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Cage Your Nightmares; Medium Quest
Topic Started: Feb 20 2015, 10:39 PM (310 Views)
Bra
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Long, Lost, Found
The Vault

Difficulty: Medium

Description:

The planet of Avalon, being a trade mecca, is immensely rich. Thousands of zeni are pumped into the Royal Avalanian Vault through taxes every year. Because the bandits living in the fields often make attacks on the vault, The Council of Elders hold tryouts to be a vault guard. You apply and get the job. The security is tight in the vault, but the chance to make off with a load of money is alluring.

Reward: +500 zeni, +5 DP, +40 all stats, +5 Rp Credits

Bonus: If you guard the vault: +1 alignment, +15 all stats

OR

Bonus: If you steal the contents: -1 alignment, +400 zeni
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Bra
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Long, Lost, Found
[align=center]How long have I been locked in darkness?

- - - -[/align]

Royce Degon had been a boy. And as a boy, he had lost his parents.

It had been a freak accident, or so they told him. He had awoken in the middle of the night to the fresh, crispy smell of burning meat. It was a small cottage he lived in by the sea so it was not surprising to him to catch the wafting odors of breakfast that his mother prepared. But something about the aroma that entered his nose didn't please him; in fact, it caused his nose to crinkle and his body to tense up.

It was only when he opened his eyes that he discovered that his house was on fire.

He had clamored out his bedroom window and ran to the very edge of the sea, his eyes wide as the dark night was caught ablaze by the inferno. He struggled to yell for his mother, for his father. But the smoke had already gotten into his throat and all he could do was cough and weep. It didn't take him long to figure out that the burning smell had been flesh caught aflame and that the things that had been cooking had been his parents.

He had tried to run back into the building but was quickly pulled away by some phantom force. His eyes snapped back to see who it was but a hard object crashed into his forehead, quickly shattering the light of his consciousness. His last, hazy look had been to the sea raking at the sand before his world fell into shadow.

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[align=center]How much time has passed since I last saw light?[/align]
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Moran, for lack of a better word, was a terrorist nation.

Its official standing was that it was a monarchy, under the safe protection and guard of its king and his legions of soldiers. It spent a lot of time on its public relations campaign to improve its image on Zaun. You see Moran, being the small island nation that it was, was looked at as a sort of extension of Laerys. When it was first settled many ages ago, it had been men and women from Laerys that had made the trip across the raging ocean to call the island home. And in truth, Laerys may have likened Moran as its own colony of sorts.

'Our little Morons across the bay'

But Moranites, as they properly addressed themselves, were far different than the people on the mainland. And what those settlers didn't seem to understand when they first arrived was how hard the island would treat them.

Nor how wrathful the God was that looked over it.

Typhon was considered a minor God in the caste of deities that overlooked Zaun. Whereas his brothers and sisters held luxurious authority and responsibility over many aspects, Typhon was left to overlook the natural flowing ocean and the workings of the sky. His title was looked down upon and worship to him had gone dry for so long that many believed him only a myth rather than anything else. And this, as one might assume, made the deity furious.

So when these people came to the island that would become Moran, intent on claiming it as their own, the God of Storms and Seas unleashed his wrath upon them in the form of a hurricane. Houses collapsed, vegetation washed away and families drowned as the seemingly never ending cyclone ripped the island to shreds and tore apart the Zaunite's hopes.

For months the islanders suffered at the hands of the God, their everyday lives filled with the realization that they could die at any moment. They needed help, above all else. Laerys was only a miles away, waiting to save its former brethren from the nightmare they had to endure. As the legend goes, a practiced sailor known as Kaen offered to brave that savage sea and escape the hurricane to plead aid from their former homeland.

He was offered the largest vessel on the island, the ship that had brought them there. While a hefty prize for any true captain, he turned it down in favor of a small rowboat. He believed the small vessel was insignificant enough and his life worthless enough that Typhon would simply ignore him. Because what was the life of one poor sailor to the lives of an entire island village?

