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IC [Nobilis] Mean Everything to Nothing

JaneBond

Saint of Obscurity
Validated User
When the man pulled the gun out, Cora froze but tried not to panic. She found panicking always made things worse. Much worse. For her especially.

"Dammit, Darla, do you have to freak me out like that? C'mon back in, you look cold and wet."
She moved zombie-like into the house. She didn't know why he was calling her Darla but she had never seen a gun before and fear mixed with her already disoreinted state didn't leave much room for guessing games. He was probably drunk.

She remained silent but felt like everything was happening in slow motion like she was underwater, she couldn't see or hear too clearly and still felt pretty dizzy.

The inside of the beach house was beautiful but bare. Very little furniture of any sort. Except one chair that sort of freaked Cora out. It wasn't the upholstery that was the problem, it was what was in the chair. A young girl, her eyes filled with tears that ruined her mascara. Her hands and mouth were sealed with duct-tape. She seemed to have long ago given up struggling.

Seeing Cora, she decides it's time to start at it again. She begins tugging on her restraints to no avail.
That, she could not miss.

"Still no ransom yet," said the weird man as if Cora knew him and the situation they were in. "But I'm sure her daddy-dearest will come through for us, right babe?"
Cora managed a breathless smile and nodded her head; it moved up and down, up and down as if she was on auto-pilot.

She needed to get out of here; she needed to get help. She took a hard look around.

"Thin-nk you c-could, can you get me a t-towel?"

Her voice was shaking bad but she hoped he would just chalk it up to her being cold.
 

Maerok

Registered User
Validated User
Water's Throne
"Fine. Be a bunch of shut-ins. Sometimes you have to learn to swim by being thrown into the deep end of the ocean." Tifon performs a deep bow as his body fades into a silhouette and then pops like a bubble in space-time.

And in the next moment he's in...

Tifon's Study
A spiraling nebula opens up on an ancient wooden platform engraved with welcomings from cultures around the Ash. The miniature phenomenon spins for a moment before shuddering into a roaring point of blackness that gives way to Leer's form. He steps down from the welcoming mat and pours himself a glass of whiskey from a seashell decanter on the nearby altar. Reaching into yourself and inverting your metaphysics is thirsty work.

He wanders through the main entrance hall. The center of the long hall is defined by a great banquet table for wining and dining guests. Along either side of the table are rows upon rows of books on astronomy, charts, and recounts of Noble lore. Somewhere up those walls of literature reside the priceless notebooks of former Powers of Society. Tifon walks along the table, tracing his finger along the wood grain and remarking on how dustless it has remained over the years. Against the far wall is an ornate stone table laden with the latest postal delivery. The octopus-like mailman stands in reverence at his approach and Tifon gives an approving nod.

He sorts through the week's pile of fan mail. Much of it is laced with arcane runes of ensnarement or gory details of rituals gone awry in his name. Every one is read but while exerting a powerful devouring force over them to disarm each feeble love spell. When he's done with it he places each one back neatly into its envelope. Tifon arranges them into piles by the name of each sender and takes down a stack of shoeboxes from a shelf by his desk. The letters are arranged in each box by country of origin, along with a few abstract locations. Afterward he closes the lid on each and returns them to the shelf.

The Power seats himself at his personal desk and pulls out a box of stationary from one of the drawers. He inks a quill and begins to write responses to each of the letters he's received. 'Loved the work and enjoyed hearing from you, thank you. -Tif', 'I would consider seeking a doctor's advice on that issue. -Yours truly'...

Every sheet is lovingly folded into thirds and sealed in an envelope. Tifon reaches into another drawer and retrieves a damp sponge to seal the notes. Saliva can be a potent catalyst for mortal magic so he has long since switched to this method to seal the envelopes. After he's finished his whiskey he piles up the notes and hands them off to an attendant to mail.
 
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Delacroix

Registered User
Validated User
"Ya don't need to much light to handle this whole security thing, right?"

Then he shrugs
"Why, you want to cut a deal with the Cammora for somethin'?"
"Quite the opposite. I don't want them getting their hooks in her before she's good and ready."

"Fine. Be a bunch of shut-ins. Sometimes you have to learn to swim by being thrown into the deep end of the ocean." Tifon performs a deep bow as his body fades into a silhouette and then pops like a bubble in space-time.


