For untold ages(or perhaps just untold minutes. This place has a way of warping time), you have done naught but wait. Wait, and wait, and wait, under the stone ceiling of this great cave, slowly inching forward, towards the bank of the great river that lies before you. But finally, you’re there. At the very front, barely an inch away from the water. The souls behind you tend to be still as death, but the occasional nudge causes you to teeter at the edge, nearly falling in. From the horrid screams of those you’ve seen lose their balance and fall in, you can tell that falling in would not be a great idea.
After a long time(or perhaps a short time) of waiting by the banks of the river, you see a small ferry emerge from the fog, piloted by a weathered man wearing a red cloak and a pileus. He slowly pushes it towards the shore over the course of several minutes. When he finally arrives, he beckons you and the souls around you towards his ferry.
“Come along, now! I ain’t got all day! And gimme your gold, while you’re at it, or I’ll chuck you in the damn river. Don’t like it? Well, that’s alright, you can go ahead and stay on the other side, see where that gets ya!”
He collects his cloak and holds it out like a basket, and souls begin to fish around in their mouths, pulling coins out from under their tongues, where they are customarily placed on the bodies of the dead. No, I don’t know why. The souls begin to file onto the small boat, and despite its size, it appears to hold all those who board. Odd. Well, that can be said for practically everything that’s just happened, so it's all gravy.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A satyr approaches, just dropped off by Death near the River Styx. Throughout her relatively short lifetime, she delivered many to these banks. Though she never truly ventured here before, the similarity she felt emanated from the twisted blackwood staff in her left hand. This is Zaela Koreth, the satyr who is already too familiar with death, despite only being 32 years of age. She looks around, takes in the surroundings, and just nods. Of the ways to go, she never thought this would be the way. No matter, death is death. Not much to do about it now. At least now she gets to rest.
Zaela walks forward to Charon, and gives him her coin. She then says, "Hello ferryman, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Thanatos always spoke highly of you. I'm ready to go across."
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"Oh, just shaddup, gimme yer money, and get in the boat. Stupid brights, thinkin' you own the place. You're still mortal, know your damn place, and take a seat."
The unnecessarily rude ferryman gives Zaela a scowl, and returns to collecting money.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Another Satyr follows behind her, this one is playing a sporadic, pathetically dreary beat on a two sided drum strapped to his waist. The drum itself has been skillfully painted to depict the Thiasus on the surface, though much of it is faded. The Satyr is scrawny man with reddish brown fur and hair, with large ram-like horns protruding out of his short, wool-like hair. He's wearing an expression of exaggerated suffering as he takes his turn in front of the ferryman.
"By the gods, you finally made it. These people just don't have a sense of humor, I tell you. I tried starting up a folk song, oh, about 14 times? But all I got was moaning. It's like they're dead or something!" He laughs a short bleating laugh at his own terrible joke, and just like that his agony has disappeared. Those close in the line to him can certainly attest that he tried way more than 14 times. A kind person would call it admirably persistent while most would classify it as massively annoying. Still, perhaps to many of these souls, having a minor annoyance is far better than having nothing to occupy the time.
The Satyr holds out an empty hand and with a quick flourish, produces a coin seemingly out of thin air. Just a trick of quick hands, it seems. He drops it into the growing pile and makes space for the next soul to pay their due.
A muscular triton, with deep blue wavy hair, shimmering silver skin and piercing aquamarine eyes strides through the crowd. While he moves with purpose and power he is still careful not to push anyone to the side. He holds a trident in one hand and bangs it three times against the rocks to attract the boatman’s attention.
”What is the meaning of this old timer? Dost thou not know who I am? I am Donos of Atlantis and I should not be here.”
He holds his arms wide to the crowd around him, expecting cheers and adulation.
”I think you will find that I am not dead and should be returned to Atlantis at once.”
Sensing the answers he wishes for may not be readily forth coming, he finds a coin in his pouch at his side and gives it to the boatman.
A stunning Human woman approaches the boat and carefully boards. Donning white robes and priest’s attire, it’s quite evident she is some kind of worshipper. Her attire is simple otherwise. There is a gleaming, cloudy pendant resting upon her chest, strung by a measure of twine that embraces her neck. Her demeanor is that of calm and serenity - deftly placing a pouch of coins onto the ferryman’s hand, she takes a stand at the edge of the boat, wistfully peering at the surroundings of the tiny vessel.
