Burger

Reborn: Coming of Calamity

When asked by Ahmya about the court, Yda gave a polite answer alongside a correction.

"The young master isn't the duke. The Lord Corbain, his father, is. He's beholden to the king. The court is an expression for nobles around here. It's mostly about the political theater that nobles go through."

Cinder's question of animals was met with another polite answer.

"Most animals around here are pretty docile. Rabbits, deer, birds. Bears and wolves occasionally. Monsters are repelled, so it's safe in that regard. I still wouldn't recommend you going without a guard. The bears here are really something."

Once they stepped out of the forest pass and into the clearing where the fortress resided, Ahmya had asked Yda a considerably important question. Again, her answer was polite. Not extraordinarily friendly or unfriendly, but polite.

"Washroom is inside, first floor, fifth door on the left side of the left hallway for women. Men's is on the right. after you enter the foyer."

Orsender had then asked Yda about food. Food was always important. After all, soldiers (of the gods, in this case) traveled on their stomachs. Suddenly falling from the sky and smashing into the ground at mach 3 had a tendency to awaken the stomachs of those who hadn't eaten in, well, forever.

"As for food, ask the servants. He'll tell the cook to get you guests a meal."

As the large oni began to size Yda up, the disinterested knight suddenly glared directly into his eyes. From relaxing, glancing at the landscape and closing her eyes, she had aggressively made eye contact with him almost exactly when he began to think about a fight. Almost instantly, she went back to a more laid back and lackadaisical expression (as far as a knight could go, really).

Meanwhile, Annalee had went ahead and entered the residence first. Revealed to her (and by extension anyone else who entered) was a grand foyer. Above her, a crystalline chandelier filled with illuminating magic stones cast light into the crevices that sunlight couldn't reach. The floor was covered in ornate tiles, rough from years of walking but still maintained well. Two round stairs formed a circle leading up to the second floor. To the left and right, a hallway. To the front, a great, ornate door shut tight. Next to one of the six half-pillars holding a vase, a suited old man with small, round glasses on the bridge of his nose rubbed dust off of a vase.

"Ah," the old man replied to her sudden vote. His voice was hoarse from years of speaking. "I shall fetch a meal for our guest...s."

Orsender freely entered the residence as the old man spoke, nothing to stop his aggressive entry. Not that anything would, except for maybe a door jam. Annalee would have had to bust through it first, if that was the case. While initially startled by the sudden appearance of the oni, his wizened experience (or perhaps reaching the age that danger no longer phased him) kicked in and he went straight back to business. The old man gave a bow to the guests and walked down the right hallway.

Before she entered, Sayako's paranoia resulted in little more than almost stumbling over a few roots. Her attempt at visual intimidation for free booze had resulted in little more than a feeling of staring at a brick wall.

"You can ask someone inside for that."

It was still polite. Not friendly in the slightest, though.

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Operation: Ground the Harpy

Character Sheet

_{||| Name}

"Lilliane Alan"

_{||| Female}

Female

_{||| Age}

"Rude... don't you think?"

_{||| Stand}

Future History

_{||| Appearance}

At a short 5'0" with a lithe figure, it's no surprise that Lilliane is able to become the center of attention with a bombastic, self-confident demeanor only to vanish from the public eye whenever she needs to. Her hair is a pale cool blonde, often styled roughly unless the situation demands it. Similarly, her amber eyes have a rough, sharp look to them. Unless she's trying to blend in, her attire usually consists of eye-grabbing suits under a fur collar overcoat. The range of suits she wears is extraordinary, breaking most conventions of fashion.

_{||| Skills}

Lilliane could be considered a master-class actor, slipping in and out of personas at a drop of a hat. In fact, it's unknown if her "Lilliane" persona is her real self. She's also good at most job skills, sewing especially. Anything that a woman in the 1920s could be employed for, which wasn't much, she's capable at. Another talent is that, no matter where she is, she knows someone. Guns? She knows someone. Ammo? Easy. Phonograph record of the St. Louis Blues? It was in her pocket the whole time. She has a tendency to identify most things after a quick glance and retains information like a sponge of infinite size. As long as the sounds don't overlap too much, she can even count the bullets of an MP40. She's also fairly athletic and, while not trained in any sort of traditional way of combat, can handle herself in most situations. She can speak most languages in Europe. Like a magician, she can change her clothes incredibly fast.

