The Jenome Saga "The ruins of the old world..."

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by The Underdark Rises, Dec 10, 2013.

  1. No one knows exactly how the Jenome entered our world, but what we do know if that they started appearing about twelve years ago during the chaos of the bloody revolution. Ever since that fateful day, one by one civilizations have fallen to their vicarious assault. From the grand cities of men, to the fortified mountains of dwarves to the nomadic elven tribes. The enemy knows no clemency and attacks with tenacity unbound. Aside from their want for destruction, little else is known about this ambiguous foe. Yet one thing is clear; that the races of this world are facing extinction.

    Yet amongst this sea of dread, hope still lingers. Advances in magic have granted the races a fighting chance; though it was more of a way to slow down the decay of our survival. As oppose to a method to thwart it's inevitable approach. It is said that those captured by the enemy never return, presumed to be killed and studied by the Jenome. Yet one man did return, a warrior who defied the established trend. His name was Gerald; the lone wolf of Nabanouu.

    Bound by carriage this lonesome warrior and an unlikely elven acquantice found themselves bound by the same thread of fate. A joint operation between the races of men and mer to locate and save an aspiring alchemist who has claimed to have forged a weapon to remove the blight. To the east they traveled, first by carriage and now by boat, to the ruins of Nefarion. An anciet ruined city said to belong to the Sol vampires. A race of extinct humanoids with advance technology said to have vanished thousands of years ago in a single night.

    Gerald found himself peering at the misty ruins, as waves slapped against the starboard side of the hull. "It is peaceful here..." He muttered, commenting on the silence of the region. As the ship found it's way to an old rust covered dock. The likes of which seemed far too weather worn to be stable. "You two best be in a hurry! This ship isn't designed to hold off any sizable Jenome force!" The captain barked, a rather aged dwarf. Who preferred a life at sea, as oppose to a life of heartless stone.

    Gerald made his way off the ship, passing through the wooden beams that connected them to the giant eerie structure. His body clad in dark leather armor, with bits of chainmail sown into the very fabric itself. On his back rested two blades, one a Katana tipped with diamonds, the other a silver long sword effective against the undead. Here at the dock he would wait, arms nesting against chiseled chest for his new Mer companion to dismount as well. A mysterious one with his own agenda no doubt.

    If their mission was to succeed both would have to put their petty differences aside, and work as one. For few dared to venture into the ruins of the old world, such actions are considered taboo. Yet desperate times oftimes called for even more desperate measures.
  2. The entire time spent on the boat Fahlain had been practically hanging over the side of the boat, throwing up. Elves were never meant to be on the ocean; his father's people had a story where an elf had gone on a boat chasing after something--Fahlain couldn't remember what--and never came back, the sea gods punishing him for invading their realm. At first, Fahlain had been worried about traveling on the sea, but now he didn't have any time to do so. He was constantly sick, the rocking motions the boat made causing his stomach to reel if he even ate some of the watery cabbage soup from the galley.

    Still, he had done his best to keep his strength up, and had tried not to lose too much weight.

    The moment they had docked, Fahlain felt relief, ready to get off of the accursed boat. Looking up at the structure in front of them, he found his bravery, as well as his resolve to complete the quest to the best of his abilities. Who knew how long the other tribes had?

    Hearing the captain shouting, he nodded in his direction and checked his weapons. His father's dagger was still strapped to his hip, right next to his steel sword, which was made by his mother's people and blessed by their gods to protect against the undead.

    Seeing his companion leaving, he followed, dark grey eyes taking in all they could as he disembarked. However, once his distraction cause him to early fall into the water, he kept his eyes on his booted feet. Once he was on safe ground again, he looked back at the ship, a hand resting on his sword's hilt. After a moment, he looked to his human companion, not saying anything, just watching for his reaction to seeing the structure up close.
  3. The place seemed abandon; hard to believe that somewhere within these halls rested a weapon said to turn the tide of the war. It was almost poetic in Geralds eyes, that the supposed hope of the future remained tucked away in the ruins of the past. It was enough to birth a smirk on his stern and aged visage. Like many he would hold off the notion of hope until he saw this secret weapon in action himself. "Let us be on our way Elf. With any luck we can retrieve the object in question and be on our way." He replied, stepping forward pushing the rusted door open as dust came falling down from the ceiling.