However, the most prominent aspect of her visage were her piercing, wide, slightly glowing, eyes. One was a stunning blue, deeper than the sapphires that adorned the Gods. Her other one was a pleasant sea-green. They, like many thousands of other souls, were giving the raucous Satyr that was playing with the drum a snide glance, before wandering over to the other companions of the boat.
You hear a scoff and a rather shrill laugh emanate from the woman. After Donos turns around and asks the question of the Satyr, you hear an answer that is remarkably close to Donos’s voice.
”When discussing appearance with me, you’ll find that I have had much more experience on the subject. Foolish pride such as your own is a dangerous thing.”
A nearly identical clone of Donos can be seen wearing white robes and a trinket, now glowing a slight red colour. Interestingly, one of the figure’s eyes is still a startling green. “And besides, who are you to judge on their rightful place in the underworld? You are here too, and you don’t know what anyone else here has done.” Now smiling unsettlingly, the figure slowly and unblinkingly morphs back into the woman you previously have seen. “Or, at this rate, will do.”
"People, friends, comrades, please... If we must ride in this boat together, let us not do so while antagonizing each other, hm? It just takes the enjoyment out of the whole trip." The other Satyr with the drums saunters up beside 'Fish Boy', his cloven hooves clopping rhythmically on the wooden boards of the ferry. He places an elbow on the Triton's shoulder, as if they've known each other since birth. "We mortals only get this one chance to ride the ferry across river Styx, manned by the legendary psychopomp Charon himself! Why waste time speaking bitter words and missing the trip?"
"And, might I say, that is a curious feature you have, dear 'priestess'. I should like to introduce myself, I am called Rhaecus, of the Raving Drums." He says to the woman who morphed her appearance just now.
"Oh for Nike's sake, can't we move a little faster?" an impatient voice calls, accompanied by the equally impatient stamping of hooves. A centaur stands a few places back in line, her well-toned, olive-skinned arms crossed over her chest, a scowl fixed firmly on her face. Her eyes, one brown, the other a strange, otherworldly white, are fixed on the boat. Built like a warhorse, her withers are a shining black, and her matching hair is tied back in a neat braid. She's dressed in cavalry armor, but wears Nike's holy symbol around her neck - clearly some sort of priestess, but also a warrior, if the sword at her side is anything to go by. As the line keeps moving forward, she huffs, her tail swishing in the face of some poor soul behind her.
"Finally," she hisses as she steps up to board the boat, fishing out her coin for passage. "I was starting to think you'd never return from the last trip," she tells Charon archly, stepping aboard the boat. "My men went across ages before me." Though her tone is surly, she is actually quite pleased that they went on, rather than standing morosely in line, endlessly waiting.
Looking around the boat, the centaur makes her way to the cluster of lively-looking figures, curiosity overtaking her surliness. If she must suffer the boat ride, then at least it should be with interesting company. "Hello," she calls as she approaches, raising one hand in greeting. "I am Arteusa, late of Nike's temple," she introduces, "called the Bloody by the Persians." This last added with a half-feral grin.
The triton watches the centaur approach. He has seen paintings and drawings of her kind before. There was a collection of urns with a lively woodland scene painted across the whole set and it included centaurs and satyrs. But he has never seen one in person before. You didn't tend to find them on sinking pirate ships, in the seaside fishing communities, nor deep below the waves. At least there were new experiences, here amongst the dead.
"Hail and well met Arteusa the Bloody. I am Donos of Atlantis."
He leans in a little closer, shrugging off the satyr's elbow from his shoulder at the same time.
"Did you ever encounter Bardaisan the Blue? An Assyrian pirate operating along the coast of Persia? He would drive anyone to strive for the name "The Bloody".
As Zaela boards the ship with a slight scowl after her brief dialogue with Charon, she stepped onto the boat, so consumed by her own thoughts that she barely heard the question presented by "Fish Boy". She looks down for a brief second, staring deeply at the warped wooden staff she holds, but her face is blank, showing no emotions.
She then looks back to Fish Boy, and says, "Oh, sorry, I was thinking about something. Did you ask what a sushi was? I don't know, the priestess could be correct. I don't eat meat."
As she hears the clopping hooves of the centaur, she suddenly gets stiff, her shoulders getting tight, grasping her staff a little tighter. She then changes her stance to see the figure a bit better, seeing that the centaur is a female. She lets out a sigh of relief, and loosens up a bit.