Skills:
_{||| Equipment}

Lilliane carries a strange sewing kit with her. It's more of a sewing arsenal, with hundreds of pins, a dozen needles, and strange large needles with wood handles. It also contains an extremely potent glue. She also has a lighter, a single cigarette, and a flask of scotch on her at all times. Oddly enough, she always has another change of clothes at hand, though it's unknown where she holds them.

_{||| History}

Shrouded in mystery, Lilliane is an enigmatic figure. Even the government that she works for doesn't quite understand her exact story. What she would tell others is that she was born "a long time ago" and grew up in a destitute household where they starved nearly every day, which is why she's so short. In her teenage years, she was "adopted" from that household and put under the eye of England's government. Despite her "simple" upbringing, she was incredibly talented when it came to learning. She could pick up skills like a sponge, learn new languages in weeks, and more. She was immediately trained in order to seem "Like those blokes across the St. George" and was sent over as a spy.

And she was damn good at it.

She did her job well, but eventually that place gained their independence after a war. Britain decided to keep her there for a while. Then they decided to ship her over to another place to give word over the rise of fascism and to give Britain word if they were to be a threat to the king's interests. That adventure... didn't quite go so well. To cut a long story short, she lived but the house she was in had been turned to a charred husk. She returned to Britain, as they had a new job for her.

She was shipped into "a fairly occupied place" the second the Blitzkrieg began. With the objective to support the local resistance in case they arise and relay any sensitive information back to Britain, she began her duties.

_{||| Other}

Her name comes from Lily Alan, the singer.
joseph joestar is the only joestar that beat the final antagonist with PURE STRATEGY so he's my favourite and therefore the best

Stand Sheet

_{||| Stand Name}

Future History

_{||| Stand Parameters}

Destructive Power: D
Speed: C
Range: C
Persistence: B
Precision: A
Developmental Potential: D

_{||| Stand Description}

Covered in an amalgam of armour, Future History's appearance is chaotic. Its head resembles a horned full face helmet coloured a tarnished iron. It's shattered and broken in such a way that reveals a single eye that is unable to blink inside of a golden skull. Golden orbs hang off of the helmet's horns, held on by copper wire. Its torso is that of a golden skeleton mostly covered by an angular overcoat, open at the middle to show the skeletal frame. Golden rings form the neck of Future History. Its arms are two long segments, connected with thick black wires where the joints should be. The legs are similar, with both having each segment's length equal to the length of the entirety of an arm. Golden bangles are attached on the wrist and the shoulder, accentuating the long figure and large, clawed hands. The upper arm and leg resembles slats of metal bend and connected to a tube, while the lower arm and leg resemble a dark, tarnished lead.

_{||| Power Description}

The most apt way to describe Future History's power would be「Disassembly」. By having the stand touch an object, it removes every mechanical bond it may have. The tighter the bond, the longer and more violent the disassembly will be. A gun would be reduced to its most basic components as the slide slings forward and every spring and component leaps out of the frame. A car would have every screw sling out, reducing it to a frame gliding on the ground and each tire going their own way. A knife would have the blade fly out of the handle at a ludicrous speed. However, a shirt made from a single wool thread would be immune to the power. The same would go to a concrete wall, as both would technically be considered as a single component. Living things, for better or worse, can't be dismantled. If it could, that'd probably be a war crime.

_{||| Other}

The name references The Future of History by Tropical Fuck Storm.

Altera: Of the Destitute and the Destined

Warm; that was the feeling Renauld had nearly forgotten.

Even though he was barely conscious enough to think, he could freely move his fingers. The winter winds of the previous days made it almost impossible for him to do even the simplest tasks of grasping a staff. His face regained feeling, apparent from the sudden slap his unrestrained body let out as he tried to scratch his face. He was alive, that was for certain. Taking his self-inflicted hit in stride, he went to rub his eyes. As he cleared the crust that had formed on his eyes, the back of his hand became wet with whatever was left on his face.

That dream he had was alien, but familiar. He couldn't recall it. He couldn't remember. Did he even want to remember?

