The sleepy little town of Ravengro sits under darkened clouds. The weather seems like it could rain at any moment, yet it remains mercifully dry as the day progresses. There is a single church in the town, a small building established by a larger Pharasmin sect, and the occasional mournful ringing of the bell echoes across the area, where it can be heard shortly before the town comes into view. Despite this, there does not seem to be much activity from below; the occasional towns-person ambles from building to building, but relatively slow besides that. Today is the day of Lorrimor's funeral, the dull ringing of the bell signaling the occasion.
The temple of Pharasma, which is Ravengro's only religious structure and also it's most elaborate. Even from the distance, you can see a large stained glass window, through which the limited sunlight is reflecting.
The scene inside the church is subtle, yet appropriate. No music plays; the only sound is the gentle murmur from some of the guests (of which there are surprisingly few), and the bell above. In the front, directly opposite of the doors, sits a closed mahogany casket, flanked on either side by a lovely bouquet of yellow flowers.
In the front row of the pews sits a trim and attractive young lady, dressed in dark and conservative clothes. Every so often, her face contorts in grief, although it is clear that she is trying her best to maintain her composure.
Behind her sits a middle-aged looking man, who although dressed in dark clothing as well, maintains a sword sheathed on his hip. In the seats across the aisle from him sits a portly man wearing glasses, an apparent scholar himself.
One row back, a young man sits. His dark black hair is parted fancifully, giving him a well-kept look for such an event. Two rows behind him sits an older gentleman, whose layman's clothes are stained with numerous black splotches and messes that you cannot place. Finally, in the far corner, there is a young woodsman; his face is unshaven, and though his clothes are nothing spectacular, it is apparent he's put in the effort to look nice.
However, it appears as though more guests are just about to arrive.
The map for the funeral seating is as follows, the numbers correspond to the people as they are described:
Ustalav is currently suffering through the worst storm it has seen in years. The rain pours torrentially, the night is pitch black, and the twisting road is empty.
Almost.
A flash of lightning illuminates the form of a small two-wheeled carriage, which rolls nervously down the muddy road. Within the carriage sit two figures, an elderly looking gentleman – clearly a scholar by the books he carries and the spectacles which sit on the brim of his nose – and the second is a dainty young woman, whose eyes sparkle with light, and whose facial features are slightly similar to the man she sits across from.
The scholar speaks up first, his voice authoritative but kind. “Have no fear Kendra, we’re almost there.”
“I’m not afraid. It’s just a storm, the rain can’t hurt us!” comes the reply: a small, dainty voice to match the small, dainty frame.
“You would be wise to heed the signs of the weather, my dear. When the gods send dark omens, it is said that dark things walk in the night!”
“Oh come on father, you don’t actually believe that! I know you’re simply trying to give me the spooks. ‘Observation over superstition’, isn’t that what you always say?”
“Mmmm. I do say that frequently, don’t I. But there are other things that-” He says, his thought left unfinished as the carriage draws to a halt, and the driver indicates that they have reached their destination – a warm and pleasant inn, whose sign reads ‘The Open Book’.
Keen to exit the storm, the professor and his daughter shuffle into the inn. Their bags are quickly taken, as the scholar is expected here tonight, and the travelers make their way into the back room of the inn. Here, a roaring fire, leather chairs, and three additional figures wait for them. There appears to be an argument in process as the scholar and his daughter arrive.
Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say you are clearly not the man your father was! He would never have used such a tone with me. Lodge or no lodge.” This voice, angry and offended, comes from a stern elderly lady with pursed lips, her hair in a bob, and icy blue eyes, which glare at the apparent offending party; a slight and spry man with dirty spectacles, somewhat disheveled himself.
“What you think of my tone is irrelevant, it’s the outcomes that matter, and my logic cannot be denied especially when my contacts within the clan clearly report that-”
Both voices fall silent as it is noticed that there are two other people present. The elderly lady speaks first, her tone quite clearly brash and scolding.
“You’re late, Petros. Why are you always late? It’s terribly disrespectful. You have missed much of the discussion already.”
“My apologies to all three of you,” the scholar states, giving a slight bow. “There was some…’research’ that could not wait.”
“Yes, well, the rest of us have commitments as well. This must be your daughter, then. Are you not going to introduce her, Professor?”
The Professor opens his mouth to speak, but not a word comes out before the young lady speaks for him.
“If it pleases you, m’lady, and sirs, my name is Kendra and I am quite capable of introducing myself. I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of your names.”
“And you will not, young lady.” Speaks the final voice, belonging to a tall, stocky aristocratic man, who swirls his wine disinterestedly. “Professor, send this child to bed. We have matters to discuss.”
“My good lord, I was hoping that this evening may be an opportunity to introduce-”
He is interrupted by the aristocrat before he can finish his sentence. “Out of the question. Not tonight, not any other night. These are weighty matters, not games for infants.”
The Professor once again opens his mouth, but is once again stopped by his daughter before he can speak.
“Save your breath father. I can clearly see when I am not wanted. Good night sirs, madam. I hope your ‘weighty matters’ do not require the application of manners to solve, or else we should all be in for a dark day indeed.”
She kisses her father on the cheek and leaves, her huffing sighs indicating her anger. Beside her chair, her wine sits undrunk.
After a long silence, it is once again the elderly lady that speaks up first, “Good heavens, what nonsense. Now, do sit down Petros, and tell us all of your findings.”
“Quite.” adds the disheveled man. “Leave no stone unturned, and no tree unbranched. I am all eyes and ears as well.”
At the request, the professor does indeed sit down. He sets his wine on a nearby stand, drawing a stack of papers from his case. He talks for quite a long time, and his topics seem to reach all possible fields of study; making reference to the papers, showing charts, calculations, maps (of both the land, sea, and star variety), inventories of foreign places, itineraries of people both alive and long dead, notes from a diary, more calculations and then extrapolations with reference to calendars (both current and past), and finally some hand-written scrawls from the charred remains of an old spell book.
He concludes his excessively long discourse by flailing his hands in a dramatic fashion to indicate a point of great importance to him, knocking over both his and the other full goblets of wine nearby, sending them splashing all over the oak floor and across the long evening dress of the elderly woman.
“Oh for goodness sake man, be careful,” She says, her voice more disgusted than angry.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Terribly sorry! My apologies, I will buy you a new dress, I promise. Here, I actually have some coins with me tonight,” says the Professor, fumbling for his coin pouch.
The elderly woman interrupts him, brushing herself off and sitting back down in her seat, most of the wine already stained into the fabric of her clothing. “Put your money away, you old nincompoop. At least you missed the maps, for what it’s worth.”
“For what it’s worth?” speaks the Professor, his tone almost offended. “What do you mean? You see the pattern! Surely you realize we must act now, before it’s too late!”
“Now Petros, let’s be calm over this.”
“Let’s be frank instead,” says the aristocrat, standing from his seat. “What you have here is hogwash, professor. Hogwash and hokum. All you’ve shown us is conjecture, unconnected occurrence and fancy. The plural of anecdote is not theorem, and this sir – this is not evidence.”
His voice rises in anger as he speaks. “I have the denizens of the night practically running my city – my city! – and you want me to divert resources to this... this treasure hunt. Pah!” He finishes with a dismissive gesture, burying himself into his wine.
“But the math… the equations demonstrate the proof. They show the connections. Admittedly, there are a few holes yes, but they have been very careful to cover their tracks. This is all that was left. Estov, you followed the numbers, surely you must agree.”
The disheveled man sits in his chair, hand on his chin and eyes closed in contemplation, giving the Professor nothing but a short “Hmmm…”
“Is that a yes?”
“No, it was a ‘hmmm’,” speaks the man, opening his eyes to address the Professor. “A ‘hmmm’ is very different than a ‘yes’. Not quite the opposite, but certainly not equal. I find myself agreeing with his Lordship. Not on all the various…'colorful’ terms with which he describes your lecture, but in your prescribed course of action. A scatter-shot approach is a waste of resources, and will not provide results. Besides, I have other interests I am pursuing at present. Still, I enjoyed the discourse, I’ll give you that.”
“Then I’ve wasted my time. None of you will listen,” The Professor says angrily, a slight hint of dejection in his voice.
“Now, now, professor; that’s not entirely true. There is still me.”
“But… the wine… your dress…”
“Oh stuff the wine, you nonce!” the elderly woman nearly shouts. “If what you say is true, the risks of not acting… They are too great…”
“So you will help?” There is a sudden hopefulness to the Professor’s words as he says this, his voice perking up nearly as much as his stooped form does.
“I must confess…I’m not sure. Despite everything you’ve shown, there is little direct evidence. Plus, the third ingredient you mention, a tortured spirit that still retains its goodness…it’s unlike anything we’ve ever heard of. Perhaps if you had more evidence, a lead, perhaps a trail to follow…then I could help.”
The Professor pauses for a moment, thinking, before speaking up. “I could do that. I still have some clues to pursue. Ravengro, there is some connection to Ravengro, I’m sure of it.”
The aristocrat nearly chokes on his wine at this point, chuckling heartily. “That dead-end of a village. Ha! Not likely. That is a village of fools and liars.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll prove it to all of you!” the Professor exclaims, a resolute determination in his voice despite the mockery flung at him.
