Didja skip over Rin intentionally?
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A Spiny Ant
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Most Recent Posts
Expressing tentative interest.
It was a two-man orgy of violence and hatred.
Pinpricks of pain shredded into Klein’s arm as he pushed deeper in, his flesh feeling an unpleasant numbness followed by a moist warmth that caused his stomach to roil. The kappa too was squirming, eyes widening at the realization that he was honestly going to die! But if he would, he wouldn’t die in terror, but in rage. Veins bulged out from slippery, green skin as he increased his own grip on the massive man’s throat. No longer choking, but digging, piercing, black fingernails gouging into human flesh even as the kappa’s eyes teared, face turning all sorts of colors.
Blood began to soak the front of Klein’s shirt. Sticky warmth coated his fingers.
He lost 7 HP, claws sinking into his throat. 48 HP remained.
He lost 13 HP, hundreds of hook-like teeth ripping his arm to shreds. 35 HP remained.
He lost 26 HP, a major artery rupturing, his vocal cords gone and with it the scream he didn’t know he was screaming. 9 HP remained.
Raime’s crossbow slammed into the kappa’s body, an impact that was transferred into Klein’s arm as well. He lost 2 HP. 7 HP remained.
Lugh moved in, a shadow wielding a blade that glistened in the daylight. They understood. The price of victory. The price of the outplay. His blade bit deep into the kappa’s throat, cracking against the spine with such force that a shockwave burst out on the other side, cause the cattails to bristle in counteracting winds. He lost 4 HP, his own flesh nicked by his companion’s blade. 3 HP remained.
The monster couldn’t croak. Couldn’t scream. Could only commit.
The man who would one day be a samurai drew his wakizashi back and swung again.
The monster who would never become anything more squeezed.
Klein received 11 points of damage.
The kappa’s remained affixed, even as the body collapsed back onto the ground, held in place by the arm jammed down into it.
…
And yet, Klein did not die.
Flames, golden and bright, surged out from his body, encasing him completely. In the brilliance of the combustion, Lugh and Raime could only barely make out the figure of an ashen demon crafted of flame overlaid upon their party member’s form, before just as swiftly, those flames retracted. The tendrils seeped into Klein’s body, the gold gradating into charcoal black, until all that remained where flame-like tattoos branding his two arms.
All injuries he had sustained were gone, his bloody attire the only indication of the wounds once suffered. And with that, a window unseen to all but Klein emerged before the adventurer’s eyes.
The remaining kappa, struck by Ames and then stabbed from the side by Ari, moved to run, but it was too late by then. Amulak’s Magic Bolt stunned him with its concussive blast, and immediately afterwards, it became a seven on one curbstomp, from which an unarmed monster had no chance of surviving. Only a messy pulp remained once the party was finished with their gruesome task.
They had won the battle, and as the encounter ended, the party would watch as all the possessions left by the creatures, their weapons mainly, pixelated into tiny orbs that swirled in the air, before converging over the bodies. The fused spheres transformed into a different shape, and once the light faded, the new objects tumbled onto the ground.
A dirt-stained loincloth and eight bronze coins.
Pinpricks of pain shredded into Klein’s arm as he pushed deeper in, his flesh feeling an unpleasant numbness followed by a moist warmth that caused his stomach to roil. The kappa too was squirming, eyes widening at the realization that he was honestly going to die! But if he would, he wouldn’t die in terror, but in rage. Veins bulged out from slippery, green skin as he increased his own grip on the massive man’s throat. No longer choking, but digging, piercing, black fingernails gouging into human flesh even as the kappa’s eyes teared, face turning all sorts of colors.
Blood began to soak the front of Klein’s shirt. Sticky warmth coated his fingers.
He lost 7 HP, claws sinking into his throat. 48 HP remained.
He lost 13 HP, hundreds of hook-like teeth ripping his arm to shreds. 35 HP remained.
He lost 26 HP, a major artery rupturing, his vocal cords gone and with it the scream he didn’t know he was screaming. 9 HP remained.
Raime’s crossbow slammed into the kappa’s body, an impact that was transferred into Klein’s arm as well. He lost 2 HP. 7 HP remained.