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The now-Human woman turns her head from the interactions with the Triton, seemingly pleased with the nature of his responses. Although she was mildly quipped about his comment regarding the nature of her responses to his prideful remarks, she was certain there would be time to appropriately show the Triton her prowess in combat. Or, more specifically, deception and infiltration.
Hearing the approach of the Centaur, her mood shifts from a content and neutral expression to a feisty and potentially scornful sneer, albeit with a perfidious smile that could be mistaken for one of earnestness to someone with an untrained eye. Extending her hand, she says; "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arteusa of Nike's Temple. I respect one who presumably died fending off the Persians, as did I; my hometown of Ionia was destroyed by them. I fancy seeing one so devout to worship as I am, but I'm afraid that our natures of preaching and combat will...differ."
If you want to join a campaign, look for a recruiting one. This thread is both private and closed. Please don't post in any PbP threads unless they are public/recruiting.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
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For untold ages(or perhaps just untold minutes. This place has a way of warping time), you have done naught but wait. Wait, and wait, and wait, under the stone ceiling of this great cave, slowly inching forward, towards the bank of the great river that lies before you. But finally, you’re there. At the very front, barely an inch away from the water. The souls behind you tend to be still as death, but the occasional nudge causes you to teeter at the edge, nearly falling in. From the horrid screams of those you’ve seen lose their balance and fall in, you can tell that falling in would not be a great idea.
After a long time(or perhaps a short time) of waiting by the banks of the river, you see a small ferry emerge from the fog, piloted by a weathered man wearing a red cloak and a pileus. He slowly pushes it towards the shore over the course of several minutes. When he finally arrives, he beckons you and the souls around you towards his ferry.
“Come along, now! I ain’t got all day! And gimme your gold, while you’re at it, or I’ll chuck you in the damn river. Don’t like it? Well, that’s alright, you can go ahead and stay on the other side, see where that gets ya!”
He collects his cloak and holds it out like a basket, and souls begin to fish around in their mouths, pulling coins out from under their tongues, where they are customarily placed on the bodies of the dead. No, I don’t know why. The souls begin to file onto the small boat, and despite its size, it appears to hold all those who board. Odd. Well, that can be said for practically everything that’s just happened, so it's all gravy.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A satyr approaches, just dropped off by Death near the River Styx. Throughout her relatively short lifetime, she delivered many to these banks. Though she never truly ventured here before, the similarity she felt emanated from the twisted blackwood staff in her left hand. This is Zaela Koreth, the satyr who is already too familiar with death, despite only being 32 years of age. She looks around, takes in the surroundings, and just nods. Of the ways to go, she never thought this would be the way. No matter, death is death. Not much to do about it now. At least now she gets to rest.
Zaela walks forward to Charon, and gives him her coin. She then says, "Hello ferryman, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Thanatos always spoke highly of you. I'm ready to go across."
Please check out my homebrew, I would appreciate feedback:
Spells, Monsters, Subclasses, Races, Arcknight Class, Occultist Class, World, Enigmatic Esoterica forms
"Oh, just shaddup, gimme yer money, and get in the boat. Stupid brights, thinkin' you own the place. You're still mortal, know your damn place, and take a seat."
The unnecessarily rude ferryman gives Zaela a scowl, and returns to collecting money.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Another Satyr follows behind her, this one is playing a sporadic, pathetically dreary beat on a two sided drum strapped to his waist. The drum itself has been skillfully painted to depict the Thiasus on the surface, though much of it is faded. The Satyr is scrawny man with reddish brown fur and hair, with large ram-like horns protruding out of his short, wool-like hair. He's wearing an expression of exaggerated suffering as he takes his turn in front of the ferryman.
"By the gods, you finally made it. These people just don't have a sense of humor, I tell you. I tried starting up a folk song, oh, about 14 times? But all I got was moaning. It's like they're dead or something!" He laughs a short bleating laugh at his own terrible joke, and just like that his agony has disappeared. Those close in the line to him can certainly attest that he tried way more than 14 times. A kind person would call it admirably persistent while most would classify it as massively annoying. Still, perhaps to many of these souls, having a minor annoyance is far better than having nothing to occupy the time.
The Satyr holds out an empty hand and with a quick flourish, produces a coin seemingly out of thin air. Just a trick of quick hands, it seems. He drops it into the growing pile and makes space for the next soul to pay their due.
