Dark Cloud — Roleplayer Guild


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Wordage: 511 (+1 points) | Experience: 11/20 EXP
Location: Nyakuza Metro
𝙱𝙿 ●●●●●

Osvald's stoic expression remained unchanged as he endured the veritable deluge of rain themed puns unleashed upon him, Nadia’s jovial banter and playful wordplay already grating on the scholar's nerves.

‘How annoying,’ he thought to himself while outwardly the broad shouldered mage bit his tongue to bridle his disapproval, slightly his head shook from side to side and he sighed roughly as he kneaded his forehead with blistered and calloused hands Osvald exchanged a look with Therion as if to ask ’Is she always like this?’

Opting to keep his disapproval silent the scholar chose to ignore the feral's frivolous banter only exuding an air of irritation that belied unimpressed look on his face. Fortunately it wasn't the plan to linger in the rain-soaked cobbled streets of the city, so Osvald's patience wore less thin.

* * *

In the dark empty ruins King's Station, Osvald couldn't help but marvel at the abandoned state of the place from the quiet hustle and bustle of the city to the dark yawning emptiness of the area, though no tram line awaited them nor tracks could be seen the bell they rang that summoned the stag shouldn't have surprised him.

As the Seekers navigated the tunnels of the Under from the dark melancholy that hung over the City of Tears, the quiet empty ruins of King’s Station and back to the deserted hamlet of Dirtmouth.

Osvald couldn't help but be taken aback by the bizarre sights that surrounded them, from the peculiar methods of transportation to the bright neon lights and signs of Nyakuza Metro. Each new experience seemingly more outlandish than the last, were it not for him being freed he surely would have questioned his very sanity in the face of such fantastical phenomenon.

Merely he took in his surroundings, marveling at the annoyingly bright garish signs and lights of the city that seemed completely parallel to the City of Tears with it's dimly lit streets and tall dark spires that rose above the inky waters below. 

The mere thought of frolicking amidst the chaos and revelry of this place struck a nerve deep within Osvald, as a man of knowledge and discipline the scholar detested the frivolity and unpredictability that such places embodied. He found the idea of wasting time and resources indulging in such mindless activity to be of little interest.

With a steely expression on his frowny face, Osvald fixed the feral with a piercing look that spoke volumes about his stalwart disapproval of the idea “Hmph…Sounds like a ridiculous waste of time, we should go to our destination and not indulge in such useless endeavors.” despite the excitement and enthusiasm of his companions he crossed his arms, grumbling ever the party pooper.

In his mind, there were far more important matters at hand than whimsical escapades in a neon-lit metropolis made for felines, Osvald relaxed his shoulders slightly and sighed “If we must then at least find suitable lodgings...” the grizzled man grumbled.

Favor for a Favor

Word Count: 2508 (+3 points)
Experience: Osvald 10/20 EXP | Therion 244/70 EXP
Location: The Under, Home of Tears

Drip - Drip - Drip…

’So much for these clothes…’ the scholar thought with an annoyed groan, a price paid or rather karma if that was to be believed over deciding to follow the boy - Therion, his name was, and the others through the pipe and unceremoniously tumbled into the blackened waters with a loud splash.

Clamoring out of the water and onto solid ground the scholar sputtered and shook his shaggy mane of hair sending droplets of water everywhere, his glasses had nearly fallen from his face and he felt his boots slosh as he stood to his feet wiping the wetness from his spectacles.

A downpour pelted upon the man's broad shoulders from above. The drenching rain it seemed was for the time inescapable so with a gruff sigh Osvald pulled the hood of his ragged clothes over his head and carried on his way.

As the scholar proceeded into the city, he quickly spotted a familiar face - or, well, part of one. Therion was parked under the closest rain shelter to the lake, his poncho and scarf drawn up high to cover his mouth. His knees were drawn up, his tail was curled around his legs, he clenched something close to his chest, and his ears were laying flat upon his head… until one flicked up as he heard Osvald approach, though just barely over the rain.

"Hey," he said, motioning Osvald over. He looked perturbed. "Help me out here? Go get me an umbrella. A huge one."

Reluctantly nodding his head the scholar let out an exasperated sigh “Fine…” Osvald grumbled, finding an umbrella shouldn't be that hard for a distinguished scholar like himself anyway.

For his part, Therion hadn’t really wanted to ask in the first place. He disliked asking for help in general. But as far as he was concerned, Osvald did owe him one for getting that muzzle off his face - and he was loath to go out into the rain at the moment.

Osvald's appearance drew the cautious gaze of those few passersby that made their way through the relatively empty city street, besides the sound of an almost somber downpour that pitter-pattered against the flagstone.

Sighing deeply Osvald made his way through the quiet streets, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his wet overcoat with the hood of his ragged outfit drawn over his head he stuck out like a sore thumb as he made his way through the city.

Osvald couldn't help but ruminate on the irony – here he was, a man of intellect and study, reduced to an errand boy in search of a simple object to fend off raindrops, annoyed as he may be by such a menial task he was want and ever determined to get it over with.