Lugh moved in, a shadow wielding a blade that glistened in the daylight. They understood. The price of victory. The price of the outplay. His blade bit deep into the kappa’s throat, cracking against the spine with such force that a shockwave burst out on the other side, cause the cattails to bristle in counteracting winds. He lost 4 HP, his own flesh nicked by his companion’s blade. 3 HP remained.
The monster couldn’t croak. Couldn’t scream. Could only commit.
The man who would one day be a samurai drew his wakizashi back and swung again.
The monster who would never become anything more squeezed.
Klein received 11 points of damage.
The kappa’s remained affixed, even as the body collapsed back onto the ground, held in place by the arm jammed down into it.
…
And yet, Klein did not die.
Flames, golden and bright, surged out from his body, encasing him completely. In the brilliance of the combustion, Lugh and Raime could only barely make out the figure of an ashen demon crafted of flame overlaid upon their party member’s form, before just as swiftly, those flames retracted. The tendrils seeped into Klein’s body, the gold gradating into charcoal black, until all that remained where flame-like tattoos branding his two arms.
All injuries he had sustained were gone, his bloody attire the only indication of the wounds once suffered. And with that, a window unseen to all but Klein emerged before the adventurer’s eyes.
The remaining kappa, struck by Ames and then stabbed from the side by Ari, moved to run, but it was too late by then. Amulak’s Magic Bolt stunned him with its concussive blast, and immediately afterwards, it became a seven on one curbstomp, from which an unarmed monster had no chance of surviving. Only a messy pulp remained once the party was finished with their gruesome task.
They had won the battle, and as the encounter ended, the party would watch as all the possessions left by the creatures, their weapons mainly, pixelated into tiny orbs that swirled in the air, before converging over the bodies. The fused spheres transformed into a different shape, and once the light faded, the new objects tumbled onto the ground.
A dirt-stained loincloth and eight bronze coins.
Nea
Nea Honeyforge ● 16 ● She
______________________________________Appearance:
Nea stands at 4'11 with the stocky, rounded build of someone who still hasn't fully grown out of childhood yet. Though her hands are callused from long hours in the kitchen and her attire is such that no one could mistake her for anything more than a servant, Nea's sleek hair and pale complexion are her self-declared charm points and she's stupidly confident that she'll grow up to be a jaw-dropping beauty come two or three more years.
Reputation:
Nea's position as apprentice maid in the summer estate of Lord Mildred Karstein down in the Croplands precludes basically any personal reputation she may have. As with any maid in the service of an aristocrat, she can be expected to be quiet, hard-working, and punctual, though some leniency should be given owing to her age and nature as an apprentice.
Reason for Traveling:
A letter from her village in the Highlands bade her to come back, with no further clarifications or instructions. After stressing about it for a couple days, Nea asked for leave from the butler, and as Lord Karstein was unlikely to be expected to return to the estate in the next half year, he allowed it, sending the girl off with some extra wages to help with travel expenses. It's unlikely to be enough for the whole trip though.
Skills:
Having worked at the estate of an affluent lord for the last two years, Nea has become proficient in performing a variety of menial tasks and has trained herself to wake up at the crack of dawn, regardless of when she had slept the night before. It's unlikely that she would ever encounter something she didn't know how to clean, and Nea is especially skilled at butchering animals and cutting vegetables; it's why she had been primarily working the kitchen for the last four months.
Though an inexperienced traveller in that she doesn't spend her life on the road, Nea possesses the sturdiness of any commoner who lived their formulative years in the Highlands, and, in preparation for roadside dangers, has pounded a dozen or two nails through the business end of her travelling stick. Whether she possesses the will to swing it though with full intent of maiming another human being's face, however, is still up for debate.
Though an inexperienced traveller in that she doesn't spend her life on the road, Nea possesses the sturdiness of any commoner who lived their formulative years in the Highlands, and, in preparation for roadside dangers, has pounded a dozen or two nails through the business end of her travelling stick. Whether she possesses the will to swing it though with full intent of maiming another human being's face, however, is still up for debate.
