taxonomites | Entries tagged with @ adventure zone

It's surprisingly difficult to faithfully reproduce cave art while being badgered by questions from Sherlock Holmes.

Jason Blood sighs to himself as he closes up the leatherbound journal he'd been filling with sketches of the symbols (many of them completely unknown to him, which is novel in its own right, interesting), wraps the tie-cord shut, and slides it back into his leather messenger bag.

"Given that Taxon's stars are different from Earth's, Mr. Holmes, I'm afraid most of what I could tell you about traditional astrology may be somewhat moot. I have been charting the local stars since my arrival, and if you think that information would be useful, I suppose I can share it."

(And walking back to town to retrieve those things will feel like less of a waste of his personal time than sitting here attempting to draw while the terrier of empirical knowledge gnaws at his heels, so.)

Only half-listening to Holmes's reply, Jason Blood heads back out the shallow cave's mouth to the comparatively bright sunlight, squinting for a moment against it. Caves, caves; after the ice tunnels and now this, he's beginning to be tired of caves, but the art had been too interesting to pass up.

The path, or ledge might be a better term, that leads down the side of the cliff face to more level ground, is fairly treacherous going. Jason keeps one hand on the rock face, and minds his footing as he goes-- there's a granite scree underfoot which can wrench an ankle all too easily.

Judging only by the sounds of Sherlock Holmes moving behind him, he would wager Holmes is not quite so careful with his footing.

...if Holmes sprains his ankle, Jason resolves here and now he is not carrying him.

theextras

It's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago the city was deep in bone-chilling snow. The city is in the grips of a pleasant spring: warm days, cool nights, crisp winds and all the flowers blooming. The trees boast tender green leaves and the sky is bright blue with puffy, fast-moving clouds.

Since the collapse of the ~~Matterhorn~~ Ice Queen's Lair, the northern section of the city has been shrouded in the same gray, impenetrable fog that had originally obscured the zone.

Today it is blown away by the stiff spring wind. The land to the north of the bridge is hills rising to mountains, forested, filled with clear lakes and rushing streams.

Near the bridge, there is a cabin that serves as a trading post, and is the only immediately visible structure or sign of human habitation.

The leather-faced Extra inside the crammed store is happy to sell you gold-panning equipment, backpacks, tents, fishing or trapping gear... he might even, maybe, have a huntin' rifle available. If you ask nice.

He also warns of bear in the high country, of caves he calls 'Indian burial grounds!' with spooky paintings on the walls, and says that sure enough, there's one of them wendy-gos around somewhere, yessir. You know. One of them Bigfoot things. Still, it's the best time of year to see the high country, wildflowers bloomin' an' all.

Y'all be careful goin' in now.

imperial_long

Normally Long is fairly good about locking those posts which he wishes to remain private. 'Normally', however, he doesn't wake up curled into a ball beneath some trees, on ground that definitely not a soft mattress, with a light snow falling, without a stitch of clothing on his person, and experiencing the massive vertigo-like disorientation that comes from having one's sensory experiences once again jammed down into a body that exists on a 1:20 scale to what he should have.

He is therefore a little muzzy when he sits up, takes stock of himself, realizes he is once again sans raiment, checks blearily to ensure there are neither zombies nor motorcycles in the vicinity, processes that he is cold, and after one whole minute of looking on his own opens an unlocked voice message to Sherlock Holmes. Probably he was putting so much energy into making sure he had it on voice and not on visual that the locking bit slipped by him.

"Mr. Holmes," he says, rich voice muddled and fuzzy as it almost never is, "exactly where did you leave my clothes?"

Have fun with possible misconceptions, Taxon.

(eta) As a point of interest, while Long is still technically on the north side of the bridge, a good deal of the faux-medieval landscape seems to have cleared out. Anyone visiting Adventure Zone will note that the terrain remains the same, but the castles, villages, and dungeons are gone. However.... one solitary mountain remains, a peak that superficially resembles the Matterhorn. The mountainside is white with snow, and more snow is gently drifting down on the hills and forests of the district.

personaldemon

[Locked to Selina/Horst] (two different texts, but identical wording in both save for the name)

Miss Kyle, (Mister Brauer,)

I apologize for my actions of the other day. I was under some duress, but this does not excuse my exorcising my difficulties upon your person.

