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First Temple of Trivantis [ ♫ ]
Thunder, lightning, deliverance: amidst the raging mana storm, the First Temple of Trivantis stands stolid as a fortress, offering safe harbour to anyone in need. The air is thick with burning incense and dewy petrichor, masking most other scents -- though an underlying stench of wet fur pervades. The grand hall resounds with the ritual beating of great drums, nearly drowning out the din of chatter and shuffling feet. Monuments to various deities line the walls. Criosphinxes gaze stoically at their offerings of fruit and coin. An enormous statue of Trivia casts a chilling shadow over the endless procession of supplicants, while the patron deity of daylight smiles up at the ceiling, not without considerable irony.
The temple is swarming with monsters, humans, elves, and assorted beastfolk: a cross-section of Trivantis' "finest". Grizzled acolytes dressed in white from head-to-toe attend to new visitors. Haughty functionaries pay lip service to Hecate when they aren't looking askance at the city's indigents. With hardly enough blankets to go around, shivering latecomers huddle around a magical fire-barrel, relishing the thaumaturgic heat on their haggard faces.
At the heart of it all, a stately liontaur in ornate monk garb attends to a group of shifters affected by the storm, a slim journal in one hand and a furiously-scribbling quill in the other. Standing not three feet away from him is a scowling Adush (a bit of a redundant expression), managing to appear bored and vigilant at once.
[This is a public scene open to everyone during the Storm of Dunamai. For up-to-date information about the event, check this thread. Feel free to jump right in, or visit the *temple if you prefer to RP in the dream; everyone is welcome to participate!]
With an incredibly jaunty trot, there was Phoibe, back and forth between the few unlucky enough to arrive at the temple already injured. Bites were surprisingly not as common as scrapes from, say, an unfortunate run-in with a blown about chunk of this or that, or the strained, bruised, and sometimes broken limbs from a trip and fall in the slick, dark weather.
This year wasn't quite as bad as last! Well, so far. That was a relief.
Stepping away from her most recent patient, the canine taur turned, looked around for a moment. Spotted the huddle of shifters, and in but a moment, tip-tap of her nails masked by the drums, Phoibe was there.
Amber eyes passed over each, looking for anything obvious, listening to what they said to the stately Urmah. And then, at a lull in the conversation, the feather-mantled dog injected herself: "And is anyone here injured? Oh, oh, if it is help resisting Dunamai you want, that I can do! But first: Is anyone injured?"
While clearly the follower of the Sun was addressing the Shifters, it was also up to Sange that she glanced. Well? Anything??
This year wasn't quite as bad as last! Well, so far. That was a relief.
Stepping away from her most recent patient, the canine taur turned, looked around for a moment. Spotted the huddle of shifters, and in but a moment, tip-tap of her nails masked by the drums, Phoibe was there.
Amber eyes passed over each, looking for anything obvious, listening to what they said to the stately Urmah. And then, at a lull in the conversation, the feather-mantled dog injected herself: "And is anyone here injured? Oh, oh, if it is help resisting Dunamai you want, that I can do! But first: Is anyone injured?"
While clearly the follower of the Sun was addressing the Shifters, it was also up to Sange that she glanced. Well? Anything??
Sange, for all his legendary patience, answers with a beleaguered sigh when the group of shifters begin shouting over each other for his attention. The storm has everyone on edge, shifters most of all -- and his tone is markedly clipped as he reminds them, in no uncertain terms, to speak in order.
While Sange attends to the increasingly restless shifters, Yasha is the first to notice Phoibe's arrival, her eyes bright with fascination as they sweep over the Skylí's exotic figure, taking in the braided curls and feathered cloak. She smiles innocently, stepping aside to allow the canine taur to pass, and -- at Phoibe's offer of assistance -- wolf-whistles after her.
Immediately, Sange spins around with a frown on his furred face, something appropriately reproachful dying on his tongue when he sees Phoibe: for a moment, his expression is one of careful neutrality, almost as if he's struggling to remember her name. "You couldn't have come at a better time," he finally says in lieu of an actual greeting, low notes of gratitude warming his voice. "We're in desperate need of physicians, at the moment -- most of you seem to have flocked to the Temple of Trivia." A faint, sardonic smile.