Meta:
Nea exists so I can practice writing volatile emotions. She's not a trained badass and she's not smart and she's not going to keep her cool in situations that her job hasn't prepared for her, so hopefully there will be plenty of situations where she wonders what the hell's going on. This, obviously, may exclude her from participating in combat scenes, especially near the start of the RP. I'm not sure where her character arc will go otherwise, but there are two things I'd like to clear up.
Once she reaches her village in the Highlands, Nea will leave the party permanently, no matter whether the situation at the village is tragic (oh no, everyone's dead) or immensely stupid (parents literally just wanted to see her again). As such, I'm open to any plot hijinks, so long as it doesn't take the note of something like "your parents were in another castle, so travel more with us". Partings are also things that I never get to write in RPs.
Once she reaches her village in the Highlands, Nea will leave the party permanently, no matter whether the situation at the village is tragic (oh no, everyone's dead) or immensely stupid (parents literally just wanted to see her again). As such, I'm open to any plot hijinks, so long as it doesn't take the note of something like "your parents were in another castle, so travel more with us". Partings are also things that I never get to write in RPs.
So bleeding people with leeches?
How's technology here? Do they have firearms or modern-esque medical procedures figured out?
Gonna take a shot every time a fantasy religion is centered on celestial ovjects.
I'd say that, unless you wanna make a whole other academy RP with this group, it's better to just take this as a hiatus until Blu returns.
Central District
Hiroyuki nodded, mentally tallying Iwao's vote in, before waiting for anyone else to speak up. Ten seconds passed. Thirty seconds. A whole minute. He raised a brow, scrutinizing the others, then shrugged. "Well, Yajirui-Kan it is," the sharply dressed man said without much ceremony. "Let's get going, neh?"
Placing his own bowl in the kitchen sink, he slipped the manila folder into his dark, leather bag, visited the refrigerator for a couple bottles of chilled spring water, and waited for the others by the door. It took various shufflings of possessions and toilet visits before everyone was good to go, but once they were, the group moved with relative unison. After a couple months of these sorts of trips, they fell into predictable clumps. Hiroyuki helming the front with Sayuri. Otoya meandering about as he wished. Fumiko trailing behind at a respectful distance. Aya being a curious nuisance who scrambled to catch up once her detours caused her to lag behind. And then there was Mochizuki, chatting with Iwao in the middle of the pack, just two dudes bonding over lacking aspirations and romances.
Not today though. Today, Iwao walked alone, the spring in his step counteracted by the quiet that dominated his vicinity. Cicadas cried in the shadows of trees, and the sea crashed against the shores in the distance, the sounds of nature slowly gradating into the sounds of civilization as they walked deeper into the heart of the Central District. A group of young men and women nodded at them as they passed by, their formal attire and Bibles marking them out as the small Protestant denomination that met up every Sunday for worship. A salaryman, newspaper over his face, snored loudly on the bench of an inner-city park, still sleeping off last night's drunkeness. Taxis, as well as an athletic woman pulling a rickshaw, waited for customers, but the weather wasn't bad enough and the time not urgent enough to require their services yet. For the Urban Exploration Club, the train line would do anyhow. They stepped underground, enjoyed the roar of cold, dry wind as the automated announcer spoke up, and took a short ride to the glitzy suburbs of the Northwestern District.
Placing his own bowl in the kitchen sink, he slipped the manila folder into his dark, leather bag, visited the refrigerator for a couple bottles of chilled spring water, and waited for the others by the door. It took various shufflings of possessions and toilet visits before everyone was good to go, but once they were, the group moved with relative unison. After a couple months of these sorts of trips, they fell into predictable clumps. Hiroyuki helming the front with Sayuri. Otoya meandering about as he wished. Fumiko trailing behind at a respectful distance. Aya being a curious nuisance who scrambled to catch up once her detours caused her to lag behind. And then there was Mochizuki, chatting with Iwao in the middle of the pack, just two dudes bonding over lacking aspirations and romances.