Lost In Time: An Interdimensional Escapade: Baragon Starfeller - Level 2 Leonin Paladin
Out of Elysium: Rhaecus, of the Raving Drums - Level 1 Satyr Rogue
Dungeonverse: Weizol L'varr - Level 1 Eladrin Wizard
Charon echoes the faces of the souls who had to put up with the satyr's doomed attempts to start a song, giving him a withering glare.
"Great, another one. And another goat, too. Ma Aïdes, what is the world coming to?"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A muscular triton, with deep blue wavy hair, shimmering silver skin and piercing aquamarine eyes strides through the crowd. While he moves with purpose and power he is still careful not to push anyone to the side. He holds a trident in one hand and bangs it three times against the rocks to attract the boatman’s attention.
”What is the meaning of this old timer? Dost thou not know who I am? I am Donos of Atlantis and I should not be here.”
He holds his arms wide to the crowd around him, expecting cheers and adulation.
”I think you will find that I am not dead and should be returned to Atlantis at once.”
Sensing the answers he wishes for may not be readily forth coming, he finds a coin in his pouch at his side and gives it to the boatman.
”Take me to someone that can fix this mess.”
"Shut up and get in the boat, sushi. Don't make me use the stick."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A stunning Human woman approaches the boat and carefully boards. Donning white robes and priest’s attire, it’s quite evident she is some kind of worshipper. Her attire is simple otherwise. There is a gleaming, cloudy pendant resting upon her chest, strung by a measure of twine that embraces her neck.
Her demeanor is that of calm and serenity - deftly placing a pouch of coins onto the ferryman’s hand, she takes a stand at the edge of the boat, wistfully peering at the surroundings of the tiny vessel.
However, the most prominent aspect of her visage were her piercing, wide, slightly glowing, eyes. One was a stunning blue, deeper than the sapphires that adorned the Gods. Her other one was a pleasant sea-green. They, like many thousands of other souls, were giving the raucous Satyr that was playing with the drum a snide glance, before wandering over to the other companions of the boat.
Donos looks around at the other passengers on the boat, a combination of disbelief, confusion and a hint of anger playing across his face.
He turns to the person nearest him, a satyr. Without drums.
“What, pray tell, is a sushi?”
Her wistful trance being interrupted by Donos's petulant comments, the woman turns around and stares him directly in the eye.
"It's a kind of seafood, fishboy. Shouldn't you know?"
She promptly returns to gazing at the abyssal river the vessel is situated on, pondering the intriguing oddities of the group that stands upon it.
Fish boy? What under the sea is wrong with these people, Donos asks himself.
“One who does look like a pale land ape mocks another’s appearance? What a sad existence you must lead.”
He pauses and looks around at the continually flow of people approaching the boat. He turns back to the woman with two different coloured eyes.
”Bah, go back to your sad daydreams. In this dark realm is where you belong.”
He turns back to the satyr he originally asked the question of.
”This sushi, is it good?”
You hear a scoff and a rather shrill laugh emanate from the woman. After Donos turns around and asks the question of the Satyr, you hear an answer that is remarkably close to Donos’s voice.
”When discussing appearance with me, you’ll find that I have had much more experience on the subject. Foolish pride such as your own is a dangerous thing.”
A nearly identical clone of Donos can be seen wearing white robes and a trinket, now glowing a slight red colour. Interestingly, one of the figure’s eyes is still a startling green. “And besides, who are you to judge on their rightful place in the underworld? You are here too, and you don’t know what anyone else here has done.” Now smiling unsettlingly, the figure slowly and unblinkingly morphs back into the woman you previously have seen. “Or, at this rate, will do.”
Donos lets out a hearty laugh, laughing almost to the point of tears.
”Far greater than thee have threatened to teach me a lesson, changeling. For I am Donos of Atlantis, slayer of krakens.”
But there is no anger in Donos’ bearing or on his face. A genuine smile lifts his mouth.
”I like you.”
Once again he turns to the satyr.
”Why have I not heard of this sushi before?”
"People, friends, comrades, please... If we must ride in this boat together, let us not do so while antagonizing each other, hm? It just takes the enjoyment out of the whole trip." The other Satyr with the drums saunters up beside 'Fish Boy', his cloven hooves clopping rhythmically on the wooden boards of the ferry. He places an elbow on the Triton's shoulder, as if they've known each other since birth. "We mortals only get this one chance to ride the ferry across river Styx, manned by the legendary psychopomp Charon himself! Why waste time speaking bitter words and missing the trip?"
