Status

Recent Statuses

6 days ago
Current Um, excuse you, but I think you mean Pyrrha and Jaune as new RWBY representatives? Because obviously that's how it ought to go, thanks.
15 days ago
Actually, they're probably a normal guy who isn't interested in doing any of that. Most people aren't, and that's why the police are relatively small in number.
29 days ago
RIP Discord. Ripcord.
5 likes
1 mo ago
No, @Zanderkvothe, no. The opposite.
1 like
1 mo ago
Honestly, we just need to put the Queen in charge of the USA again, and things will be dandy all over again.
8 likes

Bio

Hello, I am me from the internet. I migrated here from Kongregate's Forum Games Forum, so feel free to look for me there if you wish to follow a career in internet stalking people.

A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.

Most Recent Posts

Raymond Haywood: The Cruise Room

Psh. Patriarch was no threat to them. Not with the Broker present - the real Broker, not the clone feigning Brokerism, though he could certainly come across as another potential parahuman, depending on what other traits the Broker considered useful in him. That said, it was seemingly quite an issue to hear that both of the Rockers’ leaders were now defeated and captured - Ceramix could be disregarded entirely in favour of his immediate underling, but to hear he was down for the count too was mildly disconcerting. It went to show how potent the Protectorate could be in full force.

Though with that said, and considering the notion as he reclaimed his weapon, Raymond couldn’t care less that the Rockers were seemingly leaderless, even given how that’d affect the Broker’s plan to defeat the Community. They were second-rate at best, and if the organisation was entirely collapsed and reformed from scratch under new management, he imagined it’d still be better than what came before it. For his part, he simply shrugged, allowing others to make their statements to the downtrodden Rocker as she first received Swarm’s insincere guidance, then offered her assistance to the Broker outright, and was then offered Jason’s support... hold on, what now? Why would-

Well, he had just supposed there could be merit in seeing the Rockers reformed. Perhaps Creep would be the woman to do so. Regardless, it seemed Chatterbox was willing and able to check that Xolotl was no longer a threat once he was trussed up, and then to ask for Raymond’s help in getting him outside. As if the assassin wasn’t already planning on doing so. Though, the support might be useful nonetheless.

‘You take the legs,’ he instructed quietly, grabbing the bulky man around the torso and beginning to pull him toward the exit indicated. Even if Chatterbox was built like a twig, every little helped when it came to shifting a body.
Well, it seemed to Louis' eye that everyone who was going to showed up on time, give or take a few minutes. Agent Blue had been there already, with a seemingly-uncanny awareness of being watched, and though he knew down to a science exactly what she could do, his primal lizard brain still prayed she was just guessing. Over the next few minutes, so too did the new recruits show themselves - the pink-haired civilian Mieke first, sadly even weepier than he'd anticipated, though evidently pleased to introduce herself and be introduced to Laurie. Next, the wrestler Arthur, boisterous as expected, and even more keen to say hello. And finally, the hired gun Leonard - surprisingly slow to show, as it happened, though more interested in St Anger than in any other character there.

Hogan had failed to appear at all, as expected. A phone call, a minute from ten, about summed up what had happened - the crocodile was being recalcitrant again, and it'd take some time to get the creature to come along. Sighing as the clock finally hit ten, Louis put the phone down, pushed the security monitor back into the desk, and tapped the button on his comms device, saying into it 'Send them in,' before folding his hands together and awaiting their arrival with a bit of a smile.




The receptionist, receiving her boss' order, responded to him with a simple 'Yes, sir,' then turned to the folks in the waiting room and uttered 'The boss is ready to see you now, ladies and gentlemen' with a polite, almost refined formality. The short hallway down to his office ended with a pair of heavy wooden doors, opening automatically after but a moment's pause into a room that was designed, not sparsely, but simply, with a soothing sky blue tone to the wallpaper and paint alike, a few varnished wooden shelves with knick-knacks and electronics from various time periods within the past century scattered about, and a heavy, equally-varnished wooden desk taking up a good portion of the space.

And sitting behind the desk, the CEO of the company.

'Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. Some of you may know me, most will not, but I am the leader of the Speedwagon Foundation, Louis Armstrong,' he introduced himself. His voice was not exactly harsh, but it didn't quite reach kind either. "Professional", perhaps. 'Three of you are here at my request. One is here because they are, indirectly, an employee of mine. They may ask their Employer about that.' He didn't look at Blue specifically whilst he said so, but he would glance across her mid-sentence just as he was glancing over everyone else, to see that she got the message.

