Meduzart, a shining gem in the Western City States. Well known for its prominent Adventurer's Guild, as well as its presence as a important hub of trade throughout the majority of the West. A large and prosperous city, Meduzart's long winding streets were packed with denizens as people went about their everyday business. Carts rolled across the golden flagstones as people pushed past one another. Shops alongside roads showed off their wares while merchants in temporary street stalls harked their wares. The occasional -wump- of an ill-fated alchemy experiment could be heard in the background, while smallships and courier planes roared overhead. High above the city, large airships could be seen slowly drifting through the sky, white vapor trails slowly pouring out of them.
Near the center of town was a small plaza that was home to Meduzart's Adventurer's Guild. The center of the plaza held a large fountain, and at the far end of the plaza was the large main hall of the Adventurer's Guild. Surrounding the plaza were several other buildings- the most prominent of which were the Metal Monkey's workshop, the Red Hawk's Airdock, and Drunken Bard's Pub. These buildings, while maintained by their respective Guild Bands, were utilized by the entirety of the Guild. Almost all of the buildings in the plaza and its nearby street were in some way affiliated with the Guild and its members.
The Main Hall of the Adventurer's Guild was its heart and soul. Here was where all the bands and independents converged when they searched for jobs or otherwise mingled. The hall was a warmly lit building of dark woods and golden stones. In the center was an administration desk for citizens posting jobs. All around the hall were seating areas and tables, as well as various bulletins with the different lists of jobs, often organized by projected difficulty or prospective pay. Outside behind the main hall, was the Guild's training grounds- managed by the Errant Knights, where Guild members would hone their techniques, pass on teachings to other members, or train newer recruits.
The Guild- as usual, was a hub of activity as members casually walked around, occasionally making small talk with each other, as they browsed the prospective jobs.
---
The Drunken Bard's Pub, better known as just 'The Pub' by the members of the Adventurer's Guild was the usual hangout spot for members not currently on mission. The building was large and catered to most people's needs. During the day it was fairly casual and conversation was noisy, but not overbearingly so, while at night it was loud and boisterous, as that was when the Bards came out at night to tell their stories and make merry.
Alan Ryner was sitting casually at one of the round tables in the pub, his feet kicked on top of the table as he sipped on his drink. In his hand he balanced a small sack of coins- recently received payment from a job he had just completed. He was on his own at the moment- not that he minded- most of his band had returned to the airdock, to put a bit of work on one of their smallships that had gotten dinged up on the job. The Pub was fairly empty at the moment, relatively quiet yet warm in the afternoon light. It was peaceful at the moment, one of the older bards was strumming lightly on a guitar. Alan didn't mind. He liked it that way.
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Lucius Cypher Looking For Group
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9 days ago
_"Focus, focus, foooocus..."_ Harvey stared hard and long at the subject of his attention. The knife in his rather bulky hands was firm, yet his mind was still shaky. One errant cut, one way ward twitch, and the damage may be irreversible. The attention to detail was not his idea, but his mentor specifically requested that Harvey do this with precision. Butchering this was not an option. Harvey's blade cut through the flesh cleanly, and yet the hesitation was always present. Harvey was waiting to make a mistake, to see his error before it can occur so he can stop before he does too much. So far so good. When he had finished his work he had to carefully put it aside, letting it be soaked in an alcoholic mixture. He could not let it sit for long; there was much work to be done.
The strong smell of the _Dashi _reminded Harvey what was at stake. Now was not the time to relax as time was of the essence. He had mixed a few components together but it required one more thing; an embryonic extract. This would be the most time consuming and difficult part of the process. Harvey did not have time to waste to let the extraction finished completely, but at the same time he must get as much of the embryonic essence out without additional extension. It could potentially ruin the project. _"Fortune smile upon me, I cannot do this without you."_ Though seconds passed it felt likes days. Harvey watched as the extract was filtered through the sieve at a steady pace, but as time went by less and less of the extract was being moved, but there was still plenty of it left. This made Harvey begin to panic. Time was ticking away and the extract was slowing down. He only had maybe a minute to spar or else this operation is a catastrophe. He watched as the seconds went by as every drop of the embryo painstakingly dripped through the sieve. _"I can't take this! I must do something!"_ And he had to do it quickly.
Harvey focused his spiritual power into the remains of the embryo. He could not directly interfere with in his physical body, but using his ability to manipulate life essence he forced his will onto the liquid substance and forced it through the filter. He hopes that doing this did not damage the process in any way. He wasn't sure how he could take it if he had failed again. With the embryo thoroughly strained, he combined it with the other components and mixed it carefully. It was still in a volatile stage right now, but at least the hardest part had passed. Once he was finished Harvey went to move the cuts of flesh into a new container. The meat had soaked up the alcoholic mixture which it had been soaked in, and not a moment too long. He moved the flesh into a container and it took about about 1/4 of the space within. Carefully, Harvey filled the other 3/4 with the embryo mixture. He wrapped the container in a protective foil before sealing it. He looked towards his mentor who's eyes were more silent than his words, of which he had none. Harvey was on his own. This last step was reliant on his own judgement. He took a breath.
Than Harvey put the container into a steamer. He made a quick fire with the tinder and matches and soon the fire began to war the steamer and the water within it. He'll have to wait a few more minutes before he could see the fruits of his labor. He rested on his seat for a moment and contemplated his actions. Fairly simply things that he did in the span of five minutes, and yet there could have been so much done wrong in such a little time. It made him think of the larger ramifications of his actions. In Haiku. _"Critical Choices. Not made in years, but moments. Just in short notice."_
Than came the time of reckoning. Harvey removed the container from the steamer. It looked so small in his massive, robotic hands. Like an egg. So... Fragile. But now it was out of his hands. He took the container to his mentor, removed the protective coverings and placed it before him. Though Harvey had no face that could show emotions, he was nervous. His master looked at his creation. There was no words between them. Silence for a moment. It wasn't until the steam from the container cooled to a single wisp did the mentor pick up his spoon, and eat Harvey's Chawanmushi.
Harvey move through Meduzart with purpose. Having earned his victory from his mentor Harvey could do nothing more than to find the next challenge. Within his body was his master's symbol of approval for Harvey's mastery of the _Kusagi Style Breakfast Arts_. It only took him two years after much searching, with much blood, sweat, and tears put into it. Harvey had never wasted time even pursuing a social life outside of his cooking during his two-year tutorship under his mentor. Two years utterly dedicated to mastering his craft. No sleep, no entertainment, and if anyone else but Harvey tried they would have been a crusty corpse because they forgot to eat. But Harvey stood up to the challenge and came out on top. And now he was going to find his next great opponent and show them who's boss.
**"Hmm... Should have added a mushroom though."** He said as he ate a bit of his own Chawanmushi.
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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12 days ago
Kuro awoke immediately. Years of light sleeping and forced marching had seen that when he got up, he was up, and not laggardly stumbling about like a drunkard. Every fiber of his body ached, signs of the slowness of age catching up with him - he was no longer as strong or fast as he used to be. That was fine though. He may have needed to be strong and fast to survive when he was young, incompetent and inexperienced, but that had not been the case for years now.
Kuro rose from his bed and, in complete darkness, mechanically went through his morning routine. First he washed and scrubbed himself down, applying a certain ointment here and there to prevent the accumulation of sweat and mask his odor - it would not be any good for evading hounds, but the animals Kuro was accustomed to dealing with were not so keen-scented. Then came his clothes - the first layer of long, woolen undergarments with sewn-in leather padding, followed by his ringmail. The rings were not safe to wear without some kind of leather padding underneath them - if a ring snapped, it would gouge his flesh otherwise.
Finally came his actual clothing, which was even more dangerous. Kuro spent five minutes methodically handling, feeling, and selectively sniffing at it for powder residues and stains. Finding nothing, he put on his shirt and trousers. He then spent seven minutes putting on his various straps, pouches, buckles, belts, and bandoleer, carefully arranging them just-so. After methodically handling and sniffing at his coat, he shrugged it on as well.
He spent a half-hour going over his equipment, cleaning and inspecting each piece individually before placing each where it belonged. Of his three knives, one went into his left boot, one was secreted away into a slip inside his right sleeve, and the last was placed somewhere unmentionable. One steel knuckle went into his right pants pocket, while the other went into a belt-pouch. One lighter went into his right boot, and the other into his left pocket - he used to keep it in a slip on the inside of his left sleeve, but it had combusted once due to powder-backdraft. Never again. The two black powder grenades were mounted on the left of his belt-loop. The billow canisters were safer, and were hooked onto clasps sewn on his shirt.
Of the six pistols he currently possessed, two were bolt-throwers, three used powder, and the last used that and steam besides. Each one had its own holster on the inside of Kuro's coat. Finally, he stashed ammunition for each in his bandoleer, and slid a number of revolver-quarrels into the thin quiver mounted at the back of his belt.
The cellar trapdoor opened, and Kuro emerged from it like a shadow, silent and soundless. The many weapons and tools he carried did not so much as clink or whisper in protest as he moved. The building Kuro's cellar was sequestered in had been condemned and abandoned, the doors and windows boarded shut - the only way in or out was by the roof. Emerging there, Kuro looked out over the city of Meduzart just as the sun broke the horizon.
Kuro's body had a tall and lean build to it, but the layers he wore and and the specially tailored modifications lent him a deceitfully muscular build. Standing as he was, his coat covered and hid his arsenal from sight, the bandoleer being the only hint of the armory's worth of equipment he carried. His face was gaunt, his features narrow and hard. His eyes were glazed and empty. His lips were set into a thin, flat line. His was the expression of a man who was bored with the entire universe and everything in it. A carefully calculated mask, he made sure it never slipped. He had trouble with the eyes though - his eyelids were smoother and ill-defined, the one vestige of his Kusagi heritage. He couldn't quite manage the low-lidded, penetrating stare some of the senior members of the Riders utilized, the kind that made you feel like a rat being crushed in a serpent's gullet. That was fine though.
He turned away from the horizon and headed over to the next rooftop, the gap between the buildings less than a foot across. He continued on to the next rooftop as well, and only when he reached the one beyond that did he finally begin to descend, emerging from a tenement slum whose drunkard of a landlord never saw Kuro coming and going. The streets were already abustle with early-dawn traffic, mostly food merchants of one ilk or another, skittering about, preparing for that day's market. Kuro turned and followed after the first wheelbarrow he saw - he avoided taking the same route twice if possible, and it was always good to follow some kind of cart in case something valuable dropped off.
The Band Headquarters for the Derecho Riders, along with those of the Errant Knights, was located within the Guild-Hall itself. However, it was also the only Band Headquarter in the Meduzart that could not be entered from the front - there _were_ entrances, but all were barred. The 'correct' entrance was at the back of the building where deliveries were made. The guards there were long-timers in the Riders - they kept an eye out for contraband moving in and out of the Guild, an ear out for interesting gossip and news from the haulers and laborers, and they always had a finger or five to lend to any unaffiliated noses. They all pretended Kuro didn't exist, as per usual, and the door into Headquarters was unlocked when he reached it.
The halls here were filled with errantly placed ladders, stairwells, and alcoves - the purposes of which were telling by the peep-holes set into the walls. Almost all of them would be unoccupied at this time of the morning. A polite, buxom girl at a polished desk asked Kuro to sign the visitor's list. He walked right past without even glancing at it. It was always blank. The girl tended to the unfortunates who made that mistake, and the next day the list was always pristine once more.