Behind him, a shifter howls. Quickly, he adds, "Have you any experience with tranquilization?"
While Sange attends to the increasingly restless shifters, Yasha is the first to notice Phoibe's arrival, her eyes bright with fascination as they sweep over the Skylí's exotic figure, taking in the braided curls and feathered cloak. She smiles innocently, stepping aside to allow the canine taur to pass, and -- at Phoibe's offer of assistance -- wolf-whistles after her.
Immediately, Sange spins around with a frown on his furred face, something appropriately reproachful dying on his tongue when he sees Phoibe: for a moment, his expression is one of careful neutrality, almost as if he's struggling to remember her name. "You couldn't have come at a better time," he finally says in lieu of an actual greeting, low notes of gratitude warming his voice. "We're in desperate need of physicians, at the moment -- most of you seem to have flocked to the Temple of Trivia." A faint, sardonic smile.
Behind him, a shifter howls. Quickly, he adds, "Have you any experience with tranquilization?"
Indeed, even for a Skylí, Phoibe was an odd one: The complete lack of fur was what made her stick out. Even the black curls that coated her lower limbs, tail, and ears weren't fur, after all, but hair. ..And as such, Phoibe wasn't unused to such acting out in her presence. Yasha was spared only a brief glance (was that the hint of a smirk?), dog shifting just slightly (... was that posing??).
"Oh, did you not know? It is much more comfy, there!" Phoibe chuckled in response to Sange, that curly tail wagging gaily behind her, even as one of the shifters began to howl.
"Yeah, yeah, shh, shhh!" Seemed she was talking to the whole lot, Sange included; and from a pack held at her side by an almost harness-like contraption, Phoibe pulled out a quickly emptying oilskin, held it up with excitement and like a prize. "Rest easy, for I come prepared!" In that statement was the quiet suggestion that Sange was not prepared.
"This," Phoibe went on, opening the skin and approaching the howler, "will give you a good rest, I promise. And if you were in pain?? Well, bonus! That will be gone too!" An excited grin was plastered across her face as she passed over the skin. "Just one sip! Not a gulp, do you want to sleep so long you piss yourself??"
Well.
"Oh, did you not know? It is much more comfy, there!" Phoibe chuckled in response to Sange, that curly tail wagging gaily behind her, even as one of the shifters began to howl.
"Yeah, yeah, shh, shhh!" Seemed she was talking to the whole lot, Sange included; and from a pack held at her side by an almost harness-like contraption, Phoibe pulled out a quickly emptying oilskin, held it up with excitement and like a prize. "Rest easy, for I come prepared!" In that statement was the quiet suggestion that Sange was not prepared.
"This," Phoibe went on, opening the skin and approaching the howler, "will give you a good rest, I promise. And if you were in pain?? Well, bonus! That will be gone too!" An excited grin was plastered across her face as she passed over the skin. "Just one sip! Not a gulp, do you want to sleep so long you piss yourself??"
Well.
The Skylí's subtle preening earns a sharksome smile from Yasha, all bared teeth and sharp approval, and she tilts her head back archly, exposing the long column of her neck – a cocky gesture, for all its implied vulnerability.
In the entire time that Phoibe has been quipping about the temple's amenities (and Sange's lack of preparation), Sange's expression has not changed one iota, save to acquire a tiny indentation at the corner of his mouth that can only be described as an extremely unenthusiastic smile. It changes into something marginally more amused when Phoibe trots past him in a hurry, clearly excited at the prospect of drugging her fellow compatriots.
When Phoibe approaches the howler, he backs away for a moment, red-eyed and restless, before leaping forward to snatch the oilskin from her and, wantonly disregarding her warning, knocks his head back in the space of a breath, guzzling the elixir like a parched man with a cool drink – and spitting most of it out half a second later, sputtering and clawing at his tongue in frenzied disgust. "For fuck's sake," Yasha grunts from a few feet away, pushing past Sange to wrestle the oilskin -- and what's left of it -- away from the imbecile.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder splits the air. Its effects are immediate; devastating. The other shifters, previously still possessed of a tenuous grasp on lucidity, begin to growl as their transformations proceed unbidden. A man grows fur over his hands. (Are those claws?) An Adush sprouts fangs over her canines. (Is that a forked tongue?) A satyr accrues another antler, and – bizarrely – a number of other protrusions under her chin. (Are those tentacles?) At the front of the group, a wolflike creature rises, its spine crackling with the effort. Its eyes are a startling, virulent yellow; its mouth twisted wide in a snarl; its claws distressingly sharp – and its attention, most crucially, seems to be fixed on the little canine taur standing right in front of the group of shifters.