    Stepping through only darkness did greet them, as the smell of moisture and melting steel filled the air. It was not a dark hole of despair, where filth and vile beast linger in wait for prey. Rather as they wandered down the cramp metal corridor, they soon would see a light glistening in the distance. Like moth to a flame they fluttered through the passageway as eyes soon strained to adjust to the light. "I hate Alchemist..." He replied, as the ringing of the tinkering was like nails to a chalkboard.

    Once their eyes had adjusted to the light, a vast network and team of alchemist and sorcerers alike could be found at work. Creating potions, enchanting weapons and studying various algorithms. It was a strange place of progress, where the strength and way of the warrior seemed eerie absent. From a corner an old man approached, placing his arm on the elven males shoulder. "You don't seem to be Jenome; who are you?" He asked, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

    Gerald turned to offer the man a cold glare; finding his approach to be a bit unwise if not rude. "We are here for results..." He replied, his message being received with mix results based on the mans face. "Ah...But of course." He replied, leading the men to an open chamber, where a mithril coffin engraved with powerful runes could be found standing at the center. "Dr. Hzelberry, you have guest from the empire it would seem." The old mans voice cracking under the strain. As a young lady crept from behind the coffin; giving both men a cold stare.

    "An elf and a human? Glad to see the empire finally progressing. The name is Dr.Hzelberry as you undoubtedly heard. I am the head of project Nirvana." She replied, offering them both a handshake. The woman on close examination appeared to be a tiefling. A humanoid being with the horns of a devil, and the tail. But the body and skin of a mortal. Normally known for being thieves, assassins and traitors. But never renowned alchemist.

    "Gerald, Wolf of Nabanouu." He replied, shaking her hand before letting go. Her eyes displaying the feelings of disgust when he mentioned his name. "Ah....I've heard of you." Quickly she turned her attention toward the elf; offering him her hand. "No doubt you have questions regarding what it is you're transporting?" The old man asked from behind, as he flipped through some pages in his journal.
  4. The human had acted predictably. He had hardly made any outward sign of emotion, something that Fahlain had grown use to. His companion was just that sort of person.

    Fahlain couldn't help but be amazed by the structure as they stepped inside. It was beautiful, in an ancient sort of way, and the elf couldn't help but want to see and explore everything.

    As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a hand touched his shoulder. Spinning, he reached for his sword, stopping when he saw that it was just an old man. The encounter set Fahlain on edge, but thankfully Gerald gave a terse, firm answer on their behalf. He followed the man silently, his grey eyes stormy and mistrustful.

    When they finally saw the head of the project, he shook her hand and gave a wane smile in acknowledgement, but was thinking, How can someone so young accomplish something like Nirvana? Watching her as she spoke, he stated, "Fahlain Nightsbane, of the El'set." Seeing the look in he eyes as his companion said his name, he considered asking about it, before deciding against it.

    At the question, Fahlain shook his head. "No. I just want to know what to do. That is all..."
  5. The tiefling seemed confused, perplexity staining her youthful visage as she struggled to understand such a simple approach. This project was her baby, the culmination of nearly a decade of work and research. Sure many have designed golems of war before, but never has anyone done what she managed to do. "A brooding Human and a Dry elf. You're not even the least bit curious Mer?" She questioned, leaning forward as her thin devilish tail wrapped around her waist subtly. Her eyes attempting to peer into his own. Silently Gerald watched the spectle, shaking his head ever so subtly before stepping forward placing his hand on this metallic coffin.

    "So this is the weapon that is going to save us all..." He spoke, almost in a tone of mockery. Like many he had his thoughts regarding the unlikely hoof that any weapon could stem off the coming destruction. In his eyes it was nothing more than a whimsical fantasy derived from a sincere sense of desperation. With haste the alchemist turned around, slapping the warrior hand. "Don't't disturb her!" She barked, Gerald stared blankly confused greatly by the outburst. "Whatever you say....weasel." He replied, expressing how her face reminded him of the rodent.