“I’ll drink to that! says the disheveled man, raising his tankard in a mocking gesture. “To a futile quest driven by nobility of thought and stubbornness of ideas!”
The elderly woman sits quietly and purses her lips as the aristocrat turns around to look out a window, shaking his head. The Professor quickly gathers up his notes and files them away, turning back towards the group.
“Ravengro. Ravengro it is. I’ll call another meeting when I have more proof. I will make as much haste as I possibly can. Until next time, friends. Ab Sek, Abet Sahu.”
ℜ𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔬 | 5𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔬𝔳𝔞, 4711 | 1530
The flickering light of a candle illuminates the oaken desk that is currently in use. At it, a dainty woman sits with quill in hand, her eyes red and puffy, as she scrawls out a letter. She’d found herself writing far too many of these letters recently, trying to reach out to her father’s old friends and acquaintances. She’d have to assume that the locations and methods of delivery left in the old man’s notes would lead the envelopes to their destinations. Some of them were most peculiar, but he’d left her the funds and methods of doing it, at least.
He really did seem to think of everything.
These letters were different, however. These were being written on the behest of Councilman Vashin, who had most certainly been left his own set of instructions, she’d wager. The names she had before her (which also had their own methods for delivery) all shared one thing, and in fact, her own name also shared this. Petros had mentioned all of them, by name, in his will. It was this list of people that the Councilman had personally delivered, despite his general distrust of outsiders being involved in Ravengro affairs.
It wasn’t surprising for her to be named of course, but the rest of these people she hadn’t even heard of. Her father would usually spin wild tales of his adventures, but it seemed like these names had never come up. Or if they had, it was astoundingly infrequent.
She finished the last one, dipping her quill back into the inkwell. They were ready to be delivered, and she dared not read over them again, for fear of sending herself into another teary fit. Even thinking about the news these letters delivered was starting to make her eyes well up.
Within the day, they’d all been sent out via their respective means. She'd have to hope that the detailed instructions the Councilman had been left with would be up to date.
Dear Friend,
I hope this letter finds you well.
It is with great regret that must advise you of the passing of my father, Professor Petros Lorrimor. I have been tasked by Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, the executor of my father’s will, to summon you as you have been named in that document.
This came as a great surprise to me, never having met you, however if my father held you in high esteem enough to be a beneficiary of his estate, then I can only assume you must be of good character. Consequently I hearby extend an invitation for you to stay at my home in Ravengro while you attend the funeral and subsequent reading of the will. It is the least that I can offer in these sad times.
I have made arrangements for the funeral to occur on the 12th day of Rova, 4711, and that the reading of my father’s final Will and Testament will occur later that afternoon. I look forward to meeting you and hearing stories of my father’s exploits.
Considering the overall feeling of new that pervaded virtually everything about being in a guild, Liv had to admit that they were doing well. Sort of. As well as two people crammed into one body could do. The girl tapped her fingers onto solid wood, a poor method of seeming occupied while not actually being occupied at best, a dead giveaway to the fact that she was wildly unfocused on her surroundings at worst.
'I thought being in a guild was supposed to keep us busy.'
'It was.' came the reply from inside her own head. Vitus, her ever-present peanut gallery and semi-frequent sounding board for inane thoughts. 'But it's almost time for the yearly festival; even the highwaymen and general riff-raff take a break to get ready for it.'
'Of course, there'll be pickpockets and swindlers out the ass when it starts, so maybe it'll pick back up around then. Try to keep a hold of our coinpouch, will ya?'
'Hmm, think we'd get in trouble if I happened to 'defend' myself against one?' Her fingers tapped the wooden surface again, this time with noticeably more force than before. It was hard for Liv to keep a low profile, but to keep a low profile and be robbed of frequent activity was borderline torture. 'I haven't forged a weapon in aaaaages.'
'Defending yourself probably wouldn't normally be a problem. However, I've seen the way you defend yourself. They might have an issue if they have to clean a pickpocket off the streets with a wet rag.
But hey, I've not been bored. You fall down the stairs enough to keep me busy. And I can never tell if that smell is your body starting to rot, or your terrible bathing habits.'. If there was a mental equivalent to a smirk, Liv could probably feel it in the part of her brain Vitus lived in.
I seem to remember all those stair incidents being your fault sir 'can't-walk-straight.'' The mental roll of the eyes was accompanied by a physical one quickly hidden away by the act of a very deliberate blink. And my bathing habits worked out fine for you before we got here.' Not that Liv spent especially long trying to find the nicest smelling soaps--if it cleaned her, it was enough, better still if it managed to keep bugs off their cold, dead body. Her fingers drummed against the wood again.
'Besides, it's not like I've gotten any blood on us recently.'
'Your legs are short.' Vitus replied, his tone remaining smug. 'And yeah. Not on us. Everybody around us though, that's a waaaay different story!'
'You say that like it's a bad th--' Before the pale-haired girl could finish the retort, her attention was forcefully redirected by shouted commands. Well, maybe she wouldn't be so bored after all. Sweeping a few unruly locks over her shoulder, Liv adjusted her scalemail before moving toward the call. C- and D-Ranks--that included the dynamic duo, she supposed.
Listening to the brief explanation, there was no doubt about what Liv wanted to do.
'We're going to the burrows.'
'I'm shocked. Truly. Surprised beyond measure.'
A pause. Wait, if a ship crashed, and had goods on it... 'Unleeeess...'
'There you go. Using your noggin' for once, and I didn't even have to say anything. My little Liv, all grown up and not being a dumbshit.'
There was a slight pause before Vitus continued, as if waiting for Liv to explode. 'Plus, we really don't have to breathe. Would make underwater recovery far easier.'
"And think of all the fish we can get in the process." Not something that her homelands had in abundance, but something that Liv had taken great pleasure in. Carefully stepping around a few people, Liv raised her physical voice, the words accompanied by a quick motion of the hand. "One more for the ship over here."
'Bleuck' came Vitus's reply, a mixture of disgust and displeasure. He wasn't exactly a fan of seafood, which was an absolute treasure because Liv seemed to love the stuff. A circumstance that made sharing the same tongue annoying as all hell.
'Between you and the mascot, this little operation of ours is about to be 50% small, adorable children.' Vitus scoffed, making sure to put extra emphasis on 'adorable', if only to irritate Liv.
'Yeah, I sure was adorable when I ran you through.'
'I couldn't tell, I was too busy scorching you to death. Which I probably wouldn't have done if I'd known how many souls I'd have to blow to fix that'
'Harhar. Better this one than the mess yours ended up as.' Liv settled into place, her expression surprisingly well kept despite the bickering in her head. A distant part of her wondered if a telepath would have had a field day with their situation, but the adventurer didn't linger on the thought. Better things to do.
"Pretty sure we could use someone particularly hardy over here."
'Pshhh. Hardy. All we've got around here is 'hardy hardy har', if you ask me...'
Professor Petros Lorrimor is an astoundingly gifted scholar, versed in more research and topics than most people can count. He's been all around Ustalav, and in fact has been to most of the places on Golarion that are accessible by mortal men. If there's a topic that someone needs to know about, or a discussion that someone needs a source for, it would be Petros.
Kendra Lorrimor lives in the town of Ravengro in the Canterwall county of the nation of Ustalav in a modest home to the south of the town, which she has just inherited, from her father, the late Professor Petros Lorrimor. She was 25 years old when her father died and, at that point, had lived in Ravengro for fifteen years of her life after her father had moved to the town on retirement from the University of Lepidstadt. In appearance, she is slim and attractive and has an acquiring mind: Kendra is skilled in seven languages, including three languages of ancient Golarion. Now her father is has passed, her wish to see more of the world may be a possibility.
Tales are told throughout Golarion of shadowy figures that lurk in dark corners—stories recounted at children’s bedsides feature bestial creatures that come out only when the moon is right, and fireside legends speak of otherworldly beings beyond reckoning, whose very existence is more than the human mind can bear to know.
These are the legends that explain where the blood of the family cow went, and why clerics spend so much time ensuring the proper Pharasmin rites are observed at gravesites throughout the Inner Sea. One can write them off as simple, scary stories in Absalom or Westcrown, but in Ustalav, everyone knows the truth of the things that go bump in the night.
The Immortal Principality of Ustalav lies on the northern shore of Lake Encarthan, a grim bastion of civilization amid the barbarian north, where a harsh landscape and a history rich in tragedies inspire a wary population with skepticism, religious devotion, and superstition. A conglomeration of loosely aff iliated counties, each run by feuding nobles vying for power and influence, Ustalav is a pitiful shell of its former glory, before it was subjugated to centuries of slavery at the hands of the Whispering Tyrant’s undead armies. While the nation’s upper classes struggle to compete with the very nations that abandoned them to fend for themselves after the Whispering Tyrant’s defeat, the average Ustalavic citizen has it much worse. Hundreds of years of subjugation and the residual horrors that plague the countryside have left the people of Ustalav suspicious of magic, religion, foreigners, and their fellow citizens. Beyond their eccentric and insular qualities, Ustalavs often have a dour worldview. They resign themselves to lives of suffering, seeing nothing in their people’s history to suggest there is any hope for a better life. Despite the physical and psychological strains upon its populace, Ustalav nevertheless fosters extremely hardy and tenacious stock: men and women who firmly believe that no matter how bad it gets, history shows it could always be worse.