In the entire time that Phoibe has been quipping about the temple's amenities (and Sange's lack of preparation), Sange's expression has not changed one iota, save to acquire a tiny indentation at the corner of his mouth that can only be described as an extremely unenthusiastic smile. It changes into something marginally more amused when Phoibe trots past him in a hurry, clearly excited at the prospect of drugging her fellow compatriots.
When Phoibe approaches the howler, he backs away for a moment, red-eyed and restless, before leaping forward to snatch the oilskin from her and, wantonly disregarding her warning, knocks his head back in the space of a breath, guzzling the elixir like a parched man with a cool drink – and spitting most of it out half a second later, sputtering and clawing at his tongue in frenzied disgust. "For fuck's sake," Yasha grunts from a few feet away, pushing past Sange to wrestle the oilskin -- and what's left of it -- away from the imbecile.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder splits the air. Its effects are immediate; devastating. The other shifters, previously still possessed of a tenuous grasp on lucidity, begin to growl as their transformations proceed unbidden. A man grows fur over his hands. (Are those claws?) An Adush sprouts fangs over her canines. (Is that a forked tongue?) A satyr accrues another antler, and – bizarrely – a number of other protrusions under her chin. (Are those tentacles?) At the front of the group, a wolflike creature rises, its spine crackling with the effort. Its eyes are a startling, virulent yellow; its mouth twisted wide in a snarl; its claws distressingly sharp – and its attention, most crucially, seems to be fixed on the little canine taur standing right in front of the group of shifters.
"Hey--!" Phoibe yelped, eyes wide as the skin was snatched. "NO, NO, don't--!" And then she was sputtering and recoiling, dirty-sock smelling liquid and shifter slobber spattered all over her face. A queasy look passed over the Skylí's face as she wiped her face clean with hands, casting an anxious but grateful look to Yasha as she snatched the skin back.
BOOM.
The thunder made the ground quiver beneath their feet with its ferocity, Phoibe's hands flinging over her enormous ears, tail stiff for but a moment...and it was with a look of dawning horror that she returned to the scene before her. Sharp teeth. Much sharper than hers. Beady yellow eyes boring right into her.
The small Skylí was like a deer in the headlights.
Shit shit shit shit!
(Foolishly) unarmed, the grimacing dog began suddenly scrambling back, hands waving frantically in front of her. "There, there! Just-Just--Give it a minute!!!"
BOOM.
The thunder made the ground quiver beneath their feet with its ferocity, Phoibe's hands flinging over her enormous ears, tail stiff for but a moment...and it was with a look of dawning horror that she returned to the scene before her. Sharp teeth. Much sharper than hers. Beady yellow eyes boring right into her.
The small Skylí was like a deer in the headlights.
Shit shit shit shit!
(Foolishly) unarmed, the grimacing dog began suddenly scrambling back, hands waving frantically in front of her. "There, there! Just-Just--Give it a minute!!!"
The beast, that grotesque thing, that vassal of corrupted Lycaon – there's no other way to describe the wrongness of those shuddering, spindly limbs straining to unfurl as it rises from its hunched posture, straightening to loom over Phoibe and the rest of the congregation, its lips peeled back to expose teeth the size of carving knives. It tilts its nose into the air, scenting fear and perspiration and the acrid, telltale stench of someone wetting themselves. For a silent, dreadful moment, its caustic-yellow eyes roll upward into its skull, before zeroing in on Phoibe once more.
Sange turns to the petrified crowd of onlookers, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets in horror. "REMAIN CALM AND DO NOT MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS," he roars, all thunderous, sepulchral authority. (They readily oblige, too paralyzed with fear to do much else.) While Sange growls a frenzied stream of commands to the nearby acolytes, Yasha has her golden eyes trained firmly on the creature, bringing her fists up.
