Lightsworn Panda

Jee... looks like being erratic is part of my playing style, no matter how hard I try to get rid of it. Ah, well. I chose Peng simply because he was one of the most experienced players here who wasn't voted for yet. Considering how he's been offline for quite some time, I might as well retract my vote for Peng. On second thoughts, he probably wasn't the best person to provoke discussion from, considering how quiet he is.

I think you mean Basic Lashing, instead of Reverse Lashing. According to the Coppermind Wiki: So if the Basic Lashing increases the bond of an object to the planet below, but not the mass, then Feruchemy in my view would theoretically not store the added weight. ... Wait... our weight is what planet's gravity makes out of our mass, so by Lashing someone, we increase their bond to the planet, effectively increasing their mass... And Iron can store weight... ... Looks like Feruchemy CAN store the added weight of a lashing.

By the way, yes, the raven above the throne is from Game of Thrones.

"You know, I was sorely tempted not to come," says the Panda as he walks up behind BreathTaker, "but since I'm a charitable person, I'll make you a Clan Tag" Admittedly, this was a quick and slightly rushed job, and I did get carried away and make something more than a tag. Ah well. Here's what I've done.

Welcome, SilverDragon and your fedora and bald head (I'm sorry, I don't get the reference either. Somebody will, eventually. ) to the Observer's Guild! Our ranks shall swell with new initiates! Mwahahahaha!

So, Arantir just called up a mage thrall with all its magic abilities intact, and prepared a poison for his dagger. His going to the stable soon.

In the early hours of the morning, or more specifically, at the bewitching hour of 3, Arantir left his place of residence and headed for the local cemetery. It was early enough in the morning for most of the city's dwellers to be in bed, and late enough to go wandering about without having to fear being attacked by cutpurses and their ilk. Sandro was on an agenda of his own somewhere in the city, so Arantir had to watch out for himself. Apart from an attempted robbery that was driven away by a simple Illusion spell, the walk was normal. Standing before the cemetery, Arantir began to search the rows and rows of gravestones. It took him a good quarter of an hour to fins his target. His objective, to the normal eye, was just a plain tombstone standing in a monotone row of its kin. Someone with a good memory or studied the history of Magus', however, would tell you that this was the grave of the once-acclaimed and quite accomplished Destruction Magus Ardnahc, who passed away ten years ago, Necromancy was a much looked-down-upon magic. To ressurect a dead person, one must have their expressed permission to do so. Most necromancers who wanted to stay on the good side of the law were as a result restricted to animals and creatures. Arantir was innovative enough to manipulate a good number into giving him permission to raise them from the dead. Taking out a document, signed in the slightly drunken but still legible hand of Magus Ardnahc and enchanted to protect it from the elements, Arantir stuck it to the tombstone. A bit of plying with alcohol could do anything, it seemed. There was a brief and quiet rumble, and then Ardnahc clawed his way out of the dirt, eyes and mouth burning wit the fire of necromancy. Arantir swayed from the effort of the summoning, face beading with sweat, and reached out a hand to steady himself. Resurrecting a magus with all their powers intact was already hard enough. Turning them into a thrall took even more effort. A thrall was a resurrected person, except that unlike your typical undead, thralls would never run out Necromantic Charge and power, and as a result would follow their masters around forever, unless commanded not to do die or killed a second time. Finally able to stabilize himself, Arantir began to walk back to his current place of residence. His thrall followed him silently, dogging Arantir's footsteps. Thankfully, the magus had been buried in his robes, and while a decade of being 6 feet underground had turned his body into a skeleton, the robes were a good enough make to survive the years. That saved Arantir the trouble of having to procure new clothes for his new thrall. Reaching the exit of the graveyard, Arantir realized some of his alchemical potions were going to boil over soon, including the paralyzing and toxic poison for his Ebony Dagger. Picking up his pace, Arantir walked on at a brisk stride, his thrall following him silently.

That's... a bit too hard to overcome, I think.

I am sorely tempted to call a Pandinquisition...

This Game feels so direction-less without Wyrm to lead the discussions and Inquisitions... Ah well. Peng, I know you're not the most active or discussion-orientated player, but could you pop in to discuss a bit?

Lash yourself a couple thousand times to the sky, and, at the same time, lash yourself as many and more times to the ground. It's called walking in style (if style meant an excessive waste of power.) Use a teleportation Aon to get to the toilet.

Oh dear. Looks like she watched an episode. Or at least, the Plot Summary of Doctor Who.

So I suppose my our plans of having a bandit/dragur Horde controlled by an insane Vampire Lord is gone?

What kind of inquisitor is next? A Poniquisitor? Or have we already done that?

(Panda quickly hides himself)

I second third (what place am I!?) that. Let's just stay with our characters unless necessary. That college is probably going to explode from too many powerful mages/warriors in one spot...

Arantir glared at Sulen as he left the room, and tossed his drink over his back. That was a perfectly good cup of wine wasted. He may have been caught unawares, but he sure wasn't going to be fooled twice. "One day, I'm going to make piano keys with his bones." muttered Arantir as he went to leave the room, Sandro following him like a shadow. If shadows could mock, that is. Halfway down the stairs, Arantir remembered that recently a hot-blooded Destruction Mage had recently exterminated the entire rodent population of the Tower, and along with it most of the Tower's wooden furniture. The cleaners and novices hadn't had time to clean up all the charred corpses and skeletons, and most of them were stacked in corners awaiting removal. A smile crossed Arantir's lips as his hands glowed with the eerie light of Necromancy. Arantir and Sandro had only walked a couple of flights before the first of the reincarnated rats reached Sulen, filling the tower with his screams.

Something tells me the Cosmere Pun thread will be resurrected right here... Or should I say, it will be reAwakened.

Observer, Ashiok and I have done a quite a bit of planning about the quest. You might want to check out what we've done on the doc.

Great. Now you've spread the Herd to LITERALLY EVERY ACTIVE CLAN THREAD.

They have my condolences.

So even trees fight for the Dark Alley!?

Sorry for the late post. I was pretty busy, and sleep was all I could think of so I had to post later.

Just as Velth sat down, the wall-length window that offered beautiful panarmic views over the city caved in to two figures on skeleton horses. The horses broke apart from the impact, scattering bones across the floor of the chamber. One of the figures had detached smoothly seconds before impact and was now somehow standing at the side of the room, chuckling at the other figure, who was lying in the largest pile of bones. "Smooth landing, Arantir. Executed perfectly." said the figure standing at the side of the room in between chuckles. "Shut up, Sandro. Just because your vampirism let's you survive that landing unhurt doesn't mean you can taunt me about my humaness," growled Arantir as he picked himself out of the jumble of bones, wincing from some of the bruises he had incurred. "What the..." gaped Sulen, flabbergasted. "Ah yes, I should probably apologize for my entrance and the collateral it has incurred." said Arantir, realizing that there was someone else in the room. His hand glowed briefly as he healed himself with the Magic of Restoration. "Arantir, why did you have to come in through the window!?" asked Velth incredulously. "You're a Mage Guild Member. you can walk in any time! And we're a good ten storeys off the ground!". "Ask him why," replied Arantir, glaring at the grinning vampire. "Well, it was faster," countered Sandro, hiding his impish grin behind a hand, "and the city catapults were placed at such a convenient position" "By the way, aren't you in the Dark Brotherhood, Sulen? What are you doing in this room?" "Nothing," replied Sulen nonchalantly. "Just enjoying a bottle of wine." "Wait, so I went to all that trouble to get my bottle of wine from a dungeon, and someone else brought their own!?"