'And you'll have one more agent joining you shortly. As to why you're here,' he began explaining quite bluntly, 'that'd be because we have an epidemic on our hands. Not a usual epidemic, I'm afraid, or the SWF would be more than capable of handling it directly. No, this is an epidemic that kills most who contract the illness as surely as a bullet through the brain - and those who survive through it develop abilities that I'm sure you're all familiar with. Except, perhaps, Miss Mieke Choux.' He gestured to the pink-haired girl, all but singling her out.

'She, whether or not she is aware, has been a victim of this epidemic herself, all the way over in her home state of Massachusetts. This goes to show just how far the contagion has spread, though its effects thus far have been largely centralised within Washington D.C. and the surrounding states of Maryland and Virginia. As a result of her affliction, she nearly died. In exchange for surviving it, however, she has developed what we know as a Stand - invisible to those who lack one, and capable of altering the world in amazing ways.

'But again, most of you know this already,' Louis noted with the slightest coy smirk, fading as quickly as it arose. 'The problem, ladies and gentlemen, is that this infection is consistent with that inflicted by something called a Stand arrow - I imagine you can guess what that does. Unlike the average Stand arrow, however, the disease seems to strike people down as if it were airborne, leading to a much higher infection and subsequent casualty rate than any Stand arrow could achieve.

'And... a much higher rate of new Stand users,' he admitted with some annoyance. 'Frankly, it's been an incredible strain on the SWF's resources simply to find and educate these new Stand users, let alone try and manage the epidemic's effects on top of that, or stop those Stand users who see their powers and think "gosh, I reckon I could kill or harm a lot of people with these", or "heavens, I've gained superpowers, time to put on a costume and fight crime recklessly".' About now, he seemed to realise his voice was getting heated, and took a breath before continuing. 'In the end, we've been left with two free agents, plus a triad of new hires.' Again he gestured, this time toward the group as a whole. It seemed he wasn't one for moving around much when he spoke, save his mouth proper.

'So, ladies and gentlemen, you have two jobs. One: go where we tell you to go, find the Stand users we believe to be in a certain area, and either inform or subdue them. Preferably without killing them...' His glances moved rapidly and purposefully between Blue and Skinner before he finished his sentence. '...we don't need more civilian deaths, and we especially don't need any innocent blood on the SWF's hands.

'And two: if you can find any leads, any hints as to what might be causing this illness, anything you could follow up on... by God's will, do so with all haste,' he implored the foursome. 'The longer this lasts, the more are going to die, and the more difficult things are going to become, for all of us. And yes, we've tried to track the infection pattern. It seems... inconsistent, somehow. Hence the difficulty.' The first minor hint of confusion entered the man's face, quickly smoothed over.

'Any questions?' the CEO asked, leaning back in his chair just a fraction now that the main portion of his speech was over. 'We believe we might have a lead on one group of fresh Stand users already; time, as I said, is of the essence.'

@Old Amsterdam@knifeman@Lugubrious@ProPro@LemonZest1337
Alessa Heather: Charity Fundraiser

That... that was it, then. The plan worked, assisted by Lillian and by Lyn’s risky, but ultimately successful (and very loud, leaving her ears ringing a fair bit), thunderclap, not to mention Kyoshi and Inkscape taking control of a hand each, and ultimately Noble’s containment of Ceramix within another glob of containment foam. They’d done it - they’d saved everyone!

Which left a couple of problems. Notably, Shatterpoint was in a state of panic at being contained so, to the point of howling and sobbing wildly, at least as far as the foam allowed him. He was a villain, he ought to have seen that coming... but then, why did Alessa feel so horrible about the thought of keeping him in there? That was obvious, though: it was the same empathy she had for most people.

And there was not a damn thing she could do about it. Not on her own, and certainly not without risking more lives. What she could help with was how Lillian had been affected - that was, badly, to the point of being dropped to her knees and out of her dinosaur form. Kneeling down gently, Alessa pulled the girl up cautiously, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders, murmuring to her ‘Hey, babe, I’m here, I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay,’ and lightly planting a kiss on one cheek, whilst glancing round to see that everyone else was equally alright.