The trip was as close to Hell as the man could imagine. He tied his body to the boat's floor, hoping the anchor would keep him on board. But even with that his body was tossed every which way, including into the ocean a number of times. His mouth tasted of salt water and his eyes were swollen so shut that he could barely see a foot in front of him. But he held onto his ship with all of his might, his hopes resting on the land that was getting ever closer.

It took him a full week to get through the storm. And when the shriveled, rain soaked man washed up on shore, many thought him dead. But his hands moved and his body squirmed. And his lips began to move, his voice barely escaping as he was helped to an elder. He had reached Laerys. He had reached home. And he would get the help his people needed.

Or so he thought. The people of Laerys saw the sailor as an example of what happens when pilgrims tried to leave home. As the man rested and regained his strength, the high and mighty of Laerys spoke. And it was believed that if they helped this man, they would incur the wrath of Typhon as well. So in the dead of night, the man was brought to his tiny rowboat and sent back into the ocean, with hopes that he would be lost in the hurricane.

But Typhon had taken notice of the sailor. He had thrown his best at the man as he passed through the storm and then watched, with slight shock, as he had escaped. And he watched as the sailor was sent back to certain death, without a care or worry about his life. He had been betrayed by his brethren, just like Typhon himself had. As the rowboat entered the tempest, Typhon's rage simmered and a breeze hurried the resting man back to his home. When he awoke, he found himself in the village again...without the flags of Laerys behind him.

Kaen's heart grew dark as he realized how they had been abandoned. His anger swallowed him up and cast out a wrathful, hateful man. He told his fellow villagers about his journey, how they had set him adrift in hopes of his death. His anger became their anger and their hatred became one. Kaen himself climbed to the tallest point on the island and spoke to Typhon directly. His words carried the same fury and contempt that the God himself had felt for ages. Kaen swore that this nation, their nation, would follow the old ways of the Drowned God. And all of Zaun would eventually be swept up in the abhorrent surf.

Or, at least, that's how the legend goes.

WC: 1199
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Bra
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Long, Lost, Found
[align=center]Kaen was our first king. Our first emperor. The first Avatar of Typhon. Or so we thought.

- - - -
[/align]

When Royce woke up again, he was sitting. With his hands bound.

Their was a man sitting in front of him, a gray-haired man wearing a sneer and a clean military uniform. He was a general, given the markings on his breast pocket. As he noticed the boy stirring, he leaned back in his chair and stared down the brim of his nose.

"Before you ask, your parents are dead. Deep fried in their beds. My condolences." He said gruffly, no hint of kindness in his voice. He brushed his finger underneath his nose, as if he was wiping the solitary moment away. "Now there's the question about you."

"What the hell do you want?" The teenager snapped, his eyes flaring with emotion.

The general paused long enough to take in the offensive tone the boy shot at him. Then he moved past it. "House burns down and the only survivor happens to be you. And you escape without so much as a scar. You shouldn't be surprised that we suspect you as the culprit."

"I didn't kill my parents!" Royce roared, saliva flying off his lips as he tried to leap forward. But his bindings held him in place.

The general sniffed. "That's what they all say. And maybe you're right. But this is the third arson case we've had in as many months. And it's hard to believe you when we've found all the makings of an arsonist in your house. Specifically your former room."

Royce's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. His voice seemed to fail as he tried to rationalize what was happening. Slowly his jaw shut itself as his suspicions began to catch up with him.

The general waited a moment longer before speaking again. "No? Nothing to say to that? No denial or accusal of setting you up?"

Still the teenager held his tongue.

"Well then. You know the law. Those accused with no defense become the next sacrificed to Typhon. I hope you've made your peace with it." The general said, rocking himself off his chair to get to his feet. He brushed his legs off with a quick flash of his hand, as if he was disgusted by the very air that surrounded him.

Royce's lips parted into a vicious sneer. "Why don't you just kill me yourself, coward? You have to throw me into the ocean and let the elements do your dirty work?"

Anger. He could see it in the general's eyes. "Idiot child. The worst death we can inflict upon the damned is to send them to Typhon's wrath. Killing you now would be a mercy. And you should suffer for your crimes."