    His words evoked frustration, but she dissipated it as fast as it had formed. "She isn't just a weapon..." She paused, eyes intently focusing on the coffin as her hands ran down it's length tenderly. "She is so much more than that." Gerald narrowed his eyes, once more confused by this woman's need to identify the object as a person. "I have heard people refer to their blades as women before. But none seemed to be as serious as you." His words causing her to cast him a sharp glare.

    "Ohh...Scary." The lone wolf retorted jokingly as he walked to the elf offering him a shrug. "I suppose we better get ready to move this thing and be on our way." The woman looked down at the ground, clearing her throat. "Well she has to finish assimilating with her core. It shouldn't be much longer." This epiphany caused the middle aged swordsman to rub his temples. "Also weasel...I have orders to bring you along. You're the only one who truly understands this weapons systems. Until someone else is brought up to speed you will serve as it's caretaker I suppose."

    He needn't turn around to see the anger plastered on her face. "I mean...this lady." He corrected himself, before turning around to face her. "Do you both find it hard to believe that something can be both a weapon and have a heart? I'd like to believe that my fathers and my work will amount to more than destruction, but hope." The old killer wasn't one for philosophy or sugar coating his thoughts. "A sword is a tool, carving death and destruction..." His initial words causing her to avert her gaze from them.

    "But even a sword if wielded with the right intentions and for the right purposes can bring about change. Even if it means leaving behind a trail of both blood and misery." He concluded, his reply filling the tiefling with mixed feelings.

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    #5 The Underdark Rises, Dec 15, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 15, 2013
  6. Fahlain had shaken his head when asked if he was curious. He wasn't; he didn't care what the weapon did, as long as it could save what remained of his people. That is, the last wild elf tribes. Fahlain didn't consider his mother's people to be his own. Never had they raised him as one of their own, as the El'set had.

    Thankfully, before the tiefling could ask him any more about his feelings, Gerard had stepped in, or else otherwise distracted her, so Fahlain could simply look around the chamber, curiosity about the room that house the weapon getting to him.

    He let the two squabble amongst themselves, thinking them both very childish, while he examined the room top to bottom, his curiosity forcing him to explore. He didn't understand much of personal space, so whenever he saw something that caught his interest, he would pick it up, letting his fingers move over it. All in all, he was probably making the tiefling more agitated.

    Fahlain shivered slightly. It was chilly in the room, and he wondered how anyone could stay inside for long periods of time. Itching to be outside, he suddenly asked, "When can we leave? I feel cramped in here..."
  7. The core was of ancient design, technology far beyond their understandings. The only man who could have fathomed; let alone estimate the amount of time necessary for synchronization was her father. But sadly he died a decade ago during the first failed experiments of the project. Ever since that moment the tiefling found herself following in his footsteps, and living under his shadow. A look of concern plastered itself upon pale visage as she tried to give an educated guess. "It could be an hour or two. But to be honest we haven't attempted to full sync her with her core in some time. It could be a while."

    Gerald frowned, as would the elf most likely. For he too wanted to grab the weapon and leave this island of the old world behind. "Is there anyway to expedite the process?" He inquired, his words causing the good doctor to sigh. "We've created a life form here, rushing things could prove detrimental not just to her but also to your war effort. If you want her at full combat readiness you'll have to wait. As it stands now she isn't even conscious." She explained, the old man stepping forward as he offered these men a bow.

    "Be patient I implore you. If you come with me I'll show you to your rooms. For unlike our brilliant doctor here I doubt very much it'll be ready in a few hours." His words only worsening the prospect of a speedy retreat. Still the notion of a still yet warm bed and a bath proved promising enough Gerald supposed. "So be it." He replied, returning the mans bow as he pivoted away from the good doctor. "Hey mer...I know you're in a rush more so then I am considering the tragedy befalling your people. I promise as soon as the weapon is ready we can turn our eye to your people first."

    For once Gerald spoke to him as an equal, sincerity littering every syllable that parted from his thin lips. With that being said the lone wolf followed the old man's lead. The doctor eyeing him as he left the scene. Unsure of what the human meant by his comment. For these alchemist have been tucked away from the world, receiving few word regarding the events of the outside world.