Wiping the old tears from his face, he took a deep breath as he sat up from the bed. Hunger pangs slowed him. He was the first one awake. At least, out of the ones in the room. Muu got sick and was nowhere to be found. Ettamri was also gone, but more likely for different reasons. The rest were still resting in their bed. His own stuff had been placed by the bedside. After quietly (or as quiet as you could on a pile of straw) getting up and making the bed, he collected his things and formed them into a stereotypical hobo pack. The outer layer of his 5-days-wet clothes had finally been dried and was now being used as a shell to carry his things in a fortress. In a safer city in a different time, he probably could have just left his stuff by the bed until someone else needed to use it. In Andeave, you kept your shit on you. Plus, it was really only his winter wear. His armour consisted of crossing one's fingers and allies to place between you and the enemy.

Not wishing to wake the other party members, he stepped out of the room and, following his simple lizard brain, went towards the pleasant smell.

Altera: Of the Destitute and the Destined

After a good night's rest, Renauld's manhood was without doubt still working. Though, he wouldn't dare to peer inside his own trousers. The fear of what colour it might had been was too much for his mind. Some things were better left unseen. If the soreness of his nether regions was any indicator, he wouldn't like what he would see.

His morning preparations were as simple and easy as they always were. Wake up, try to become slightly more comfortable, and eat what he could stomach. Really, the only difference this morning was that he didn't wake up covered in snow. Whether or not his lumballgo was better or worse was a question he still had to dote on.

Leaving their camp and heading fortward was unpleasant, as always. Trawling through an eternity of snow uphill was painful, especially around his injury. Though, being met with a gaping chasm was the break his aching body needed. Kind of messed up, if you thought about it.

Renauld's ice bridge idea came to mind again. Thinking about it on a river was bad enough. Now on a longer distance with nothing but one misstep would end up in the entire group plummeting to their deaths?

Maybe not. If he was a talented, high level mage maybe. But a mage at that caliber would probably do more than just deliver grain to a fort.

"The chasm has to end somewhere, right?" He told the group. "It's not like the entire continent is split in two here. If this is the right way."

The Hunter's Club

Following Sorano was pretty easy. Her brisk pace was nothing compared to her own menace of a hallway ass hustling. In fact, it was actually considerably slower. Though the speed at which she left the classroom was noteworthy. Usually, people stood around for a considerable amount of time, like some sort middle-class family that had just finished their meal at a restaurant. The jeep that Sorano took the two of them two was similar to her, in some respects. It was probably chosen for purely its utility. But it was pretty weird how there was one in Ayabukuro, considering how rare import cars were. It would have probably made sense to use a T*yota H*lux. Those things were even used in wars.

Of course, her ground rules were simple. Don't be turd was a pretty easy instruction to follow. Yayoi may have been a slob, but she wasn't a goober that disregarded all rules.

After a brief crumb dust-off outside, she entered the backseat of the jeep. She was instantly greeted by the hardhitting disrespect of the punk. In an effort of not getting booted from the car, she put on the seatbelt and lifted her hands up in surrender. It was as if she was saying "I have nothing to do with this man". Though, her face still looked as though she were a dead fish. Body language was hard when one's face constantly was the visual representation of white noise.

The Hunter's Club

"Pickled plum and spicy marinara fell out of production a month ago," she corrected Keiji with a mouthful of crumbs. As she spoke, the now truly empty bag slipped off, resulting in Yayoi snatching it out of the air. Back into her front pouch it went, as though she was some kind of garbage kangaroo.

The old man teacher introduced himself and declared himself as a nega-fan of routine introductions. Thank goodness, Yayoi thought. If she had to sit through one more of those games where someone introduces and says a fact about themselves and then everyone else had to repeat it, she would have straight up dipped until it was over. With such a simple introduction out of the way, it was apparent that they were going out of a job as soon as possible.

Well, that was a rapid pace. Not much time to sit down and enjoy the roses. While she received a handout, she didn't put in much effort to read. Beat up Yokai that refuse to cooperate, that was the only official instruction that she needed.

Despite her fear of Sorano, she still needed a ride. The last time she went on public transit, she woke up two hours away from her destination. If the limited edition flavour of 'extreme caffeine chocolate marshmallow cream blitz' canned coffee didn't have its reputation of being pure caffeine mixed with sugar, they might have run out by the time she arrived at the mall.

