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A Spiny Ant
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Tragically, Gerard's attempt at some friendly chatter was simply ignored, the big man left hanging as the rain cleared. Disappointing, but well, this sort of attitude was something he had grown accustomed to over the weeks in the Far East. The raised voices sounded, everyone having split opinions that he wasn't certain how to decipher, especially not when they spoke in such an animated manner. God willing though, no one would be killing themselves tonight, or any other night, and if the Storm Pillar could heed the wisdom of Maria, that'd be even better.
A hefty stomp sounded from up above, and Gerard immediately turned, sensing an end to the meeting. As the students of the Storm Pillar graciously opened up the doors, he strode right on in, smiling at them for being so polite. Ducking his head under yet another too-low doorframe, he nodded a couple of times to the Pillars he recognized, Kikumi of the Sea and Saburou of the Crane, before heading over to Maria. "<<Quick meeting, wasn't it? Just an update on something, Sister Maria?>>"
@Yankee
A hefty stomp sounded from up above, and Gerard immediately turned, sensing an end to the meeting. As the students of the Storm Pillar graciously opened up the doors, he strode right on in, smiling at them for being so polite. Ducking his head under yet another too-low doorframe, he nodded a couple of times to the Pillars he recognized, Kikumi of the Sea and Saburou of the Crane, before heading over to Maria. "<<Quick meeting, wasn't it? Just an update on something, Sister Maria?>>"
@Yankee
Under Ettamri’s scrutiny, nothing seemed amiss with the wagon. The small boulder that had been hurled in its direction had slid to a halt right beside it, and though it would have to be moved before they continued onwards, the axle and wheels seemed undamaged for the time being. Underneath the tarp, the sacks of grain were thankfully untouched, no miniature monkeys having sneaked in and pilfered some during the chaos of the failed ambush. The horses remained spooked though, nervously stamping the ground and snorting loudly. Some animalistic discipline kept the pair from bolting, but it would take special attention before they could be calmed.
Oscar’s task with butchering the apes was a less pleasant affair. The hunter had experience with butchering animals, yes, but those were animals. No one ate goblins, slimes, or any of the other humanity-hating creatures that lurked near the walls of Andeave. The apes, despite their size, were disturbingly humanoid, and his lack of experience overall made the task far more bloody than it could have been. By the time he was finished with one of the apes, his machete was caked in gore and fat. Slitting open the belly would doubtless be another gruesome task, and the hardened, tough muscles of the monsters they felled, already cooling in the subzero temperatures, would make it all that much more annoying to cook afterwards, if it was even good eating to begin with. Regardless, it would be a time consuming task skinning all these creatures, and the prospect of eating what might be the best cut of their body, their relatively soft but firm buttocks, was also a bit gross.
It was curious though, how two of the creatures were missing their hearts, as if a wild animal had savagely torn past their ribcages to rip out the hearts.
Thankfully, Argen hadn’t died from a brain hemorrhage after all, and Katya was quick to help him up, shifting behind him to push him up by the back. If he was talking coherently, that had to count for something, right? But an injury was still an injury and the small priest moved to pop his helmet off anyways, just to check up on the state of his face.
Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty.
Half of Argen’s face was swelling, black and purple bruises bunching up over his once handsome features like balloons about to burst. Blood caked that side as well, blinding him in his left eye, and, now that he was up, he could feel one, maybe two of his back teeth being weirdly loose as well, the gums aflame. A bludgeoning blow from a two meter tall giant with limbs like whips was nothing to shrug off, and the pre-existing dents in Argen’s uncomfortable helmet may have done more harm than good. Katya let out a wince upon seeing all this, and she rolled up her sleeves soon enough.
“No, you stay put. No one else is injured but you, stupid Argen. Now let me do my work and buy me cake afterwards.”
With that bratty statement, she grasped the hexagram symbol that hung from her neck and brought it to her lips. Her other hand placed itself gingerly against the mass of bruises that half-blinded Argen, only the fingertips touching the damaged flesh.
