Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

Status
Not open for further replies.
Korsarro gorans "You masked fool... shaking somebody who has just been violently ill is not a good idea. And whatever terrible beast that is you've slain and taken the face off, it'll cost you the usual rate." He lifts himself up on his slender elbows "And for the love of the Beesiah, will somebody shush those ducks? I think I already have a hangover." His eye twitches as his hoarse words struggle through his throat. That damnable Zato. Whatever was going on. He was sure he had something to do with it.
 
Arngeirr looks down at the man who asked him of the luchadors. He sees a proud man, robust of build, wearing a bright and colorful mask. A proud luchador, this man must be! Fighters of justice who wore their honor with pride, clear for all to see! Arngeirr knew that these men had a rigid code of honor, and that the ultimate failure of a luchador was to lose his mask, and thus, no longer be of the lucha.

"I cannot say that I am, old bean," Arngeirr replies, "Though I do know of you and your honorable people. Seeing as you must be a man of honor, I must ask you this: would it not be a great injustice to take these beloved fowls from this adorable young girl, who is protected by the monks and knights of the Forbidden Temple? If you are truly a man of honor, brave luchador, I beseech you to give up this quest, and side with those you know to be truly just!"
 
Looking at the large brawny gentleman in front of him, Nerrik pauses and mulls over his words. This was a man who stood for honor much like a luchador, and much like a luchador, to lose face was the greatest dishonor.

"I am indeed a man of honor, and a man of honor would not hurt a small child's feelings by killing her pets, even if they were for a dinner. Your logic is sound and honorable, so I must follow it in order to keep my own. I shall protect both her and the ducks whilst they are within and affiliated with this temple."
 
Laughing and coughing in that horrible spittly way, the dark reflection of Leonard takes advantage of the brief opening Morr presents as he raises his blade above it, its pommel slamming into his side hard enough to foce him off and crack ribs. The demon is on its feet in a flash, raising its sword to slash at Brother Al's body before lowering it as a shuddering cough tears through it. "Damn this...feeble man. Oh but... but the things he's done! He's earned... every ailment... he has and... he knows it! But damn him!" At the last word it sinks to its knees retching, its eyes glaring utter hatred even as its mostly immobile frm tries to bring the blade to bear against those around it.

The mirror stands dark in the corner, its surface a dull, black, and reflectionless, while the gem atop it a heavily muted red.
 
Leonard is apparently beyond his voice. Laying the great bandaged man down, he turns around to see the Knight raising his blade in victory. Nevertheless, Al readies himself for battle. Demons are not above trickery...

And he is not wrong! The demon lunges toward him, but his blade is forced away by one of Al's gauntlents. Bringing his leg around for a sweeping follow-through, Al cries out: "Sir Knight, the mirror! It may be this beasts connection to-" He is cut off as the tainted thing once more slashes at him.
 
"I say, good show old bean!" Arngeirr exclaims. The ducklings cheep happily in his arms, the mother duck, Miss Quack, poking and prodding them with her bill to keep them call.

"Well then, gentlemen, dearest Mary, what is the next order of business? Is the temple secure? Is there still danger afoot?"
 
'Truly this is a land of heathens. Not a single danish store!' He could understand the lack of the Salvation Army, terrifying crusaders that they were, but he could simply not understand how they would not have any stores with delicious cinnamon custard treats, witht he walls replete with flags commemorating the Battle of Lyndanisse! 'Well, we all had our crosses to bare.' Not counting Sister Bertrille's own cross, which had dropped out of her grasp, crushing some general and leading to great cheering on the other side. At least that was what he though. It would certainly not due to know that they had been peaking up her habit! Oooh, more heathens up ahead. He circled in the sky, then began to lower in altitude for a landing.
 
Brother Nerrik holds a duckling in his hand, petting it softly. "They are quite cute, do not worry, no harm shall befall the quacks."

As a response to Arngeirr. "I believe everything is safe. When I was near the front of the monastery everyone was cleaning up or recovering from the squirrel incident."
 
With a groan, Valetni rejoins the waking world. Immediately, the smell of stale vomit (easily distinguishable from the somewhat sweeter smell of fresh vomit) assaults his nostrils. Rolling over onto his hands and knees, he blearily opens his eyes, surveying the stained carpet. With a cry of disgust and despair, he fetches from his stained robe his To-Do list, and with trembling hand scrawls in to clean the carpets, no, to burn the carpets, and get new ones. The thought of laundry occurs to him, as he plucks at his sick stained habit. Always his least favorite task.

With a growl, Valetni comes to his feet, swaying slightly, and accompanied by a pounding headache, no doubt a lingering touch of the gas. "And who will have to clean that up...poor brother Valetni, that's who!" He vehemently says in a low tone. "Nobody around here appreciates anything I do, if it wasn't for me this place would be unfit for pigs within a week..." The realization that his precious cleaning supplies are no doubt contaminated is nearly enough to break his heart, but he soldiers on as he strides out the front hall and towards the grounds, his ultimate destination his little shack.
 
Wheezing in surprise as the beast's lightning-fast pommel-strike slammed into his plated side, a sickening crunch heralding the breaking of ribs resounding through the room, Morr was forced off, cursing his weakness, he, heavily breathing, heard the words of the demon, trying to raise himself, using his sword as a make-shift crutch, he was on his knees.

"It matters not what he has done before your sight, hellspawn, he would not be a free man in this temple if he had not sought redemption for his actions." Slowly rising again, the pain of exhaustion now amplified by damaged ribs, Morr finally managed to stand, "If you wish for death, beast, then I have plenty of such for you right here." He beckoned to his brandished blade, pointing it at the fiend.