Although Ustalav has little to offer its rural peasants, inhabitants of its many metropolitan cities fare somewhat better, and the centers of learning and culture they provide draw trade and travelers from throughout the Inner Sea region. The capital, Caliphas, stands on the banks of Lake Encarthan, and its fog-shrouded streets host some of the nation’s most esteemed centers of trade and academia. In the north, the city of Karcau boasts a thriving culture of music, theater, and other fine arts, and its opulent architecture rivals the excess of even the most exotic Taldan palace. Meanwhile, Ustalav’s northwestern counties have broken from aristocratic rule and formed their own local, democratic government without nobles, calling themselves the Palatinates and providing a glimmer of hope for the downtrodden people of provincial Ustalav.
The Ustalavic settlement of Ravengro is located in the west of the county of Canterwall, close to the contentious border with the Hold of Belkzen.
A small river, the Ravengro Creek, runs through the town, while an even smaller rivulet meets the Ravengro Creek just north of the southernmost bridge in the town. There are three bridges in the town: two span the Creek, one to the north and one to the south, while a third small wooden bridge runs over the rivulet.
To the north of the town lies the huge water of Lake Lias, locally called 'The Great Blue Dot'. To the south of the town is a hill upon which stands the ruins of the Harrowstone prison looming over the town.
Ravengro was founded in 4594 AR as a town for the people who worked at or supported the infamous Harrowstone prison and their families. At that time the county of Canterwall did not exist and Ravengro lay in the county of Tamrivena, ruled by the unpopular Count Eigen Lorres; it was the Count's idea to build a large prison at Ravengro that could house, for a fee, criminals from anywhere in Ustalav. This plan did indeed increase Lorres' popularity as other parts of Ustalav moved their prisoners to Harrowstone and money started to flow into the county in return.
In 4661 AR, a prisoner uprising led to Harrowstone prison being burnt down and all the prisoners and many of the staff, including the warden and his wife, were killed. The prison was never rebuilt and shortly thereafter, in 4670 AR, a bloodless coup occurred in Tamrivena bringing a new democracy to the county and to Ravengro. Many political historians see the fire at Harrowstone and its immediate neglect as one of the catalysts of the move to democracy in the county.
Today, Ravengro is an idyllic self-sufficient Ustalav town supporting a local farming community, and a smaller fishing community. The town predominantly produces wheat, barley and maize, with some fish from Lake Lias supplementing the local diet.
We are not accepting new players!
Welcome one, welcome all! Apologies for the slightly lack-luster 1st OOC post I've got kicking around here, I've never really written an OOC for a Tabletop Roleplay before, and much of what I would normally put here is discussed off forum. If you're one of my beautiful players, you can probably just skip all this and start befouling the OOC with your presence. If you're not, feel free to have a look around and enjoy yourself!
So, we're experimenting with forum based role-playing. Hopefully this won't be a great big trash fire, but it's always possible. I'm just gonna put down the basic guidelines here for easy access, any other in depth questions can be asked off-forum. Just shout at me or something. Throw a rock through my window. You guys know the drill.
Posting can be as big or as small as you want it to be. Depending on how things are progressing, I'll most likely wait for all parties to get a post through before throwing another IC post at you. Any interactions and such can be collabed out, even NPC interactions (standard business for us). Group exploration will likely also be thrown into a collab, and broken up when we start feeling pity on the scroll bar. We'll figure it out. Probably.
Combat will be played by ear; my current idea is to have any combat encounters as a collab as well, and then just post the whole thing once it's resolved. We'll see how that works, figure something else out if it doesn't.
Skill Checks and Dice Rolls can be rolled on the forum; there's a neat little dice function that you can pop open. General formatting with those will be to throw it all in a hider, and then link the roll using the convenient little link button:
Since this is a forum based roleplay, you'll probably see everything described with a bit more fluff than usual. Most times when things are actually happening and mechanics need to be involved, I'll translate it in a 'mechanics' hider for you guys:
Xample sneaks up behind the kobold, slashing her dagger deftly across it's back, cutting clean through the armor and piercing through the rough skin.
As I think of things or new rules are brought up, I'll throw them into here, but I'll also notify you guys. The whole goal of this is (cliched as it is) to have playing this. We're trying a new method of tabletopping, and there are going to be some bumps along the way and some kinks that need ironed out, but I'm sure we'll be fine!
[h3][u][color [CHAR COLOR]]Appearance[/color][/u][/h3] [hider][center][img]PUT YOUR FC LINK HERE[/img][/center][/hider] A short description of your appearance. Be as detailed or as not as you'd like.
[h3][u][color [CHAR COLOR]]Personality[/color][/u][/h3] As much or as little as you'd like. If you'd rather not fill this out and let it be shown IC, feel free to delete this section.
[h3][u][color [CHAR COLOR]]Backstory[/color][/u][/h3] Guess what: as much or as little as you'd like. My initial guesses say that there won't be quite as much opportunity for backstory revealing as you'd find in an actual forum RP, so keep that in mind (not to say you can't try though.) Include your relation to Professor Lorrimor in this.
[h3][u][color [CHAR COLOR]]Other[/color][/u][/h3] Anything else you think needs to be known. Feel free to throw a theme song in here if you've got one.
[url = {Link Your Character Sheet Here}] {CHAR NAME}'s Character Sheet [/url] [/hider]
We are unfortunately not taking character applications, sorry to say. However, if you’re interested in Carrion Crown or interested in tabletop roleplays and just want to follow along, feel free! Drop some comments in the OOC about how well our players are doing or how much you’re enjoying the narrative! We could all use some ego-boosting around here. Also, feel free to ask any of us questions; I can't guarantee that any of us will answer them, but feel free to ask anyway!
That being said; If you know Pathfinder or Carrion Crown like the back of your hand, definitely don’t be showing up like ‘You should do this!’ or ‘Do they know about the secret boss in the next room?’ That kind of thing is just rude and then I have to move the secret boss to a different room that’s too small for him. Don't come in here trying to influence the campaign, that's our job.
(We are using some variation rules and the like, so if things don’t match up, I’d really like it if you didn't jump me for what you think is an incorrect usage of rules.)
Other than that, grab a drink, sit back, feel free to watch!
It was his fault, honestly; he'd grown complacent, and now he was paying for it. A few weeks of only minor nightmares here and there had left him thinking that everything was fine. Now, as the cold sweat began to envelop his body, his dreaming mind was plagued by a guilty conscience yet again, taking the form of another night of terror for him.
The scenery was burned again, but this time it was somewhere less familiar to him. An empty road, with debris and bodies lying everywhere. Featureless, save for the burned out truck that was tipped on its side, still smoking gently in the warm breeze. There were ruined bodies scattered around it, all charred to a crisp. He didn't have to investigate to know who they were.
He was standing firm, pistol in his hand as he looked down at the man he was about to kill. The guy deserved this. Marcus was the judge, the jury, and the executioner here, his word was law and his actions were final.
Only...it wasn't the man he was pointing at anymore. It was himself. He was grinning up at himself, a look on his own face that frightened him to the core. He couldn't quite place it, but it was somewhere between insanity and...hunger.
"What would Callan think about this? Or Max? Or Dad?" The dream-self spoke, pushing his head against the barrel. "Do it. You don't feel anything, remember? Why are you hesitating? Nobody else would. Not Brent. Not Ernie. Aren't you gonna...?"
Before Marcus could answer, the figure had changed again. Siena, kneeling before the gun, wearing the same look upon her face.
"Do it. Make the sacrifice. Do it now or I will make you do it!"
The sentence was shouted at him as he froze, Dream-Siena's hands reaching up his gun. As much as he tried to pull it away, he couldn't...her fingers found their mark, and squeezed.
But the only sound was a soft voice.
"Why?"
Emma. Hole in her head, right where the barrel was pressed. The blood was running down, across her face, into her mouth.
"Why won't you let me go?"
All she did was look at him. Her expression wasn't hunger...it was sadness. Sadness and fear.
"Let me go." Dream-Emma repeated, her voice growing in volume until she was shrieking in pain.
"Let me go!" Firm hands pulled the trigger again, Emma's head snapping back in impact.
"Let me go!" Another shot, blasting another hole through her face as she looked up at him.
"LET ME GO!"
The volume of her yelling rose more and more until she was shouting at the top of her lungs, ending with her visceral screaming as it all faded away. As he watched in horror, Emma's screams were drowned out by silence, and he was only vaguely aware of the flames crawling over his face...
He lurched up in bed, breathing heavily as panicked tears threatened to well in his eyes. On his nightstand, his phone's screen was lit up. It must have been the notification that woke him. He rubbed his face, rolling towards the device and bringing it closer to his face to look at the screen.
23 Missed Calls. 7 New Voicemails. 1 New Message.
We're fine. I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last few weeks! I don't know where you guys are since you left D.C, so let me know you're at least alright. Tell whoever's in charge that they had better damn well let you call me when you get a chance, or Sammie and I are going to come looking for you!
He sighed in relief, sitting up in his bed. She was fine. Nothing had happened, it had just been terrible reception like he'd thought. He took a moment to gather himself, typing out a quick return message.
Sorry, we're at some sort of estate out on an island, and the phone reception is terrible. As soon as we get somewhere with better service, I'll call you immediately!
