Scene #4345: Shadowland in the Sky

Owner	Pose
Stygian Mirror	A request to meet with Stygian Mirror didn't take long to get processed; actually, she'd gone right ahead and given her prospective client her location straight up, having no reason to keep it secret. A few Warp Gates later, and here we are. The City of Palanquin, in Creation. A chain of islands upon which massive, time-worn humanoid statues have been built, their grey and green moss-covered forms holding up a massive island, as though elevating it towards the sky. All around the statues on the ground, buildings can be seen; and up they go, built into the legs and bodies of the giants too. One can assume tunnels and paths run through and on the arms of the titans too, giving access to the landmass they hold up. http://40.media.tumblr.com/c5318216d61b12fad2dcaee253d246e1/tumblr_inline_nwzjamsDVg1rx1dmf_1280.png Of course, the area isn't as it used to be before being conquered by a Deathlord. The Sun is constantly in twilight and eclipsed, shining like a black star in the sky, muffling light. Vegetation down below is rare, typically pale and ghostly, not lush and green. Even the moss on the massive statues has turned a pale white, hardening into a bone-like substance. The particular Warp Gate Ophelia was told to go through lands her on the main landmass held up by the arms of the statues; the buildings here are dark, built of black stone and black metal. A massive citadel at the center of it all gleams, crafted from Soulsteel. The occasional moan or shape of the souls trapped in the metal is hard to miss if you stare too long. All around the main castle is an otherwise standard city-- despite the area's death-tainted nature, people live here, alongside skeletons, ghosts and shambling servants assembled from various body parts. A six-armed flash golem carries the groceries of a noble; a brutish cyclops wields two large hammers, assisting in building construction, overseen by an obviously rich man. Ghostly children play with normal children off in a corner. It's a dark place, but it's also homely for those who don't mind it. The most offensive thing, unlikely to bother Ophelia, is that the Essence (magic/life/etc.) patterns of the area are completely inverted, and so people who rely on external energy aren't going to be comfortable here. The Warp Gate sits at an intersection of two standard streets, maybe a city block away from the Soulsteel citadel at most. Mirror has come alone, the white-haired, fox-eared, cat-tailed, lizard-eyed woman wearing her usual leather, bone and Soulsteel tunic and armor, with a pitch black metal sword hanging from her waist.
Drowned Ophelia	Death - a common theme across all 'verses, in all places, for all living things. Immortality a joke, for any lifeline stretched far enough along time will inevitably end. And Death's bride, Sorrow, the mournful realization of loss, the grief and despair - and, yes, hate of helplessness. All of this were celebrated in a twisted way by the Drowning Doom, who seize upon the inevitable nature of entrophy in their fanatism for the Dead Gods of Death Metal. The living are just timers, the dead but tools. But occasionally, it's good to stretch out and see who else is out there. Thus it is that the Gateway darkens - a black ectoplasm trickling into this world. Somewhere between smoke and liquid, it curls in on itself, solidifying to - Drowned Ophelia. She pauses, reaching up with a clawed finger to tap at her black lip, skin blue in her own death. The Black Tears continually drip from her; Forming her clothing, her weapons, her -being-, cheeks continously stained by the ebon sap of Sorrow, of Madness and Grief and Loathing. Clawed fingers stretch out to either side of her as she walks, drawn along the haunted metal with a faint ringing sound - that cold, mocking smirk upon her lips lifting a bit more at each new abomination she comes across - until at last she reaches the designated meeting place. And there pauses, eyes flicking up and down the cat-eared warrior. She cups an elbow in one hand, the other pressing the tip of a claw against her cheek in bemusement. "Love what you've done with the place." She begins, flashing white teeth. "Very atmospheric. Reminds me of home, you know? So.. you're Stygian Mirror?"
Stygian Mirror	Ophelia's unique demeanor, especially the everpresent liquid around her being that she seems to be made of entirely, do get her stares back, though perhaps for once in her life she's not being judged. Some people wonder if she's a new type of Necrotech, others muse about the style, and others still about the utility of being able to form your clothes like that. Skeletal guards here and there, in heavy black steel armor, mostly turn their empty eye sockets to look once, shrug, and look away again, especially since the unknown power is with a Deathknight. Mirror gives a nod, inspecting Ophelia with a bit more curiosity than everyone else. "I'll make sure to let my lord know, I didn't have much to do with the decoration. I was barely born when he took this land," she answers, though land might be just a bit of a misnomer. "What is your home like, if it resembles a Shadowland? I've not been to very many places outside Creation yet, and none so far have had the same feel." She pauses, and then catches herself. "Oh, sorry... are you hungry? Thirsty? There's some pretty good places around here where we can sit down and talk, or enjoy the view on the edge of the island." Basic etiquette; even if Ophelia doesn't seem like much of a tourist, appearances can be deceiving.