Not today though. Today, Iwao walked alone, the spring in his step counteracted by the quiet that dominated his vicinity. Cicadas cried in the shadows of trees, and the sea crashed against the shores in the distance, the sounds of nature slowly gradating into the sounds of civilization as they walked deeper into the heart of the Central District. A group of young men and women nodded at them as they passed by, their formal attire and Bibles marking them out as the small Protestant denomination that met up every Sunday for worship. A salaryman, newspaper over his face, snored loudly on the bench of an inner-city park, still sleeping off last night's drunkeness. Taxis, as well as an athletic woman pulling a rickshaw, waited for customers, but the weather wasn't bad enough and the time not urgent enough to require their services yet. For the Urban Exploration Club, the train line would do anyhow. They stepped underground, enjoyed the roar of cold, dry wind as the automated announcer spoke up, and took a short ride to the glitzy suburbs of the Northwestern District.
Northwestern District
It had been a steep walk up to where the closed-down ryokan was situated, but there was respite to be found in the plum trees lining the path up, at least. Stone stairs were cut into the side of the hill, a total of twenty-two steps before they reached the top, and the view that was provided to the group as they turned around was...rather mundane, really. Taking shelter in the shade, Hiroyuki twisted open one of the water bottles he brought along, sipping at it calmly, and then handed it to Sayuri to share. For all his many layers of fashionable clothing, he hadn't sweated at all during the stair-climbing. Was he secretly a badass with bombass glutes?!
Probably not. He wasn't the good Captain, after all.
Up close, Yajirui-Kan looked like any of the other old buildings that one may have once seen in the Northwestern District. The wind carried the suggestion of cypress wood, and the front of the entrance held the shadow of the establishment's nameplate. Two stories tall with a tiled roof that peaked upwards, it held all the charm and homeliness of any multi-generational storefront, marred with garrish plywood planks nailed over any conceivable entrance. Rather than looking haunted or anything, it just looked despondent. Too old to survive the era, too distant to be renovated like the rest of them. Hiroyuki let out a whistle, and circled around the back, motioning the others over.
Behind, after ignoring the 'No Trespassing' sign and vaulting over the yellowed bamboo wall, the group landed in a disheveled Zen garden, the sand and gravel long having lost their orderly patterns and lines. Plywood still boarded up the windows here, but one of the doors, leading perhaps to a hallway or corridor, was left exposed. Holes where nails had once been pounded in marked the frame of the sliding door, and when tested, it didn't offer any resistance either. It did end up opening to a ground-level hallway with old signs pointing to the direction of the bathroom, the dining area, and the lobby, as well as the staircase leading to the private bedrooms. The notes had pointed out the existence of a small attic (perhaps in the space of the peaked roof?) and a cellar (promising the possibility of real 'treasure) as well.
"Well, I'll watch our escape. Everyone's got their phones, yeah?" Hiroyuki waited for an answer, but didn't seem all that concerned either way. "Have fun, y'all. Hit me up if you find a hidden room, please."
Probably not. He wasn't the good Captain, after all.
Up close, Yajirui-Kan looked like any of the other old buildings that one may have once seen in the Northwestern District. The wind carried the suggestion of cypress wood, and the front of the entrance held the shadow of the establishment's nameplate. Two stories tall with a tiled roof that peaked upwards, it held all the charm and homeliness of any multi-generational storefront, marred with garrish plywood planks nailed over any conceivable entrance. Rather than looking haunted or anything, it just looked despondent. Too old to survive the era, too distant to be renovated like the rest of them. Hiroyuki let out a whistle, and circled around the back, motioning the others over.
Behind, after ignoring the 'No Trespassing' sign and vaulting over the yellowed bamboo wall, the group landed in a disheveled Zen garden, the sand and gravel long having lost their orderly patterns and lines. Plywood still boarded up the windows here, but one of the doors, leading perhaps to a hallway or corridor, was left exposed. Holes where nails had once been pounded in marked the frame of the sliding door, and when tested, it didn't offer any resistance either. It did end up opening to a ground-level hallway with old signs pointing to the direction of the bathroom, the dining area, and the lobby, as well as the staircase leading to the private bedrooms. The notes had pointed out the existence of a small attic (perhaps in the space of the peaked roof?) and a cellar (promising the possibility of real 'treasure) as well.
"Well, I'll watch our escape. Everyone's got their phones, yeah?" Hiroyuki waited for an answer, but didn't seem all that concerned either way. "Have fun, y'all. Hit me up if you find a hidden room, please."
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