Message Failed to Send
He grumbled angrily. He'd have to remember to wander around in the morning, climb up a palm tree or something before Max flew a jet into the building. Setting the phone back on the stand, he laid his head back down on the pillow. The foggy images of his latest nightmare ran through his head again, Emma's screaming echoing in his mind like a catchy song. He involuntarily gave a small shudder, adjusting his position on the bed to stare up into the dark ceiling.
A warm glow outside his window was merciful enough to catch Marcus's eye, dragging his tired mind away from the darkness he'd been staring into for the last few hours or so. Between the periodic checking of his phone and the moments of silence, he'd nearly lost track of the time.
He rose out of his bed, grabbing his phone and nearly yanking the charger out of the wall before he corrected his mistake and wandered over towards the window. He almost would have believed he was still in his hellish dreamscape with the way the scenery looked; something in the sky splashing the world with bright red shadows.
He had only a few moments to unsuccessfully try and locate the shining object before something caught his ears: a sound he was disturbingly familiar with at this point - the heavy footsteps of people running and the muffled sound of shouting.
He already had one of his shoes on when the skull-piercing sound of an alarm rang out, shocking what little grogginess he still had away. Nearby, sitting on the desk; the object he'd avoided since it had been delivered. A simple pistol, stuck in a simple holster. The gun that had been useless at Wisford. A small measure of safety...his only defense.
'You can kiss the team goodbye.'
It was better this way. Safer. He left the pistol sitting on the desk, slipping on his other shoe.
He lunged for the door, only narrowly avoiding it as it flung open. The maid who'd barged in wasted no time in grabbing the slightly surprised Marcus and tugging her along with him, nearly yanking him off his feet.
He needed no explanation however, and quickly caught up, his strides matching hers as the two of them sprinted through the hall. Everyone had finally made it down into the basement, and Marcus had wasted no time in doing a headcount, as he imagined everyone else had also done. He came up with one person missing, and it was none other than the rockstar herself, Angel.
"Dead until proven otherwise"
The callousness of the statement impacted in Marcus's brain, and he found himself sitting on the opposite side of the fence. Hopefully Angel was fine. She could take care of herself in a pinch like this, and while the notice hadn't exactly been timely, it was something at least. He was grateful to have not woken up dead, and he hoped that wherever Angel was, she could say the same thing.
He tried to ignore the sickened pit in his stomach, focusing on the conversation as it went around the room.
"There's no point in sticking around. They caught us off guard, and it's best to assume that they're better manned and better equipped. All we can do is play defensively and see if we get the chance to retaliate later." Marcus said, leaning on the wall nearby. His hair was slightly spiked up from the amount of times he worriedly run his hands through it, but he was mostly calmed down right now.
Full Resolution Name: Liv & Vitus "It's a little hard to explain..." "Understatement of the era."
Gender: "Ugh." "Ugh."
Physically Female Female (Liv)/ Male (Vitus)
Race: Human (Both)
Age: 20 (Liv)/ 32 (Vitus)
Rank: D-Rank
Personality: "Devilishly handsome and bitch, respectively." "Don't you mean utterly useless and warrior?"
Vitus, although he has 'accepted' his position in life, has not exactly gotten any happier about it since the incident. While the two of them have forged a tentative alliance of necessity, it doesn't stop Vitus from being an absolute pain Liv's backside. He's very sarcastic, often openly atagonizing Liv while she's in control. He doesn't do this out of any desire to open a rivalry between the two, just a way of playfully annoying his unwilling partner. He tends to carry the same attitude over to anybody he talks to, and he really has no desire to not be astoundingly punchable.
When he's in control of the body, it is only subtlely different. Vitus is the calm and collected yin to Liv's wild and rash yang, and he prefers gathering as much information as he can about a situation before he makes any decisions to move forward. Everything seems slower with him at the wheel; cool and calculating.
Vulgar, eager, and passionate--those are the three words that most are able to draw from Liv at a glance. While still getting accustomed to the idea of sharing her body with another, permanent resident, she's been able to...almost accept Vitus's presence. Liv's personality runs on the fiery side, and if she could punch her snarky soulmate of sorts, she absolutely, 100% would. The behavior doesn't exactly shift when she's dealing with others--her personality makes her a little abrasive to be around if she doesn't respect you enough to hold her tongue.
When in control of the body, Liv's quicker to spring into action. Though keen and perceptive in her own right, the very temporary nature of her abilities and the need to get close and personal has made her more adept to flying by the seat of her pants than in Vitus's more meticulous planning. Under Liv's command, it's act quick or be swept away by an unyielding torrent of fire.
History: Vitus was an average, if ambitious young adult before a little brat showed up and caused his whole life to go straight to the shitter. He grew up in a small village in Rhode. His life was nothing short of uninteresting, save for the fact that he grew up hearing tales of adventurers and even getting the chance to see some of them as went about daily life. With little-to-no fighting ability of his own, it was understandable that Vitus turned to magic as his adventuring foothold.
It happened that Vitus found himself no to terribly good at casting normal magic either. He wasn't able to channel his own energy too terribly well, and he had just been getting discouraged with his lot in life when one of the casters told him about a different type of magic. He'd been trying to learn how to channel magical energy through himself, but it was also possible to channel magical energy through existing energy. This was where he first learned the art of Soul Casting, and while not the coolest sounding arcane art, he was finally able to cast magic like a natural.
Born and raised in a small, intimate little "clan" (for lack of a better word), Liv knew from a young age that she'd be some sort of Adventurer, there had never been any question about it. Most of the people in her family had been Adventurers--a good way to obtain the ammunition that they needed for their magic. After all, almost everyone had been able to utilize some form of Liv's Soul Forging magic, why not earn some magic out of it in the process? Hearing stories of places far from home was enamoring, and Liv couldn't help but want to be able to live it herself.
First, she just had to obtain some weapons.
It was an unfortunate decision, really, that Liv decided to be young and brash. Unfortunate that she didn't seem to notice that most members of her family didn't have the need to continue carrying the souls they used with them, and those that did had methods to do so with. Unfortunate that Liv tried to carry souls that didn't belong to her in her own body. Fortunately, she was young, brash, and weak--things could have gone worse if she'd tried to take the souls of anything particularly strong. As it was, she suffered from a few days of a cataconic state and a permanently slowed rate of aging. Nothing too severe compared to going insane.
After a shaky recovery and a a few years more of training, Liv decided that it was time for her to leave and finally enroll in the Guild--if only that was what actually happened. What actually happened was that she had heard a few whispered rumors about a certain someone that utilized souls for their magic, but utilized them in ways that, according to her family's teachings, weren't safe...so she sought Vitus out, prepared to do anything to set him straight.
So, imagine Vitus's surprise when a teenager showed up at his university, clad in armor that appeared to be ancient, and did not fit her at all. There was plenty of shouting to be had, something about Vitus's method of magic casting being 'wrong', and something about Liv being out way past her curfew. Imagine Vitus's double surprise when the child grew frustrated enough to challenge him to a duel over their differing styles; an offer that Vitus took because, hey, how hard could it be to beat up a snotty teen?
At least, that's what he thought right up until she almost lopped his head off with her first swing.
It was during this duel, after the metaphorical gloves had come off, that they found something interesting happening. Neither of them could quite gain the upper hand, athough they were still landing hits against the other. The match was fairly even up to the end, with both of them teetering on the brink of death. However, by some twist of fate, there was no winner of this fight. Both Liv and Vitus landed their killing blow at the same time, causing a wild reaction between the two styles of magic.
Vitus's style attempted to capture Liv's soul for future use, while Liv's gem worked at absorbing Vitus's soul. In essence, Vitus collected Liv's soul and they were both sucked back into the now-empty body of Liv. Vitus was killed, while Liv was reanimated as some sort of psuedo-undead creature; a ghost possessing a corpse.
With the two of them technically possessing the body, they found themselves inexorably linked together. One person could control their actions as normal, while the other was forced to sit on the sidelines and shout, unable to do anything but watch through shared senses as their body moved on it's own. However, with two equally powerful souls, it was found that this 'control' would constantly shift between the two without warning, and neither of them could predict when a shift of dominance would happen. They've been living like this ever since; a forced cooperation between two rivals eventually blooming into a reluctant team.
It was only recently that the two both agreed they could probably do better as adventures, and not just getting by off the land and what supplies they could pawn off for cash. Adventuring seemed more profitable than trying to hunt down woodland creatures for every meal of the day, and they both decided to enroll in the Guild, Vitus making sure that they looked in tip-top shape to hopefully pass under any 'no-undead' clauses.
Magic: Vitus Vitus employs an arcane cating method known loosely as 'Soul Casting'. It's not a popular method of magic, as some people seem to take offense with people using the souls of dead things as fuel for power. The main focus of Soul Casting is to channel arcane energy through life energy, transforming it into magic. There are some drawbacks of course: First of all, Vitus has to have to souls to be able to use them, although this is a factor where Liv's actually been helpful; the gem in their chest serves as a soul storage for the duo. Secondly, the spell strength is directly linked to the strength of the soul. A soul from a single rat or measly chicken or something less powerful wouldn't make for a very strong cast.