They weren’t. Kyoshi’s leg was apparently broken badly, and Outsider was being checked over for some sort of concussion by Sylph. Shit. Damn it, damn it... did this count as another...? No. No, it wasn’t like the warehouse. Nobody was dead. Everyone lived, everyone was alive, they were okay! They’d won outright!

Well, Mastar, at least, seemed to think they’d won outright. She was chatting up how fun working with the Protectorate had been - and indeed, what a shame it’d be to not have that option in the future. And, well... overly-sexual actions aside, why wouldn’t she be able to work with them? Her power seemed pretty damn useful, after all...

‘Let’s get you some help, Lily,’ Alessa prompted kindly, guiding her over toward the octopus-like leader of the Denver Protectorate as quickly as she dared, grabbing the hero’s attention with the slightest glint of light, easily mistaken for coincidental, to direct his gaze in her direction before she began speaking.

‘I think Tiger Lily’s suffered more than the rest of us from Tulpa’s attack against Ceramix,’ she suggested matter-of-factly. ‘We may need to get a medic or something in here for her, I’m not sure... and, say, whilst I’m over here,’ she continued a bit more slowly, glancing toward Mastar before concluding her query, ‘I feel like Mastar really pulled her weight today. I’m no expert, but... do you think maybe she’d be a good candidate for the Protectorate?’
@ProPro@LemonZest1337@Old Amsterdam@knifeman@Lugubrious The first IC post is up, ladies and gentlemen. Do enjoy it.
Prelude: I Stand Before You Naked To The Eyes

Today was a bad day for Anthony. Despite the bright sun out, despite taking a walk to a local park, his mind was in a pit, and had been for the past four days now. The impending doom of his family’s pet cat weighed heavy on his mind on top of all his usual problems, and he couldn’t bear to be stuck in his house another day. He had to get out of there, at least for a while. After all, wasn’t sunlight supposed to help with depression or something? Was he even clinically depressed, or just feigning it, the way a lot of “self-diagnosed” ill people typically did?

Bah. It didn’t matter so much, anyway. It turned out, in fact, that the park was hosting a fair today, an unexpected event for sure, and a few minutes of walking around in the bright colours of the rides and stalls already had him feeling a little better. Not much, and he could only wonder how long it’d last, but for the time being, he’d take what he could get. Going around in one of the better examples of human positivity might take his mind off of the more negative aspects of human nature for a time.

As he finished off a hotdog- well, a regular sausage in a bun, but he’d never liked frankfurters as hotdog sausages, and they didn’t have those anyway, so a hotdog that officially was- he pondered out loud about what to visit next. ‘I could go on the merry-go-round again,’ he considered, stroking his chin. ‘Or maybe the giant slides...? No, those are meant for kids, they’d ask what the hell I’m doing if I went on that... then again, maybe not? That’s guy’s going down just fine...’

As he considered his options, he walked past a small tent that was at first unassuming, merely blue and red stripes with a sign on a post out front. After a moment, he turned back to look at it again, this time actually reading what the sign said: “Fortunes Told Here! Only £1.50 per fortune, free if you’re unsatisfied!” His expression twisted into a frown initially. “Fortune tellers.” Scam artists, one and all, he reckoned - psychic woo, ghosts and magic and all of those sorts of things, evidently didn’t exist, and it was plainly immoral to take advantage of other people’s beliefs for money, no matter the scale.

Then again... I know their tricks. If the fortune teller tries to get information out of me by being vague, I can just tell them I know their scam and walk off, he considered. After all, it’s free if I’m not satisfied with it, right? Thus, begrudgingly, he stepped toward the tent, cautiously sliding one flap aside to gain entrance into quite a dark room, containing not much more than a crystal ball on a stand, and a short woman with grey hair in a bun and a seemingly-dramatic robe, whose features made her seem quite old indeed.

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, a newcomer...’ the lady immediately crooned. Oh, lord, she’s already putting on an act. ‘Eeexcellent, I knew you’d step in here, sir, yes I did!’ she continued, pointing at him with one gnarled hand and crooking her finger. ‘Come, come, tell me, what brings you to my tent?’

‘Er, well,’ Anthony began, grimacing briefly as he tried and failed to garner more detail from the woman’s face, ‘obviously I wanted my fortune read. Or at least I’d try to get it read, if it’s worth anything.’

‘Mmmm, so you did, Anthony Blaire.