A soft light, warm as spring, shone from her open palm, and like a wax sculpture being molded into place, Argen’s face began to return to normal. His headache persisted, his eye wasn’t sealed shut anymore, and there was probably nothing outside of a Sacrament that could regenerate the two teeth he lost, but everything else…should be fine.
The blood was still there though. Soon, he’d probably have to be like Muu, trying to scrub his face clean of blood without dirtying any other part of his body in the process.
Oscar’s task with butchering the apes was a less pleasant affair. The hunter had experience with butchering animals, yes, but those were animals. No one ate goblins, slimes, or any of the other humanity-hating creatures that lurked near the walls of Andeave. The apes, despite their size, were disturbingly humanoid, and his lack of experience overall made the task far more bloody than it could have been. By the time he was finished with one of the apes, his machete was caked in gore and fat. Slitting open the belly would doubtless be another gruesome task, and the hardened, tough muscles of the monsters they felled, already cooling in the subzero temperatures, would make it all that much more annoying to cook afterwards, if it was even good eating to begin with. Regardless, it would be a time consuming task skinning all these creatures, and the prospect of eating what might be the best cut of their body, their relatively soft but firm buttocks, was also a bit gross.
It was curious though, how two of the creatures were missing their hearts, as if a wild animal had savagely torn past their ribcages to rip out the hearts.
Thankfully, Argen hadn’t died from a brain hemorrhage after all, and Katya was quick to help him up, shifting behind him to push him up by the back. If he was talking coherently, that had to count for something, right? But an injury was still an injury and the small priest moved to pop his helmet off anyways, just to check up on the state of his face.
Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty.
Half of Argen’s face was swelling, black and purple bruises bunching up over his once handsome features like balloons about to burst. Blood caked that side as well, blinding him in his left eye, and, now that he was up, he could feel one, maybe two of his back teeth being weirdly loose as well, the gums aflame. A bludgeoning blow from a two meter tall giant with limbs like whips was nothing to shrug off, and the pre-existing dents in Argen’s uncomfortable helmet may have done more harm than good. Katya let out a wince upon seeing all this, and she rolled up her sleeves soon enough.
“No, you stay put. No one else is injured but you, stupid Argen. Now let me do my work and buy me cake afterwards.”
With that bratty statement, she grasped the hexagram symbol that hung from her neck and brought it to her lips. Her other hand placed itself gingerly against the mass of bruises that half-blinded Argen, only the fingertips touching the damaged flesh.
“Oh Keeper of the Sun, Alri-Qua, grant this child the strength to fight another day. Heal.”
A soft light, warm as spring, shone from her open palm, and like a wax sculpture being molded into place, Argen’s face began to return to normal. His headache persisted, his eye wasn’t sealed shut anymore, and there was probably nothing outside of a Sacrament that could regenerate the two teeth he lost, but everything else…should be fine.
The blood was still there though. Soon, he’d probably have to be like Muu, trying to scrub his face clean of blood without dirtying any other part of his body in the process.
Seven days to prove your worth, hm? As Athena lead Dahlia upstairs, Triss mulled over the trial ahead, deep in contemplation. Well, he was a martial artist, so should he just like…punch a lot of things and impress upon the Goddess how much valis he can make every day through hunting monsters in the dungeon? Hrm, or was that too normal…Maybe he could beat something big then, and drag that back to the Warrior’s Rest as proof of his valor? A Minotaur? A Lycanfang? A Wyvern? The third might be a bit too much for now. Or wait, what if he just beat an adventurer instead?