"Yes, me." Yayoi answered Sorano. While being utter emasculated by the sheer amount of effort Sorano put in, Yayoi would not refuse a free ride.

Altera: Of the Destitute and the Destined

It was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the worst pain of his life. The moment Muu's leg met Renauld's manhood, what felt like a bolt of lightning passed through his body. It struck his gut first. By some miracle, he managed to keep the ass-meat down. Then it moved to his lungs. He released a great exhalation as his spine crumpled and he fell towards the water. Next was his ears, which had their natural hearing replaced by a deafening ringing. Then his brain no word good.

There was no pride to be had to tough this one out. Any male would understand the pain he was in.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. The shriek of pain quickly vanished as his face slumped into the hot water. Muffled gargling rose from the bubbling water. His tears mixed with the hot spring's water. Once he had finally run out of breath, he had managed the willpower to surface.

Miraculously, he didn't become a eunuch. His balls managed to not fall out of his mouth when he screamed. Thankfully, Argen came along and dragged him to the edge of the hot spring to ensure he didn't drown from ball trauma related drowning.

After Muu offered her half-hearted apology, Renauld simply nodded to her. As much as he tried to say "It's okay, it was an accident", he couldn't muster out the words. 50% because it wasn't okay because he was now suffering from getting his gnards pushed into his body, 50% because he physically couldn't speak without screaming again.

His mood in the hot springs had instantly soured. Rest and relaxation had been turned into nut nursing as he managed to crawl out of the pool and dry in the cold air. Back went on his garments and to the camp he went. He would assume his position by the fire once more, trying to take his mind off of his aching groin as asking a healer to assist was incredibly uncomfortable. Though, having a lap pillow from Muu supporting his head helped considerably. He was feeling as though he was kicked in the gnards.

Well, he was kicked in the gnards.

Reborn: Coming of Calamity

Orsender's inspection of the obelisk had revealed the numerous carvings etched in the square stone's surfaces. Formed from an odd grey stone, streaks of an opalescent blue shimmered against the light. Simple artwork depicting unknown events were visible, but too esoteric for one not versed in artifacts to understand. It wasn't a matter of cavemen drawing or abstraction. Rather, the obelisk was etched with thick, diagonal lines. The only thing that Orsender could make out within the complex imagery was that there was never an end. Like a corkscrew, the artwork stretched diagonally and rested ontop of itself. As the obelisk narrowed, the imagery only shrank. They also carried into the ground, making it unknown how large this pillar actually was.

Most odd about it all, he could feel the invisible hairs on his arm raise towards the obelisk.

After Orsender introduced himself, the young Lord's face instantly shifted once more. His sudden deviousness became obvious with his words. "Oh, but I wouldn't mind if you ate me..."

To those who paid attention to the still kowtowing Yda, they could visible see her shudder when he said those words. Luckily, they were unable to see her face. Cringing hard enough to form a singularity did not make for an appealing look.

As always, he quickly reverted to an amiable smile. When Cinder asked about the creepy skull guy for a second time, he remained his usual self for once.

"There are two gods that come to mind for having skulls. One of the tribal gods worshiped by the Oni and one of the kingdom's gods. Emet'etal is the patron of the hunt for many Oni tribes. He wears a deer skull on his head and carries a spear, but there really isn't much I can tell you about him. Most of the Oni's traditions are oral. The other is Yoraganos, who is the god of... He looked at the young Cinder. "Well, let's just say that he isn't exactly a god that would be interested in giving his blessing to any of you. But this fracturing... It's rare for a god to directly speak to someone. I might know someone who knows more about this, so I'll call him over."

With the final member introducing themself (and also saying that he wouldn't eat him), Siris paused. He looked to Sayako and, even if just barely, his smile increased and he gave her a subtle wink.

Every single alarm went off.

"Yda, lead these visitors to the estate if they so choose. They are free to cross our lands in the mean time. I still have some unfinished business around here, so don't wait for me."

"But young ma-"

"Also, please do not engage the bears. The bears around here are indeed 'shit'."

And with that, Siris gave a polite bow to the now-introduced strangers and mounted his horse. With a healthy gait, the horse trotted back onto a forest path with Siris not looking back.