Trudging along the melancholy streets of the City of Tears the scholar came to a somewhat bustling market stall sheltered ‘neath an overhang, busy with a few people milling about of various shapes bug, monster and human alike.

He saw an array of umbrellas – some small and dainty, others large and robust. The stallkeeper an odd looking creature akin to an umbrella seemed preoccupied with haggling customers, trying it's best to persuade them to buy their sandals it didn't notice Osvald's approach.

Too many people would draw attention to him if he simply robbed the stall so as he walked up to the stall he pretended to stumble crashing into the stall - A painful endeavor, for his back of course but a clever ruse indeed.

His feint lacked much grace so some of the kasa-obake's wares were damaged, however in the mess the scholar caused he quickly shot a hand out grabbing the handle of the largest umbrella his fingers could wrap his hands around. 

It was a grand, sturdy looking thing that looked like it could cover two - perhaps even three people from the relentless deluge of the city. Without a second glance, Osvald hurried off melding back into the inky shadows that hung upon the city, with the stolen umbrella tucked under his arm.

Footsteps heralded the scholar's swift return to Therion, Osvald's mood slightly lifted by the success of his illicit acquisition. 

He handed the umbrella over to the thief with a mix of relief and residual irritation he couldn't help but smirk; however when he gave Therion the umbrella “Here,” he said, the annoyance fading. “Try not to ask for any more favors under this rain, I am not as charitable as Dohter.” the scholar remarked, despite the day's frustrations, he felt a peculiar satisfaction.

Therion scoffed.

"Sure," he said, standing swiftly and taking the umbrella. He popped it open while still under the rain shelter, making for a slightly comedic sight. Glancing up at it, he approved of how big it was. That should definitely keep any water away from him... after fusing with those two cat-like spirits he had come to dislike getting wet, but he had tolerated it. Now, though, something else had clearly changed. When the pipe had dumped him into the lake, his entire body felt like it was on fire. It was close to the most painful thing he'd ever experienced (falling from a cliff and nearly dying still won out), and it had taken all of his power but mental and physical to will his body to work enough to swim to safety. Since no one else seemed to have a “burning alive” issue with the water, there must have been something wrong with him. The wraith spirit?

Ugh... Therion shuddered, tucking the Constrained Heart back into his pouch. That experience had been awful - he still felt weary from it. So he was grateful that Osvald had sucked it up and done what he'd asked, despite being so reluctant. 'Not as charitable as Dohter', he scoffed again to himself, Who is? Besides maybe Alfyn... hey, wait. He did say Dohter, right?

Therion squinted at the old man. Dohter the Lord of Succor was one of the gods of his world, Orsterra, and the patron of apothecaries. He was often called The Charitable as well. It would be a wild coincidence if Osvald knew about him but hailed from a different world.

"You know about Dohter?" the thief questioned. "You're from Orsterra?"

“Hmph, I've heard of Dohter,” he began slowly saying measuring his words, an inkling of his thoughts dripped out much like the waters above drawn from a lake of reluctant memories that came flooding to him “And no, my home is Solistia. I only know of this Orsterra you speak of from old texts and scattered stories, nothing more.”

So the scholar had heard of Orsterra, though Therion had never heard of a "Solistia." Was it farther than G'roha? He wasn't a geography master or anything, but he hadn't heard it mentioned ever - until now. Maybe Osvald wasn't from his world after all.

"What texts? Where'd you read them?" Therion asked. He tried not to sound accusatory, but he was confused - maybe the older man had read something about Orsterra in a book like the one Robin Goodfellow had? Kamek had mentioned it had information about people and monsters they'd encountered. Plus, what did he mean by "old" and "scattered"? The guy was making it sound like Orsterra was some place lost to history.

Osvald with a look quirked a brow, noticed the confusion and slight edge in the boys voice the scholar grunted “Calm down,” the scholar said plainly giving Therion a stern look before drawing a deep breath. 

Continuing, the broad shouldered magical scholar crossed his arms and stared off into the darkness of the city above after a bit of tense silence that passed between them “Orsterra,” he began, eyes closed he spoke with slow measure drawing upon what memories he could recall.

“Hmm, all I know or heard about such a land has come from stories, magical theory doesn't go into geography much after all but if I recall some texts...” the grizzled scholar paused adjusting his glasses while shifting his overcoat to shake the water from it he continued “All that is known for certain is that it exists far, far away from our own lands.”

That hardly really answered Therion's question, but even if he'd asked in a more direct way the glow in Osvald's eyes would most likely prevent him from really understanding.

"So, what, you worship the Twelve in 'Solistia' too?" he settled for asking.

“’Eight, it was eight gods that sealed away the wicked Vide’” almost sounding bored the scholar recited that bit of scripture “The Trader, the Prince of Thieves, the Huntress, the Thunderblade, then the Lady of Grace, the Scholarking, the Charitable... and finally the Flamebringer.”