‘What...?!’ Anthony immediately took a step back, eyes widening. What in the hell had just happened? How had she gotten his name? He certainly didn’t have it on his person directly, it wasn’t like he’d had anybody tell her... ahh, but he did have something with his name on it. His phone. And of course, technology was advancing in leaps and bounds nowadays; obviously, she’d read his name off of some device or other before he’d even entered the tent. He really needed to shut off his phone’s WiFi or Bluetooth whatever before heading out.

Back on his feet, relaxed once more, he stepped back toward the woman. ‘Alright, very clever, I admit,’ he allowed. ‘You caught me off-guard, well done, I guess that means I can give you a bit more of my time.’

‘Heh. Nobody ever expects me to know their name at a glance,’ the lady bragged with a crude smirk. ‘I know what you’re thinking, boy, and it’s no feat of technology that granted me that insight. Perhaps, if you’ll allow me, I might read your palm initially?’

‘Hrm. Alright, then,’ Anthony agreed, rolling his eyes as he held his hand out to the woman. Her grip came quickly, almost too quickly for somebody her age, and it was shockingly strong to boot, the fingers running across each line of his hand at a measured pace, their nails seeming deliberately dug into his skin hard enough to cause heat and friction, until he finally jerked his hand free with a scowl.

‘Next you’ll say, “that’s quite enough!”’

‘That’s quite enough! You- wait, what?’

‘Heheheheheh! Cold-reading, my boy!’ the lady cackled again, seeming to take great glee in Anthony’s discontent and dismay. ‘With, dare I say, a touch of...’

‘Don’t you dare say it, you old-’ He forced himself to calm down again, yet the woman’s smile still seemed to mock him so. ‘Listen, you. I’ve had a bit of a shitty time recently, and right now, I’m thinking you’re just making things worse.’

‘Ohh, I saw, young man, I saw. I see death in your future.’ Oh, lah-de-dah, great observation Sherlock. ‘Yes, death... so much death, more of it than you can imagine being involved with.’ Er, okay, that’s weird to hear.

‘Yeah, uh, right. Look, ma’am,’ he tried to segue, ‘can I just get my fortune read? I wasn’t really trying to get involved with any, uh, anything more than some fortune telling stuff, okay?’ He was, suffice to say, more than uncomfortable at the moment.

‘Oh, of course, of course I’ll read your fortune,’ the woman murmured, suddenly much more kindly-sounding than before. What on earth was with her changes in tone? ‘In fact, I insist upon it. You’ve offered me something interesting, veeeery interesting... I need to see more...’

What the hell is with this lady? Anthony wondered, a concerned frown plastered on his face. It’s like she’s crazy or something. I’m not sure I’m actually safe here... but it’s not like she’s anything other than a crazy old lady, right? Worst thing she’ll do is try and whack me with a cane or something, most likely. His fears assuaged again, but his expression remaining concerned, he stepped up to the crystal ball, realising belatedly that fortune telling required cards on a table. What, was she going to tell his fortune on a ball with a screen inside it?

‘Now, just place your hand on the crystal ball, my boy, just you do that...‘ Apparently so. Sighing, he pressed his hand against the ball... huh, that seemed like real crystal, at least from this angle. No doubt her angle happened to have a screen hidden by the internal imperfections in the ball’s material, but hey, maybe it’d be fun to watch the reflection in her eyes.

What she did next was odd. She didn’t put her own hand on the ball itself - go figure - but she did start to engage in a sort of odd prolonged breathing in. He could hear the air getting sucked into her pursed lips, but no external breath out, and for an old lady, that was impressive. For the first fifteen seconds, anyway. After half a minute, Anthony was starting to wonder when she’d exhale, and after another thirty seconds, he was boggling at what seemed like an impossible ultra-extended breath. How could... that was physically impossible, surely?!

Then, all at once, his hand seemed to start burning. Or, well, something like that. It was hot and tingly, at least, and there was some kind of pressure, but particularly painful it was not. If he had to compare it to something, he might suggest a sort of localised heat stroke, or using the heat of a radiator to try and get rid of pins and needles in a dead arm. And the old woman was still inhaling! How could anybody do that?!

Finally, she stopped sucking air in through her mouth, and his hand stopped... being warm, he supposed. Anthony pulled the appendage away to check that it was alright, that nothing had in fact gotten singed, but caught a hint of chuckling from the woman. Chuckling turned to full laughter, and to his horror, that became howling roars of mirth, the crone’s eyes wide and bulging, her mouth stretched wide to expose her teeth as she cackled with unsuppressed glee.