But then he heard the words of the armored monk, and he would have almost slapped himself for not realizing it further, for trying to puzzle out how the beast had managed to infiltrate this sacred place, its source of power had to be near! Scanning the room rapidly, Morr's eyes perceived the glowing mirror, obviousely tainted by pure evil. Barely able to walk, he limped towards it, striking the foul thing again and again, his blade once more alight with purity to destroy all that was of true evil.
 
Zato picked up the bottle from the ground. Sniffing it, there seemed to be something... off, about his booze. It wasn't supposed to be very strong, and a lot more sweet. A few thoughts about the poison shed swam through his mind, and he decided to ask Valentri about it later.
 
Korsarro shakes his head a little, almost instantly finding how bad an idea it is and regretting it shortly after as a dull throbbing begins, he grouns audibly once again "I must be hungover... I heard something about a squirrel incident? Did Valetni hurt himself with the hammer again or something?"
 
"Very good then!" Arngeirr says. "Do we know where everyone is? No stragglers left behind, the threat thoroughly thrashed?"

Arngeirr took a moment to properly take in his surroundings, realizing he had been so busy running full speed through the twisting corridors of the temple. He gently placed the Quack family on the ground, knowing they were safe, and giving any potential attackers a lethal glare to ensure their neutrality. Standing head and shoulders above everyone present, Arngeirr was a true mountain of a man. His chest and shoulders were broad and his arms were thickly muscled; while he certainly had the muscle mass of at least a dozen men, his frame was so mighty that it did not cripple him with bulk. His head was clean shave, the light reflecting from his polished scalp, and his chin was large a square like a slab of solid stone with a thick bushel of a beard. His eyes were small and friendly, appearing half closed under his heavy brow, and a gentlemanly handlebar mustache was perched proudly beneath his nose. Yes, he was indeed a fine image of a man, a huge, gentlemanly man!
 
The blade strikes again and again against the dull material of the unholy mirror, ringing loudly but doing not much else. Behind Morr, the demon laughs through its coughing fit as the bursts come slower and less harsh. With a final bark of laughter it pulls itself to its feet, swinging at Morr slowly and with enough forewarning his blade manages to meet its own.

"You know nothing, don't you?" it gurgles out as blood begins to ooze from the cuts on its face. It's eye seems to stare straight at Morr's face as it make slow, injured swings at him,heedless of its wounds. As weakened blades ring against one another it draws back a step, laughing. "You don't know a damned thing! You come here for answers? You'll find only despair here! Nothing can save you from yourself! Nothing! Now die!"

With a vicious and renewed strength it lunges forwards, putting all of its unholy might behind its blow.
 
Morr was too exhausted to be able to evade or deflect the powerful blow the beast launched at him. Instead he braced himself, let the blade hit his plated breast, causing an ear-shattering sound while the sheer power the demon still possessed let him see black stars before his vision, him losing the feeling in his lower body, he used the opening of the fiend to lead his own blade through the beasts neck, decapitating it, before falling over himself, the blackness that was unconsciousness overwhelming him.
 
"Well you see," Brother Nerrik started started explaining to the tanner "There was this huge demonic squirrel. It was attacking the neurotic janitor monk. Alarms started going off and everyone converged there." He starts motioning with his arms showing sizes and such. "And when I arrived, this leper looking monk was holding onto its tail keeping it from rampaging about. So I body slammed it to assist him. then this blind scythe kid came and stabbed its third eye." He pulls out the squirrels face "That's how I got this."
 
Mary sees the torn scrap of flesh in front of her and begins to scream again.

"WHA-WHA-WHAT...*sniff-sniff*"

tears begin to flow down her face.
 
Arngeirr's eyes open wide with a flash. "Dear sir!" he exclaims, "Do think of the children!" The mighty Arngeirr quickly seizes Mary in his huge arms, embracing her with a huge but gentle hug and casting her eyes away from the grizzly sight.
 
Korsarro rubs his temples, taking in the words of the masked monk. He had to be hallucinating. He had fallen off the edge of the cliff on his way here. That was it. Yes. This was all a dream as he bled out. "I... I think I understand. And you want this thing thing tanned? To what specifications? Also we'll need a way to preserve it, my workshop appears to be covered in poison or Beesiah knows what." Korsarro jumps slightly as the young girl begins crying again "Buzzing gods, she's starting again" He stands up shakily and looks over to her "Relax little one, this being was evil. It's flesh will make fine... whatever it is this man wants... Hopefully not a mask, I can't in all good faith recommend wearing a demons face."
 
Zato heard Mary start to cry and wandered over to comfort her. Reaching out, he didn't feel the girl, but Argneirr's strong biceps and shoulders.
"What's.. oh my, you lift, don't you?"
 
Brother Nerrik suddenly realizes what hes done. "Goodness, I did not mean to upset the little one!" He quickly puts it away under his robes. "If it is any consolation it was a very bad, evil, squirrel. It was trying to hurt people!"

His attempts of comfort not seeming to have an impact, he turns back to the tanner. "I just need it as it is now, but preserved. You will all see what I intend for it."
 
Mary's wails grow quieter, her tears begin to stop and the ducks nuzzle up around her

a barely audible voice croaks

"th-thank you Mister Arny...."

as she wipes at her face with her dress.
 
Zato heard Mary next to him, and suddenly felt very confused, feeling the arm.
"Mary? is.... is that you?!"
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top Bottom