A lot to think about, surely. Almost too much, really. With a sigh, Triss folded his arm over his chest, dropped backwards, and made a bridge with his body, using his head and his feet. There was a comfortable crick in his spine as he did so; the pallum let out a sigh before swinging his body upright once more, transitioning into a smooth toe-touch. The air within the dining room wasn’t stagnant at all, and the interior design too, while not as bare as Triss’s room in the dojo, was still comfortably simplistic. Translucent curtains let in bright, white daylight, while the doors within the room added interesting splashes of color. Didn’t see a blue one all too often, not when the natural color of wood was already so charming.
“Not ‘maybe’,” Triss said, after his preliminary stretches and observations were complete, “definitely.” The pallum remained standing, balancing on the balls of his feet as he turned to the veteran members of the Familia with an air half way confident and half way defiant. They seemed to focus on the pallum and chienthrope individually, as if searing their appearance into Triss's memory, before a blink quickly dispelled that focus. “How d’you two impress her though?” A more supplicant tone emerged with the question, a more inquisitive light found in the fighter’s golden eyes.
No shame in asking, after all.
A lot to think about, surely. Almost too much, really. With a sigh, Triss folded his arm over his chest, dropped backwards, and made a bridge with his body, using his head and his feet. There was a comfortable crick in his spine as he did so; the pallum let out a sigh before swinging his body upright once more, transitioning into a smooth toe-touch. The air within the dining room wasn’t stagnant at all, and the interior design too, while not as bare as Triss’s room in the dojo, was still comfortably simplistic. Translucent curtains let in bright, white daylight, while the doors within the room added interesting splashes of color. Didn’t see a blue one all too often, not when the natural color of wood was already so charming.
“Not ‘maybe’,” Triss said, after his preliminary stretches and observations were complete, “definitely.” The pallum remained standing, balancing on the balls of his feet as he turned to the veteran members of the Familia with an air half way confident and half way defiant. They seemed to focus on the pallum and chienthrope individually, as if searing their appearance into Triss's memory, before a blink quickly dispelled that focus. “How d’you two impress her though?” A more supplicant tone emerged with the question, a more inquisitive light found in the fighter’s golden eyes.
No shame in asking, after all.
"Um, thanks," #13 replied bashfully, "But my elder siblings have even cooler ones."
As he spoke, his Sarcophagus was already becoming more and more terrifying, a veritable mass of blackened steel that bristled with he firearms and armor that he pilfered so casually from the members of the Red Army. Rather than a giant knight, it had evolved now into a walking tank, but #13 found no particular reason to attack yet. Natural selection was something the youth believed in, after all. When stripped naked and forced to flee through the bitter wasteland of Finland's wintry wilderness, who amongst them would survive to pass down their superior genes to the next generation? None of them, probably. The pilot did well with his own interrogations though, and the information certainly matched that gunfire both had heard moments before.
#13 just had difficulty being so alarmed by this. As far as he was aware, Saint Augustine was pretty strong herself; she had to be if she was stuck being the keeper of one of the Promised Children. Would a .50 cal really be the end of her, when he could easily unleash a whole artillery barrage of agony in any situation? No, right? Still, it was now a question of blind obedience versus genuine loyalty, and in this case...yeah, he'll go with it.
The Sarcophagus moved. Slowly at first, before quickly building speed as the landscape around them continued to converge around the golem. Each step rocked the earth, each movement defied the howling winds. Within, stolen weapons were reconstructed, fused together, forming deadlier and deadlier ordinance, and as the speed of the Sarcophagus outpaced the pilot, #13 swept him up in an arm of softer soil, before plopping one of the radios on him. It was still buzzing with static and high-speed German, enough so that #13 had no real clue what was being said, but maybe the pilot did.
Or maybe he didn't, but helicopter types probably had a better clue as to how to use a radio well compared to Promised Children.
As he spoke, his Sarcophagus was already becoming more and more terrifying, a veritable mass of blackened steel that bristled with he firearms and armor that he pilfered so casually from the members of the Red Army. Rather than a giant knight, it had evolved now into a walking tank, but #13 found no particular reason to attack yet. Natural selection was something the youth believed in, after all. When stripped naked and forced to flee through the bitter wasteland of Finland's wintry wilderness, who amongst them would survive to pass down their superior genes to the next generation? None of them, probably. The pilot did well with his own interrogations though, and the information certainly matched that gunfire both had heard moments before.