Several walls had been knocked down to make the common-room larger, in order to discourage 'funny business,' of which there was already an inordinate amount in the Riders. A number of side-rooms and cubbies were present for private arrangements, as far as 'private' passed in a den where the walls had ears. The Band leaders had dirt on every member of the guild, and they liked to settle all disputes and affairs in-house. Fear, loathing, and greed were the glues that held the band together.
"And he, there's one'o them bleak bastards right now!" Came a guffawing voice from the in-house bar - a number of band regulars were seated there, along with a young-faced boy Kuro didn't recognize. He was wearing outlandishly red-colored leather and wore a broadsword at his back, and immediately Kuro knew that he'd been graciously if condescendingly turned down by the Serpentines. He turned to look at Kuro with eager eyes and an enthusiastic expression.
One of the men seated at the bar, a round-faced man called Nailtooth jovially called out to him. "This boyo here, passed the tests and all that, just needs to get the blessings of a lifer. Don't s'ppose you could lend 'em your word so we can buy him a drink or two?"
"I'm hardly a lifer. I'm not even a senior member." Kuro replied coolly.
"True enough, but your word and piss is worth something around here anyway. You've got the eye, it's known." The other men nodded silently at this.
Kuro turned and had a second look at the boy. He couldn't have been older than nineteen. Well-fed, Kuro doubted he had ever had to work on an empty stomach before, and his skin was smooth as silk. A number of merchant sons and daughters occasionally made their way through the trials needed to enter the Riders, and he was probably just that - his leathers looking as though they had been tailored was telling enough - regulars like Kuro had plenty of tailored clothing, but the boy had probably never held a job before, from the enthusiastic look on his face. He knew too little of hardship and dirty business, and was too old to learn enough of it to excel in the band, but they were always in need of muscle. Perhaps he had something to offer there.
"Do you have any experience with that blade?" Kuro asked, his voice flat and bored, his gaze gently drifting to settle somewhere directly behind the youth's head.
The boy drew the broadsword from its sheath and leveled it at Kuro from across the room. There was collective intake of breath and one almost-inaudible groan from the rest of the men at the bar as he did so, and Nailtooth's jovial expression sagged into a pained wince.
"Enough. I bet I could match any other sword in the band." He said, his expression having turned from enthusiastic to smug. The men at the bar were scowling. One or two had gotten up and were walking away. The rest were gazing deeply into their drinks, hunched over and studiously ignoring the boy. Nailtooth was the only one who continued to look on.
"Please don't kill him. I know his father." He called out.
_It's a shame. He has a steady grip._ Kuro thought absently as he spoke. "Do you intend to slay me with that, boy?" A brief look of anxiety crossed the boy's face, but he recovered quickly.
"N-no! Are you daft?" He nervously lowered the sword. "I was just..."
"That is not a toy to swat your peers with. That is a deadly weapon." Kuro said flatly. "That is a weapon of war and battle, death and pain. Never draw your weapon unless you intend to use it, child."
The boy had the grace to look momentarily ashamed, but he made no move to sheath the weapon, and his face quickly flushed red with anger. "I'm no child! I'm a man grown, I'll have you know! And I know how to handle a weapon properly, not like a craven bastard like you would know anyway!" By now, the few people present in the commands who hadn't been at the bar were looking on with some interest.
"Do as you will, boy, but that blade had best be bloodied before you sheath it. One way or another." Kuro responded in a deadpan voice, casually reaching into his right-pocket as he spoke. The boy fell into a stance and charged. _He should have tried the Errant Knights. They could have used him. I wonder why he came here?_ Kuro thought, standing still and rigid, unmoving as the boy closed in.
The boy came in with a furious overhead swing. Kuro took a single short step forward, and flung out his left arm against the flat of the blade's tip, effortlessly levering the blade aside as it skidded off his concealed ringmail. His right hand emerged from his pocket, clad in steel. He didn't hit the boy too hard, mostly letting the momentum from his charge do the work. That broke his nose instantly. With the youth thrown off-balance and howling in pain, Kuro's left arm fell down to clasp onto his right shoulder and pushed back, just at the same time as Kuro stepped to the side and used a leg to knock the youth's feet out from under him. The boy slammed flat onto his back and yelped piteously as Kuro kicked him solidly in the ribs, followed by stomping on his knees, chest, and face a few times.
"Buy him a drink anyway." Kuro called to Nailtooth. "It will help with the pain. Call a doctor, leave his father with the bill." He paused momentarily to roll the bloodied boy over and take his sheath, along with the broadsword. It was quality steel, not to be wasted. He sheathed the weapon and left the commons, carrying it lightly.
He walked unhurriedly through the twisting corridors, ducking under the occasional ladder, and stopped by the Pursers where he left the sword for Tribal. He was unlikely to keep it, but the Band's resident swordmaster probably knew somebody who could make use of it. Kuro then went to a particular lounge near the back.
The door was attended by one of the Bandmaster's stewards, a man dressed in gray who knew his way around a humorless smile. "For what," The steward asked Kuro as he approached, "Is the city of Meduzart named?"
"A stolen painting." Kuro replied. He had no idea whether that was true or not - the password tended to be chosen frivolously. The steward smiled thinly as he pulled a silver bell from a pocket and rang it softly. The door shook slightly as dozens of locks, bolts, snaps, clasps, and chains were undone. The lounge beyond was dimly lit by a crackling fire, the colors of the furniture's upholstery faded with age, the air slightly stale. A number of dogs slept lazily on the floor. A few growled at Kuro as he entered, but left him unmolested.
Two men sat in high-backed chairs within - on the left was Auleas Enlil, slightly hunchbacked, with crow-like eyes and braided hair. A giant, monstrous centipede was draped across his back, its pincers twitching but otherwise unmoving as its master continuously updated the Band's accounts in his infamous black book. On the right was Chalarensis, old as death and unashamedly more final, a thin beard of silver masking his lips while a pair of rounded, pitch-black opaque glasses shielded his eyes.
The glasses were a new addition to his wardrobe of cursed rags, which hung from his body like rotten meat. Kuro gave them his very best blank stare only to have it swallowed whole. He would have to look into getting himself a set. Chalarensis was not a Guild Overseer, but he may as well have been one, having been in the Guild as long as any of them. He would likely never be asked to join their ranks. The Riders were tolerated, not respected.
"That was a very mean thing you did in the commons, child." The old man said reproachfully. Kuro said nothing. "Do you think he might one day come back, older and wiser, bent on revenge?"
"He shall then be ready for the next lesson." Kuro replied shortly. Chalarensis chortled softly before turning his head slightly to spit a globule of blood into a nearby kettle. It was already a quarter-full.
"Your report?" Auleas asked, not even looking up from his book as he scribbled away fervently.
"Immediately prior to the siege of Icarael, the guard rounded up all known and suspected criminals and executed them...Including suspected criminals who were passing through." Kuro began. "Aiden, Iikka, Alethea, and Tafari are dead."
"Tsk tsk. Iikka will be missed. He had a nice smile and a kind heart." Chalarensis chortled again. "The city itself?"
"Held while I was there. I suspect by now it has fallen. Word should reach Meduzart of the Varisie sacking it by evening."
"Bad news to spoil my dinner." Chalarensis leaned to the side and spat more blood into the kettle. Auleas looked up his book, frowning slightly. "Alethea was complicit in a...particularly longstanding business venture. Was there anything amongst her affects...?"
"A few totems made of obsidian. A few hand-mirrors. A bottle of what I must suppose was liqueur." Kuro replied carefully. Auleas' frown didn't lift, but neither did it grow. "For small miracles, I suppose some thanks are in order." He muttered. "We'll need to compensate her family. As for you, you've done us quite a service...and neatly so. Let it be known if you should have need of anything."
Kuro nodded slightly and turned to leave. "Child..." Chalarensis wheezed suddenly. Kuro stopped. "A piece of advice...Your knives. You always want to keep them sharp. But never too sharp. A good, sharp knife is always called for, but too sharp and it starts cutting you even when you use it right." His shook his head slowly.
Kuro didn't answer. He just turned and left.
Kuro went around the commons. He didn't feel like having to listen to more veiled warnings. The one had been enough. As he neared the Pursers, Tribal stepped out into the hall and spotted him.
"Hail, Kuro." Tribal had a charming appearance - a chiseled face and long, neatly combed hair tied into ponytail. He wore neatly trimmed merchant clothing, vain by nature - but then, he had little need of armor. Three swords hung from his belt - a Kusagi Katana and a Cavalry Saber on his left, and a longsword on his right. Being near Tribal set off all sorts of signs and warnings in Kuro that something extremely large and dangerous was nearby - as Nailtooth had said, Kuro 'had got the eye.' He could feel at ease with monsters like Chalarensis if only because they were never on the brink of calling down the stormwall. Tribal was _always_ on the brink of calling down the stormwall. That was half of the reason he had been kicked out of the Serpentines.
"Thanks for the present, I know just what to do with it. In return...You'd best be heading to the Drunken Bard's Pub. The word is, some serious coin is going to be rolling in soon. And just between you and me..."
"I already listened to the knife lecture. I could stand to lose some heat." Kuro admitted. "My thanks." He continued on towards the exit, and was not terribly surprised when Tribal joined him. "You really need to stop." He said flatly. Tribal just smiled charmingly and shook his head. "She has killed more people than both of us put together. She knows every single tactic in the book. She will break every bone in your body."
"It's the challenge that makes it worthwhile." Tribal replied. Kuro didn't allow his dismay to show. He never let his mask slip.
He left Tribal to inadvisably flirt with the girl at the visitor's desk, stepping back out into the now broad-daylight of the city. He stared for a few moments at the sky, thinking. Eventually, he walked around the Guild-Hall into the main plaza and headed for the Drunken Bard's pub. There was always more work to be done...even if it was just honest work.
He went in through the front. Other Bands probably liked members of the Riders coming in through the back about as much as the Riders liked anybody else coming in through the front. He scanned the room, not recognizing any of the few faces present, and tentatively deemed it safe enough to loiter around for a few hours to wait for the alleged influx of coin Tribal had promised. He mentally picked out a table in a corner to sit in once he had ordered a drink (as a formality - he didn't actually drink) and approached the bar.
"Licorice Liquor and a small cup of water." He said in a low voice to the bartender.
Whoami All things atmospheric...
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16 days ago
The room was lit by a large window. The shades that were draped over it hued the light coming through into a bronze color, and the light piercing through them only made it so far. It made the room dimmer than the rest. There was a golden sheen on all of the equipment from that yellow-bronze light. It glinted on some parts, like little gems gleaming brightly to anybody who looked their way. The floor was concrete, with mats running through the center of the room as a concourse. Banners hung from the far walls, lit by the shaded window. They all had the symbol of the Adventurers Guild.
It was silent in the room, for the most part. The only thing that could be heard were the ragged breaths of a dark haired lady. She wore fitness clothes, they hugged her body so they wouldn't get caught in any of the equipment. Sweat was apparent on her body, the bronze light creating the same glints at certain angles. The fit woman pulled her chin over a bar, then let herself down, then back up again. In front of the raven haired gymnast, floated a mask. It was a terrifying sight with fangs and a deathly grimace, its eyes were lit by a low teal glow. The horns, silhouetted like the rest of the mask, raised out above the face, casting two long shadows into the room.
**"Thirty-two..."** the woman grunted as she pulled her chin over the bar again, lowering after. **"Thirty... Three..."** she huffed as she was on the rise.
