to get your hands dirty and can follow directions - head out near the pile of animals near the woods.

I also need people to gather firewood so we can smoke some of the meat. And look for dry, clean things to wrap it in so we can carry it. Paper would be good. If you can try to see if the people who lived here have some salt, that'd be great, too. You can smoke meat without it, but it preserves better with salt.

I already have the sharpest knives I could find out here.

Actually, this would be a good time to coordinate gathering and preserving and carrying any food in general. And other supplies. We don't know where we're going but we'll probably have to head somewhere to figure this situation out.