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Post by Natharai on Nov 6, 2010 2:54:39 GMT -5
And it is a good thing, too, that Aren is coming over since both he, and Procrastin, aren't fairing too well at this point. But...the black worgen might be a little worse off since he is, uh, starting to fall apart a bit.
Despite his enraptured expression, his face is looking a little patchy since clumps of fur are starting to fall out bit by bit. Nothing tremendously serious at this point, but it is liable to become worse if left unattended to. Natharai shifts his glazed-over yellow eyes and snuffles at the air lightly, making a pathetic little whimper of hello as he reaches up to paw at the highlander's face. Hi there. You are fuzzy, sir.
The poison is eventually dispelled, however, and after a few moments the warlock's steadily disintegrating form starts to rapidly patch itself up. New fur starts to sprout up in the bald patches that were made and his eyes later return to a healthier luster. The poison's effects haven't completely wore off, yet, but as the minutes tick by it is becoming rather apparent that Natharai is not going to die and he is making a pretty rapid recovery.
...His stomach growls ominously, however.
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Post by Campion on Nov 6, 2010 2:55:14 GMT -5
(( New posting order from here: Pro, Ley, Auro, Campion, etc! NOW TIME FOR BED. Ding dong, the witch is dead. ))
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Arenvald
New Member
Big Gay Bear
ain't havin' no shenanigans
Posts: 63
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Post by Arenvald on Nov 6, 2010 3:05:42 GMT -5
(Posting with Campy's permission...)
Aren grunts softly to himself once he sees the mangy patches start to repair themselves, briefly pausing to run a clawed hand over the top of Natharai's head. But triage is triage, and he needs to move on. The grumbling stomach is answered only by the expedience of him unfastening the pouch at his belt, hidden under his cape, and dropping it unceremoniously on the warlock's stomach before moving on to the pallid magus.
Thankfully, in a way, the poison is hallucinatory, because... well, he's pretty sure under NORMAL circumstances, Procrastin wouldn't hold still for him, and he personally has an aversion to being lit on fire. But he crouches by him anyway, and rests his huge hands on whatever part of the man happens to be upright while rumbling another prayer of cleansing. It's strange to think that someone who's apparently devoted their lives to ending life might have a talent for nurturing it... but one supposes stranger things have happened.
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Post by Aleyna on Nov 6, 2010 8:56:52 GMT -5
[[ Hi I'm sneaking in before I'm gone all day! U WANA FITE ABOUT IT?! (I'll move Pro's post before mine later so it makes more sense. Or a capo can do it, too.) ]]
Aleyna, despite being a clever imp, cannot shake off the horrible gunk for the life of her. The elf has resorted to trying to hack at it with her knife, cursing all the way.
"Gross, gross, gross... This is worse than digging in fuckin' talbuk shit," She complains loudly, resorting to the good ol' method of using her hand to swipe it off in great gobs, splattering it on the ground.
"Need a damn shower," Aleyna mutters, giving up after its off her face and chest, at least.
She shifts to stand near Auroran and Campion (but not too close, as she figures she shouldn't rub off on them) watching over the two with eyebrows furrowed in concern.
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Post by Auroran on Nov 6, 2010 17:44:15 GMT -5
As soon as Luri falls and the gunky smoke begins to clear, Auro's stepping (floating? His shadows appear to let him just move where he pleases when they're out) over to Campion, long foggy limbs pulling away at the corpse in his arms.
"Miles! Did she get you! Are you okay!" He's determined to yank what's left of Luri away from him with his long phantom limbs, while his corporeal ones try to grasp the paladin's shoulders. He looks worried!
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Post by Campion on Nov 6, 2010 18:29:30 GMT -5
Campion seems to be in some state of shell-shock, with how his fingers refuse to release their hold on Luri's body, how his face remains pale and blank. When the corpse is finally wrenched away, he continues to have that expression, his hands left hovering and useless. Luri flops to the ground, lifeless and head lolling. Her eyesocket is spurting even more of that black slime, and even a few lingering wisps of smoke. Because the shard that had been embedded there is now gone. Campion's blank expression moves downwards, his hands now shaking. Staring down at himself. Where now that pulsing, glowing purple shard has found a new home, embedded deep in his chest. There are black sigils, draenic symbols drawn around the intrusive object. With her last breath, Luri had painted them on the beloved conduit with her own blood. She had smiled at him because her work was complete. The paladin looks back up at the nearby and concerned elves, but he can't hear their voices. His head is ringing, the sound of off-tune and cracked but beautiful, BEAUTIFUL, chimes are all that he can hear, drowning out their cries and questions. Purple is beginning to creep into the edges of his vision and all he can hear are the chimes. Shining purple is seeping into those painted black symbols, glowing and triumphant. He only takes one stumbling step, having been afraid to move prior to that, too shocked to take action. And that's when his entire body spasms, locks up hard and sudden enough that his head his flung back, his fingers curl into hooked claws. There's a burst of Light from him, from all seams of his armour, his eyes, his mouth. The spasm and burst is enough that his metal mask is dislodged and clatters to the dust, trailing faint wisps of black and violet smoke. He cries out, but he can't even hear himself. His eyes are glowing, staring skyward, his face twisted into a visage of uncomprehending horror. He is seeing things, seeing such things, such vast and boundless and unknowable THINGS, he can only behold in trembling awe and terror. And all the while, there is a soothing voice. Warm and kind and loving, joyful to have him in its embrace. You are beloved. You are Kamil, you have walked many paths that bordered the Light and the Darkness, and you are blessed. Most importantly, you are MINE.
You are Light-touched. The Light is what binds all things living. You will be the anchor to me and to the rest. You are strong enough to show them the way, and I will guide them all.
Come. Let us show them.Campion is lifted off the ground with the next burst of energy and light, his limbs rigid and spine curled, mouth open wide in a soundless scream. And at that burst, there are BOLTS. Hissing and forked threads of energy that erupt from the paladin and with unworldly accuracy, find the rest. Each trail of unholy lightning seeking and connecting with Auroran, Aleyna, Procrastin, Arenvald, Natharai. Upon contact, it is as if the entire world shatters, is engulfed in chimes and pain and comfort. And then gives way to abrupt darkness. Campion jerks and spasms again, and another wide bolt of energy rips from his body, shooting skyward, disappearing into the dismal clouds and going to seek the rest. Finding and shocking all the others that have been touched by the Kamil. All the rest that the broken Naaru, this void god, wishes to lovingly claim as his own. There is no Light without Shadows. There is no Shadows without Light. You are the Shadows to make the Light meaningful. All of you, my Kamil. You are loved. You are needed. You are wanted.
You
are
MINE.(( NOW WHAT!? OOC DETAILS ARE HERE : kamiltekar.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=official&thread=307&page=3#2151 ))
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Post by Procrastin on Nov 6, 2010 19:06:12 GMT -5
Pro giggles and blinks wearily as Aren starts to purge the venom from his body...the big shaggy dog...thing...is touching me! How funny! Slowly, the swirling colors and bizarre shapes start to fade away. But oddly...Nath's still shaped like a worgen. Huh. He slowly gets to his feet, his hands are sore, apparently that last spell got away from him a bit. He thanks Aren faintly, unsure if...it speaks common, and looks around. Finally he spots Luri's mangled form and smiles. Okay, maybe not a pile of blue and red...but blue and...black? Was good enough.
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