Her legs were crossed at the ankles as she continued to lift herself up and let herself down. Meanwhile, the mask just stared in silence. **"You don't need to remind me, Oni..."** she said, seemingly to nobody, as she briefly rested between her pull ups. **"I know I need time to meditate, but I need to stay fit too. What is a fat and lazy Seishin swordsman?"**
The woman continued to ramble on, but every time she spoke, it seemed directed at the mask. It was almost as if she was holding a conversation with it, or perhaps getting lectured by the wise object. She kept herself committed to her pull-ups as she spoke, **"Easy for you to say. You're a spirit!"** the woman exclaimed as she struggled with her latest pull up, **"Come on~... Ahh- fifty!"** with that she let go and dropped onto the floor. The masked spirit pivoted in place to keep its eternal gaze on the young woman.
She lay on the floor, her breathes heavy, chest rising and falling in proper proportion to her exertion. **"Don't judge me for laying on the floor."** she mumbled, **"Besides... I couldn't get up even if I wanted to right now. My arms are dead. I beat my record by eleven reps today... Give me a break, please, Oni?"**
The mask didn't move, it just kept looking at her. From anybody else's point of view, they'd see Ryza as crazy and perhaps a little too lonely. But that was not the case. Ryza's pact with Oni, the masked spirit, allowed her to hear its voice in her head. It was a connection all Seishin swordsmen had to their Oni.
**"Is my two hours up yet?"** Ryza asked between her breaths, only to groan, **"Twenty more minutes? Ugh..."**
With slow motions, Ryza managed to force herself to sit up. She got on her knees, putting her hands on her thighs and taking more controlled breaths. The swordsman closed her eyes and stayed motionless. The mask hovered down until it was laying in front of her on the floor, still staring at it without a single change in its wooden expression.
Ryza remained there for the full twenty minutes, meditating and reflecting on herself. Now that her breathing had leveled out, the gym was completely silent. After the short meditation period, Ryza opened her eyes and took a deep breath, thanking Oni in her native Kusagi tongue. The mask floated and stared at her as it faded away from sight. Ryza grabbed her katana and stood up, heading to the change rooms.
It took another short while for Ryza to shower and clean from that intense work out session. She left the change room, wearing her Seishin schools' white and scarlet apprentice kimono. She held her katana in her left hand.. Ryza's long black hair was tied back in a simple pony tail, with a few rogue strands dangling in front of her face.
With a long sigh, Ryza left the gym. She got a gust of cool air, making her stop for a moment to get used to the sudden change in temperature. Without the bronze shades of the gym, the day was much brighter and more vibrant. The blue sky and white clouds, along with the brass and copper toned buildings all around her reminded her that she wasn't home in the Kusagi empire. She had come to terms with that, however, and the reminder passed on no bad feelings.
With her pact settled for the day, Ryza decided to relax. She walked across the Adventurer's Plaza and stepped into the Drunken Bard's Pub. It was a respectable establishment, more so than some pubs she stumbled across in the vast city of Meduzart. Ryza had never drank before then, but it was a special day for Ryza. It was her late master's birthday, and she was of age among the Kusagi to drink now. She wanted to honor her uncle by having her first drink in remembrance of him.
As she approached the bar, Ryza looked around at all the figures. She was only recruited into the Adventurers Guild and the Red Hawks a week prior, and still had not shared a whole lot of introductions with others; though she did see a couple of people who she had the pleasure of meeting. When she got to the bar, Ryza smiled respectfully at the barkeeper, he smiled back, _"Good day, fresh-blood!"_ the tender said to her.
**"Good day."** she simply replied, her Kusagi accent strong in her words.
_"Your usual water, then?"_ he asked, grabbing a glass for her.
Ryza shook her head, **"No, thank you. I would like some Kusagi Moon Wine if you have any."**
_"Wine, eh? Gonna be honest, I'm not sure if we do. Most of these chums look for the hardier drinks. Let me go see if I have anything in the back, though."_ the large man stepped into a room, out of sight from her where she was sitting. He returned shortly, _"Sorry, dearie, none of that sweet drink of yours."_
Ryza bowed her head respectfully, **"Well. This is my first time drinking so... Perhaps something not as hardy as the stuff these chums prefer?"** she sounded a little awkward as she tried to use Western slang. It never really caught on well for Ryza.
The barkeeper chuckled and took some bottles, knowing just what to make for first timers. He handed her the glass, _"Here you are, missy. I hear of your peoples' discipline in your arts. I shouldn't need to tell you drink in moderation."_
Ryza smiled at him again and bowed, **"Thank you, I will drink easy."** As she straightened out, Ryza studied the small crowd of people again. there wasn't anybody from her band that could make out right away. But a closer look showed one Red Hawk, sitting at a round table with his feet kicked up. Ryza approached him and bowed, **"Sir. Would you mind if I sat here? I figure it would be a good idea to get to know more of my bandmates."** she paused, **"My name is Ryza Shiro, it is an honor to meet somebody who is no doubt a commander of the Red Hawks."** she judged his rank by the size of the coin bag he carried and by his clean, ordered, appearance.
Fallenreaper ღ~Lil' Emotional Cocktail~ღ
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Helen and Ignis
The morning had started like any other. Helen had gotten up, dressed, and was in the office back double check her equipment and supplies just before the first patient had arrived. Usually it was one of the band members who suffered an injury or some poor bastard from the losing end of a drunk's battle. This time was much different.
She just finished up weighing the raw herbs when she heard the door ring open. Her eyes turned and noticed when the girl first came in, all timid and scared looking. She looked only around eighteen with her shoulders covered by a shawl, her left arm hidden under it and seemingly wrapped in now dirty bandages. She flinched whenever it was jarred causing her pull it tighter to her body while hiding it. It seemed the young thing had been inwardly warred with herself over this decision as Helen could tell on her approach. The patient's head twisted about seeing signs of others about, her good arm held a shopping basket in her elbow, and slowly edged farther into the back. The girl's scared rabbit act was enough to gain Helen's concern.
She turned to face the girl and motioned her into the back, lighting a lamp along the way. Once inside she directed the young thing over to the table and made her sit upon its edge, her feet off the ground and more relaxed then before.
Next Helen's eyes looked over the wound sharply though she didn't remove the wrapping. Her experience and knowledge flooded her mind, while the light illuminated the small room of her work area and showed her what she suspected. She lingered over the symptoms that indicated how badly the infection had gotten. From what she could tell the laceration was deep, possibly close to the bone, with a slight dark color and filled with liquid. Clear signs the body had failed to heal properly. Inwardly she sighed, the woman flinched when the doctor let it down gently.
She chose to ignore the fading bruises on the woman's wrists and arm, indications of abuse, while her hand reached for one of her jars. Within it was finely grounded, yellow powder made from several herbs like turmeric and ginger. Both natural painkillers to help the inflammatory and ache from the wound, something that will do nicely when the wound was cleaned. Helen inwardly sighed, hating cases like this as she spooned two teaspoonfuls into a cup and removed the kettle from its heated rock. It was then she noticed something.
It wasn't as hot as it usually was. Her eyes momentarily stared at it, noting the lack of redness and heat emitting from the surface. It meant Ignis was away when she needed him most. she hook her head, flinging some stray strands of her bangs from her face before pouring the still hot water into the cup and adding a teabag. Steam rolled off with the aroma following it, filling the small room.
Letting the tea seep in the liquid until it became a murky brown, she moved onto the actual cleaning of the wound. She pushed in front of the patient and gently took the arm, removing the wrapping as she did. A putrid smell made her scowl, her nose scrunched up in disapproval, until she quickly discarded the nasty bandage. The woman must've waited a long time before seeking treatment. A fact that was rather painful to swallow on Helen's mind and made a note to increase the herbal painkiller in the tea to a higher dose.
Any farther thoughts were stopped in their tracks when she heard the whimper. The woman biting back the pain caused Helen's expression to soften then reached for some enthol and checked the tea again it had turned to only a slight discoloration of dark honey. It would have to do, Helen thought bitterly with a frown.
"I have to scrap away the dead tissue and clean your wound. Else it won't get better, now drink this." She explained, handing the delicate cup, and started to find a knife. The dead tissue would have to be split open and carefully cut to allow the medical alcohol in.
While she started to wait on the tea to take effort, she knew she should call Ignis as she would need boiling water soon. She breathed then focused her mind inward, seeing the spirit's given image and let it fill her focus. After a few moments of feeling the tingling energy fill her up, her mind gave a shout. 'Ignis, get your arse in here please. I need boilin' water!'
Ignis dashed through the city of Meduzart, invisible and unknown. Unlike the Humans who called the city home, he was not bound by walls, streets, or stone. If he wanted to go somewhere, he needed only head straight to it. He passed straight through the walls of a glassblower's shop, through a bakery, then through the crowd in a city street. The only evidence to his passing was a slight, brief increase in termperature, completely unnoticed by most. He had explored almost every building of the city over the years when he found himself bored or unoccupied, especially during the nighttime hours when Helen slept. No matter the time of day, there was always something for him to do. He had relaxed in the fires of the blacksmith's forge, deflected the arrows of training archers to see their reactions, etched his name into the inside of a potter's vase while it was in the kiln, and all manner of other distractions. During one month, he had even cooked meals in a man's house almost every night and convinced him that he had a problem with sleepwalking. Ignis was particularly proud of that one.
As usual, it did not take long for Ignis to reach Helen's workplace. No matter where he was in the city, he could make it within a minute or two. He phased through the wall, finally shifting himself from an incoherent cloud of heat into his usual translucent, draconic form. He allowed his feet to touch the floor so he could walk, not so much because he needed to, but because he felt it looked right. "Okay, I'm here, I'm here." He said aloud, trotting over past Helen's patient.He glanced over her to see what Helen was dealing with. In this case, it was plainly obvious, which was probably why he hadn't been called sooner. "Hmm, nasty cut on this one. What did you need? Oh, right, water. Where's the pot?" He asked retorically before walking to the only obvious container of water in the room. Reaching a single claw into the kettle, he started to draw in and amplify heat from the environment to rapidly raise its temperature just below the point of boiling, then slowly heated it from there. He was careful not to heat it too quickly, as Helen generally did not appreciate boiling water flying through the air.
"I know I'm better at it and everything, but you could do this yourself, you know?" Ignis commented.
"Yes, but that means you'd have to scrap this out, now wouldn't you?" Helen replied with her usual matter-of-fact tone in Ignis's direction. Her eyes spared a moment to look at him in the eye, noting his form was around her size, then paused before she started to clean long enough to shift a bowl and rag his way. "Now, can you fill that bowl up? She's got a nasty infection and it's festerin'."
"Fine, fine," Ignis answered with an exaggerated sigh. In reality, he did not actually mind helping with Helen's work. To him, it was another form of experience, like traveling and adventuring. It wouldn't be his choice of how to spend most of his day, but she didn't necessarily need him a lot of the time. Mostly, she just called him when his unique talents could be used. With no further protest, he took the bowl, making his hand just solid enough to grasp it.
Her point was made clear when a white puss flowed willing out, its thick liquid glided into the rag waiting at the wound's edge. Another wave of illness washed over Helen's face as she fought the impluse to hurl from the smell, her other hand poured on more ethol. Ignis's childish attitude had made her consider letting him smell the infection's racid scent but thought better of it. Mostly cause she wouldn't wish the disgusting smell on even her worse enemy.