The teenager glared back at the general, his teeth bared slightly before he leaned back in his seat. The general, satisfied that he got his message across, moved away from the boy to the door. Three hard pounds from his fist unlocked the door from the other side and it slid open, allowing him to exit with one more casting glance towards the accused.

And then he was left alone in the dark.


WC: 519
TWC: 1718
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Bra
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[align=center]I had been swimming in the oceans around Moran for years. I had flown in its gusts since I was a child. Never had I known true cold until that day.

- - - -
[/align]

Moran has many traditions. Honoring Typhon took precedence above all else.

Kaen told the people of the island that Typhon demanded sacrifices to appease his anger. He needed criminals and villains to be sent to his realm so that he could punish them with his wrath. In return, the hurricane that still surrounded the island would be there's to master. For hundreds of years, the townsfolk would gather at the rocky cliffs near Moran's south side to bear witness to the sacrifice. The storm had created a whirlpool in the ocean at the base of the cliff, which made for a perfect spot to send the convicted and chosen to their untimely demises.

The blindfold was viciously torn from Royce's face and his eyes were suddenly under siege from the light. He jerked his head to the side and jammed his eyelids shut but the spots were already popping in the darkness. He could hear the surf below; the sloshing waters sounded more like a waterfall than a whirlpool.

Behind him, he could hear a crowd. Multiple people muttering to themselves in anticipation. He batted his eyes once, twice, before he was able to fully open them once more. He twisted his neck around to look and was surprised to find most of his hometown standing there. He looked between them all, their hate-filled eyes damning him.

"Mighty Typhon." A voice spoke before him and he snapped around to see who it was. One of the ancient wise men stood before the edge, his body draped in light blue cloaks that depicted ocean waves. His beard hung low near his waist and his eyes were closed enough that one could have mistaken him for sleeping. "We do today as we have done for many centuries now. This wretched creature has shown his true colors and made himself a villain of our great nation. As per tradition, he will be given to your wrath and suffer a thousand punishments to atone for our shared misery. And when the great surf rises to cleanse Zaun, his soul will be but a wave in your vengeance made physical." It was an old prayer but it was still spoken to this day.

And it made Royce sick.

"Enough of this." The teenager spat, stepping forward towards the elder. The two guards on his sides held him tightly, keeping him from getting any closer.

The elder's eyes opened enough for him to glare at the boy. "Insurrection is not a common scene by the accused. Pity is usually asked for."[/color]

Royce shook his head, growling. "Spare me." Even as he spoke with such bravado, there was a slight tremble in his voice. Though he kept face in front of the elder, the guards and the crowd, the boy was still terrified of dying. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have escaped out of his house that night that it burned down.

But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing that.

The wise man nodded. "Give him to the maelstrom." The guard's hands tightened around his arms and they moved towards the cliff, dragging the teenager's feet on the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest, so loud that he could feel it in his eardrums. As they got to the very brink, he could see down to the swirling water that would be his grave. He got one more moment to catch his breath...

Before he was shoved.

The fall was enough to get his adrenalin flowing, his breath coming in ragged as he free fell towards the water. They had clasped his hands and feet together as well to stop any chance of swimming to safety. No, this was it. He sucked in as much air as he could as the surface of the ocean rushed up to meet him.

And then he sunk.

It was like a thousand needles jabbing into his body all at once. The waters around the island were known to be frigid but it felt like he had dove right into the artic. He would have screamed if there hadn't been for the water. Unfortunately his mouth still opened to do so and a full cup of water shoved itself into his throat. He hurriedly clasped his mouth shut again. His eyes darted around to find something to free himself on, more out of instinct than choice. But the stream inside the whirlpool jerked him around so wildly that everything was liquid blur. His heart was racing a thousand beats a minute as his lungs began to burn. His skin felt like it was breaking off in the icy swirl. He could hold his breath for over two minutes when he was swimming in a controlled environment. But here and now...

No, he had to open his mouth. He had to breath! His lips curled back slightly, begging to open his maw and suck in the salty liquid that surrounded him. Drowning was supposed to be somewhat peaceful. It would be a lot less painful than his parents had gone. He would see them again soon. All he had to do was stop fighting it and open his mouth.