With soul casting, Vitus is able to fill a few roles: He can fight offensively, turning souls into elemental energy and throwing them at enemies, or he can act as a psuedo-healer, forcing the life energy in a soul to bolster existing life energy and heal wounds (a trick made necessary by the fact that their body doesn't heal on it's own anymore).
Liv Much like Vitus, Liv employs a magic dealing with the soul. Unlike Vitus, LIv employs 'Soul Forging', which is...not really suited for most legitimate mages. Utilizing a soul, Liv is able to "reforge" it into a tangible form. In her case, she reforges the souls into weapons. For all intents and purposes, she could theoretically use any type of soul for this ability, but it's most reliable and effective (and not to mention less frowned upon) when she utilizes the souls of monsters. As far as obtaining the souls, Liv is capable only of removing the souls from beings that are very recently deceased or in the process of dying, with the latter being easier for her to work with.
Forging a soul into a weapon frequently takes on properties of the owner of the soul--what shape it is, what abilities it may or may not have, what attributes it possesses...all decided the first time that Liv ever forges that particular soul's weapon. These things never change after the first time that Liv reforges the soul. That said, reforging the first time can take a few hours, but once a soul has been given a tangible form once, forging it back into its weapon form only takes a few moments.
Unfortunately, forcing a soul to become tangible does have its drawbacks. For one, the effect isn't permanent. Most of the time, the weapon doesn't last for longer than a few minutes at a time. More than that, the effects are taxing on the soul itself, and utilizing the same one too frequently can cause permanent damage to the soul, which leads to damaged weapons--this type of damage can't be fixed through Liv's magic. Of course, being able to forge and potentially possess any weapon doesn't mean that Liv is capable of using every soul in her arsenal either. She's only able to wield one reforged weapon at a time, for one thing, and though the soul-forged weapons are easier to use for complete beginners in the most basic sense, they don't make their wielders a master of the art. Liv's ability to use her weapons comes almost solely from what she herself is capable of.
Unfortunately for Liv, since starting to utilize her magic at full force, even before the unfortunate incident with Vitus, her body had issues aging. A few incidents from before she obtained her gem resulted in Liv trying to carry more than one soul in her body, which anyone could tell you is a terrible idea. Her age hasn't quite been able to catch up since.
Skills: "I can make a mean casserole..." "You used poisonous mushrooms last time." "Yeah, and it was pretty mean!""
When combat is needed, Liv is the girl you want to go to. Despite a younger, smaller body and a relatively young age, Liv has been at practice since she was first able to hold a weapon in her hand. Family values aside, the woman had always known that she would have to eventually learn how to take down a monster. As it turns out, Liv has a natural affinity towards violence--she's a damn natural on the battlefield, and her ability to quickly swap between weapons thanks to her magic has made her a force to reckon with.
Vitus meanwhile, is better at tasks that take some concentration or level of detailed thinking. He picks up many topics quite quickly, and there's not many things that can escape his keen eye. It used to be a fairly decent smooth-talker, well versed in the art of persuasion, to the point where he was considering becoming a con-artist if the whole 'magic' thing didn't work out. Getting stuck in body that looks like it belongs to an angry teenager has slightly diminished the effectiveness of this strategy, however.
Equipment: "You did take the stuff off my body, right? ...Liv? Right?" "Absolutely not, interloper."
Soul Gem A gem that Liv formerly carried around--now it's just stuck in her chest. In order to provide her magic a higher level of efficiency, her family provided her the Soul Gem. It has the ability to contain and aid in the redirection of souls that Liv draws from her targets. It makes for easier utilization of both her abilities and Vitus's, but doesn't do much else other than look shiny.
Scalemail Liv's armor is scalemail, and it is old. Passed down to her from her mother, who received it from...well, Liv's not entirely sure where the armor came from. By the time that it was given to her, it was not only old and somewhat worn, but also wildly unfitted for the girl's slowly growing body. It still hangs a little large on her, but she hasnt had the time or patience to try and obtain a new set, so this is the best that she can do.
Survival Kit Liv and Vitus carry around a large backpack full of the things they found useful before applying as an adventurer. It's just your basic assortment of camping goods; flint and steel, waterskins, etc.
Emergency Dagger Vitus's reccomendation; the two always have a dagger sheathed somewhere on their body. It tends to alterneate between being sheathed on their waist and sheathed in one of their boots, depending on who actually used it last.
Anything Else: As mentioned before, Liv and Vitus's body is, by all accounts, a corpse. While their possesion of the body allows for them to 'sense' things like a normal human, their sense of feeling has greatly diminished. Pain is dulled at worst, and there have been more than one occasion where neither of them realized a bone was broken until it snapped back into place during Vitus's maintenance.
Liv's body used to age slowly as a result of a few mishaps with her magic. While she is physically twenty, her body still looks like it's about to reach its late teens at best.
After the pain inducing and mystery solving escapade that was his hunting adventure with Ernie and Brent, Marcus had finally managed to make his way back up to the shooting range. Apparently, there were bear and shit on this island too, so carrying a pistol around with him might not have been such a terrible idea - hopefully he'd be able to request one. For self defense of course.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Which, if he was going to be carrying a pistol around, it made sense that he should train a little bit with it in the upcoming weeks, just to keep himself sharp. The few targets that had been helpfully put out for him had a fair number of bullet holes in them, and ever since Marcus had started learning to aim for recoil, the holes were getting closer and closer.
Plus, he'd only fumbled with the reload a little bit. Dropping the clip straight out of the gun and onto the ground wouldn't be a problem in combat as long as he could quickly replace it, so he probably didn't even need to embarass himself trying to catch it when it had just plummeted out. Thankfully, there hadn't been anyone around but the staff to see, and that guy had been kind enough to say he hadn't seen it.
Of course, if he were going to be out in the field more often, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try some other equipment as well. Maybe panicking civilians would be less inclined to do things if he had a bigger gun. Maybe he wouldn't have to do things that he'd regre-
Marcus tried to distract himself from that line of thinking by examining some of the other weapons that were around, his eyes immediately falling on the unmistakable form of a shotgun. Lawrence had a shotgun way back in Wisford, hadn't he? That other guy had one too, that's what he'd been holding when he got knocked out of the APC. What he'd used against the gargoyle.
Maybe if he'd been better with it, Savannah would still be...
He shook his head again, his blood starting to boil at himself. He wasn't doing any favors thinking about these kind of things, so why did they keep coming up? All he was doing was making himself angry at this point. Fortunately, he had a couple of targets to take his anger out on.
He set himself up, adjusting his ear protection and glasses once before taking aim. Arms loose. Don't let the elbows lock. Deep breath
BLAM!
Even through the earmuffs, the shot rattled Marcus slightly. More than that, the gun had nearly flung itself from his hands, blasting backwards and slamming his shoulder back, a small 'pop!' and small shoot of pain accompany the impact. He probably hadn't dislocated anything, but the sound of static and sudden rewind made it apparent that he wasn't taking any chances.
It was early in the morning. Angélique’s mind had been occupied with what she had seen in the town the past days, so much that she did not know that she had been jogging way more than she usually did in the morning. Reaching the premises of the mansion, she heard gunshots coming from the shooting range. Strange, someone had decided to train this early in the morning. Then again, America was notorious for gun fanatics, something that was still very rare in Canada despite the country changing its firearms policies a few years back, considering the world was unsafe from both Subnaturals and monsters.
Curious as to who was training at this time of the day, Angel jogged towards the firing area, only to find an inexperienced Marcus falling over after taking a forceful drawback blow from the firing shotgun. She couldn’t restrain a chuckle at the scene, finding it however quite convenient of his ‘Rewind’ power to recover from a fall.
“Gee, be more careful when firing that thing. You’ll blow yourself a hole before long.” Angel’s voice came from inside Marcus’ ear muffles, as if they actually had been headphones broadcasting her words.
Kusari arrived to the shooting range on one of the white bicycles available. She could have walked, but it had been a while since she'd rode a bike. Her long hair was tied into a ponytail, lest it catch onto some part of the bike. It was a nostalgic feeling peddling along a smooth rode and feeling the wind on her face. She still remembered the days her father taught her to ride her first bike. She fell so many times, and wanted to quit many times. But her father told her to keep going, and she always listened to what he said. She wanted to be just like him after all. She looked at her right palm, there was once a scar there from her many times falling, it was gone now. What did it look like again?...
She set the bike against the shed just as she heard the sound of a shotgun go off. Walking over to the range she saw Marcus and Angel, the latter teasing the boy for apparently mishandling the firearm. "Maybe you should practice with something that doesn't kick as hard first." She said, walking up to the two.
Marcus made an involuntary noise as someone began speaking directly into his brain, jumping and nearly dropping the loaded shotgun as he did so. He looked around quickly, being sure to set the gun down very gently before he swung around wildly, finally spotting Angel approaching the range.
"Stop that!" he yelled at her rather indignantly, probably louder that necessary because of the muffling effects of the ear protection. He moved one of the 'cups' off his ear to compenstate, which would hopefully allow him to have a normal conversation without shouting at Angel.
"Sneak up on people at the shooting range, and you're gonna be the one with extra holes, Angel." Marcus joked, his eyes flicking past the raven-haired form to spy a form nearly on the other end of the spectrum: Kusari and her snow white locks.