She had started to cut which caused the woman to jerk her hand away. It went swinging toward the hot kettle and ready to send it toppling over. She was unable to get a hold of the woman's arm before it would meet the kettle's side.
"Ignis!" Helen cried instinctively.
Ignis was in the middle of filling the bowl when he heard the shout. In that instant, he did not know exactly what was happening. Usually when Helen shouted his name, it meant he was doing something wrong, so as quickly as he could, he began to drain the heat he had just added to the kettle back to into himself. When the woman hit the kettle, the water was hot, but not enough to cause a burn.
Water gushed from the small spout and the metal clacked when it hit the floor, the little steam still rising. Thankfully the lid was tightly sealed with one of Adonai's experimental seals but this was likely one of the few times it had completely worked. The patient's eyes widened in shock at the mess she had caused, her teeth bitting her bottom lip, while she turned to the Helen. It was little surprise Helen's expression was first relief then melted into disapproval. Her arm snatched the kettle quickly from the floor before her eyes narrowed on the woman, her hips cocked and hands pressed against them. She looked slightly livid. However, this time instead of Ignis receiving her ire, it was the patient.
"Now, you could've been serious hurt! I told you I have to scrap away the infection or else you won't be gettin' better." Her eyebrow raised when the woman looked sheepish, clutching her arm tighter to herself.
"I-I'm sorry. It...it hurt." The girl stammered making Helen sigh.
"Give me your hand, and we'll try again." Helen said calmly though her hips were still cocked in their scolding fashion, eyeing the girl should she tried to bolt out the door and vanish. Cautiously, she once more passed her arm to the doctor who started to cut away the dead tissue.
Before she went straightback to work, she turned to her spirit and spoke. "Also, Ignis, thank you for lowering the heat. You did well."
"Me? Doing well? Now that's new." Ignis joked as he returned to his prior task, this time moving the kettle out of arm's reach of the woman. He did not bother to actually touch the water this time, as that was just to satisfy his own desire to make things look "right." He could manipulate the heat of objects in an area around him, though it wasn't too great of a range.
Without looking at him, Helen answered in a slightly more mused tone and her tone made it clear she enjoyed his joke. "You were bound to get something right, after all Ignis. Just a matter of time you cold vapor."
Once again, Ignis filled up the bowl, then heated it to the proper temperature. As Helen was just starting to work, Ignis placed the bowl and rag down beside her, then looked at the patient with his strange, draconic grin. "Now, careful not to hit this one, unless burns came into style when I wasn't looking."
In the form he chose to use, Ignis could not perfectly recreate the range of expressions of a human face, though he could take more liberties with his expressions than a creature made of flesh and bone. Even so, it was not ease of communication that Ignis was concerned with, but rather satisfying whatever whims and desires he currently had. This was not the first form he had used, and it certainly would not be the last. Through the centuries, he had taken on many names and identities, of both genders. He was chaotic in most respects, but for the convenience of his summoners, he could make himself reasonably stable.
Time passed while Helen worked, once in a while requesting Ignis's help to sanitizing the tool with his heat or get more hot water for cleaning the wound. She had just started to wrap about clean bandages over the wound, the woman's skin looking much better and festering smell gone, when hollering and crying had started. Helen's lips pressed into a frown when she realized it was coming from the front.
She didn't like that, mainly cause trouble followed whenever an aggressive patient came in. And sure enough, her figure flinched when she heard glass shatter. Her nostrils flared while her temper seemed to heat the air itself, her boots trampled into the office's wait room and glared at the only two occupants.
Her voice rose to impressive volumes when she nearly shouted her words. "What the hell is going on here?!"
She slightly hoped Ignis would've known to keep the last patient back there. At least until Helen could determine the woman's name, address and amount due for the treatment. This might've been a low cost clinic of sorts but it wasn't completely charitable or free. Helen knew medicine needed money and wasn't easy to give away, hence her need to charge for it. Even to those who needed it most.
Naturally, Helen's patient was rather curious about her doctor storming out of the room. She started to stand up to go after her, but Ignis had been with Helen long enough to know the drill. It was important for Helen to get paid, and near as he could tell, that hadn't happened yet. He quickly darted in front of her, the front half of his body floating in the air with both hands out in front of him while the other half shifted into a ghost-like tail. "Woah there, you're, uh, you're not quiiite done yet. You have a...fever. Let me take care of that." He said, calmly placing his arm over her shoulder as if he was a friend.
Helen pushed the hard truth from her mind when her eyes narrowed on the pair. Nailtooth. She knew the blunder from stitching him up last week and from his stance, she knew he was slightly drunk too. Part of her wanted to smack the fool right on his ass but held back. More because she didn't want to make her hand sore or worse, damage it. The boy he brought in it was no older then his late teens. His face bloodied, arm cradled his waist, and hung between Nailtooth and the jar rack. It was the very one he had managed to send three or four jars crashing to the floor from. That knowledge only inforced her anger, concreting her price to be slightly higher, then trotted over to the pair.
"For fuck's sakes! If you can't hold him upright then give him to me." She said, her smaller body slipped under the boy's limp form. Nailtooth naturally shook his face and seemed to pale at her annoyed glare. "Don't make me get rough, now sit over there and we'll get this boy tended to. I want to know what happened and then I'll give you my bill."
With that, she turned to Ignis. "Ignis, can you clean up this mess?"
She wasn't happy as she knew Adonai had made those jars himself. Having any gift broken was rather depression, especially when she could recall his pride in the craftsmanship perfectly. While Ignis cleaned the mess up, in whatever fashion suited him, she prepared the patient to be looked over and treated. It seemed today was going to be a busy and unusual day after all.
Ignis had managed to get the patient's body temperature down to a more comfortable level by the time Helen shouted his name. It was only a temporary relief, but it was an extra service anyway, so he wasn't bothered by it. He peered his head through the wall to get a look at the mess Helen was talking about. "You mean I've been promoted from bowl-bearer to janitor? It's my dream come true." He chuckled, though with Helen's current mood, he wasn't expecting a response. As quickly as he could, he rummaged around the building, searching for something in which he could put the glass. Given the small size of the office, however, it wasn't even a minute before he phased through a cabinet in the back room and found a cloth sack that would serve his purpose. He grabbed it to carry it with him, but accidentally left it behind when he neglected to actually open the cabinet first. Even after hundreds of years, it occasionally slipped his mind that something wouldn't always come with him just becase he was carrying it.
Using the doors properly this time, Ignis brought the sack to the front room and started gathering up the spread out shards of glass into a single pile. Given how glad Helen had been to recieve them, even Ignis recognized that the jars were from Adonai. He had never really understood why Humans could become attached to simple objects. After all, they were just colored, orderly assortments of heated sand. Still, the fact remained that she was attached to them. As Ignis used a burst of heated air to sweep the pile of glass into the sack, his thoughts wandered on what he might do with them.
Helen was distracted as she helped the young man to lay across a cot, his hand held over his broken nose and desperately attempting to stop the bleeding. She merely shook her head. The woman's first assumption was that the kid got into a bar fight he couldn't win, but her first glance over made her think they were deliberately made. This reminded her of the last time someone walked in with injuries and she found her fists clutched tighter in reaction, not enjoying the memory one bit. She was grateful Ignis had decided to stick around that day.
Deciding to postpone the boy's treatment, none life threatening, she turned to the prior patient. She motioned for the woman to follow while she moved back into the front room, the building segmented into three different rooms based on their purpose with a single hall that ran through all of them. It use to be a storage house for spices and other materials, but currently its interior was remodeled into her current office.
She reached the counter, bending down to retrieve a piece of paper and quill. While scribbling, she kept tabs on the woman to ensure she didn't move to the door as she talked. "Whelp, now that ruckus is over. Now for the treatment, bandages, and medicine-not including the first dose of course- comes to this."
The doctor slid the paper with the listed amount across the surface. The patient gingerly looked down and her eyes widen, surprised at the expense, then looked at Helen with confusion. Naturally she nodded and continued. "Yes, that's the right amount. That's the first dose though and your bill needs to be paid before I can give you additional herbs for the follow up treatment."
"I-I..." The woman began only to be hushed by Helen, her hand came up in a stop gesture.
"Tell me your address and name first." Helen said, writing down the information and then added one last thing, "Get some rest, relax and I advise telling someone what the...cause of your injury really was. It will save you much pain in the future for a pretty thing like yourself."
The woman just stood there. Her eyes lowered and guilt written all over her expression before she pivot on her heel, her legs quickly moving her out the door front. Helen telepathically spoke Ignis with a small request. 'Ignis, tomorrow or some time, do me a favor. Pay our young guest's husband a visit and... play a few pranks on him.'
With that thought Helen returned back to the last room, leaving Nailtooth waiting on a chair in the main one.
Ignis had looked around in vain for a while to find something with which to tie up the sack before deciding to just roll it up and carry it with him. Given that the quadrupedal version of his body wasn't the best for carrying things, he remained in his half-coherent form as he carried the sack to the back and stashed it away for later. He had formed at least one idea of what he could do with the shards.
Once Ignis heard Helen's request in his mind, he quickly popped back into the room with a genuinely perplexed expression. "Wait...really? Are you trying to pull my tail?" He asked telepathically.
Helen gave him a serious look when her spirit's head came into view, her hands tending to her new patient, 'No, I'm not. Remember that patient we just took care of? Those bruises on her wrists and arms came from somewhere. My money's on the husband, but I could be wrong. Either way, a few pranks might bring a smile to her face and spook her abuser into not touching her. So for once... I won't object to a few pranks. Just be sure to leave their house intact though. What do you say, Ignis?'
Ignis crossed his arms, exaggerating the movement to give a sarcastic expression. "Spare the house? Well, that limits my options, doesn't it?"He said before giving a slight, more serious nod. "I'll see what I can think of." Already, his mind was swirling with thoughts on what he could do. If Helen wanted him to do it, then this guy probably deserved something special. He floated over to the piece of paper Helen had recorded her information on and checked the address. He decided that he could watch the man for a while to give it a...personal touch. At least, he could do that later. For the moment, there were still the rest of Helen's patients.
For the boy, Ignis was able to make use of his unique abilities to help much more directly than before. His injuries were obviously from blunt force, which left the possibility of unseen internal trauma, so in order to check, Ignis looked inside of him...quite literally. He phased into the boy's body, merging with his body heat to get a look at his insides. Luckily for the boy, the worst of the injuries was a broken nose, and a few fractures on a rib. It was nothing that wouldn't heal on its own. After Ignis reported his findings, it was up to Helen to determine what the treatment would entail. In this case, it was just rest. Ignis reasoned that she probably could have given him something for the pain, but after the damage he caused to her jars, he doubted she wanted to give him anything. Ignis quickly grew bored once his job was done, but after about half an hour, it finally seemed like they were out of patients.
Helen was finally glad when the waiting room was left with only one man, Nailtooth, still waiting on her bill for the treatment costs. Likely to deliver it to the boy's father while he snored in the recovery room. She wiped her hands clean of the blood and stepped to the older, more scarred man, then spoke. "Well, he's resting and fine within the back room if you want to visit him. Currently I'm heading out to breakfast at 'The Pub'. If anything happens to my clinic while I'm gone, then I know who to send Ignis after."
She tossed the redden rag into a woven basket then moved to the door. Her mess in back was clean and proper, ready for the next patient shift after the morning meal which was just how she liked it. Helen paused only a bit to check on Ignis, wondering if the spirit would follow or wonder off again. "Coming along Ignis?"