And he did. And the water rushed in. It filled his lungs to capacity, shoving out the last remaining air he had held onto.

But nothing felt different.

He blinked. He could feel the heaviness of the liquid inside of him, weighing down his lungs. But as his chest rose, he felt no change in his body. In fact, it felt almost as easy as breathing air. He was in shock, his eyes wide as the whirlpool sucked him down deeper into the darkness of the ocean's bottom. He wasn't going to drown...

Because he couldn't drown.

He was breathing. Aquatic respiration had been but a dream of the men and women of Moran. And yet here he was, easily sucking in water and continuing to live. The only problem was that he was still sinking and had no way of escaping his chains. He wouldn't drown but he would die eventually down here. Either to be eaten by some large creature or simply to starve. Suddenly drowning didn't seem so bad. He began to shake his arms and legs, hoping that his fall might have loosened something up. It hadn't. Everything was secure. He tried to find some rock or boulder that he could use to escape once more but the shadows of ocean floor overtook his vision and any hope of escaping.

WC: 1117
TWC: 2835

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Bra
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Long, Lost, Found


It had been hours since Royce had plunged into the darkness. He had settled on the floor of the whirlpool...or at least, somewhere in the ocean. He was lying on his back by some stroke of luck, as lying on his face and eating sand sounded like a terrible way to pass his imprisoned time.

He felt trapped.

There was a sea sickness that children often fell victim of on Moran called reef lung. The salt consistency in the waters around the island were much higher than other places and for children, their bodies hadn't adapted to this natural state when they're younger. The water is also always below freezing, which freezes the salt crystals into ice pellets. Reef lung occurred when children get swept up in the current and end up swallowing good portions of ocean water. Usually three things can come out of this. First, of course is drowning. The second is that by some stroke of luck, the child is able to stay conscious enough and get to shore without any side effects except exhaustion, mild hypothermia and a new fear of the ocean. The third is reef lung, which results in the child's body rejecting the high amounts of frozen sodium and causing their body to essentially freeze in place. The water is broken down inside of the lungs and spread throughout the body so in most cases, its almost too late to save the child. And they're doomed to be trapped in their bodies for the rest of their lives.

That's how Royce felt. Trapped in a body that couldn't escape it's fate. There was nothing he wanted more now than to just have control of his arms or at least his legs.

It was that thought that was flowing through his mind when he felt the ground tremble.

The sand below him shifted, like something was hiding below the grains. He moved his fingers around in the sand, hoping to feel a snow ray or some aquatic creature that had happened upon him. But all he felt was the ground. And then it rumbled again, this time with more force.

An earthquake perhaps? An eruption? There were plenty of volcanoes in the ocean that were always erupting. Of course, if he was on top of one, he would been incinerated by the super-heated water that it would release. That didn't sound much better than being trapped. He began to rock his body back and forth, hoping that if he got enough momentum he could roll away from the spot and save his life...if only for a bit longer. He managed to get himself onto his side and then forced his body to roll away on the sand, slowly moving towards, hopefully, salvation.

Instead he hit a solid surface.

He knew it was ice almost immediately. His face smashed against the smooth surface and he felt its bite against his cheek. He rolled away from it but not before he saw that the frost had a slight glow to it, like a soft white lamp. The light began to get brighter around him as more ice began to form in a dome around him, though it rose nearly thirty feet high.

He did his best to center himself, understanding that some thing was forming this ice. It had essentially trapped him in this spot and lit up the place, most likely to watch as it tore him to shreds.

And sure enough, a creature stepped out of the shadows in front of him with a massive thud, causing a soft cloud of sand to pop up in the water. It was nearly as tall as the ice dome itself. Its body was covered in dark green scales that ran down its legs. Naturally formed growths resembling spikes popped out of its elbows and shoulders. Two bone-looking horns protruded from its forehead and pointed up and away from its face. He could see the massive teeth reflecting the soft light as its jaw flexed. Dark hair rose out from between the horns and the top of its head, swaying gently in the water.

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"I had my assumptions about you, Royce Degon. I assumed your attitude would eventually get you thrown into the deep."
The creature's voice rumbled through the water, as easily as one would talk on the surface.