"I've been practicing with handguns all morning, and I was gonna try and broaden my horizons a little bit." Marcus said, pondering the theoretical 'kickback' of other guns. Clearly he wasn't very good at estimating that factor if the shotgun had nearly wrenched his arm off his body. "Either of you have any suggestions? Baby's first high-powered shotgun?"
He had heard the gunshots as he got closer, and had even came in expecting someone else to swap gun tips with. What Brent didn't expect though, as he came in with his three remaining handguns holstered on the utility belt he looted from DC, was that there were three people, a whole trio of individuals that he hadn't ever really seen together before. Angelic, Kusari, and Marcus? That was definitely a strange group.
Knocking the side of the shooting range to announce his arrival, the arbiter waved at the group, one brow arced.
Angélique was taken aback by Marcus suddenly yelling at her. Jeez, did he got from the wrong side of the bed this morning? It's not like she meant to scare him, it was probably better speaking through his muffles than just show up right behind him and tap his shoulder.
"Given how you shoot, I wouldn't even be surprised." she answered to the guy just as Kusari and Brent arrived, nodding to the two as they made their presence known.
"How about you just take a proper stance first, then try and get used to the recoil?" the sole Aberration in the group walked towards Marcus, arm extending her hand to the scarred Arbiter "You handy with handguns? Let's make a deal then. You show me how to use pistols, I show you how to use a shotgun, a rifle, or both even."
"Yeah. Perfect examples of what not to do" Marcus said, giving a small nod to Brent as he arrived. He took a moment to raise his eyes in surprise as Angel mentioned her proficency with shotguns and rifles, putting his hands on his hips as he smirked.
"Now wait a second. When did you become the master of all things firearm? I don't think I've even seen you touch weapon, and you're telling me that you're proficent enough with both shotguns and rifles to teach people how to use them? Skill set like that starts to raise a couple questions, Angel." he said, a slight grin on his face.
"But, I guess I can do that. Don't exactly know how well I can teach you, but probably enough to at least get the basics down. 'Pull the trigger', 'Try not to shoot your friends', stuff like that."
Angélique scratched the back of her head, slightly embarrassed by Marcus' eulogy as she chuckled faintly. "I wouldn't say that I am master-level like Lawrence is, but he spent quite some time showing me how to use them. After that, I just went training on my own and improve, really."
"I mean... I've got to find something to do with all that free time we have, yeah?"
"A summit between gun nuts then, eh?" Brent chirped in. "Mind if I leech off some rifle advice, Angelic? Gotta move up to bigger guns if I want to do work anyways."
"Oh... sure. That'd be even better than the Desert Eagle you requested, all things considered with your powers."
While the others were talking Kusari picked up a handgun. After examining it for a moment she took out her cell phone, scrolling through notes she had taken in the library. She recognized the gun, and had learned as much as she could about it. She slid the phone back into her skirt pocket and picked up the gun once more. She flipped the safety on and off, getting a feel for it. She ejected the magazine and pushed it back in a few times. With the magazine out she pulled back the slide repeatedly. She loaded the gun and pointed it down the range. "Oh."
She lowered the gun and looked to the others. "I'm about to fire this so uh, put on ear protection I guess." She said, waiting a few moments before aiming at a target again. She pulled the trigger, a shock going through her hands as the gun fired. She missed the target by at least two feet. She frowned at the gun, then aiming it again. She let out a breath and took another shot, this time hitting the target. She sat the gun down and looked at it with a contemplative stare. "That wasn't nearly as fun as people make it out to be..."
"Do you want to do the teaching first then, since you've got the bigger auidence?" Marcus said, looking over to Angel. He was cut off by Kusari saying something, and between his confused stare as he tried to put together what she'd just said, he barely had enough time to slap his hand over his unprotected ear when he finally did figure it out. A little bit of ringing, but no permanent damage at least.
"Yeah, I always used to hear people from the country talk about how much fun it was to go out and shoot deer with these things. I guess it's better when you've got the thrill of the hunt behind you?" Marcus said, the strained explanation making it very clear that he was no expert on the subject.
"Eh?" Brent replied, removing his hands from his ears as well, "Don't feel that adrenaline pumping through your veins when the gun kicks back? Or any satisfaction at hitting the target dead center?"
Busy with what Marcus was telling her, Angélique did not notice Kusari preparing herself to shoot.
"If you want me to, sure then. I'll just go and-..."
The shot made Angel jump, startled. Her ears were ringing, feeling it into her brain as she winced from the pain. Guess that's why everyone was bringing ear pads when gone to a shooting range, and why Lawrence had insisted on her bringing some when they went training. When her hearing returned, she could only discern what Brent had been talking about. The joy of pulling the trigger?
"I wouldn'T know myself, personally. Gun regulations has only been around in Canada recently. Used to be a country frowning on their use. Even now, people over there are reluctant to carry them around, if only to stockpile them at home if there's a monster showing up."
"I don't feel the thrill behind it. I guess it's just for training, or kill time."
"I've yet to hit the target dead center, so I'll have to get back to you on that one." Marcus joked, looking back to Angel. "Alright teach, what do you have for us? What's our first lesson here?"
"I guess I'm a little desensitized at this point." Kusari said, letting out a yawn. She placed her hands into her pockets and looked at Angel. "Yeah, let's see what a rockstar can do."
"Well, I suppose no one needs to know about gun safety protocols, given we're all handy using those already, yeah?" Angélique took the shotgun and flipped the safety switch on and off for good show, then turned to the shooting range. Unlike previously, when she had been practicing with Lawrence's breaking-action shotgun on her knees, she was standing up, bringing the butt of the shotgun on her shoulder bone.
"Really, it's only a matter of stability and handling the weapon. If your stance is flawed and your footing insecure, your body will follow with the drawback. Considering a shotgun packs enough recoil as it is, it's normal you'll jerk back with each shot, but your aim will be affected if you back off too much."
Following the steps she undertook, Angélique positionned her feet as for the side where her arm was holding the furthest part of the shotgun was slightly placing itself in front of her, while the other side holding the gun's handle was perfectly aligned with her body and her foot facing sideways, giving her more balance. Her whole body angle was slightly angled sideways from the direction she was aiming.
"That's the stance you should be having if you want the best accuracy, and better absorb the impact if you take a standing shot. Naturally, I'm left handed, so if you are righ, just do the opposite."
Breaking from her stance, Angel went to take a pair of earmuffles and placed it onto her ears, waiting for the others to shelter their ears before returning to her stance. "Now let's see the results. Mind you, I'm still a novice, so don't be too surprised if I miss my shot." the firearm adept chuckled, her voice projected to her classmates as if nothing stoof in the way of their hearing.
Taking a breath, then slowly sighed, her finger pulled on the trigger in a moment that fit right. As she expected, her shot missed where it was intended, but the spray of bullets shredded one side of the target. But, the main point of her show was to demonstrate about the stance, not the shot itself. Effectively, when Angel took the shot, her body rocked slightly back with the force of the recoil, but her grip was steady and firm, and her body did not seem to have moved that much compared to Marcus earlier.
"Okay. I think I understand that much." Marcus said, once again speaking slightly louder unconsciously to accomodate the somewhat muffled sounds of his own voice. He went over to where Angel was standing and gratefully accepted the gun from her, trying to mimic her stance and follow her advice as well as he could.
Positioned in the same way she had been, arm aligned with his body, foot facing sideways. He gave Angel a quick look for confirmation, before turning back to the target. "Watch your ears!" he said, lining himself up on the target.
Deep breath. Don't hold it, don't try and anticipate the shot. Squeeze the trigger.
Marcus's body rocked, but the gun didn't fling itself from his grasp this time. He even managed to hit the target a little, most of the shot going too high because of the recoil. Still he'd managed to fire it without hurting himself, despite the slight sting that trembled where he'd been holding it. He looked towards Angel like a small child who'd just learned something all by himself; a kid-like look of pride on his face.
"There you go, hotshot! Now all that's left is to find that sweet spot where you think you can get the shot to go where you want it to." Angélique smiled proudly and raised her fist for a bump, reminiscent of that time back in Crimen Culpae when they exchanged a fist pump as rallying encouragement for their first fight ever as a team.
"Awesome! You can just call me 'Tex', little missy." Marcus said in a horribly butchered Old-Western accent, returning the fistbump with the excitement of a small boy being told he'd actually done well. "Anybody else want to try 'Angel's Shotgun School' before I show her the ins and outs of something fair bit smaller?" Marcus asked, his eyes trailing over Brent and Kusari.
"See?" Brent grinned, slapping Marcus on the back, "Exciting after all, eh? And yeah, give me a go. Shame they don't have sniper rifles here, but these are functionally the same, right?"
"There must be rifles around here somewhere, no? I suppose the concept of shooting would remain the same, but you simply add a scope, right?"
"Feel like a pro military dude would slap you on the head for that," the arbiter replied, "But sure, let's go with that. Marcus, the gun?"
"All yours, my shootliness" Marcus said, slightly (but safely) flourishing the shotgun to Brent. He at least knew how to shoot the thing without hurting himself - he'd likely spend some portion of the week trying to nail the whole 'aiming' thing.
But if there was one thing he knew about shotguns, it was that aiming was not a priority. And if there was one thing he knew about firearms in general, it's that Max would beat him about the head for thinking that.