The doctor knew she didn't have to treat her spirit as if he was alive. Few summoners ever did, but few had ever been saved by their spirits and in some part of her mind, Helen felt she owed Ignis that much automatically. She paused enough to hear the spirit's reply.
"I...yeah, sure. I'll follow around that lady's husband later. Besides, I know you just can't _stand_ it when I leave your side." Ignis answered. He did not keep his current form to follow, but rather he dissipated into a cloud of heat, then merged himself with Helen's body heat for ease of travel, just as he had done with the boy. Outside of medical treatment, most people found that terribly invasive (which Ignis felt was hilarious). In the beginning of their pact, Helen was no different, but by this point, she was used to it. One thing that Ignis' summoners always discovered rather quickly was his complete disregard for all privacy.
Helen felt Ignis's spiritual essence merge with herself, her body's temperature risen to physically prove it. In the past she'd first freaked when he did this without warning. His mental chuckles turned to slight empathy, or possibly confusion, she never asked which, at her reaction while he explained what happened. She slowly became use to it until now she merely brushed the effects off. Nodding in understanding to Ignis's words, she bade Nailtooth goodbye and exited out of the clinic's wooden door, letting the bell ring in her wake.
Her eyes brightened when she spotted Adonai's image waiting for her just outside. In a few seconds, her feet had cut down the distance and her arms wrapped about his perfect waist where she pulled him in close. He barely had a moment to greet her before their lips locked into a kiss accustomarily expected from most couples. It forced her on her tip toes until she finally released him, stepping only a small step back, then replied. "Ready to eat luv?" coGM
Eli walked into the Pub, limping slightly. His armor and duster, while always dirty, seemed to be caked with an extra layer of grime today. Some of said grime appeared to be blood, especially around his left leg and his right shoulder, which Eli would wince and move experimentally from time to time. “Damn Varisie. Can’t they just ever let me do my job without a fight?” He muttered, primarily to himself. Of course, when you have roughly eight other voices in your head, talking to yourself almost never goes without a comment. Right on time, Shreckt spoke up. _You do keep choosing these missions, knowing the Varisie, who would have been your comrades had you not deserted, will attack you and likely try to prevent you from completing your goal. This is your own fault._
“Your point?” Eli replied under his breath, sitting down at the bar with a small groan of pain. _You can’t complain if you knew this was going to happen._ “The hell I can’t. Why did the bastard have to stab so hard? And why did he have to have such bad aim?” Eli complained quietly under his breath again, watching as the bartender made his way over, stopping to grab a bottle of his hardest whiskey(Black Velvet) and a shot glass. _That’s how you get a knife through someone’s armor joints and flesh and you struggle quite a bit for someone who claimes he wants to die._ Eli snorted before replying. “That was a rhetorical question, and if I wanted to just ‘die’, I’d just toss myself off the nearest tall building. I want to be killed in battle. I am a soldier damn it. I’ll die like one.”
The bartender had reached Eli and set down both the shot glass and the bottle, taking Eli’s coin in return. “So, where’d you go in Varisie territory this time, and what happened?” He said, eyeing the white bandage that could be seen sticking out of Eli’s collar. Eli gave a low chuckle. “Nothing too bad this time. We only went a few miles into Empire controlled territory. We, that is, the Errant Knights and Red Hawks working with me, were supposed to deliver some supplies to the resistance movement there. On the way, a couple scout ships found our ship, attacked and boarded. One of the bastards shot me through the leg,”
Eli gestured with the empty shot glass down to his leg, before filling it with the Black Velvet,” and then another got in close for sword work. Stabbed me through my shoulder, but failed to notice I had my own sword until it went through his stomach. We dropped off the supplies, but there were notably less of us on the way back.” He was silent for a moment, knocking back the burning whiskey without a flinch, before filling the glass up again. “Quiet time hmm?” He said, glancing around the bar. Most were regulars, Dancing Bard members. A few were unknown to him. The man in the corner, a Rider no doubt. They all had a certain…air about them. The Redhawk and his companion the…Eli cursed and looked away from the girl but it was too late.
_Was she Kusagi!?_ Shreckt practically shouted in his skull, causing a chorus of grumblings from the other spirits and Eli himself(though this time he refrained from speaking aloud. Nothing freaks out people more than talking to the voices in your head. ). Eli considered arguing what he knew was going to come, but decided against it. His arm and leg hurt too much and he didn’t want to add a headache to his list of complaints. _Fine. Get in here, but don’t interrupt their conversation. Wait until they’re done before you barge over._ Eli said, mentally sighing.
In the next heartbeat, Shreckt was there, sitting next to Eli at the bar. She swiveled her armored self to glance at the other Kusagi, a suppressed eagerness in her eyes. “I really need to get you to out more. See other people. More Kusagi. Because this, this is growing to be annoying.” Eli remarked, taking another shot of whiskey. Shreckt ignored him.
GM
Alan gave a chuckle- that was more akin to a sharp exhalation of air than any real laugh- as their newest recruit approached him. She gave him a formal bow and called him sir. Removing his boots from the table, he casually waved her to sit down. "Not a sir- and definitely not a commander." He had heard of their newest recruit, supposedly a remarkably talented swordswoman- enough so that their band leader had taken an interest in her. The woman was a tall and thin thing, graceful with her motions, but rather rigid with her temperament.
"You Kusagi types are pretty stiff huh?" he asked, referring to her likely habitual bow. Noticing that the girl still had yet to sit, Alan gave a small shake of his head. "Sit, sit," he said with a sigh as he leaned back and took a swig of his drink. Enjoying the bittersweet taste, he leaned towards the table again, and regarded the girl, this Ryza Shiro. "Alan, Alan Ryner." he said as a way of introduction. Behind him, a small swirl of fire seemed to calmly grow in height until it was the size of an average person. As the flames dissipated, a pale woman clothed in white and red garb, and a white wolf mask, stood in its place. "And this is my partner, Seru. We've been working with the Red Hawks for close to two years now."
Alan noticed the rest of the bar beginning to pick up in regards to its general activity. One of the Dericho Riders- a sort of black sheep amongst the rest of the bands due to their generally considered 'dirty' practices and high fatality rate- had set up shop in the corner of the bar, several of the patrons giving him obvious berth. Also at the bar was Eli Rondell, the big man easily recognized no matter where he went, usually bearing a look that many would call 'morbid desperation'. The man was a far cry from someone, like say Mrs. Govannon, the highly regarded and almost revered medical practitioner. Both were well respected within the Guild community, just not for the same reasons.
"So new blood," Alan said casually, "You're a far way from home. Whats the story with that?"
Whoami All things atmospheric...
Member
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16 days ago
Ryza noted his chuckle and wondered what she had said that was so silly. It was only when he explained that he wasn't a commanding officer did she realize. She bit her lip back, a little embarrassed that she regarded him as something he wasn't. Ryza held her katana firm by her side as she studied and listened to him some more.
His comment on being stiff set a delayed fuse in her mind, trying to work past the faint language barrier to understand. it didn't take long, but it was long enough for there to be a few seconds of awkward silence. "Apologies, its customary to bow to seniors and others who command respect."
She took his invitation to sit and claimed the seat across from him. She was straight backed and her hands were smoothing out her kimono. She had a sort of eager look in her eyes, one that showed her determination to prove herself to her band. As he introduced himself, Ryza smiled in acknowledgement. The fire caught her off guard though, having not expected the man to have a spirit companion. Ryza studied the pale woman, taken in by the intricate mask and garments. "A pleasure to meet you. Both of you." she smiled at Alan and his spirit.
"Allow me to introduce Oni. As I believe the saying here is 'I scratch you and you scratch me.' Or something along those lines." she didn't take time to think it over, she just assumed she had it right. Ryza spoke something in her native tongue, it was quick and seemed more fitting to her appearance. A small ripple in the air appeared not far from Ryza's head, a demonic face started to fade into view. It stared at Seru and Alan, though it was impossible to tell whether it was curious of them or welcoming as its face was unmoving.
"It speaks only to me." Ryza began, "And... It isn't saying anything..." she smacked the wooden mask, a high pitched 'thunk' came from the impact. The mask didn't even move to the smack, it seemed like Oni didn't even notice it. But after, it pivoted in a slow, almost dramatic, way to look at Ryza. She smiled, "Oni greets you both."
When Alan asked her why she was here, she thought on it. Ryza usually never spoke in large amounts at once, she was always afraid she's confuse her western tongue with Kusagi, and simply speak gibberish. So Ryza put it simply, "I'm a Seishin apprentice who came here with my uncle, my master. He passed to the next world, and now I need to pay for my way home to the Kusagi Empire so I can complete my apprenticeship."
Meanwhile, the summoned Oni was spinning three-sixties to look at all of the patrons of the tavern, noting the other Kusagi spirit at the bar. It stared at the one the longest. Ryza looked over her shoulder thanks to a mental message from Oni. She regarded the spirit and the one who had summoned it, sensing a sort of disdain from the man. She disregarded him and looked back to her band mate, "So, Ryner," she tried to avoid using Kusagi titles with names here in Meduzart, "Why did you join the Red Hawks? Since we're on the topic?"
As Ryza listened, she realized that she hadn't even touched the drink that the bartender had gotten for her. She kept her eyes on Alan and listened as she scooped the drink into her hand, raising it to her lips. She absently took a mouthful. Her face went pale and she placed a hand over her lips, setting the drink down. The lack of experience when it came to drinking definitely showed, she obviously wasn't expecting the burn. The sad part, was that the barkeeper was known for providing light drinks to newbies of the fiery liquid. Ryza had though, if that was light, she didn't even want to dare with the 'hardier' stuff. Her mother did a good job in raising her to be anything but an adventurer.
She forced back the hot liquid and pushed the glass over to the side, thinking one sip was enough to honor her late uncle. "Sorry, Alan. Please continue." she smiled at him.
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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12 days ago
Once the bartender had made Kuro's drink he simply picked up the small cup of water that he had ordered with it and walked off, leaving the Liqueur on the counter. In his experience, bars never liked it when you came in and only ordered water.
Then an honest-to-ark Kusagi walked in and the bartender bellowed as to whether she wanted her 'usual water' or not. Kuro scoffed slightly at that under his breath. Perhaps it was just this particular bar. Or bartender.
Or the girl. Was she wearing an actual kimono? Kuro didn't pretend to be an expert in Kusagi clothing, but he was fairly sure that fell firmly into the oddities category. Or was that a haori? He wasn't sure. Kuro hadn't had many opportunities to browse Kusagi feminine clothing.
Kuro eyed her from his corner of the room, two sweeping glances from her heels to the top of her head. The white and scarlet clothes were loose and made it hard to discern anything about her build or any potential weapons she might have been hiding on her person. There was no hiding the katana she carried though, and Kuro pegged her as a visitor to the guild. Perhaps she was here on business? He couldn't think of any reason the other bands might be working in Kusagi territory, but he supposed it was possible. What drew his interested was the emblem embroidered on the back of her kimono (haori?), the Kusagi kanji for Seishin.
