Going by Vertigo's latest status update, you can probably withhold the axe till the end of Tuesday.
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A Spiny Ant
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Albrecht drank in the sight of all these people, curiousity clear in his expression. Marian's Grove was a predominantly human community, outside of the halfling family that ran the leather tanning business, and such strange individuals as tortoise-men and dark elves was a hella wild experience. He stared for a bit, before suddenly starting when he realized that he was being discourteous. "Albrecht," he said, with a bow and a smile. "My responsibilities kept me from attending the parade, but now, in the absence of work, I've nothing better to do but offer my own services. It's a poor day when adventuring folks like myself got nothing to keep my hands busy with, y'know?"
Hoh? Oscar dared challenge her?
Katya grinned smugly as she plopped herself down on a comfy mound of snow. "Wow, Oscar, so eager to do away with food! Shouldn't you be a little more patient first? After all, Muu hasn't even had a chance to eat yet, and already you're handing away extras?" The little priest closed one eye as she waved a finger at him disapprovingly. "All that butt-eating must have gotten into your head, cause now you're even acting like a poopyface! Why don't you all take a bath and clean yourselves up? I'll make sure to protect all this weird butt meat from predators while Muu's not here yet."
Ohoh, quite a few foreigners.
Once Ahmya was done watching out for her own appearance, she finally took the chance to look around. Which was a big ‘yikes’ for her. The weird skull man had talked about rebirth, yes, but weren’t there two like…actual demons amongst the crater-gang? She was quizzical about all this, before her hands reached out to touch herself, starting from her forehead before exploring the rest of her body. No horns, no scales, no tails, no claws, no-
She stuck out her tongue, trying to figure out if it was longer or smaller or weirder than normal.
-weird tongue. God, that’d be a layer of weirdness that she wouldn’t want to handle at all.
Thankfully, the residents of this world were just as…well, normal-human-looking as her normal life. Definitely more attractive though, holy shit. The young man could give most boy bands a run for their money, his fine, silky hair and eloquently genteel gaze practically out of the world. A prince upon a beautiful steed, despite his humble attire, Ahmya had no doubt that he was blueblooded. Yda, too, despite being a bit crazy, was on a whole other dimension of omega-cute. An athletic figure that didn’t disrupt her womanly figure, drooping eyes that was literally wife-material, and ridiculously long hair that looked good even when tangled? They would never exist in the reality that Ahmya once lived in, but there they were.
Geez, and seeing the lady-knight kowtow so deeply was doing weird things to her heart too.
Ahmya drew in a long breath, massaged her left breast with her knuckles, before glancing nervously at the two horned monsters. It was what was on the inside that counted, right? Nevermind that both of them were equipped with brutish, medieval weapons, while the ‘humans’ of the crater-gang had a skinny sword (probably a toy) and a book between the three of them. She made the conscious decision to just stop thinking about them, before turning her attention to the pleasingly handsome gentleman who first found them.
“Ah, yes,” the raven-haired girl said, dipping into a shallow curtsy (her short skirt didn’t really allow for anything else). “It was mere happenstance that we’ve fallen upon your land, mi’lord. We were sent here to fix…something, and, well, if you could give us some time, I wouldn’t mind starting by fixing these holes in the ground.”
She blinked. Huh, where did all that eloquence come from in the beginning.
“Ah, and though I am unaware of the names of my companions, you may address me as ‘Ahmya’. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, mi’lord?”
Seriously, where?
If nothing else, Oscar was a practiced firemaker, and they soon had a small, cozy flame with which to cook their butt-steaks. The snow was easy to hammer nails into as well, and within a relatively short period of time, the camp was set up: a wall to serve as a windbreak, tents to sleep in, a fire to cook in, and an Argen to do the actual cooking with. For all his lingering pains, the Phalanx didn’t have too much trouble with cooking: Oscar had butchered the meat relatively well, and without any oils or particular spices on hand, all he had to do was either boil it in his little pot or toss it on a hot rock and watch it go. Fat dribbled from the meat, causing the fireplace to crackle and pop. Renauld warmed himself by the fires again, same position as always. They were all tired, from both the lack of sleep as well as the forced march, but now, sitting in the camp, it wasn’t all that bad.
Just a moment of reprieve, really. Maybe this time, their sleep wouldn’t be disturbed by a collapsing shelter.
Time passed meanderingly for Ettamri, Renauld, Oscar, and Argen, the four of them having nothing to do but watch the fire slowly cook the meat. Smoke rose up, obscuring the stars. Snow melted above, dripping down in cool drops. The smell of meat became more pronounced. If they had some sea salt, that would have been wonderful. If they had some spices, that’d be a dream. No conversation passed, only the grumbling of empty stomachs.
And then, by general consensus or expert opinion, they decided enough was enough and went for a bite.