Drowned Ophelia	Narcissitic Nihilism - a calling card for the Avatar of Death Metal. Drowned Ophelia doesn't mind the stares at all; In fact, she seems to derive some sort of satisfaction from it, head tilting down slightly as that cruel little smile grows a bit wider. When Mirror speaks, however, Ophelia's gaze first goes up to the eclipsed sun; She closes her eyes, as if basking in the shadow cast, drawing a deep breath into her lungs and exhaling; Cold mist curls about her blackened lips, before she refocuses. Gesturing aside with her hand as she tilts her head. "Hmm? Touched by the Gods of Death Metal, back when they were corrupted Titans of Metal. Not as pretty as this; But a placed embraced by emanciation, sorrow and death. It is a mourning veil pulled across the Brutal Land. Hanging trees, tilted graveyards, wandering ghosts of the damned. You'd feel right at home. A lot noisier than here, and a lot wilder.." That smile grows a bit wider. ".. I never saw the point of a building you can't bury someone in." And then she flicks the clawed hand again, as if tossing the idea away. "Oh, no. I don't eat or drink. Or breathe, really. Sorrow needs nothing but an aching heart, you know?" A faint shrug of the shoulders. "Taking in the view sounds like a fucking awesome idea, though. Good place to chat, don't you think?"
Stygian Mirror	That's a lot of words she's not familiar with. 'Metal' as she recalls refers to a musical style, not the physical substance, so at least she's not totally lost. Mirror listens to the explanations in full, before chipping in herself, not nearly as intimidating right now. If she didn't wear Soulsteel-lined armor and carry around a Soulsteel sword, you could mistake her for your average, random animal girl waifu. Minus the fact all three of her animal features are mismatched. "I probably would. Us Deathknights don't deal very well with... I don't want to sound melodramatic, but 'the world of the living'. Shadowlands like these have their Essence twisted and attuned to death and Oblivion to accomodate us. Wandering out of them isn't deadly or anything, but it's uncomfortable." Still, Mirror starts walking, as Ophelia states admiring the few would be fine. They'll be walking for a good ten minutes, passing through streets, some more busy than others with assorted trading or just everyday life. Conditions here are a rudimentary cross between ancient rome, late medieval times and just a few modern conveniences. Some buildings power through rudimentary generates made of bone, shaped like cages. Sure enough they seem to contain ghosts or souls. Finally, Ophelia and Mirror reach a restaurant that marks not only the end of the street, but the edge of the city in general. Between buildings the edge of the island they're on can be seen, too, like a rocky cliff more than a beach. Mirror takes Ophelia to the far back, bypassing staff and waiters by virtue of who she is. Then out a door, and onto a private balcony, one of a dozen. Two comfortable chairs, a table, and a view of where they are. That is, quite a few miles into the sky, on an island held aloft by massive statues built on an island chain, with many small cities built at the feet of the titans and within and on them as well. "This is Palanquin. They say it was built when the world was still new. I wouldn't know, I'm not thousands of years old."
Drowned Ophelia	Drowned Ophelia says, "Fuck the living, you know?" States Drowned Ophelia quite simply, her brittle mirth bringing a soft laugh bubbling to her lips. "Still, I like it. Nice to know, somewhere out in the 'verse, there's a place to go on vacation; when I'm off tour, of course." And then the two walk - Ophelia gliding along the ground, the echo of her movements in the smear of evaporating Black Tears that follow her. She is curiously silent as she takes in the sights; For a creature built on adulation of noise, blood, fire and metal, she can be quite introspective when the mood strikes her. That cold smile crosses black lips again as they move through the restaurant, untouched by waiters or patrons. And then the view. The Queen of Tears leans over the railing, peering down to the depths, before her eyes track back to the statues themselves. At least, what she can see of them from her current vantage. ".. They remind me of the fucking titans, you know? They left pieces of their civilization all of the Brutal Lands before they ascended. Massive highways, giant swords like Blade Henge. The secrets of Metal itself, written in the world." The smile has slowly fled her blue skin as her eyes turn back to the eclipsed sun. Claws curl in against her palm, a sudden flush of anger that grits her teeth- And then it's gone. "Fuck 'em all." She places her hip against the banister, elbow drapped backwards to prop herself up. "So, Stygian Mirror.. what do I call you? And do you know what I want from you?""