"Thank you kindly, Sir Howell," Brent curtsied gracefully, before receiving the shotgun himself. Adopting much of the same footwork that Angelic demonstrated. Plugging his ears with foamy bits, the arbiter's ears traced with silver circuitry momentarily, completely cutting off sound as the ear plugs transformed into some different. Was that good enough? Probably. Most of his past upgrades had made sound a non-issue, due to simply turning the guns into lasers, but now...
A thumb flicked the safety off, as Brent took aim, both eyes wide open, locked onto the target. His breathing steadied, and, almost naturally, he imagined the crusher once more. Correct after the first shot. Ready. Set. Fi-
Click.
Brent blinked. Pulled the trigger again.
Click.
"Goddamnit," the arbiter laughed goodnaturedly, "Angelic, wanna teach us how to reload this thing as well?"
"Oh, right. My bad." Angel chuckled as she had forgotten about this important part of the lesson. Can't go about teaching them how to shoot a shotgun without telling them how to reload the thing. Fortunately for her, the shotgun looked very much like Lawrence's own, a double-barelled with break-action reload.
"If I may?" Angel requested as she held out her hand.
"Go ahead, Shotgun Sista."
Taking the shotgun from Brent's hands, Angélique displayed the gun to her peers. "This one is basically a break-action shotgun. As the name implies..." Angel grabbed the gun by the handle with one hand while the other placed itself on the top of the barrel, pushing downwards forcibly to crack the gun in two. "You just need to reload from the slots there. It's easier than it looks. Simply put some pressure on the barrel."
The Aberration young woman cracked the gun back in one piece and held it out to Brent, leaving the whole reloading procedure to him.
Kusari stifled a laugh upon hearing Angel say "Hotshot," she sounded like a soccer coach. Her demonstration seemed decent at least, Marcus's shot wasn't half bad all things considered. She had to cover her mouth and turn around once Marcus opened his mouth however. The boy's humor rating was so low it had overflowed into infinity. She let out a cough and walked over to the shed. She picked up a hunting rifle similar to one she'd seen while researching in the library. She took a moment to pick out the right ammo before leaving the shed with the gun, just in time to hear Brent call Angel "Shotgun Sista." Kusari's mouth wiggled like a worm getting poked with a needle.
"I-I found a rifle Brent. I'm gonna try it out first if you don't mind." She said, managing to not laugh. She could swear they were doing this on purpose. She sat the gun down and pulled back the bolt, then placing a round inside. She pushed it back in halfway, then thinking she might as well add another bullet. She pulled the bolt back again and the round popped out. "O-oh, right." She quickly picked up the round, hoping no one saw that happen. After properly loading the rounds in she took aim at a target, making sure to get into the right position. She wondered how likely it would be that she would be able to get in position in the middle of a fight. She supposed practice would help with that.
Letting out a breath she fired, just barely missing the target. She adjusted the angle of the gun and fired again, this time hitting the target near it's bottom. She ejected the empty casing and sat the rifle down. She rubbed her shoulder, the impact of the gunpowder would have likely left a bruise if not for her magic. It didn't help being nearly skin and bones.
"Oh, nice first shots," Brent nodded at Kusari's attempts, before following Angelic's instructions. It was a bit unnerving how easily the shotgun broke apart, but on the other hand...the arbiter's mind naturally turned towards those Hollywood scenes where people reloaded shotguns by spinning them, and decided to make that a future goal.
Two slugs jammed in and locked into place, the arbiter grinned at the three of them, lining up his shots once more. Puffs of light burst within his ears, those plugs once again becoming extra-effective, before firing once.
A burst of force and a tremor shook his body. Left side. Adjust.
A burst of force and a tremor shook his body. On point. Celebrate.
"Oh man," the arbiter remarked feeling the shotgun's power in his very bones, "This is way cooler than the DEagles. Might even knock off mountains with these!"
"Impressive!" Angélique remarked at both Kusari and Brent nailing their shots exceptionally well for first timers. She remembered her attempts took way more tries than this. "Who knows? With our powers growing so quickly, you might as well be blowing holes in mountain in no time with those guns."
Clearly those teams exercise did good to the rockstar's morale. At this point she didn't really mind her previous animosity with Brent. She was just glad to be around and improving with teammates.
Turning to Kusari, the Aberration quirked up a worried eyebrow. "Are you alright, Kusari?" an ironic question, considering the girl was immortal, but it came out as sheer reflexes.
"Careful using mountains as shooting practice though." Marcus started, having taken up a casual stance a fair distance away from the practice, while still allowing him a decent look at the targets as they were hit. "Every mountain you blow up is one that Kadabra could use later. Those might very well become a limited resource between you two."
He gave Kusari a half-look as Angel spoke up, listening for her answer at least. She was immortal, that much he knew; even if she'd accidentally blown her arm off by accident, she'd probably react in the same way as if he stubbed his toe. A little misfire bruise would be nothing, even if she gave herself one.
Kusari blinked at Angel for a moment, wondering if she knew about the fact that she'd been having trouble focusing and sleeping lately. What happened in D.C kept bothering her, kept making her think that she had set herself on a course she could never steer from. She looked down at her hand, still on her shoulder. Right, she was just overthinking things. "Yeah... I think I'll stick with handguns, anything larger might be too much for someone as light as me."
"Why're you interested in guns anyways, Kusari? Trying to pick up a new hobby after all?"
Kusari shook her head. "I just figured I should learn at some point. I don't want to have to rely on cutting myself up just to be able to do anything in a fight." She said. It was half true, she also couldn't stand looking at those claws anymore.
"Always good to have a backup." Marcus agreed from his position towards the back. Of course, for those of them without combat powers like himself, it was more like a 'Plan A' than a backup. This was the extent of his combat powers, with his only backup being 'call for someone who can actually do damage'.
While the others talked among themselves, Angel walked over the rifle, taking a long look at it. Bolt-action. Again a gun Lawrence had showed her how to use. Were the types of weapon he used just that common, or did he actually take them from hunting supplies? Fiddling with the bolt and the cartridges, the lone Aberration here made sure it was properly loaded, swinging it to her shoulder as she took the same stand she had positionned herself in earlier for demonstration.
"Watch your ears." she called out softly with her magical whispers, waiting a few seconds of delay before taking a shot. She was surely more comfortable with that type of weapon as her shot, despite being rusty, managed to hit the target at a lower point. If that target had been a man, he would've got shot in his "assets".
"Whoops..." she muttered with a faintly amused grin.
Brent cringed, his nether regions tightening instinctually.
"Ooooh....oh no." Marcus said, his quick inhale hissing through clenched teeth.
Kusari let out a whistle. "Nice shot."
"Oh... uh... I meant to aim for the chest, really..." Angélique chuckled slightly, ejecting the spent bullet, reloading for another shot and taking aim.
Another shot, this time way better, straight to the heart. Satisfied with this one, Angel flipped the safety on and lowered the gun upright to ground level. "Well, who's next?"
"Man. You do give love a bad name." Marcus joked, looking around the room as Angel called for volunteers.
There was a hard silence as eyes dashed to eachother, before Marcus finally stepped forward.
"I guess I'll give it a shot...a try...dammit." he said, stuttering his way through accidental puns and grabbing the rifle quickly to try and just brute force his way through that embarassing exchange with minimal questions or comments.
He lined it up the same way he had with the shotgun, having to hold it slightly more forward due to the longer barrel. He took another deep breath, lining up the shot, squeezing the trigger. The only real mistake he made was trying to anticipate the kickback, which forced his shot a little higher than he'd intended. Or, quite a bit higher than he'd intended.
He'd meant to shoot the target in the center torso, or at least, that was where he had been trying to aim. He was contemplating whether he should admit that as he stared at the clean hole right through the 'head' of the target.
“God, and the guys back then told me I was bad.” Angel laughed whole-heartedly at Marcus’ references. Not that it was the funniest kind of humor, but music-related bad puns were something she did appreciated.
Had she known Marcus made a mistake, the Aberration girl wouldn’t have thought the Arbiter was a natural professional at shooting. It was just too unbelievable for a first timer to shoot straight for the head on his first try. Very impressive indeed.
“Wow… you do have a knack for headbanging. That was pretty metal. You sure this is your first time?”
Marcus let out an audible groan. He thought his own jokes were terrible, but this girl. A joke like that was banned under the Geneva Convention last time he'd check. Psychological torture and the like.
"What can I say?" Marcus said, quickly drifting into smug territory. "Beginner's luck and all that. Not that I need luck of course." he said, making a display of brushing he nails across his front and blowing them off. He was lying again, taking all the credit for his mistake, but with any luck nobody else had noticed it.
"Huh..." Kusari looked at the hole in the target's head left by Marcus. It certainly was a good shot. After biting her lip and trying not to comment on the growing scent of cheese thanks to the bad jokes being flung around, Kusari turned to Marcus. "That was pretty good Marcus, let's see another." She said, suddenly feeling like teasing him due to his bravado.
Oh boy, the beginning of a snowball effect. Marcus shrank nervously a little bit, before he puffed back up to his full, confident size. "Hey, don't be hiding behind me to try and get out of your lessons. Let's see one of you two hop up here and take a crack at it!"