The texture of the steak was definitely tougher than expected, and there was a weird stickiness that accompanied the meat. Had the fat congealed too much with the muscle? Their attempt at caveman cooking clearly wasn’t the best for this particular cut; if they had time and fuel, slow roasting the monkey butts may have been a better option there. The meat itself tasted relatively decent though. There was a gaminess and a bit of a bitter aftertaste, but the initial flavor was akin to overdone beef: not amazing or mindblowing, but at least it was edible. Savory, even. The monkey butts were never going to be finger-licking good, most of them had expected that. At least it didn’t taste like poop. At least it was fresh meat.
A figure emerged from the darkness and descended upon them. Katya, her skin aglow and flushed, patted down her wet curls with her robes (perhaps not the smartest idea in subzero temperatures), before looking at them. For a moment, there was a gleam of excitement and hunger in her eyes, before rationality set in and quickly turned to disgust.
“Ew,” she said, scrunching up her nose, “you’re all butt-eaters now…”
A slight pause, and then she continued nonchalantly eying the steaks still slowly cooking. “Also, uh, you can all go take a bath now too, just saying. So I think you should all do that. Cause you all smell like poop. And, uh…Muu wants you all to go too. So yeah.”
A firm nod. That was the story she was running with.
“Yeah!”
To confirm, are all hunters Japanese, or do lineages extend around the globe? If it's the latter, do they have different organizational structures?
“Grown kid’s a bit of an oxymoron, ain’t it?” Cecilia smirked, leaning against one of the posts. “And don’t worry, River, it isn’t anything deviant. Lady Nanila’s simply curious ‘bout the whole shifter business. Her caretaking duties towards her brother, y’see, has kept her largely bound to Reliquia, so when she heard someone could show her the wildlife of Reliquia in the safety of her own home, well…” The lilac-haired lancer tossed her hair in the air, eyes closed and lips curving up. “Who was I to refuse such an earnest request? I’ll make sure you get all the kills you need to please the Lady, so don’t worry about it, my dude.”
A salacious sneer emerged then, as Cecilia stroked her chin. “Or we could leash Prome up like Holly said and dress him up like a puppy.”
No other similarly improper comments could be made though, before Willow started talking about the Welkin quest. Going all in on fodder wasn’t something that Cecilia was particularly pleased with, especially not when the two magic users that were in the party weren’t DPS focused to begin with. Wouldn’t give them much time to learn new patterns either, if they were just going to try to explode the little creatures from the get-go.
“Ain’t the Welkin goop basically a free taunt?” Cecilia ventured, turning her gaze towards the town. “If the tank girl actually shows, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to just cull down the number of Welkin a bit, before taking it nice and easy in our DPS, yeah? Better to learn the patterns of these monsters earlier rather than later.”
Well, where demons were congregating, slayers were too. Though the defection of the River Pillar was something to be concerned about, Gerard honestly couldn’t care too much about the implosion of an organization. He dealt with cannibalistic monsters, not annoying humans, after all. His decision was more or less made before he even entered the room, and consequently, the large man was really only there to enjoy the tea. Oita Prefecture, find demons, and kill them. Easy enough, honestly. He drank more tea, nodded once at Sister Maria, and departed, soon finding himself on a train heading northwards to Kyushu.
…
He overslept.
Was it food, too greasy and delicious to refuse? Was it some accursed Demon Blood Art, to thwart his arrival in the prefecture? Was it just that the rocking motion of the train triggered his infantile instincts, lulling him to a good night’s rest? Regardless, Gerard was woken up quite some time later by the train conductor, who spoke such terrible English that he may as well have just spoken in Japanese. Scratching his head, the sleepy giant ducked under the doorway, stumbled out, and let out a cavernous yawn. Where was he now…
Though he could more or less speak Japanese with some degree of proficiency, Gerard still struggled with kanji, and that mortal weakness visited him with the gravitas of a nail through his wrists as he stared at the sign at the station. It was late now, of course, and from experience, he was certain that anyone who WAS awake would either fight him or run away from him. Well, maybe if he were lucky, he was still in Oita. With that hope in his heart, Gerard sauntered off in search for lodgings, or even just a shed to nap in.
He was not lucky. He was in Kitakyushu, Fukuoka, a good sixty kilometers away from the border of the Oita Prefecture.
…
He overslept.
Was it food, too greasy and delicious to refuse? Was it some accursed Demon Blood Art, to thwart his arrival in the prefecture? Was it just that the rocking motion of the train triggered his infantile instincts, lulling him to a good night’s rest? Regardless, Gerard was woken up quite some time later by the train conductor, who spoke such terrible English that he may as well have just spoken in Japanese. Scratching his head, the sleepy giant ducked under the doorway, stumbled out, and let out a cavernous yawn. Where was he now…
Though he could more or less speak Japanese with some degree of proficiency, Gerard still struggled with kanji, and that mortal weakness visited him with the gravitas of a nail through his wrists as he stared at the sign at the station. It was late now, of course, and from experience, he was certain that anyone who WAS awake would either fight him or run away from him. Well, maybe if he were lucky, he was still in Oita. With that hope in his heart, Gerard sauntered off in search for lodgings, or even just a shed to nap in.
He was not lucky. He was in Kitakyushu, Fukuoka, a good sixty kilometers away from the border of the Oita Prefecture.
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