"And, might I say, that is a curious feature you have, dear 'priestess'. I should like to introduce myself, I am called Rhaecus, of the Raving Drums." He says to the woman who morphed her appearance just now.
Lost In Time: An Interdimensional Escapade: Baragon Starfeller - Level 2 Leonin Paladin
Out of Elysium: Rhaecus, of the Raving Drums - Level 1 Satyr Rogue
Dungeonverse: Weizol L'varr - Level 1 Eladrin Wizard
"Hermes is the psychopomp, not me," grumbles the irate ferryman. "I'd rather die than go up above, thanks."
He looks back at the crowd of souls.
"We'll soon set off, just about a hundred more."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"Oh for Nike's sake, can't we move a little faster?" an impatient voice calls, accompanied by the equally impatient stamping of hooves. A centaur stands a few places back in line, her well-toned, olive-skinned arms crossed over her chest, a scowl fixed firmly on her face. Her eyes, one brown, the other a strange, otherworldly white, are fixed on the boat. Built like a warhorse, her withers are a shining black, and her matching hair is tied back in a neat braid. She's dressed in cavalry armor, but wears Nike's holy symbol around her neck - clearly some sort of priestess, but also a warrior, if the sword at her side is anything to go by. As the line keeps moving forward, she huffs, her tail swishing in the face of some poor soul behind her.
"Finally," she hisses as she steps up to board the boat, fishing out her coin for passage. "I was starting to think you'd never return from the last trip," she tells Charon archly, stepping aboard the boat. "My men went across ages before me." Though her tone is surly, she is actually quite pleased that they went on, rather than standing morosely in line, endlessly waiting.
Looking around the boat, the centaur makes her way to the cluster of lively-looking figures, curiosity overtaking her surliness. If she must suffer the boat ride, then at least it should be with interesting company. "Hello," she calls as she approaches, raising one hand in greeting. "I am Arteusa, late of Nike's temple," she introduces, "called the Bloody by the Persians." This last added with a half-feral grin.
No Longer Active
The triton watches the centaur approach. He has seen paintings and drawings of her kind before. There was a collection of urns with a lively woodland scene painted across the whole set and it included centaurs and satyrs. But he has never seen one in person before. You didn't tend to find them on sinking pirate ships, in the seaside fishing communities, nor deep below the waves. At least there were new experiences, here amongst the dead.
"Hail and well met Arteusa the Bloody. I am Donos of Atlantis."
He leans in a little closer, shrugging off the satyr's elbow from his shoulder at the same time.
"Did you ever encounter Bardaisan the Blue? An Assyrian pirate operating along the coast of Persia? He would drive anyone to strive for the name "The Bloody".
As Zaela boards the ship with a slight scowl after her brief dialogue with Charon, she stepped onto the boat, so consumed by her own thoughts that she barely heard the question presented by "Fish Boy". She looks down for a brief second, staring deeply at the warped wooden staff she holds, but her face is blank, showing no emotions.
She then looks back to Fish Boy, and says, "Oh, sorry, I was thinking about something. Did you ask what a sushi was? I don't know, the priestess could be correct. I don't eat meat."
As she hears the clopping hooves of the centaur, she suddenly gets stiff, her shoulders getting tight, grasping her staff a little tighter. She then changes her stance to see the figure a bit better, seeing that the centaur is a female. She lets out a sigh of relief, and loosens up a bit.
Please check out my homebrew, I would appreciate feedback:
Spells, Monsters, Subclasses, Races, Arcknight Class, Occultist Class, World, Enigmatic Esoterica forms
The now-Human woman turns her head from the interactions with the Triton, seemingly pleased with the nature of his responses. Although she was mildly quipped about his comment regarding the nature of her responses to his prideful remarks, she was certain there would be time to appropriately show the Triton her prowess in combat. Or, more specifically, deception and infiltration.
Hearing the approach of the Centaur, her mood shifts from a content and neutral expression to a feisty and potentially scornful sneer, albeit with a perfidious smile that could be mistaken for one of earnestness to someone with an untrained eye. Extending her hand, she says; "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arteusa of Nike's Temple. I respect one who presumably died fending off the Persians, as did I; my hometown of Ionia was destroyed by them. I fancy seeing one so devout to worship as I am, but I'm afraid that our natures of preaching and combat will...differ."
If you want to join a campaign, look for a recruiting one. This thread is both private and closed. Please don't post in any PbP threads unless they are public/recruiting.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."