The other shifters hiss and growl, sibilant-simian sounds in the background as the beast sucks in a wet snuffle. Then it slowly leans forward, forward, bending at the neck, apparently intent on closing the distance between it and Phoibe.
Yasha's eyes widen. "DON'T JUST FRIGGING STAND THERE, RUN!!!"
"I'd seriously recommend against that," Sange says quickly when the beast answers with a wet, angry growl.
Sange turns to the petrified crowd of onlookers, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets in horror. "REMAIN CALM AND DO NOT MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS," he roars, all thunderous, sepulchral authority. (They readily oblige, too paralyzed with fear to do much else.) While Sange growls a frenzied stream of commands to the nearby acolytes, Yasha has her golden eyes trained firmly on the creature, bringing her fists up.
The other shifters hiss and growl, sibilant-simian sounds in the background as the beast sucks in a wet snuffle. Then it slowly leans forward, forward, bending at the neck, apparently intent on closing the distance between it and Phoibe.
Yasha's eyes widen. "DON'T JUST FRIGGING STAND THERE, RUN!!!"
"I'd seriously recommend against that," Sange says quickly when the beast answers with a wet, angry growl.
The truth was, Phoibe had, thus far, lead a fairly privileged life. Never before had she had to stare death in the eye! Quite the privileged life for a citizen of Trivantis!
Really... When faced with the choice of 'stand still within inches of knife-mouth death' and 'run,' what did anyone expect?
With a frightened shriek as the thing leaned forward and growled, Phoibe dropped all pretense of hoping for the beast to calm, and, turning abruptly on paws with nails scraping the floor, bolted. BYE!
Really... When faced with the choice of 'stand still within inches of knife-mouth death' and 'run,' what did anyone expect?
With a frightened shriek as the thing leaned forward and growled, Phoibe dropped all pretense of hoping for the beast to calm, and, turning abruptly on paws with nails scraping the floor, bolted. BYE!
The beast roars and leaps after Phoibe. She's fast; it's massive. Screams split the air as a hapless acolyte is haphazardly crushed under its giant paw. Panic erupts in the hall, and onlookers who had previously been intimidated into some semblance of calm are now scrambling to get out, pushing and shoving each other on their way to the exit. An urchin is trampled underfoot; nobody notices in the uproar.
It. Is. Pandemonium.
With a surprising amount of strength, Yasha surges forward from her ready position and vaults into the air, clearing the thrashing tail of a dragon before she lands on the beast's hirsute back. Anchoring herself with two fistfuls of fur (and inciting an anguished howl from the grotesque creature), she steadies her feet on the rippling muscles and tries to hold on.
Of course, the beast doesn't make it easy, thrashing about and flailing its arms wildly behind its back to knock her off. An opportune swipe across the head elicits a sharp cry of pain from Yasha, and -- dear god, is that blood on her scalp? With a grunt, Yasha summons all of the strength available to her for one final leap: she takes the creature by its ears and vaults forward, hopping over its head and appearing right in front of its massive yellow eyes, using her weight and momentum to topple it head-first into the ground.
It works. The beast barrels towards the floor and lands with a sickening crack, sliding across stone until it finally stops, motionless -- right in front of Phoibe.
It. Is. Pandemonium.
With a surprising amount of strength, Yasha surges forward from her ready position and vaults into the air, clearing the thrashing tail of a dragon before she lands on the beast's hirsute back. Anchoring herself with two fistfuls of fur (and inciting an anguished howl from the grotesque creature), she steadies her feet on the rippling muscles and tries to hold on.
Of course, the beast doesn't make it easy, thrashing about and flailing its arms wildly behind its back to knock her off. An opportune swipe across the head elicits a sharp cry of pain from Yasha, and -- dear god, is that blood on her scalp? With a grunt, Yasha summons all of the strength available to her for one final leap: she takes the creature by its ears and vaults forward, hopping over its head and appearing right in front of its massive yellow eyes, using her weight and momentum to topple it head-first into the ground.
It works. The beast barrels towards the floor and lands with a sickening crack, sliding across stone until it finally stops, motionless -- right in front of Phoibe.
rolled 1d2 and got 1
yasha
rolled 1d2 and got 2
beast