Yda rose from her grovelling and gave the young lord's back a blank stare of contempt and defeat. Taking a deep breath, her mood instantly shifted from worried-guard to amiable host. It was actually kind of gross to see her suddenly shift from 'Oi, lezzgo kill all da oni' to 'Dearie me, welcome to our estate~'. The act would have probably been better had she not possessed twigs in her hair.

"Well, if you so choose, you may follow me for some rest at the estate. It's merely a short walk away."

With that, she turned her back to the group and walked on a forest path opposite of the way Siris went.

The path was to the estate was pleasant, to say the least. Sun danced between the leaves as wind blew through the trees. Despite the overgrown nature of the forest, the path had been used enough to keep a solid and firm dirt foundation. Peaceful was really the only way to describe it. But the trees, grass, and brush that stood at your side soon made way as a great stone manor came into view. In the middle of a cleared section of the forest, the manor sat. To those who cared about architecture back on their old world, the manor resembled one from the 16th century. Its stone walls were clear of any sign of age. The many windows were filled with geometric diamonds. The size of it all, however, was what made it so impressive. It was practically a fortress in the middle of nowhere.

"The house staff will take care of you if you so care. I will remain outside, should you need me for anything."

The Hunter's Club

The Hunter's Club

The distinct crunch of potato chips and wrinkling of a foil bag filled Yayoi's ears. As the sun beamed down on her, she pondered the same two questions she always had. First, why was snacking on the school's rooftop exit always so enjoyable? Second (and more importantly), why were chili squid chicken and beef potato chips top tier? In fact, they were so good that Yayoi always kept a bag of them in her pack. Maybe it was the spiciness of it all, or perhaps the fact that it contained the power of the sea, sky, and land. Whatever the case was, the local conbini always contained had a shelf full of them. It was as though nobody ever bought them, but that couldn't be the case, right? They were good chips.

As she munched and lounged, she suddenly shot up. Wasn't she supposed to be at her club? She took a deep breath and put the mostly empty back in her pack.

Hopping off of the rooftop exit, she hit the ground running. Instantly performing a 180, she flung open the door and stormed down the stairs. Like a movie straight out of the good-vibe 80's, she slid down the railings on her posterior. Though, that was less because she was in a rush and more because it was fun. Seeing Yayoi storm through the school wasn't a new sight for the students. It usually only happened at lunch time, especially on days where they sold the mint chocolate chip and condensed milk yakisoba jumbo melon bread. Which was especially odd, since she was the only person who actually bought it.

The path to the club was filled with students shuffling to their own club after the schoolday was over.. By now, most of the students learned to get out of the way when they heard the telltale clapping and screeching of her shoes. Those who didn't were suddenly surprised by a flying Yayoi, leaping onto the ground to avoid them, only to get up and keep running. In fact, she did that twice to two freshman on the way over, landing on her pack with a unique crunch.

Her mad dashing wasn't panic, no siree. It was 100% pure and unmitigated efficiency in moving from one location to another.

When she finally reached the door, her rush instantly vanished. She carefully opened the door to an unfamiliar figure sitting where their mentor should have been.

Yayoi stared at him for a brief moment. As always, it was like a fish staring at one while in its throes of death.

And, just as slow and carefully as she opened the door, she shut it and took a few steps back. That certainly was new. Did she have the right club? It was unusual of her to mistake the entrance of her club, considering how she'd been opening the same door for the past two years. She gave the entrance an ocular pat down. It was the same as it always was, which was weird.

She carefully opened the door a second time, but stuck her head in and peered towards the students in the room. Familiar faces. She had the right room after all.

With a shrug, she walked in to her usual seat. Always exactly two seats behind Sorano. The reason? Avoidance, mostly. The pure, unadulterated lounging that Yayoi did was the exact opposite of her. Just being in her field of view made the young Kon feel pretty self-conscious about her actions. If Sorano was a hard type A, Yayoi was a type _^b. With a lazy peace sign shot to the teacher, Yayoi was finished her greetings to him. There were definitely new faces in the club. Well, that didn't really matter. What did matter was her bag of chips. She reached over into her front pack and pulled out the open—and now crushed—pack of chips. Now reduced to dust, she did what any aspiring patrician would do: lounge in her chair, place the foil bag over her face, and let the crumbs fall into her mouth.