"A lot of Kusagi swordsmen practice the art of Seishin, or Seishinkai. It means 'Pure Heart.' I guess you'd already know that though? I keep forgetting you're part Kusagi yourself. It's useful enough - in my experience, a Seishin journeyman is prepared to deal with most Western weapons, particularly long and broadswords. The style is dynamic, rooted in discipline and awareness, so they can go into a swordfight without wearing any armor and come out without a scratch, even when fighting multiple opponents. I also find though, that they are tragically unprepared for fencers. I've lost count of the warriors wielding katanas that I've killed using this saber here. Their style just can't compensate for an enemy that uses your own weapon against you. Personally, I prefer Iaido. Extremely useful in confined spaces."Kuro dredged his memory for any other useful tidbits, but nothing occurred to him. He looked on briefly as she approached some youth at another table and started chatting him up - his red coat reminded Kuro rather eerily of the boy who had been wearing red leathers that morning. Even his face looked similar. Kuro shook the sensation away and surreptitiously and briefly listened to her introduce herself - she was apparently an actual member of the guild, which was surprising. He was stunned that she was a member of the Red Hawks though. Perhaps the boy with the red leathers hadn't been the only young swordsman to be turned down by the Serpentines today? "Such a waste." He muttered to himself before turning his attention elsewhere. Ordinarily listening in on others' conversations would have been the order of the day, but these two were idiot children. There would be nothing useful found in eavesdropping on them; just embarrassment. That was when the doors to the pub opened and Eli limped in. Kuro's eyes narrowed at the sight of Eli mumbling to himself as he crossed the room. Egregorecant - a sign of a crowded mind. Eli may have not known Kuro, but Kuro knew Eli. Almost every member of the Riders knew Eli by name. A year after Kuro had been strongarmed into joining the riders, over the span of a single night it was made extremely clear that Eli had been blacklisted.
"He's bad news, and trouble besides. Don't ask why, because it's none of your business. All you need to know is he's untrustworthy, even by our standards. Don't talk to him, don't join any mission if you know he's on it, don't invite him on any jobs, and definitely don't disclose internal guild business to him."
"Him...? That's an odd story. I think he joined the guild around the same time as you, but he's bandless. I suppose that alone is good enough reason not to treat with him, but even the bandless have a place. Most of our Doctors and quartermasters are bandless, and for good reason. Makes sure things never get too complicated concerning band politics. What happened was, Chalarensis was taking a walk - No, I'm completely serious, he was just out for a stroll. It doesn't matter. He was out taking a walk for perfectly normal reasons, and abruptly his head just snaps to the side and he's staring at Rondell across the guild plaza. Picked him out of the crowd like he was a cuckoo egg. Then he turns to me and Auleas and asks who he is, and both of us are drawing blanks because we'd never even seen the man before then. He tells Auleas to do some digging. Two weeks later, he comes into HQ with some documents from our friends in Varisie, and a few hours later the word goes out that Rondell been added to the Band's blacklist. When I asked about it, I got stonewalled. Ask anybody outside of the Riders, and Rondell has something of a reputation as an end-all troubleshooter. I have no idea what was in those documents, and I don't care. The Bandmaster says he's blacklisted, and that's all I need to know. You don't need to worry about it. Just keep your distance, and don't worry about him coming to us. The secretary has instructions on how to handle him, just like everyone else on the blacklist.That was warning enough. Kuro had already been predisposed to dislike the man, as he bore something approaching professional disdain of bandless guild members - even the doctors and quartermasters. They had no business knowing about the fix of the day, in his opinion. Still, Eli looked beat up and harangued at the moment. Kuro doubted there was any risk of his involvement should Tribal's alleged coin come rolling in while he was there. Only men with death-wishes went into a job as haggard as Eli looked. Kuro settled into his seat and coolly started scanning the bar again. He wasn't given much time to relax - no sooner had Eli taken a seat at the bar than a Humanoid Spirit manifested in the seat beside him. Kuro's right hand reflexively shot into the folds of his coat to grasp the handle of one of his revolvers - even when the spirit made no move to leave its seat, his hand remained where it was. One could never let their guard down around spirits, or summoners. He shouldn't have felt surprised - word of mouth said that Eli was a proficient summoner and he had been Egregorecanting when he walked in the door. The spirit itself though was intimidating - wearing full-plate armor, with a massive katana longer and wider than most longswords laterally suspended across its back. It was staring intently across the room, looking at...the Kusagi girl? Kuro turned his head just in time to witness the Oni mask materialize out of thin air. Gaining interest, he started listening in on the conversation again. As Ryza explained why she had joined the Guild, the Oni Mask spun rapidly in the air, and for the briefest of moments its eyes met with Kuro's as he stared at it. In the next instant the contact was broken, and the Oni settled its gaze on Eli's manifested spirit. Kuro, for the first time in years, felt a hint of conflict. This girl, with whom he shared at least a partial heritage with, was likely lost amongst the Western City-States thanks to the death of her master. The fact that she had joined the Red Hawks of all bands was telling that she didn't clearly know what she was doing. She really should have tried the Serpentines, or perhaps the Errant Knights - both bands had a small number of Kusagi members who could have offered her good advice or assistance. If not that, either band would have been a better fit for her than the Red Hawks, a band not replete in Eastern swordsmen or talented summoners. ...But, it was none of his business. Even if she didn't know what she was doing, she would inevitably learn. If she was fortunate, the lesson might not even be a harsh one. If she had received Seishin training, she could undoubtedly take care of herself if nothing else. She wouldn't need his help even had he been inclined to give it. At least, that was what Kuro thought until his gaze drifted once more to Eli and the armored spirit sitting next to him, still staring intently at Ryza. Kuro hesitated, and in that moment, he remembered his days as a boy on the road. Back when he had been called Freerider Kuro, when he went to sleep every night not knowing how he would make it through the next day, and fought skirmishes on an empty stomach. The mistakes he had made, legion in number, and never had there been anybody to tell him what might be the best thing he could have done in his situation. Nobody to guide him and make sure he didn't fall in with the wrong people, like Andromache, Tiamat, and Poe. Like Chalarensis and the Derecho Riders. That made up his mind. Kuro stood from his seat and began to sweep across the room towards Alan and Rysa, his footfalls eerily silent. Perhaps this, too, was a mistake...but even he still had lessons left to learn. He was going to tell the girl about how she didn't belong in the Red Hawks, and he was going to tell her to steer clear of that damnable, bandless bastard. Interrupting her current conversation would be rude, but the youth she was speaking to was nobody Kuro cared about offending.
Lucius Cypher Looking For Group
Member
Seen
9 days ago
"Hmm... Mmm... Hmmm.... Oh ho?"
Harvey peered over the vast selection of fruits in the farmer's market. For others it would have been an impressive array of organic treats, but Harvey was no stranger to the market. He had already written off a few stands for their frankly subpar produce and took note that many of them purchased goods from the same fields, so he wasn't really getting any true variances. The "home grown" farmers weren't much better, since their products only barely was an improvement over the rest of the merchants but sold their goods at exuberant prices. But again, this wasn't unusual for Harvey. After a while he simply accepted it as it was and did his best to make due with what he could purchase. He was feeling fruity, so he brought some berries that he knew would go well together, as well as some that he hasn't tried to match. It was always fun to experiment.
But now he needed a kitchen. He would have returned to his master's restaurant, but he had to close up shop to celebrate his anniversary with his wife. Harvey would not dare bother him on such an occasion, and besides that he didn't work there anymore. He did not want to burden his old master. "Hmm... What should I make this into? A pastry? A drink? If I'm going to do that, I'll need to get some more things..." Harvey mused to himself when he hear some shouting. Turning his head towards the noise he noticed some people running. A thief? Harvey went to investigate.
Being large Harvey had a bit of a hard time getting threw the crowd, but his size also made people wary of him. In his eyesight he could see a old woman pushing around a small boy. She held in her hand a few bottles of some black liquid and a bag of pellets. Harvey recognized them as pain medication. "What are you going to do with this, huh!?" The old woman screeched. The boy was quiet, looking down at his feet. The old woman pushed against his head, shouting still. "Answer me!" The boy spoke quietly, Harvey almost didn't hear him. "It's for my mother..." The old woman was about to start screeching again when Harvey stepped forward. He held his giant hand up, and despite being twice the size of the old woman, she showed no fear. Tough lady, it was a good thing Harvey was going to try to solve this diplomatically. "Wait."
Harvey lumbered over to the boy and the woman. He looked at the boy who still stared at his feet. "Is your mother sick?" The boy simply nodded his head. Reaching inside of himself Harvey took out some bills to purchase the medicine. "This should be enough, yes?" The old woman took the cash from Harvey and counted it. Whether he gave too much or too little she didn't say. She just put the medicine in Harvey's hand and turned away. "He better not do it again." She spat as she went back to her store. Harvey put the medicine into the same bag which he was using to hold onto his groceries before holding it out to the boy. The child looked at Harvey but no words were exchanged. He stached the bag and ran off while Harvey went back to his previous business.
"I think I'll make a smoothie. Let's see... I need ice... And more fruit. And maybe honey? Hmm..."
At some point after he finished shopping Harvey had arrived to a tavern by the name of "The Drunken Bar". Technically it was a pub, but Harvey always referred to it as a tavern. It was regularly packed with adventurers whom Harvey would listen with rapt attention, on the off chance of finding something new and exciting to pursue. The owner sort of knew Harvey, though the only words they ever exchanged to one another were greetings and drink orders. But today Harvey wanted to use his kitchen and some of his supplies to make himself a smoothie. As he entered the establishment he saw many colorful characters inside, even a Kusagi woman! She wore a dress that looked similar to the dress of his old master's wife, though obviously of a different design. Harvey wondered if they knew each other but held his tongue. That would be racist.
Lumbering over to the counter Harvey and addressed the barkeep. "'Scuse me, mind if I borrow your kitchen? I'd like to make myself a drink if you don't mind. I promise to pay for anything I use." Harvey youthful voice echoed from within his steel chassis. He held up a bag of assorted groceries to let the barkeep know that he did bring his own ingredients as well.
GM
"Not a particularly entertaining story," Alan replied with a shrug, pausing as she made a rather negative reaction to what Alan identified as one of the bartender's lighter signature drinks- a fruity, almost cocktail mix. It would appear that their young swordswoman wasn't a big fan of alcohol.
"I'm from New Eden, my father was a Zehist Minister, you know, one of them really spiritual types." He said, referencing the predominate Kusagi religion. "My family- or what was left of it, fled to Meduzart after the New Eden riots,"
"As for joining the Red Hawks in particular, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time- I had worked with Albert before, so he was more than willing to let me join his band."
As Kuro stealthily approached the pair of Red Hawks, he suddenly found his path blocked by a tall woman, pale skinned, and clothed in a white and red garb reminiscent of Kusagi clothing, though obviously tailored to be less constricting and flowy. Underneath her white wolf mask, her mouth was a thin line, drawn taught and expressionless. Her hand sat casually on the hilt of her blade, implying that she was quite confident with its use. She seemed to radiate an almost unpleasant amount of heat, as she stared the Dericho Rider down through her mask.
---
The door of the Pub swung open as a trio of figures entered the still rather unpopulated bar. The figures were all tall and the silver gilding of their armor and coats immediately set them apart as members of the Serpentines- doubtlessly the most wealthy of the Guild's bands. The Serpentines seemed to change the atmosphere whenever they arrived somewhere, to many, this was part of their appeal. In typical fashion, the Serpentines made their way to one of the few occupied tables bar. One of them snapped his fingers. The tables occupants, groaned and rolled their eyes in exasperation, but did not resist, and quickly picked up their drinks and moved to the table over.