Royce didn't answer, his mouth hanging agape.

The creature seemed to be entertained by the sight. "Nothing smug to say now?"

The teenager shook his head.

"Come now. You discover you have the aquatic respiration ability and you're not going to use it to its full capacity? Speak now while I still have patience."

"I..." He started before he ate his words. He couldn't believe it; he spoke in water! And it didn't feel unnatural or sound garbled. With this newfound knowledge, he took the upper hand. "What the hell are you?"

The creature chuckled. "There's that attitude. Even before something as powerful as me, you still put on a bold face. Let me answer your question with another one; what do you think I am?"

The teenager lay there on the sandy ground, staring up at the gigantic creature with only one thought in his mind. It had been something he never believed in, never followed in any sense. Perhaps it was because of that reason that he was here now. But in his world, he only knew of one thing that could possibly fit this creature's description.

"You're Typhon." He practically whispered.

The deity nodded. "You're very astute. I am indeed Typhon, God of Storms and Seas and the Patron of Moran."

Royce looked him up and down slowly. "I thought you'd be a lot angrier."

The God 'hmph'ed. "The first Zaunite that has the pleasure of meeting me and he's making assumptions about me. I suppose it's better than you getting down on your knees and bowing to me repeatedly." The creature mused. "In truth, I find no reason to employ my wrath towards you, Royce Degon. Not when we have so much to gain from one another."

The teenager's brow furrowed slightly. "Gain?"

Typhon nodded. "You and I have a lot of things in common. We're both strong-willed, we both are willing to keep our mouths shut to save face but our anger often gets the better of us. But most of all, we both want justice for the damages that have been done to us."

"I don't want justice!" Royce snapped, surprising himself with his own anger. "I want revenge. I want to hunt down the people that hurt my family and make them suffer, make their families suffer."

The God was silent for a moment, his darkened eyes staring down at the surprisingly angry boy. Then his hand crossed in front of him, his clawed fingers doing a small wave. Suddenly the bindings around his legs felt as cold as ice, biting into his flesh. Out of surprise, his limbs jerked and the now changed bindings shattered into millions of pieces. He was free! He rubbed his sore wrists as he got to his feet, looking up at the deity who, in turn, looked down at him.

"Vengeance and justice are one in the same if the same path is taken. And I believe you hold the key for my future." The God said.

"What do you mean?" questioned Royce.

"My powers have long since wavered in this world. I have retreated to the ocean's deep in hopes of keeping myself longer until I could find a proper Avatar to take on my burden. You see, Royce, I am dying and require a host to draw power from. A host whose own life force is like a maelstrom. And I've never seen a soul in centuries with as much wrath as you have."

The teenager stood there for a moment, pondering what the deity had said to him. For Typhon, it sounded like a good deal. Attach yourself to a host and gain power from their entity. But..."What exactly do I get out of this? Won't you just suck my life force dry and leave me a corpse?"

Typhon shook his head. "The relationship we would create wouldn't be one of a virus and a host. It will be fully symbiotic; I will gain power as you gain power. And as to what you get out of it...you will be bestowed with more abilities. You've already the ability to breath water like you would air. But with me offering my energy to you, the things you will be able to do will grow exponentially. No other being has ever been offered this before. You...would be my first Avatar."

"Powers, huh? That would make it easier to hunt down my enemies." Royce said his thoughts aloud, looking about the icy dome. With Typhon by his side he could create things like this...and more. His steel-gray eyes turned back to the deity and a wry smirk broke across his lips. "So..."

"How do we go about doing this?"


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The beach that lay only a mile away from the whirlpool was usually abandoned. But a tuft of hair appeared above the surface of the water just yards away from it, followed by the face of a very determined teenager. He continued to walk out of the ocean like one would stroll down a street, his clothes loudly dripping water down onto the surface of the ocean. As he came to a stop on the edge of the water, his eyes narrowed at the line of soldiers waiting for him. And the general that had damned him to death was standing right in front, a smug look etched onto his face.

"Looks like I was right about you, kid. You've got a lot more to offer than just a sacrifice."

WC: 1641
TWC: 4477
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