‘Finally... FINALLY!’ she screeched, glaring straight into Anthony’s eyes as she rounded the stand and headed toward him. ‘I found you at last! You’re him! You’re the one... AAAHAHAHAHA!‘

‘Jesus Christ, do not touch me, please,’ the young man begged, trying his best to get away from her without letting her leave his sight. ‘I will literally pay you any amount of money to let me leave oh God please-

‘Hahahahahahaha! Nooooo! No charge for you, dearie!’ she shrieked, gesturing with her arm as if to draw him back toward her - only for him to actually be pulled back toward her, feet scraping across the ground, as if tugged by some irresistible force.

‘Oh, shit! What the f-’ Anthony’s voice was cut off as the woman’s hand clamped tightly over his mouth, leaving him vainly trying to pry his head away from her, whatever force that had dragged him in now proving immovable to his skull. In fact, he was sure he felt something like thorns digging into his back if he tried to pull away too hard... what the hell was going on? Was this... was this real magic?! Or psychic powers or some shit? How else did he explain being stuck in place like this?

‘No need to charge you, sir, not at all,’ she continued to rave, eyes bugging out as she rooted around in her robe for something, found it, then pulled forth a Goddamn arrow. It was ridiculous, much longer than most arrows had any right to be, with a standard wooden shaft, and yet a head made of ornately-carved stone. This would be... hell, he didn’t have a clue. Way older than Medieval, though, for certain! More importantly, what was the big idea here? Was she about to stab him, oh shit oh shit...!

‘And your next line is, “For the love of God, what’s wrong with you?!” Go!’

‘For the love of God, what’s wrong with you?!’ Anthony exclaimed, finally succeeding in wrenching his head free of her grasp, only to realise she’d done it again, she’d predicted his very words. How, how, how?

‘Aaahahahaha! You truly were worried, weren’t you?’ she mocked. As she did, he felt his arm wrenched upward by the same invisible jabby force, and the arrow... placed surprisingly gently into his palm. He still wasn’t sure she wasn’t planning on stabbing him, but at this point, he really did rather have to go along with it.

‘Erm... s-so no charge?’ he mumbled out a bit meekly, prompting yet more elderly giggling. ‘No charge, no charge,’ she continued to ramble gleefully, ‘not for you. You, lad, have a much longer road ahead than you know... you, Anthony Blaire, have fate to work with! Yes, indeed, fate is on your side,’ she proclaimed ‘for you are destined... TO RULE! THE WORLD! AAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAAAAA!’

After far too long, the force let Anthony go, letting him topple him to the ground with the arrow clutched betwixt his fingers. Scrambling to his feet, he hauled himself out of that godforsaken tent in a panic, the mad old fortuneteller’s laughter following him like a guided missile until he was out of the fair and practically halfway across the park, collapsing to his knees and gasping for air once she was no longer audible. At some point, he must have unconsciously realised that he had a damn arrow in his hands, and stuffed the thing under his shirt and into his trouser belt, only mildly conspicuous unless somebody thought to look closer. Thank goodness it hadn’t cut him; he’d have to be careful about that until he could take it out and put it somewhere safe.

It took a good five minutes for him to finally get his breath back, in part because his fight-or-flight response refused to relax for a long while. Once he did, he took it upon himself to trudge, as slowly as he could, back toward the fair. The path into town was all the way back there, after all. And maybe he’d have to pass that tent again, after all, and that’d be fortuitous, wouldn’t it? He could return that arrow to the crone, after all.

By the time he got back to where the tent of misfortune had been, it was gone, signpost and all, with not a hint of its former presence to show that anything had ever been there to begin with. Well, no sense wasting time looking for it, he supposed. I wouldn’t even have handed it back to her anyway. Crazy people shouldn’t have weapons, should they? Especially not crazy old women with telekinesis.

Today, he felt, was still a bad day. A bad day made worse by a most strange and disturbing experience. He’d feel better once he was safe and sound back in his damn house.




Prologue - Speedwagon Foundation HQ, in Washington, D.C.