"Three's a charm, Zippy. Don't be content to sit on your laurels on the first shot. Give us at least another two, then we can switch." Angel remarked, approving of Kusari's demand. It would be a waste to just have him shoot a single time when they were here to train, no matter how muc marksmanship Marcus had. Overconfidence was no good either.
"I thought it was a crowd? Marcus softly whined, picking the rifle back up and sliding his ear protection back over his head. It was simple, all he had to do was the exact same thing he'd just done - should lead to the same results. Scientific method or something like that.
He lined up his stance again, trying to mimick exactly what he'd done before. Take up the stance Angel had shown him, line it up, compensation for the longer barrel, aim for center mass, deep breath and squeeze.
Another shot rang out, this one going high a wide, just barely splintering the edge of the target in the right shoulder. No good. He was still trying to anticipate the recoil. He squeezed again, offering himself little time to realign the shot in favor of a quickened, nervous barrage. This one went even further out, slamming hard against the wooden wall opposite of him.
Dammit. One more.
He took another deep breath, his shoulder aching slightly and the gun drooping off to the side a little. Compensate, lift it up.. Another slow exhale, and a slow squeeze of the trigger, without trying to anticipate anything; just like Max had taught him with pistols.
The rifle slammed against his shoulder once more, the shot firing a little far to the left and puncturing where one of the kidneys would be. Or at least where he thought it would be. He wasn't a doctor.
"Maybe it was beginner's luck after all." He said sheepishly, sliding one side of the earguards off and setting the rifle down.
"No worries man," Brent replied, "Not everyone can perform under pressure. I'm sure you'd be a sniper elite if no eyes were on you."
"It's alright Marcs, no one shot is ever the same, unless you're some sort of machine I guess." Angel encouraged with a small fist bump on his shoulder.
"Well, no, I'm pretty certain Marcus is a machine. With his endless array of dad jokes and all."
"I'm positive any loyal machine would have self-destructed itself after the first dad joke. Especially after 'headbanging' over here. That would have been a bluescreen at least. If the damn thing didn't just delete itself." Marcus said, trying to hide his slight wince as Angel bumped his shoulder. Perhaps he hadn't been holding it exactly as Angel was. Or maybe that was just the price to pay for firing these things. Either way, it'd probably be an aching bruise before too long.
"C'mon, it wasn't that bad! I just can't resist a bad music pun if you set me up for them. You're the one who started it." The controversial rockstar giggled gleefully.
"Think you're good on your own for the rifle while our resident dad teaches me about handguns, Brent?"
"I'm a fast learner," the amethyst eyed youth said, "Probably won't shoot my eye out."
"Alright then. Have fun. I'll be just over there if you need something." the shades-wearing young woman told the Arbiter before grabbing Marcus by the shoulder. "C'mon Zip Zip, tell me your secrets!"
"I'm gonna show you the secrets of the inside of this barrel if you keep calling me Zip Zip." Marcus joked, trying to pass his wince off as a slightly strained smile. Nonetheless, he picked up one of the pistols, making sure everyone who was interested was paying attention.
"Alright, let's see if I can remember everything she told me..." Marcus started, mind working hard to try and recall Max's exact words. First was the grip...maybe.
You're gonna drop it holding it like that, dummy.
"Alright, hold your hands on the gun like I have mine here. Basically, you're trying to lock down the most solid parts of the gun so it doesn't force itself back if you're trying to get multiple shots off. It'll probably feel weird, but that's normal."
Don't stand so rigid, you look like one of Buckingham's boys!
"Stance is basically the same one you showed us for shotguns, Angel. No need to compensate as much since it's only a pistol, but similar."
You're gonna break your elbows if you lock them like that; loosen up a little.
"When you aim, try to keep your arms a little loose. You want them straight out in front of you, but don't lock your elbows. Nice and easy."
There you go. Now just take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger. Don't try and anticipate when it will go off, or you're going to throw off the shot.
"Breath in, aim, fire on the exhale. Same deal as the rest of them."
He punctuated this by looking down his sight, and following his own instructions. There were two loud pops as the gun fired twice, the first shot nearly hitting the center of the chest where he was aiming, and the second being about an inch or an inch and a half to the right.
"I see..." Angel remarked, comtemplative over Marcus' demonstration. He really was quite the shot with handguns. So the basics kind of were the same, only that the stance and the way to hold the weapon were different. It couldn't be that hard, considering the gun was lighter, right?
"Nice shots. You really do know your stuff, huh?"
"I'd hope so. I've been forced to go over it enough times. Although I guess I can't complain considering the situation, can I?"
"Mhm... who though you to use firearms?"
"My sister. She's military, and I guess she figured it wouldn't hurt to make sure I knew how to work a firearm at least. She was right on that account, but I really don't need to give her any more reasons to be smug."
"Damn, I'm surprised you aren't more disciplined, Marky. If I'd been military I'd kick my younger brother into obedience. Not that I've ever thought of being a soldier myself before." Angélique grinned at the younger boy, taking one pistol that had been left on the shooting counters. It seemed loaded? Inspecting the firearm more closely, she deduced where the safety switch was, flipping it off before taking the stance Marcus showed her.
Gripping the handgun with her two hands at the handle; trigger finger pointing where she was shooting; arms extended in front of her and at face level; legs firmly planted in the ground, one in front of the other, one eye closed and the other staring at the iron sights. The whole positionning and weapon in her hands felt less cumbersome. Why did Lawrence told her that it was more difficult to shoot these?
Breath in, relax, breath out, take a shot. She realized why it was more difficult now.
She let her guard down due to the lighter weight of the gun. Not that she dropped the weapon, but it violently jerked upwards as it fired as her hands and arms recoiled from the kickback, making her shot go completly astray above the target.
"Uh... whoops?"
"Just because it's smaller doesn't mean you should treat it with any less care." Marcus said, nodding for her to try and take another shot. "Put your hands together like I showed you, should help with some of the recoil."
"Watch your wrists as well," Brent said, peering over before turning back to his own shooting, "Gotta align it properly and all."
"Alright." the Aberration rockstar nodded at her two mentors. She took the stance again, placing her hands like Marcus indicated her, but unconsciously locking her wrists and arms while doing so. While her next shot did indeed not jerk her body backwards, her stiffened positionning made the gun lean down from it's intended target, hitting the target lower than expected. Again, a clear hole had ripped the region that should not be touched.
"I... I missed again..." Angel remarked as she took a long glance at the shot she just made.
"You gotta stop. I'm not gonna teach you shit if that's the evil you do with it."
"That's not a miss, but...yeah, no. How bout you just stick with screams instead of castration?"
The situation would've been funnier had it not been for her small frustration at missing her targets, and the sudden reminder that her voice was indeed one hell of a weapon. Huffing angrily, Angel resumed to her shooting stance, this time evaluating what she did wrong the last tries. Not too stiff, not too loose. Firm, but not terribly so.
Three was a charm indeed. Dumb luck or coincidence, her shot flew straight to the heart, again.
Kusari avoided making fun of Marcus for missing his shots after being called out, getting exposed was bad enough after all. Instead she went back to the handgun she'd used before. She picked it up and took the proper stance. Before she fired however, she had to stop the giggling fit caused by Angel. She hoped she didn't get stuck with a nickname as bad as "Zippy," though never getting one at all would be just fine with her. She took a deep breath, focused, and fired. She hit the target, but not where she was aiming. She tried again, again and again until she ran out of bullets. Nearly all of the shots had hit, but none dead center where she was aiming. It was a bit more than optimistic to think she could become a master marksman so quickly, though she did seem to have a knack for it.
As she ejected the magazine she looked over to Angel, she'd just shot below the belt again. Good luck to anyone getting into a firefight with her. After some playful criticism from Marcus and Brent she took another shot, this one hitting the mark. "Jeez Angelic, you're making us look bad."
"I-it's just beginner's luck, really."Angélique chuckled in modesty. Looking at the white-haired Arbiter's shots, she had quite the talent herself as well. It felt strange to see her haughty figure smiling and giggling like that. Kusari always striked Angel as the serious and cold-hearted person, given their past interaction and her actions so far. Maybe she wasn't such a bad person after all? A flash of the time they drank against each other for contest in D.C. for their girls night in. She had promised the tall girl a rematch, or more like a proper time to drink together.
"Hey, those shots aren't bad either. Your hits are on target." Angel smiled as she turned to her own target.
Following Kusari's lead, she proceeded to empty her magazine as well. She always aimed for center mass of the target, but her shots had circled all around the intended target; pectorals, sides, throat, belly and shoulders. Eventually, the gun clicked as the raven-haired Aberration pulled the trigger. Empty. Unsure how to change ammo, she took a bit of time to examine the handgun, finding the trigger to eject the magazine, which fell on the ground as she did not expect it to come out this quickly. She fumbled around with the new magazine until it had properly clicked inside the handgun.
"Not too bad! By the end of this, we'll have our own little gunslinging posse!" Marcus said, stifling a small chuckle as the magazine hit the ground. He'd done a similar thing when he first changed magazines, although he had tried to catch it and ended up smacking it halfway across the range by accident.
"Unless you need any training, Brent, I'd say that today was a pretty successful set of lessons. We can all operate a small armory now - which I'm prefectly fine with!"
"Yeah. Thanks for the help, Marcs. I'll have to train with what I own once we get back to the institute."
Hopefully we will use those on actual deserving people...