#13 just had difficulty being so alarmed by this. As far as he was aware, Saint Augustine was pretty strong herself; she had to be if she was stuck being the keeper of one of the Promised Children. Would a .50 cal really be the end of her, when he could easily unleash a whole artillery barrage of agony in any situation? No, right? Still, it was now a question of blind obedience versus genuine loyalty, and in this case...yeah, he'll go with it.
The Sarcophagus moved. Slowly at first, before quickly building speed as the landscape around them continued to converge around the golem. Each step rocked the earth, each movement defied the howling winds. Within, stolen weapons were reconstructed, fused together, forming deadlier and deadlier ordinance, and as the speed of the Sarcophagus outpaced the pilot, #13 swept him up in an arm of softer soil, before plopping one of the radios on him. It was still buzzing with static and high-speed German, enough so that #13 had no real clue what was being said, but maybe the pilot did.
Or maybe he didn't, but helicopter types probably had a better clue as to how to use a radio well compared to Promised Children.
"Mmm," was Gerard's only response to Maria's directions.
The summons have been swift, and the matter had to be urgent, but there was no real difference in him being there, compared to just waiting back at the estate for the Sister to summarize the meeting's minutes. Well, no. Something something he was the representative of the Catholic Church and the Vatican, so he sorta had to be there for stuff, huh. Gerard let out a sigh, his gaze lingering towards the dark clouds and the million drops. His first couple of weeks had been quite disheartening, really. No one spoke the King's English, or French, or German, or even Latin, and while some demon slayers were alright, it looked like most of them wanted him to just stay out of the way. The rooms always felt too small to accomodate him, and even he, dim-witted as he was, was beginning to wonder if people wanted to spar with him only because he was the one readily-available individual who had the countenance of their vampires: big, strong, white.
Wasn't really fun, and they didn't do too well for meat and wine here either, the clearer, sharper sake being aromatic and wonderful the first couple of times...until the novelty wore off and he began to thirst for sweeter brews. What man of Gerard's size could sustain himself with rice and fish alone? None, that was what. They were built in the image of God, after all, not the image of cattle. He slapped his stomach, wondering if the accompanying sound was any different from when he first landed upon the shores of this island-nation. Couldn't tell. Maybe he should just stop thinking about it so much.
So he did.
The rain fell hard, splattering against the tiled roof of the Storm Pillar's Estate. There were traces of ruination here, hidden behind a veil of falling water. Standing by the exit behind Maria's back, Gerard marvelled at each individual stream that fell down. Everything was damp, everything was humid, but the coldness was refreshing and the drops were gentle whenever the wind opted to push them towards him. The conversation that they held in the meeting room wasn't so quiet as to be impossible to eavesdrop into, but the content was hard to make out. They were speaking formally, and they were using big words too, at a comfortable, swift pace that made every one of those words melt together into a slurry of vowels. Something about Japan, Pillars, seppuku, and demons. Pillars in Japan committing seppuku once all the demons were slain? Couldn't really agree with that himself. He snuck a glance back towards the assembled Pillars, but none of them looked queasy at the prospect of ritualistic suicide.
Then again, they probably weren't aware that they'd spend an eternity damned to the lake of fire for doing so. Gerard stopped thinking about that too. Pointless speculation and all. Instead, opting to kill some time with conversation, he turned to the demon slayer to the right, a sorta goofy smile on his meaty face.
"Good night," Gerard said, with a shallow bow of his head. "I am Gerard. Good weather, ne?"