Shaking his head, Tom moves off to see to his own preparations. It takes only a moment of concentration to find the ignus dei burning in his heart and fan the spark into a roaring inferno, as he distills within himself an essence of his Estate. He moves among the populace of the Chancel -- they regard him with wary respect as he travels the waterways -- and he singles out the strong, the brave, and the clever. To these he speaks of a mission, of safeguarding the Chancel against interlopers on this most sacred of festivals, when their Lord incarnates a portion of his very soul. He lets them choose to decline, if they wish. Those who accept receive his blessing, his palm laid on their brow, and when they dart back into the streams and coursing currents, they do so with renewed purpose and energy as they make their own preparations, gathering together weapons and armour fit for their task.

They report to him when they are ready, and he inspects them with an ironic smile. Raising armies in service to the establishment has never been his forte, but he is nonetheless pleased with what he has wrought. Ranks of proud merfolk maintain formation, their tails moving just enough to keep them motionless before the current, brandishing their warlike gear. He directs them through a series of drills, where they mime surrounding a stricken potentate, or rooting out a would-be assassin, or swarming a behemoth. He exhorts them to strain against the shackles of their own mortality, and in doing so he grants them the fortitude to defy even the mightiest of intruders.

Spoiler: Show

Using a Persona 6 miracle of Greater Emulation to imbue myself with the Property "Defiance exalts the weak", to an intense degree. I then apply that quality to those who are willing to defend the Chancel, assembling a merfolk militia.

If there's time, I also use an Aspect 7 miracle to engage Montage Training no Jutsu, to whip them into shape in an extremely short span of time.

I suppose these actions will resolve just in time, as per Aspect 3 :)
 

Ax_

Registered User
Validated User
"Quite the opposite. I don't want them getting their hooks in her before she's good and ready."
Blake shrugs
"Meh.
I mean, yeah, they are dicks, but I kinda doubt they can manage anythin' like that during the party anyway, since we'll all be around.
But, yeah, screw 'em, the less I see of them, the better."

Turns out, when you try and negotiate like the Cammorra do, the guy who is drunk on his own divine power won't really come to like you all that much.


Then, Blake...is not there, anymore.

***

And then there he is.
Nearest the local gathering of merfolk, anyway
"Alright, then, time to get to work, people.
We've got an important visitor coming pretty soon, and we need this place to look it's best!"

He grins wide, and spreads his arm, his voice carried by the night sky.
"So, we're going to have a celebration!"

Spoiler: Show

So, was thinking of putting in a Sacrifice of the Night, specifically the "vast" thing, on Blake's "I'm seeing time as a normal guy" part, to speed it up by massively shrinking the effect time would have on Blake, for a moment.
Basically, letting me act faster with what I want.

Then, Lesser Enchantment of the Night, again on the "vast" part, focused on his movement.
Think Seven-League Boots!

...All of this basically so I can say I just disappear, like that. :p
 

Maerok

Registered User
Validated User
The Sirens' Den
On a rocky outcropping within the surf one can find the remnants of thousands of lost ships torn apart on the razor coral below. This particular stretch of hazard was one of the slummier parts of the Chancel but part of the Chancel nonetheless. Long ago Tifon had cleaned up the act of the sirens who lived there by wrapping them in the embrace of Society and taming their guileful nature. Now the reef and broken hulls had become a stretch of bars. The Power of Society played there at every solstice and equinox with his band, Schwarzs Child.

Tifon was now engaged in uniting the less illustrious members of the Chancel with the rest of it. This was a regular blessing of his Estate1 but he also preferred to take a more hands on approach when possible. There was real talent to be found in these parts though the Den catered mostly to simple desires. Society Himself sat on the edge of a stage, jotting notes on a napkin as sirens of entrancing colors whirled behind him in dance.2 His band was in the pit playing a triumphant orchestral accompaniment. Tifon hoped he could see to it that the finer dancers may get noticed for auditions to the Seafoam Ballet, of which he was a stalwart benefactor.