Though unfamiliar with the "Vide" character, the eight titles Osvald listed matched up perfectly with eight of the Orsterran pantheon, missing only the Runeblade, the Archmagus, the Starseer and the Warbringer. It was evidence that even if the man wasn't from Orsterra, he was from some other continent in the same realm. Same gods, different myths, maybe? Cyrus would have a field day with this, Therion thought. The thief himself found it mildly interesting, but he was more surprised than anything else. Then again, he and Primrose had found each other. Maybe it wasn't such a rare occurrence, and any regular stranger could hail from the same world.

"Well we've got the same gods in Orsterra," Therion said, shifting the umbrella slightly so he could better watch the lake. His original plan to find the train station and wait there was dashed, so he figured they could just go together with the others, let Ms. Fortune lead. So far besides himself and Osvald, only Sectonia, Junior, and Rika had come down. The little turtle had looked like he'd had a problem swimming when he'd landed, but given Therion's own predicament he hadn't had the nerve to venture into the water, or the rain afterwards to check on the kids. He felt a little bad about it, but at least the conversation with Osvald was distracting him. "So you can add that to your list of things you know about it."

“Hmm…Is that so?” Osvald mused, the surly scholar's voice laced with a blend of skepticism and a hint of light curiosity “Interesting.” was all he said.

No long-winded tongue flapping came from the man, outwardly he appeared detached and aloof but in his thoughts he was deeply interested in this development, there was just no stock in wasting time with idle conjecture.

Stoic as ever the scholar stood in the rain with his hands deep in the pockets of his large waistcoat “Hmph…Our God's seem as indiscriminate with their presence as they are in their blessings.” his words dripped with as much dryness as there was a level of skepticism, but he didn't think the thief was lying; it was a comment on the similarities of their world.

The two of them lapsed into silence, neither of them particularly caring to carry on the conversation just then. After a few minutes Osvald had eventually stooped to stand under the shelter as well (and though Therion shuffled over he selfishly kept the umbrella open and to himself), which was when it hit Therion that the scholar was still here. As in, hanging around the Seekers. Had anyone even had the time to explain the whole Galeem-thing to the man while they were in Mercy Dreams? He knew he hadn’t. Therion glanced at Osvald.

"You’re out of that prison now," he said, "you don’t have to stick with us. What’s your plan from here?"

Before Osvald's expression was inscrutable or bored however the thief's question must have struck something because an unmistakable rage glinted behind the glare of his spectacles.

“I had everything ripped away from me, my life…My family…My life's work…” there was such vitriol in the scholar's voice as he spoke - a drastic change from his aloof and almost emotionally detached demeanor earlier and when Osvald looked at the thief his eyes were glowing red “I'll stop at nothing to find the man who took everything from me and kill him.” 

The thief blinked in surprise at the sudden change in Osvald. Such a strong desire for revenge was actually familiar, though not for him personally. Therion looked away from the scholar, back to the lake. ”You’re probably going to have a hard time with that,” he muttered, though loud enough that Osvald heard him.

Osvald's lips curled from a snarl to that of a deep frown, the scholar's stern piercing eyes narrowed suspiciously looking at Therion “Why would that be?” he said through gritted teeth, nothing could keep him from finding Harvey he couldn't rest until he found him and killed him.

Therion sighed. How was he supposed to explain how jumbled up the world was, and that though it was possible to find one specific person in it, it was very, very, unlikely. While Osvald still had the light of Galeem inside him, there was no way he’d understand. Weighing the pros and cons of what he was considering, Therion turned and took the umbrella in one hand, letting it hang slightly so that the two men were mostly obscured from the eyes of passerbys.

”Don’t take this personally,” Therion said, the only warning Osvald got before the thief’s free hand flicked out towards him with the Stinging Dagger held in his grip. The blade sunk deep into Osvald’s stomach, twisted, and ran upward in one motion with intent to deal as much damage as possible. It wasn’t immediately fatal, but for a human very quickly would be. Though he knew it was painful as hell too, Therion couldn’t feel bad about it for long since it would be fixed in just a moment. He withdrew the weapon, and one friend heart later Osvald was good as new, minus a new hole in his clothes.

The scholar's eyes squinted wincing in pain as blood pooled from his chest, anger and the feeling of betrayal flooded him then all at once it faded “What…How?” the scholar pat his chest, where the dagger was plunged slightly annoyed by hole in his clothes “Tell me the meaning of this now.”

Therion stepped away and resumed his previous position. ”I’ll give you the short version,” he replied, killing the rest of the time until the other Seekers finished meeting with Asgore by explaining the basics of the new world to Osvald.

Osvald scratched his beard, and ruminated what Therion told him in short about everything the scholar was silent breathing a deep rumbling sigh as he took into consideration what exactly this all meant “I'd thank you if you hadn't stabbed me, though I presume that was necessary for whatever reason.” the older man said with mild annoyance as he put a finger through the hole of his shirt.

Beneath the collar obscuring his face, Therion smirked lightly. Right, right, he'd have to explain that part too.

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