The tallest of the Serpentines was easily recognized as Cedric Drake, his opulent silver armor and red cape setting him well apart from his comrades. They were quickly served, and the two cronies quickly began drinking their fill, while Cedric toyed with a glass of finer liquor.
---
The Barkeep blinked as the steel being approached him holding a bag of groceries.
"Just what in the hell are you?" The barkeep asked suspiciously, obviously curious to why a massive steel automaton needed to make a smoothie.
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
Member
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12 days ago
If Kuro was surprised by the abrupt manifestation of the spirit, he didn't show it. His eyes were glazed and empty. His lips were set into a thin, flat line. His was the expression of a man who was bored with the entire universe and everything in it. He never let his mask slip.
He didn't even deign to look directly at Seru, his gaze seeming to slide off of her like she was wallpaper as his body turned slightly. Even his pace hadn't slowed, and suddenly he was standing to her left. He made no movement to advance any further, but it was clear he didn't hold much consideration for the spirit of flame, or even for the intense heat she radiated. Kuro felt the heat as much as anybody else would have, but did not permit his discomfort to show.
"あられ、くノ一さん。勝利で栄光。" He said, loudly enough to to make it clear to both Ryza and Alan that he was speaking to them...or at least Ryza, as it was unlikely Alan spoke Kusagi.
"My apologies for interrupting," Kuro said after a brief pause. ", but I must speak with you, miss. It is somewhat urgent."
Lucius Cypher Looking For Group
Member
Seen
9 days ago
"... A robot obviously. Please sir, I only need access to your kitchen for just a few minutes. I am willing to pay in coin if you'll allow me access to your facilities."
Harvey was in no real rush of course, but the sooner he could make his smoothie the sooner he can get to relaxing and listening to what the tavern had to offer. Worse case scenario he'll just sneak in later, but than he'd have to find a place to store his body while he was busy making his drink. However as he waited for a responds he heard the shrill accent of written Kusagi. He had spoke some of it with his old master, and learned more under the tutelage of Cypress. Turning his head he noticed a man walking up to the Kusagi woman, who has some concerns with her. "Ooh, this seems interesting."
Harvey also saw a trio of fancy-looking people enter the tavern. Something about them spoke of trouble. The Darken Bard was a fine establishment, but the fancy-pants in the shiny armor looked out of place amongst the more rough-and-tumble adventurers. Than again Harvey was currently a massive brass-colored robot, so he has no claim in calling someone else "Out-of-place". Still, from the way he ordered a couple of customers to leave their table despite there being plenty of other seats, Harvey could guess that the newcomers were haughty but influential. The sort of people most heroes end up wronging and having to flee the city in order to escape the local law, where they than go on epic adventures more or less unrelated to the incident that made them leave in the first place. Very interesting indeed.
"I know, how about this. Allow me access, and not only shall I pay you for the service, but also make a drink for you! Moon Water, unlike anything you've seen before, taste like magic."
Sundered Echo
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
Adonai was woken, as usual, by the sudden lack of warmth next to him in the bed. Through half closed eyes, he watched Helen get dressed for the day, noting that she took a shirt from his drawer instead of her own. The corner of his mouth twisted in a smile as he rested his head on the pillow, watching her hurry out, still thinking him asleep. It was another half an hour, give or take a little, before he himself got up.
Looking in his shirt draw, he couldn’t help but notice there were not many left. They did not often come back from Helens clinic in a particularly wearable state. Sometimes they were good enough for ‘experiment shirts’ - that is to say what he wore when he was working on something liable to explode in his face and ruin his clothes. Still, they often ended up becoming too encrusted with blood to wear again, at least whenever Helen was working her clinic. Pulling a nondescript one from the draw and putting it on, he made a mental note to stop by the tailor on the way to the pub.
Before leaving his room, he buckled on his weapon belt, on which was slung his sword and steam revolver - both custom made by him, and both never absent from his side outside of this room, an unintended aspect of his fathers legacy. This was not the only thing he left the room with though. A small notebook, filled with blank paper and various technical doodles in equal measure, went in one pocket. Also attached to his belt was a pouch containing a half assembled clockwork along with extra parts - a small project to keep him occupied while he waited for his wife to finish cutting people up. A set of fine tools also went on his belt, some of them capable of being used as lockpicks, all of them invaluable to his line of work. Finally he tied his hair back and slipped a pair of glasses onto his nose - not necessary for his sight, but the lens altering assembly on the left hand rim both marking him as an inventor and providing a more socially acceptable alternative to the variable magnification goggles he sometimes wore; goggles that made him look like he was about to blow something up. Usually because when he was wearing them, something was going to blow up. Sometimes even intentionally.
When he left his docked airship, Zephyr’s Machine, he was the very picture of a modern western gentleman inventor, the tails of a fine longcoat (the kind he wore when there was minimal chance of explosions nearby) swishing through the air behind him. By the time he reached the Pub, he was also carrying a small satchel containing six new shirts. He had to restock his supply every time they stayed at a city for any length of time, and it wasn’t entirely Helen’s fault either. At the pub, he found an empty table and sat down to wait for his wife, quickly filling the small table with carefully laid out cogs and glass components. When he had first begun this particular habit, some of the less intelligent thugs that frequented the Pub had thought it might be funny to mess with his components. That had stopped fairly quickly when they realised that he often carried vials of a chemical that would cause their skin to itch for hours on contact. The few stubborn ones and the occasional too tough newcomer had stopped bothering him once word got around that his wife was the person that patched them up after a barfight.
When the time came for Helen to arrive at the Pub for breakfast, he got up to wait just outside the door, confident in the knowledge that no-one would dare touch his work. He was just considering going back inside out of the cold when she arrived. “You’re la-” He began before being cut off, his mouth suddenly quite occupied with a kiss, his arms wrapping gently but firmly about Helens thin waist.
“Ready and waiting.” He said with a wink, replying to her question, the corner of his mouth curling into smile while his hands motioned for her to enter the building ahead of him.
Helen felt the sting of her movement, her feet forced on their tiptoes and mouth closed over his. It sent sparks down her spine to feel him so close as her hands naturally resumed their roaming touch, each able to tell the firm muscle and structure she adored about him. Even after all this time, his touch still made her heart pound until it bruised her insides. Her hands sought balance as they took a hold of him, braced against his firm foundation for some lengthy moments. Slowly her feet flattened out and thumped lightly upon the cobblestone walkways, sending a vibration through her whole frame. It was likely Adonai could feel her heat influenced by Ignis. After all, it was a common way to travel for the spirit and the fact it had been happening over years didn’t faze him anymore now.
His lips made hers tingle when she pulled back. Her breath shallow, stolen a bit, after the kiss ended. It was then she noted the package in his hand. She smirked, realizing the contents, shirts, and couldn’t help looking at the state of her current one. It was slightly better compared to her past borrowed ‘inspiration’, shredded when the bandages ran out and the blood still gushed until she could clamp it, and appeared with a little washing to be useable again. At least for one of her dear’s experimental shirts.
Those things often were charred or singed in one way or another, often discarded into the furnace.
When she pulled a bit from Adonai, relentantly, her emotions turned in that familiar way. Even after this long the man still made her heart race, her blood hum, and head more than just dizzy when he smiled. It made the sudden impulse worth it. His smile was genuine and kind, filling his face with a warmth she loved and adding to his charm. A fresh need to kiss him urged into her heart but she resisted. Her middle, distinctively needy, gurgled for food bring a sourness to the conflict between eating breakfast or having Adonai.
It was a tough choice, that was sure.
Even now the idea brought a great deal of heat, outside Ignis’ influence and caused the dragon to regulate it into normal levels. A slight perk she was glad with as she didn’t ask the spirit’s thoughts on this matter. Part of her felt he knew why her temperature rose.
Nodding her head and stepping forward, she heard a sound begin in her mind. It was a deep, raspy rattle which started out low then began to grow. It started to fill her ears and caused her to lessen her smile a bit, twisting into a frown. She knew that noise rather well after all. Mainly as it belonged to Sira, the cat spirit and made from pure light. It seemed he was enjoying Adonai’s addition to her own reservoir of memories, taking it onto himself to ensure he could sample the wares before their due time.
She let out a small sigh, then scolded the cat. Sira, naughty cat. Git out of there!
The low rumble of Sira’s increased pleasure was all she received for an answer.
“Silly beast,” Helen muttered under her breath, moved toward the door with her hand reaching out to take her husband and gently rested her arms around his. She always made a point to ensure all those within the pub knew exactly who she loved. Including those rancid, lowlives who forgot she treated their festering wounds after a local bar fight.
She looked at Adonai, her eyes steady when her voice spoke, “No trouble today, luv?”
“Just another day dearest.” he replied, still slightly tingly from her touch. He had married her a year ago, and their relationship went further back even than that, but the pleasure of her company had still not dimmed. Something he would be happy to have continue until the day he died. He was sure there was something going on in the pub, but then there always was. It was none of his business, and he didn’t care, so long as no-one got thrown into his table. His association with the Guild was distant at best and entirely through Helen, herself bandless. Which meant no-one told him anything about Guild politics. Just the way he liked it. He had enough politics in his family without the altogether far too well armed Guild bands also expecting him to be involved in their politics. He was just that expensive Airship captain people hired when they needed to get somewhere fast.
He was glad of Helen’s arm around his as they entered the Pub, to show the whole world that she was his (though in practice he was hers). As they entered he guided them towards the table on which his latest project was set up - a project he had yet to inform Helen of the intent of. “Breakfast is already ordered, as usual. Should be here in no time.” They had long ago come to the agreement that he didn’t need to ask how her work had been until after they’d eaten. After all, some of the descriptions Helen could give were quite graphic, and thoroughly appetite destroying for all but the most jaded of individuals.
Helen’s eyes glanced over the scene. Her eyes noted the key figures she had either treated or heard about. Though the information gained varied between individual as she had treated several on numerous occasions, their conditions being serious or mild, had earned her most the bands’ respect and the gratitude of individuals. However some stuck to the stigma of those outside their own bands, bandless in particular, were untrustworthy. Even when she treated many of their less fortunate victims.
The notion of such old traditions and crippling ideas disgusted her in more ways than one,. It was namely because they seemed so similar to the Varisie’s views on women’s roles, irritating her to no end.
Instinctively, she started to skim the scene. Her eyes set on the first table that held people she knew, her line of sight settling on Alan ‘Kite’ Ryner’s. She had to take a second glance when she noted a dark haired woman and wearing some strange clothing, something that made Helen think of the silk night robes she slipped in during the night. It wasn’t hard to spot the elegant embroidery on the clothes but she had trouble placing the location, geography and different cultures being a slight weakness. The main reason her Adonai did the piloting across longer distances. It seemed they were engaged in some conversation, drawing her curious interest. When the mask appeared, she tightened her grip, watching its face spinning around in place before it settled on a far table.
Naturally her eyes snapped into that direction to see Eli, the man she dubbed the walking miracle, sitting with what was clearly a spirit of his. A woman, a spirit clearly, dressed in feathery decorations themed red and gold, sat beside him. What made the husky, miracle want to pull out his spirit now? She thought and shifted her attention to look him in the eye, hopefully the man was wise and avoided them, then regretted it.
The man was a bloody mess, she grimaced at spotting the wounds. Deciding to deal with the man later, she let out a sharp intake of breath and let Adonai finish leading her to their table. Her head avoided the earlier sight until she ready to deal with it. He wouldn’t like it, that was for certain. Her mind lingered on those harsh thoughts a bit longer until they reached their seats.