Stygian Mirror	"Then our worlds aren't too different... the Primordials created Creation, and then its gods and denizens decided they'd had enough of their rule, so we killed some of them and then turned their leader inside out and imprisoned the others inside him. A lot of things were lost afterwards, but what few remain from that era all stand out. I don't know about great secrets, but massive landmarks, yes," Mirror answers, idly, making no comment on the matter of the living. Truth told, despite being a Deathknight, she still values life greatly, at least as long as it's not awful. She won't seek to kill perfectly happy living people on her own, really, unless they deserve it. "Tour? So you're a performer?" Then a pause, and she also answers: "Mirror is fine. And no, but I assume you need someone or multiple someones dead, that seems to be a popular reason to hire me. I'm not very picky. My lord wants information on the infinite worlds out there, at any cost. Offering my services for information, baubles, souvenirs and samples instead of money has proven pretty popular. It's no hair off most people's back to hand me history books and maps instead of money, you know?"
Drowned Ophelia	"Mm. Performer? Sort of. I'm the fucking Avatar of Death Metal." Begins Ophelia, lifting her hands casually to her waist. A weapon; An instrument bubbles into existance. The Six Stringed Sorrow, a slender, long necked guitar with wake candles for machine heads and a body like a curled, flattened spider. Her left hand curls around the neck, the right wrist hanging limply as clawed fingers brush along the strings. A slow, easy plucking that draws sound not from electricity or amps, but something -else-. The air shivers with the slow, melancholy sound as the Queen of Tears communes with METAL. "My band - the Drowning Doom. They were called Tear Drinkers once; The living who had suffered too much, seen too much. The Sea of Black Tears calls them to her shores, draws them into her embrace; Drowns their suffering, gives them strength and purpose. Removes the light of life from them. You'll never hurt like you did before, in the bitter sweet embrace of Sorrow." She glances up, fingers still plucking and curling, the strings of the guitar glowing faintly as the wake candles hiss to life with blue flames. "In the Brutal Lands, the difference between touring with a band and invading with an army? Pretty much nill." A quiet laugh. "The Dead Gods of Death Metal call. They want the lights of the multiverse to go out; And I'm going to give it to them. I'm going to hurt every fucking thing in the 'verse, but when I'm done there won't be anyone left who can be hurt. And it starts with the next Tour, Mirror.." "And I want you in on it. My Season of Pain, two." THEMESONG: Memento Mori - The Riddle (Instrumental) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WdjBmoqygw
Stygian Mirror	Mirror takes a moment to puzzle everything out. 'Avatar of Death Metal', so this woman is, or considers herself to be, the incarnation of a musical style? That instrument she produces, really more of a weapon than a musical tool, lends more than a little bit of support to the idea. 'Drowning Doom', people who suffered when alive delivered from it by 'Black Tears' and the incredibly audible force of 'Sorrow'. Doesn't sound too different from how a Deathlord produces Deathknight... though it sounds like Ophelia's got a lot more of them in general, where a Deathlord is generally limited to anywhere between five and ten depending on their reach and luck at procuring the ingredients. So maybe it's less she's making champions and more like an undead horde? Eventually she answers, with a nod. "It sounds ambitious. My own lord's already decided it's pointless to try to shove the entire Multiverse into Oblivion. There's too much of it. You seem not to care much for the fact. I'm guessing from your point of view, even if you can't succeed, it still means you have an unlimited amount of stages to play on?" Probably a healthy way to look at it. "Then, you want me to march with your armies? That's not a problem. Is your itinerary already traced? And what do I get out of it?"
Drowned Ophelia	"Everything falls in the end; It's just a matter of time." States Drowned Ophelia, curling her claws away from the strings at last. The sound reveberates still, however - Death Metal awokened, but not engaged. A calm, steady beat. The Six Stringed Sorrow bubbles back out of existance, evaporating to the ectoplasmic liquid/smoke of the Black Tears as Ophelia tilts her head back. Leaning back over the banister as well, unconcerned for balance or wellbeing. "Besides, it'll please the fucking Dead Gods. That's what matters; Letting the living know that there existance -is- suffering, that sorrow and misery and hate are a weight they will carry with them - until they let it all go. Until they learn to float. To spread the Sorrow far and wide, empty the skies, turn off the lights and bring the silence of the grave at last. Nothing left but the Metal; Beautiful fucking Metal." Eyes are opened, staring up at the inverse sun and the darkened sky. "Yeah, that's exactly it. My Tears are a salve for the dead; You should benefit quite a bit from them." Eyes flick aside to the DeathKnight. That cold, quiet smile playing up on Ophelia's lips once more, claws scratching quietly upon the banister as she props herself up again. "So. What do you want to march with the Doom?"
Stygian Mirror	Mirror listens to the theatrics. She's not one for showing off, herself; she prefers to make her points quickly. She doesn't like fighting, and so she tries to go for decisive, showy blows that let people know she means business. In that respect it looks like the Avatar of Death Metal and the Deathknight couldn't be more different if they tried. Still, her lord's orders are absolute. She considers what she could ask for; the obvious answer to that question doesn't take long to be voiced. "Your Tears. The Black Tears that empower people with Sorrow. Can they be bottled? I'm sure my lord would love a sample to study and experiment with. If not him, his right hand, he's more into the whole... science and Necrotech thing. I feel like some of that would be more than enough payment to secure my presence for the whole of your tour. Or at least, what parts you'll want assistance with."