The director and C.E.O. of the SWF - some preferred SPW, but that simply didn’t fit as an acronym in Louis’ mind - sat at his desk, pondering the meeting that was about to take place. Ten minutes to ten, ten minutes before talking to a group of individuals who he knew could probably end his life with ease if they so wished. Yet he felt not an ounce of fear or worry. For one thing, he had years of experience handling both Stand users and other esoteric supernaturals, he knew the best strategies, the best options to take if things turned sour. He would not fall to a mere troupe of psychic maniacs, if indeed they were.

For another thing, he’d called them here in the first place. If there was anything at all to be concerned with, coincidentally, it was how thinly the SWF’s resources were stretched right now. The current situation, suffice to say, was infeasible to keep in check without extra support; most of Washington’s people were scattered far and wide handling the apparent pandemic, the facility in Dallas was being real slow in getting their own people over, and it transpired that of all their units, only two remained with any supernatural abilities of their own - their pet assassin, and their pet crocodile. Neither would be reliable alone, or even together, not with their respective skill sets and temperaments.

Thus, Louis had been forced to call for external help. He’d put the SWF’s reach to good use, and found himself with quite a few good options. Of those he contacted, though, only three had returned any interest - another hired gun, even more unreliable than the one under the Foundation’s thumb, but skilful in his own right; an ex-wrestler, his path followed and his steps traced, with a long history of Stand combat that made him quite useful indeed; and, God forgive him, a young civilian woman affected by the illness, complete with Stand, who he was quite certain was only interested because she was hard up when it came to money.

Pragmatism had won out, and all three had been called in to assist, alongside their other agents. Two Stand users did not add up to a full diplomatic or investigative force, but five just about made it; thankfully, the one agent had woken up recently, and the other would do as asked given the right incentives, so it was just a matter of having them called in alongside the newcomers.

Five to ten. They should be showing up by now. That, or they were bored and waiting for him to bring them in. Sighing, Louis pressed down on a panel in his desk, bringing up a screen that flicked on rapidly to reveal a security feed. He probably ought not to have that there, but every so often, he found himself with nothing to do, and enjoyed looking around to see how everyone in the building was getting along. For now, he changed the feed channel to the camera covering the waiting room leading to his office, observing to see who was here yet, and who was yet to arrive.
@Stormflyx Well, I guess if the guards took everyone's bags too... either way, there'll probably be appropriate thanks for getting his stuff back.
@Stormflyx I sure would. Next posting round, then, if @POOHEAD189 is pushing the progression that way at a significant pace.

EDIT: I will say, I don't think I ever intended for Sett to hand his bag over. Then again, I don't recall exactly what my intent was at the time of writing up how he handed over all his weaponry... would the bags have been confiscated too, PH?
'Wait- wait wait wait wait wait,' Sett called to the retreating bear-shifter and knight, and less so to everyone else intent on walking off, 'I'm nearly done with the ritual circle!' Indeed, he'd been quite busy indeed as the conversation had continued, and what seemed to be a surprisingly elaborate circle of runes had been scratched into the dirt outside, reading and waiting for him to speak the words to call forth the favour of the gods. More accurately, the favour of Fineki, but they didn't need to know that.

Ultimately, whether or not Ursaren and Nicademus came back, Settionne would stand in the center of the circle in question, stick of fancy ritual activity raised high, and call forth as he moved in a twisting, yet measured fashion: 'Almighty gods! I beseech thee, lend me your ears! I seek out your favour, for this party of many, whose near future may well be fraught with peril; I pray that you shall offer us your blessings, that we shall be gifted your favour, and that we shall be kept safe from future harms! PLEASE, O GODS, LEND US YOUR POWER!' As he screamed this final word out, he knelt down and slammed the stick point-first into the ground dramatically, as if to truly activate the circle's power.

Really, though, everything other than the circle and the fact he needed to say something was pomp designed to mislead, at least to his knowledge. From what he'd been taught, the circle itself was merely a connection to Fineki, in theory conveying the general message of "please help me and the other people I have in mind with a blessing of luck" no matter how he said it; so far as Sett knew, he could literally burble out gibberish, and the circle's effects would still activate. That was, if Fineki felt like helping. The god of luck was fickle, of course, as was to be expected, and Sett fully accepted that maybe he wasn't going to offer anything at all, but... what could he say? He'd been having a streak of good luck recently.

@POOHEAD189@Gardevoiran@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@Stormflyx@Mortarion
Hey, so when did we go back inside the inn? I thought we were all standing just out front?
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