She had just detached herself when she noticed them, stopping dead in her tracks. Helen’s sharp eyes twisted about to her husband, ignoring the chair and glass samples of the chemicals for a moment, her voice deceitfully kind and overly sweet. “Adonai? I don’t recall you mentioning you were working on another project...dearest.”
Adonai knew that tone - that was the tone Helen used to inform him that he had better tell her exactly what was going on or else. He couldn’t tell her what this was though. Partly because he didn’t really know yet himself, and partly because it would ruin the surprise. He gently squeezed her hand and spoke reassuringly. “Its just a clockwork my love… Absolutely no chance of exploding whatsoever. If it were dangerous I wouldn’t leave it were just anyone could poke it.” With that he bent down a little to kiss her cheek, before stepping forward and pulling out a chair for her. “I’ll show you how it works so far if you like.”
Helen suspiciously eyed him, studying his eyes and steady chin for a awkward spell. She ignored the outheld chair, her hand clasped within his, wandering through the reasons he could have to keep this project from her. However what he said made sense and in the end, having seen the results, the woman gave into reason. Adonai after all knew how dangerous his projects were which only added to her desire to not start a fight. She hated bickering though the end results were often worth the heated discussion, her lips pulled into a fresh smile. Accepting his answer, she took her seat and leaned over his work. “I’d like that Adonai, very much.”
coGM
Kuro's sudden reach into his coat wasn't missed by Eli. "See, look, you're frightening the local costumers. Shreckt continued to ignore him. Eli only briefly noted the simple spirit and the girl's quick check on him. What she thought, or the fact that she was a summoner, mattered little to him. As the Rider stood and began to walk towards the Red Hawk and the Kusagi, Eli raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that interesting?" He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. He knew that every single one of the Rider's avoided him at all costs. It wasn't hard to notice, when men and women began leaving high paying missions as soon as you joined, or went out of their way to avoid contact with you. Granted, there were others who did that, but it was more varied. There were several Serpents and Knight Errants, a few Bards, one or two Red Hawks. Nothing on the scale of the Riders, so Eli had to assume one of two things. Either he'd done something to alienate an entire organization with as black of a reputation of that, or an order had come down straight from the top to avoid him. Seeing as he doubted he'd be in such good health if it was the former, Eli believed the latter. And now one of them was heading towards a pair that one of his spirits had shown a marked interest in.
What drew Eli's interest more than the Rider, however, was the spirit that walked into the bar, under the guise of an automaton. It was pretty clever, he had to admit. It would have fooled most non-summoners, provided that he didn't do something like he was doing now. Unless, of course, he could sell it off as programming. A smoothie robot. I wouldn't be surprised. Eli thought, smirking slightly as he downed yet another shot. The pain, both physical and emotional, had yet to be dulled. For shame Eli. You should know that alcohol doesn't work anymore. It stopped working years ago. Atra commented, a dark chuckle echoing through his mind. I wonder what your friends, before you began killing them that is, would think of thi- Silence! Eli snapped, cutting her off. She complied, leaving only another dark giggle.
Picking himself up and taking the bottle of whiskey with him, Eli stood up. Shreckt did the same, but for entirely different reasons. She was going to assist the Kusagi spirit in stopping the rider. A sharp look, and a mental command, from Eli stopped her in her tracks a small noise of frustration escaping her. Around the same time, three Serpentines walked in. Eli's face immediately twisted in disgust. Rich, cruel and haughty. A mixture he hated and one that was bound to cause trouble. The disgust on his face was made even more evident when they kicked other patrons out of their seats. As he saw the Rider being rather insistent, an idea popped into his head. Eli smiled, taking another drink of his whiskey. Why not kill two birds with one stone? "Rider!" He called out, to get Kuro's attention. "I believe that the Red Hawk's spirit is trying to tell you that your urgent matter can wait. Insisting on it, I'm afraid, is almost as rude as rich little bastards walking in as if they own the place because of a band they belong too and the shiniest toys their parent's money could buy them." He looked over at Cedric and his friends. "I'm sorry, I mispoke. You're rich big bastards."
Eli gave a mock salute to the three of them with his whiskey bottle, before returning his attention to Kuro. "And whats more is Shreckt, the spirit so interested in talking to the Kusagi, my apologies madam--I don't know your name," He nodded towards Ryza, "is mildly upset that I'm making her wait politely. So perhaps you could wait until their conversation is done before you start barging in?" Turning his back on all four of the people he just spoke too, Eli walked over to the Harvey and sat down. In a low voice that only Harvey could hear he commented, "It's not too often you see an unbound spirit in civilized nations."
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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12 days ago
Kuro glanced idly over his shoulder as Eli made his play.
This was bad. He could not permit Eli's spirit to make contact with Ryza...not, at least, until he had warned her. Thankfully, the fool had given him the means necessary to waylay any further communication.
"Guild business waits for no man." Kuro called back. "What is more, I believe you owe a heartfelt apology to our esteemed colleagues of the Serpentines, whose parentage you just insulted. Perhaps you should leave with them and settle the matter elsewhere?"
He turned back to Ryza and Alan, and addressed the latter. "I am sorry for the interruption," A lie, but a lie that cost nothing to say. ", but I truly do have matters of some importance to speak of with your friend. I will pay for your next round of drinks, if you can overlook my intrusion."
Whoami All things atmospheric...
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16 days ago
Ryza had opted to leave the drink where she had set it down after taking the first sip. Maybe she just needed to stick around with the guild longer to build a tolerance, but at that time, one sip was enough. She listened intently to her band mate, hearing about his father and how he came to be a part of the Red Hawks. It was simple, obviously paraphrased like she had done with her own background. She figured she'd learn more of his story in greater detail, as well as the rest of the Hawks, as she worked with them.
Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Seru maneuver over and intercept a man. She looked up at him, and took Seru's defensive motion as an alarm. Her hand crept to the hilt of her katana and Oni stared intently at the man. As the man seemed to not give any mind to Seru, she gripped the sword tighter. His regards in Kusagi tongue took her off guard, causing her knuckles to regain some color as she loosened her grip on the hilt. Ryza bowed her head only slightly, her eyes never left the new figure. "I speak the common tongue, if that is easier for you."
It was never right to disregard somebody even if they had interrupted a conversation. Perhaps the man could just be included. But when he said he must speak with her in specific, she raised an eyebrow, glancing over to Alan for a moment. "Me?" she simply replied, confused as to why somebody, who obviously had a reputation, wanted to urgently speak with her.
When the other adventurers, the ones with lavish armor, arrived, she turned to look at them. Though the gaze was short lived as they quickly went back to Kuro. Only for him to be called out by a rough looking man at the bar, stating how his spirit wanted to speak with her. That's when she noticed the red armored Kusagi spirit. She looked around, curious to see how many others had seemingly invested their interest in her. She spotted a woman, with a man that Ryza assumed was her partner, also studying her.
Ryza felt exposed, a feeling that she had never had too much exposure to. Throughout her young life, it was in the comfort of her family estate, in the acrobatics gym and later, the Seishin school. She was always a sidekick, following a superior around. Garnering that much attention at one time was a little intense for Ryza. It was easy to tell that she was a bit overwhelmed, her face was red as she apparently had the spotlight for a number of people.
The 'rider' as the other man referred to him as, said something about guild business. Ryza bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Maybe she needed to sign more papers? She grabbed her katana and stood, the oni mask fading away into nothingness as she did. "If it is involving the guild, I suppose I must answer."
GM
"I... What..? Robot?" The bartender spluttered, confused and agitated, "No! What the hell? Why?" The rather round bartender seemed to be getting more and more confused and agitated by this seemingly oblivious robot wishing to make a drink. God knew why it needed a drink, automatons were typically designed not to need sustenance- that was their entire point.
Alan's eyes narrowed as Kuro continually requested for Ryza's presence- alone. Out of principal, most people rarely conversed with Dericho Rider's alone, and it'd be in bad taste for Alan to allow someone as new and green as Ryza to blunder around on her own with one of the more dangerous members of the Guild. Giving the room a quick glance, it appeared that they had garnered quite an inordinate amount of attention- including that of local tough guy and troubleshooter Eli, and cursory glances from one of their more respected doctors. "Are you always this popular, Rook?" Alan mused, using a nickname common amongst the Red Hawks for rookie or initiate.
Then the rider mentioned something about 'Guild Business', to which Ryza, as green as the grass outside hesitantly stood to follow up on. As she stood to follow, Alan casually caught her by the arm and motioned for her to stop for a moment. "If it was legitimate guild business, they would've sent one of our own, or a runner. I trust you understand why, Rider."
"On the other hand," Alan said casually as he stood, resting his hand on Ryza's shoulder, "If it truly is guild business, then as her senior, anything you can tell her, you can tell me as well. Otherwise, this conversation is over."
On that note, Seru stepped in beside Ryza, in what could've been considered a protective stance. Her mind reached out to Ryza's, and the Seishin swordswoman heard a low, feminine voice reverberate through her mind. The Dericho Riders are by nature a rather depraved and craven group of individuals. A lot of them deal with less-legal-business, and their moral standings are not always the most... Reliable. While doubtlessly useful on jobs.. they're also a dangerous sort. One would do best to steer clear of them- at least not without a senior.
Back at the bar, one of the Serpentines apparently had not taken kindly to Eli's words. The man in silver and leathers, shouldered himself up and confidently strutted towards Eli at the bar, his silver blade flashing proudly, the snake sigil in its hilt gilded in gold, making it plain for all to see. Eli was a large man, big and bulky, but the Serpentine was no slouch either. standing almost as tall as Eli, the Serpentine was clearly in shape, and had a thin, but athletic build, has clean blonde hair lightly tousled as his blue eyes glinted with confidence and pride.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" The serpentine said in a loud voice, "I don't think I heard you over the noise of that slob on the guitar, and the highwayman with a superiority complex." the serpentine laughed loudly and looked around the room. The other Serpentine guffawed loudly while Drake merely nodded plainly, still playing with the glass in his hands.
"So Rondell, how long do I have to wait for my apology?"
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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12 days ago
Kuro did not once look at Alan as the boy spoke out against speaking in private, the Rider's eyes slightly turned off to the side as he listened to the Serpentine stand and demand an apology. He didn't have to think too hard to come to a decision - the boy was ultimately inconsequential.
"Very well." Kuro immediately acquiesced in a clipped tone. He pulled up a seat and settled at the table, laying his right arm across its surface, hand idle. His left arm remained below the table-line.
Kuro's segue was spoken in a quiet tone, inaudible beyond the confines of the table. The manner of his speech was matter-of-fact, unrushed, and unconcerned. "There are two issues we must discuss. Firstly, while I do not know if you were aware, there are several Kusagi members present in the guild, predominantly amongst the Serpentines and the Errant Knights. Quite a few of them are practitioners of Seishin. Any one of them might be willing to pay for your journey home as a courtesy, and if not, could at least continue your training in the absence of a master while you work to earn the funds for a return trip. The Red Hawks were not an apt choice, miss. They have no prominent swordsmen or summoners familiar with Kusagi spirits and lore. Your particular talents and training are wasted on them."
Either this boy..." Kuro gestured vaguely at Alan, whom he had not once looked at. "...or myself may sponsor your entry into either band, which would help to ease the transition considerably...though we would need a demonstration of your skills in order to sponsor you. The Serpentines have several trials to obtain membership, but the Errant Knights are more accepting. Either way, the paperwork involved would be minimal."
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