In the future I shall be sure to leave instead.

-Jason Blood

********

He felt better.

This likely had something to do with what he'd been up to in the last several days in the pseudo-medieval landscape. He had found a sword, and an open hole in the earth in the side of a hill, with steps leading down into the dark.

( blah blah shlocky horror extra-killing behind the cut )

thepersianyouth

If there was ever any one solitary thing that could get someone like Bagoas into a right bend, it would be his curiousity: not an innate quality, but one that was nurtured and groomed in his years at the Persian court. For nearly a month now, he has slipped by the bridge leading into the Northern district, casting furtive glances over yon river while his mind churned with all the fascinating particulars he had gleaned from those adventurous few broadcasts.

In the sky he's spotted a serpent, and childlike awe soon turned into an itch he couldn't scratch. He has been content in his daily comings and goings that he had forgotten the thrill of new vistas and cultures; from what he's heard, this northern district seems rife with all manner of things he never would've dreamed to see with his own eyes.

For nearly a month, he has persisted in his abstinence. He has looked his fill of the forest but not drawn near it. How could he, when Glitch's most trusted friend has stood guard for so long? His every step would be counted and frowned upon, and so, he has refrained.

Until today.

Today, there is the sound of drums and horns and strings and how could he possibly resist?

Choosing his moment with utmost care, he crouches, waits for it, and the very instant Cain's back is turned, he dashes forward and leaps from one end of the bridge to the other and doesn't stop running until he's reached the source* of this magnetic force-field. And then, there's simply one thing to do.

Dance, barefoot and coat open and billowing around him, one heavy winter boot in either hand.

* Minstrels inna village! A whole bunch of them! All done up in their snoods and tunics and rockin' their hurdy-gurdies :D

imperial_long

Good afternoon, Taxon: there is an enormous black dragon flying in lazy circles above the city.

Specifically, above the Northern District, that nebulous area currently masquerading as Fantasyland. After all, what's a good castle adventure without a dragon? Even if the dragon is distinctly Eastern in flavor rather than Western.

On the map, the dragon displays as Oolong. In the air, Oolong loops like a black ribbon, drifting down from the sky in long, rippling undulations as he scans the woods below for interesting things.

'Interesting things' qualify as sheep. Or deer. Or, perhaps, even a goblin here or there.

Either way, he's visible from anywhere in Adventure Zone... and for that matter, probably visible from parts of the regular city too.

[OOC: Oolong in da house! Long is currently a 90-foot-long Chinese imperial dragon. He still has his tablet on him. Feel free to approach him in any way from terror to glee.]

hasaheart

There's a man standing guard by the bridge at the very edge of Central, right by the Miskatonic river and the bridge leading across into the raucous, suspiciously active land beyond.

That man is Wyatt Cain, former Chief of Security to one of the most important men in his homeland, former cop in Central City, once a husband, now a widower, still a father. He isn't standing here because he wants to, or even because he cares all that much about what lies beyond this bridge.

A cold wind blows from the west, and he ducks his head away. These long winter months never agree with him, but still he is here, with his revolver in its hip holster, with his shotgun hanging from his shoulder, and a newly sharpened axe bobbing against his clavicle for every step he takes. To and fro, there and back again, suspicious blue eyes glancing across the water at the slightest sign of potential danger.

He isn't here for the credit, or even the gratitude, should he be able to keep something untoward from making it across.

He's here because he needs to be. He's here just in case he has to be.

Most of all, he's standing vigilant because it's one thing to choose adventure (or be rescued right into it, like he was some two years ago); it's another thing entirely to be ambushed by it. Those who choose to stay in their chosen residences, in their own beds, will sleep soundly tonight - and every night to come - knowing there's someone fairly well suited to the task out there.

Keeping an eye out.

whyfearthedark

If there's one thing that can be said for Nuada, it is that he does not suffer idleness. Since his arrival he has gathered information from Long, traded for tools with Glitch, found a friend in an upside-down skull monstrosity under the delusion it's a canine companion, proposed a bargain with a werewolf - and generally made quite a nuisance of himself.