Drowned Ophelia	"My tears?" Begins Drowned Ophelia, tilting her head back a bit further. Dangerously off balanced, but seeming not to care at all. Eyes closed, an almost wistful look on her face as eyes half-lid. "I have enough tears to drown all the worlds. Your Lord is welcome to them, but grief is carried by the living and the dead. Bottles do not weep." She turns her head, that brittle little smile on her pale blue features. "You'll have to find someone to share my sorrow and bring my tears to your Lord; Or do so yourself, when we're all done." And then she sits back up, the Six Stringed Sorrow bubbling once more out of existance; But the music, the mournful melancholy tune, continues none the less. She turns her gaze out of the island, to the deep waters that lay beyond. "His right hand is always welcome to the Eastern Continent, where the Sea of Black Tears takes sway. I think you'd find it very familiar."
Stygian Mirror	"Oh." That does make sense. Thankfully, it's not a problem. Mirror's sure she can round up some deserving folks to toss into the Sea of Black Tears and bring back for completely legitimate and safe study. And from there, it's really none of her concerns; she's not a researcher or scientist in the slightest, she swings a sword wildly until problems go away. "That sounds fair. We'll visit, sometime; I can't speak for his schedule, but I don't take very many days to myself to begin with, so this is almost a paid vacation." Listening to Ophelia's tune, the woman leans back into her chair, not bothering to look at the sea or land far away. She's seen it before, from every angle Palanquin has to offer. Mostly, it reminds her there's a lot of work ahead, so she avoids it. "Alright. I guess that takes care of that. Just let me know when your targets have been picked and you'll have my sword to help you. There's so much to see out there, I'd take any excuse to travel to begin with." She pauses, for a moment, then remembers. "Oh... one question. The Tears. Do they have a counteragent? Are there tools or powers others can use to oppose you I should know about and watch out for, so I can silence them first?"
Drowned Ophelia	Drowned Ophelia nods as well, as close to a pact sealed as she could get. "Be wary of the Sickle Wraiths when you come; The Brutal Land will never be tamed, only conquered by Metal. It's called -brutal- for a reason." A broken mockery of a giggle, clawed fingers brushing over her own cheek for a moment before they sweep along her raven hair. Speaking as she does. "I've a few places already in mind; Four legs for the next Season of Pain tour. Five, if I can squeeze in burning some fucking union animal's home. You're going to see a -lot- of worlds, Mirror." A flash of perfect white teeth beneath black lips, as Drowned Ophelia is standing once more. She had begun to glide away - before the last question was asked. She turns her head slightly, lips moued. "Mm. There is nothing that stops grief; Sorrow comes to all living things. Drugs, perhaps, something to take away the pain without the release of death." She lifts her hand, glancing down the blue skin of her arm to where the Black Tears form ectoplasmic claws around her hand. A soft smile. "Holy things designed to hurt the undead. That hurts like a -bitch-, I've found out. We don't have things like that in the Brutal Lands; Ormageddon was a beast of Fire, Metal, Noise and Blood. Temples to it are tributes to the thunderous power, upheld by the Titans themselves. So fuck other-world holy things."
Stygian Mirror	"I'm used to hostile locales," Mirror answers, recalling a number of excursions on the nearby seas and even the forests further east. Bottom line: fuck rockodiles. "But I'll make sure to come prepared when I do." She watches Ophelia raise her hand, but doesn't comment. What she says next doesn't surprise her. "I'm familiar with that. The dead here, too, suffer from that weakness. Under normal circumstances, I would too, but my lord's right hand crafted a ring for me that nullifies the effect of holy attacks and lands on my person. It wasn't a small investment, but it was worth it. I've silenced quite a few other Chosen who thought they could banish me like a common skeleton. Leave those kinds of opponents to me and others, then." Not that Ophelia can see Mirror's hands, what with the bony gauntlets. It's intentional, the last thing she needs is someone seeing she's wearing a magic ring and doing the obvious to fix that. "I look forward to seeing the tour in action."
Drowned Ophelia	The Queen of Tears leans back against the banister once more, tilting her head at the new information. "Oh? I'll have to look into that; Something appropriate to the Dead Gods." She then begins to lean back, letting her center of weight tip far past the recovery point. Those white eyes half-lidded once more, pale blue cheeks stained black, clawed fingers lifted and twiddled in a mock 'toodle-oo' motion. "Talk to you later." And then she falls back. Spreading arms wide, eyes closing as she plummets towards island and waters below. Suicide as a hobby.