The Mindstorm

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on: April 05, 2017, 06:06:11 PM

     While we all play and interact in a living gamespace, telling our stories and creating new ones through roleplay, it will always come to be that some stories are better told through play and some are better told through writing. The Mindstorm is my little piece of that writing space to tell such a story. This is a collaborative, cross platform, open plot event story aimed at providing hooks that other groups can use as a springboard to spin off into their own stories or to build something intertwined.
     Each chapter of the plot offers mentioned events and chance happenings that would typically be notable or news worthy occurrences on their own - but are left intentionally undefined or open. To utilize any of the given hooks (or invent one of your own with supplied content!) a group or individual merely needs to 'take credit' for the happening in an event, rumor, or story post on either the Kell Hounds, Order of Awen, or Spirits of Lore forums. Anyone taking the credit can then do as they like with the story as they see fit. Any and all happenings within the story that are not given a cause are open to claiming and typically will have one or two per story post.
     The event is presented in three long-term 'chapters', with each chapter consisting of a six-part written story, an in-game event, and a Discord RP prompt. Each are intended to be interconnected as part of a larger arc, however participation in any portion does not require participation in other parts. Participation is also not required to make use of the provided plot hooks.
     Interest in collaboration on future chapters is welcome. Feel free to contact @Pentharian either on the forums or in Discord.
     Please enjoy.


     Chapter One: Legacy of the Dark Star
          - Part 1: Enclosures
« Last Edit: April 07, 2017, 10:17:31 AM by Pentharian »


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Reply #1 on: April 07, 2017, 10:00:55 AM


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Reply #2 on: April 07, 2017, 10:01:34 AM

     High Rock Province - Bangkorai Region
     0812 Hours Local Time
     4 Hours After First Contact

     Half a continent away, the weary nordic soldier sagged in his seat, asleep even before his attendant had said goodbye, making Victus smile inwardly. The spell he had on the soldier had sent him into slumber and opened his dreams to Victus in two swift and silent instants. Sometimes the simple traps were the best ones.

     His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, fear, and excitement; he eagerly wanted to watch as his company finished the cleanup of the village they had liberated, to enjoy the spoils of succeeding in combat against the Covenant. Seeing the western flank so weakened had been a joy as well as a shock to him. Victus watched, drifting through his welter of memories, pleased to see old foes lying dead and troop movements proceeding along predicted paths.

     Victus reached deeper, touching at the soldier's drives and ambitions. He was motivated by duty and service; the typical trappings of a nordic armsman... But there was something more. Doubt. He had begun to question the cause and the drive behind the fighting. Claiming Cyrodiil had been enough, certainly, but he expected some sinister hand behind it on the part of his commanders. The reachman clung to that thought, and slowly conjured enough of his own will to whisper a single thought into that space.

     Push. The answer lies ahead.

     The excitement grew, and eagerness joined it. An answer to the doubt was more than just a desire, it was a need. To have it satisfied would be vindicating. The deeper thoughts beckoned; a current that was intense and soft all at once. If he could just reach more...

     Victus felt a slight tug at his will, from beyond his nest within the soldier. An insistent and needy grasp at his thoughts. He dared not let it seep into his connection with the soldier, following that call up and

     Victus' shoulder hurt.

     Swimming slowly up from the drowsy dimness of a dreamwalk somehow heavier than he'd felt in a long, long time, he became aware of two things: that he was slumped over in his own chair, all his weight on one arm that must be as numb as its shoulder was aching, and that excited voices were chattering in his head.

     Victus blinked twice, righting himself in the stone throne he had come to use as a focus. Too deep, he thought. He had let temptation draw him dangerously deep into the will of the soldier. Too deep, and no more soldier, no more Victus, only something... Mixed. The voices chattered again in his mind, stealing him from darker thoughts. Familiar voices; servant-shes, not the pleasure-shes of the city below but house workers he knew.

     Krywyn and Vanaduin!

     Never, in the months of his tramping off to the depths of Evermore to bring them puzzles and tasks had he so much as breathed their names here, in his hidden temple. What could possibly bring them here?

     In surprise and anger, Victus came fully awake, and found himself sitting alone in his silent chamber. Krywyn and Vanaduin's converse was spilling into his head from the obsidian by which he always bespoke them from afar, to tell them to be ready for assignment. He stared thoughtfully down at it now, the plainest of the palm-sized gem orbs he often carried. He hadn't been aware its uses could awaken without him willing them to, or carry anything to him but the replies they thought at him after he'd contacted them. Victus started to frown.

     Across the room, the wall sculpture that held the other polished spheres orbiting endlessly, silently around a central pillar, had broken apart into wild orbits that flung his spheres well out into the room, and back again. And this heaviness still creeping along his limbs... Somehow that had the smell of foreboding about it, too; he could taste it, at the back of his throat. What was going on?

     Letting out a sigh that was more a snarl than anything else, Victus thrust his attention to listening to the voices of his agents. They weren't talking to him... And had no idea he was listening. So something was twisting the magic of his orb. Krywyn and Vanaduin were excitedly discussing something they'd seen something that had been seen by several in their section of the city, they'd just been told. Something about a skirmish Bergama expected to send aid a champion, Kozanset raided Kozanset? He must have shouted that as loudly in his mind as in the room, for the door was banging open and a guard was looking in, blade drawn. "Ser?"

     Victus raised an imperious hand to tell the guard to stay where he was, and keep silent, as he listened to the startled voices in his mind, asking him if he was himself. It's Victus, who ya both know well, he said firmly in his mind. Krywyn, Vanaduin, what's this matter of Kozanset and assaultin' things? You saw it how?

     A sending, it seemed, some sort of sorcery, intended for whom they did not know. A sorcery that had clearly gone wrong and now illuminated the fountain in their square, showing them images of a redguard lord standing against the onslaught of shadowy undesirables. The redguard had been identified as Lord Akabash from Bergama but none knew the shadowy figures or what had transpired in Sentinel. The images, and their sudden presentation, were the talk of several groups now along with what their meanings might bring.

     Make sure none o' tha folk dispell or remove the magicka 'til I arrive an' see it myself. Make sure!

     They agreed, but Victus barely heard their reply. He was striding across the room to snatch down his staff from its place along the wall. "Bearclaws!" he snapped at the guard. "Fetch a score o' them warfolk we got workin' in tha courtyard. Want double-strength guards on tha gates while I'm gone."

     "... Departing, Lord?" The guard clearly was surprised by the concept.

     "I do that, from time to time." Victus did not hide any of the bite to his sarcasm. "Go!"

     "Lord!" the warblade snapped back, whirled away, and was gone.

     Victus stepped over to the table in one corer, its surface dominated by a large checkered board. He scoffed lightly before reaching out to move one of the various playing pieces. The piece was made of jade and been carved into the noticeable shape of an orc warrior. On the front was a small plague space where the name 'Kerenza' had been stenciled in. He placed the piece down next to one crafted from ivory, cut in the likeness of an elderly human labelled 'Father Regus'. A multitude of other shapes and pieces of various materials dotted the oversized board, each representing a person of note to him and their relationships.

     He selected another piece, an amber figure labelled 'Akabash', and placed the piece down in the middle of an open space where none of the others were near. Satisfied, he nodded once, and set to collecting his typical gear. His staff. A selection of the focus orbs. His pouch of materials. A pack. What had he been missing... Ah, a coinpurse, of course.

     "Ah, but I must be losin' my touch!" He laughed at himself as he turned to leave, swiping his staff once on each side as he called its magicka to him. "Can't even storm outta tha hall properly anymore."

« Last Edit: April 07, 2017, 10:30:08 AM by Pentharian »