He has a standing arrangement with the barriers surrounding the city, for instance, and he knows for certain there are two residents here who would like nothing more than for him to make an untoward move. Or, well, one of them; the would-be knight, the tarnished champion of the 'peaceful' residents. The other one, the woman, he's not so sure would raise a hand unless it served her own agenda.

If she sets her filthy paws on his crown, he'll rip her voicebox right out. That goes for anyone, human or simply a fool.

But, all that aside, as mentioned, idleness sits very poorly with him. Having ventured into the Northern district, it seemed to him a natural progression to see about weapons. The Extra patron wasn't too happy about relinquishing his forge, but Nuada can be very persuasive.

And so, one elven prince can be found in the Medieval village's forge, day or night, fashioning himself a pair of blades. Bare from the waist up and perfectly covered in soot and grime, handling the metal and the heat as if he's done so a thousand times before. Perhaps so. But a more relevant question is this:

Do you dare approach?

imperial_long

He had a picnic hamper. It was quite a pretty thing, Long thought with abstract appreciation for the aesthetics: the traditional woven basket with two hinged lids, with a blue-and-white checked cloth peeping out neatly folded. It was a pleasing combination of colors, the cornflower blue and the starched white and the pale yellow of the wicker. Very Edouard Manet, he thought. Or perhaps Antonio Garcia y Mencia.

The scents rising from the hamper were fairly appealing. Long made his way down the stairs to the lobby of his hotel. He was wearing a heavy coat against the chill, even if the Northern Zone itself had seemed freer of winter than the city proper. Also tucked within the hamper he had a notebook, and pencils. For the purposes of cataloging.

In the lobby he looked around for Holmes.

personaldemon

Taxon was a terrible place to be stuck with a demon in one's head.

( cut for length, over-the-top broody darkness horror shlock )

*****

And what, my dear, do you think you'll find
Here in this trope of swords and shields?
The answer's simple, although you're blind:
Say the words. Surrender. Yield.

Jason kept his eyes on the books he'd found. It was a wizard's tower, as stereotypical as Etrigan had said: something out of a paperback fantasy novel, utter rubbish, but the books were truly magical however covered in overdone runes and drawings of pentagrams they were. One was actually oozing blood. He supposed he could give it to the damned vampires if nothing in it turned out to be useful.

He flipped through pages, eyes scanning the writings quickly, hunting for anything worth carrying back with him. Most of them were in Latin. And most of them were rubbish. A love spell. Something to ward off bad dreams-- he might have bothered with that one, if not for the fact that he had a broad collection of such spells and they had never once worked on himself. Something claiming to be the famed formula for lead to gold, yes, yes, very good, he'd bloody well owned the Philosopher's Stone for a while--

Teeth bared in an unconscious snarl, Jason chucked the worthless book out the tower's slit window, hard as he could. It vanished from sight, presumably landing somewhere far below, on the grass that surrounded the tower. He turned his glare upon the remaining books, and the candle that burned sullenly atop a skull.

Light them on fire. They'd burn so well. Burn this trash, this useless tripe, this fucking farce of pointless paper, and 'wisdom' and 'knowledge' that didn't fucking help him--

Scorch! Smolder! Singe! Sear!
Bake! Broil! Blaze! Burn!
Immolate all that's here
Then let ME have my turn!

"Shut up," Jason snarled, slamming his fist against the table.

Calm, he needed calm, he needed air-- he wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve, pressed his cheek against the cool, rough stone of the tower wall, and tried to recite meditative mantras to himself.

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The City of Taxon

Entries tagged with @ adventure zone

[Location] Adventure Zone [Sherlock Holmes and Jason Blood, for now]

Weather / Adventure Zone

[Voice] | [Location]

[Location: Adventure Zone] [open to any] / [text - locked - Selina and Horst ]

[location: Adventure Zone!] party like it's 1399~

[Location: Adventure Zone] [open to any!]

[location: by the bridge leading across to the Medieval lollapalooza]

02: Who says you can't appropriate a forge?

[location: lobby of the Kelebek, to start]

[Location] (Adventure Zone!!) (Open to any)

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