He arises from the stage and catches one of the sirens as she tumbles off the side. With a recovery Tifon brings the fumble into a stylized heel turn followed by a moment of tango fading into a dignified waltz. The pair separates with a quick embrace and the Power realizes the look in her eye. He smiles politely while his essence rips the thought from her mind; the spectre of possibility is spaghettified against the voracious soul. Tifon escorts the dancer back to the stage before sitting down again. He jots something on the corner of the napkin and calls out, "Okay! Once more from the top, let's give our people a good show!"

Spoiler: Show

1 Persona 3, Blessing to improve the unity between distant parts of the Chancel so all are represented in the festivities
2 Aspect 3, Choreographing a street parade with the Den's exotic dancers and performance artists
 

Aincumis

Shichibukai
Validated User
DOWN ON EARTH

The guy with the gun nodded to Cora's question. "Yeah, sure hun. Wow, there's something ... different ... about you. Lookin' at you, reminds me of how big this world is. Wow ..."

His eyes were wide. He shook himself out of it after a moment. "I'll go fetch that for ya"

The woman tied up looked up at Cora with mixed fear and awe. It was sorta awkward.
 

JaneBond

Saint of Obscurity
Validated User
Cora ran up to the girl who was tied up and whispered; "Don't worry, I'm going to get you out of here. When I free you, don't say a word just run! I'll be right behind you. We don't have much time."

She pulled the duct tape off of her hands and mouth quickly and quietly ready to follow her.
 

Aincumis

Shichibukai
Validated User
The girl was horrified. Her eyes told the story of shock and trauma she had endured. Worst of all, Cora got the impression that she blamed her for some of her problem. She had hate mixed in her tearful eyes, an uneasy mix with the fatigue and panic. She didn't have much to say besides a muffled, almost unbelieving; "Thank you ..."

And then she ran like the dickens.

Cora followed quickly, but she could see the man, blue towel in hand, exiting the bathroom as she likewise absconded from the room. In the split second before Cora was once more in the night air, she saw the reaction of outrage in the man. He cocked his gun.

The two girls ran out into the night black beach but the kidnapped girl fell over soon out of the gate, so drained from her trials. Cora could see the stranger catch up to her, gun still in hand. He seized on to her wrist and she wailed. He turned to look at the bikini-clad woman and pointed his pistol at her.

"Don't make me but a bullet in your pretty head, Darla," he barked at her over the sound of ocean waves. "This wasn't how this was supposed to go down. What made you go so squirrely? I told ya night-surfin' wasn't a good idea! Done busted your brains, girl!"
 
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JaneBond

Saint of Obscurity
Validated User
Cora was terrified. Her heart was racing. This was it, she was going to die. She could hear a haunting chorus of wet voices screaming in her head, making it pound. She couldn't think straight. It kept getting louder and louder, she couldn't take it.

Out of nowhere a humongous wave arose from the water in defense of its mistress. Cora tried to run but none of them had seen it coming, and before she knew it it was too late. It bowled over onto the shore, washing over the two girls and the man. When Cora was completely submerged, the many calling voices in her head finally ceased. In that brief moment underwater, she felt safe.

It all happened so fast. She awaited the force of the water sweeping her into it depths but she did not feel herself moving. She was floating within the wave. The water was protecting her. The kidnapped girl however was passed out and flying past her. Cora managed to reach an arm out to grab hold of her. The man also soared past her, but for him, a watery grave awaited. She could barely hold the weight of the girl against the harsh pull of the ocean. The man was dragged out to sea along with her surfboard which she was not able to save either. The wave sucked back into the ocean and Cora was left kneeling on the sand holding the girl.

Spoiler: Show
Not aware she's doing it, but she's doing a Lesser Summoning of Water to make a wave crash onto the beach.
 
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Rand Brittain

Go on until you're stopped.
RPGnet Member
Banned
Validated User
Thunder rolled. The lightning tore through the sky and down to touch the sea. Electricity sparkled across the surface of the water in impossibly great arcs that circled around Cora and the girl, but left them untouched. Before Cora, the lights coalesced into the solid shape of a young man with white hair and a strange, doll-like figure. He looked at Cora, kneeling and holding the girl, and dropped down to his knees to meet her eyes.

His hair, his clothing, his thick gloves, his companion, and his electrifying entrance were wondrous strange, but Cora's mind was sufficiently over-full of strangeness to make these secondary concerns. He had kept himself too far away to reach out and touch her, but his eyes were full of kindness as he said:

"Don't be afraid."
 
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