The summons have been swift, and the matter had to be urgent, but there was no real difference in him being there, compared to just waiting back at the estate for the Sister to summarize the meeting's minutes. Well, no. Something something he was the representative of the Catholic Church and the Vatican, so he sorta had to be there for stuff, huh. Gerard let out a sigh, his gaze lingering towards the dark clouds and the million drops. His first couple of weeks had been quite disheartening, really. No one spoke the King's English, or French, or German, or even Latin, and while some demon slayers were alright, it looked like most of them wanted him to just stay out of the way. The rooms always felt too small to accomodate him, and even he, dim-witted as he was, was beginning to wonder if people wanted to spar with him only because he was the one readily-available individual who had the countenance of their vampires: big, strong, white.
Wasn't really fun, and they didn't do too well for meat and wine here either, the clearer, sharper sake being aromatic and wonderful the first couple of times...until the novelty wore off and he began to thirst for sweeter brews. What man of Gerard's size could sustain himself with rice and fish alone? None, that was what. They were built in the image of God, after all, not the image of cattle. He slapped his stomach, wondering if the accompanying sound was any different from when he first landed upon the shores of this island-nation. Couldn't tell. Maybe he should just stop thinking about it so much.
So he did.
The rain fell hard, splattering against the tiled roof of the Storm Pillar's Estate. There were traces of ruination here, hidden behind a veil of falling water. Standing by the exit behind Maria's back, Gerard marvelled at each individual stream that fell down. Everything was damp, everything was humid, but the coldness was refreshing and the drops were gentle whenever the wind opted to push them towards him. The conversation that they held in the meeting room wasn't so quiet as to be impossible to eavesdrop into, but the content was hard to make out. They were speaking formally, and they were using big words too, at a comfortable, swift pace that made every one of those words melt together into a slurry of vowels. Something about Japan, Pillars, seppuku, and demons. Pillars in Japan committing seppuku once all the demons were slain? Couldn't really agree with that himself. He snuck a glance back towards the assembled Pillars, but none of them looked queasy at the prospect of ritualistic suicide.
Then again, they probably weren't aware that they'd spend an eternity damned to the lake of fire for doing so. Gerard stopped thinking about that too. Pointless speculation and all. Instead, opting to kill some time with conversation, he turned to the demon slayer to the right, a sorta goofy smile on his meaty face.
"Good night," Gerard said, with a shallow bow of his head. "I am Gerard. Good weather, ne?"
With her own responsibilities handled and no other crying children on the streets, Cecilia headed off to reconvene with the others, her strides quick now. It was nice to get some more quests, but she hoped the others hadn't waited too long for her to finish up all her stuff. Picking up the pace, the Lancer jogged lightly through the streets until she reached the outskirts of Reliqua where...literally not even half the party were. Slowing down and waving towards River and Willow, she let out a low whistle, then a slight smile.
"Prome got away from you again?" Cecilia asked, before she turned her gaze towards River. "By the by, got you a gig at this Lady's house later this afternoon. Impressed upon her your shapeshifting talents and she requested your presence once you returned, River."
"Roger dodger!" Katya said brightly, her own hands still thrumming with the sensation of knocking a big ape creature on the skull. Wow, what a weird sensation! She had practiced before on straw dummies, but to think that her first time would be taken by a three meter tall monster of pure muscle and sinew...definitely something to brag about later. The carnage didn't bother her as much as she thought it would either, at least, it didn't seem so. Ettamri was ok, Muu was ok, Renauld was ok, Oscar was ok, and Argen...well, he was going to be ok! Scampering over towards the fallen Phalanx, the little priest leaned over Argen, trying to peer through the mask of blood that coated his visor. Was it just her imagination, or were there a couple new dents in his helm now?
"Hello? Are you ok? If you don't say anything, I'll have to take your helmet off..."
Not that she really wanted to touch the thing. It looked all ugly and dirty and stuff.
"I'm going to count to five, ok? Five...four..."
Seems like the Torran adventure could just be resolved with a quick collab or something. Dude walks in right as the third falna is distributed and wham you got a party.
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