I'd argue that mind reading isn't the same as being able to overhear telepathic conversations. Presumably, broadcasting thoughts to others would basically be 'vocalization' for flumphs, due to being wholly telepathic creatures, while thoughts that stay in a living being's head aren't being broadcast, thus won't be 'vocalized' for flumphs to pick up.
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Most Recent Posts
In
Living Life as a Monster doesn't Sound that Bad - Another Isekai RP
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
In
Living Life as a Monster doesn't Sound that Bad - Another Isekai RP
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
In
Living Life as a Monster doesn't Sound that Bad - Another Isekai RP
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Right, probably important question: I recall that you were looking for something within the range of 4 people when this Interest Check first popped up. With interest exceeding 4 now, what's your limit going to be? Also, are we straight up gonna be starting out as monster babies, or more like monster toddlers with a year or two under our belts?
So the Kyoto Alliance of Occultism was a union then, one that could only perform exorcist activities in secret, with their actual activities focused more on ensuring that the supernatural and natural worlds did not intersect in any negative fashion. The Fujiwara family, in particular, was the governing family within the alliance, while other exorcist families fulfilled specific niches. That all aligned with Otis’s understanding of the different studies that he had been exposed to throughout the conference; certainly, the nature of specialization took advantage of the effects of cooperation. As he bounced about Kyoto, interviewing whichever onmyous he managed to suss out through and noting down their comments, as well as their evasions and deflections, on a pocket journal, the Strigidae was certainly surprised when one approached him directly.
It was a face that was familiar, one from the conference even. Was it mere auspicious coincidence that Motsumine no Fujiwara had crossed paths? Or was it Otis’s questioning that had lead to this? No matter what, this was important. Crucial. A rare opportunity. He drew out his smartphone, activated the voice recorder, drew in a breath, and…
“My questions will be in order of decreasing importance. If there are any questions you cannot answer, please say ‘No comment.’ Now, I will begin, Lord Fujiwara. The Kyoto Alliance of Occultism brings order to both sides of the world, but how is this done? Are there exorcist families that operate only on the supernatural side of the world? Is this ‘spirit’ world one which is separate in the same way Arcanis is from Earth? How would one enter this spirit world? How far is the reach of the Kyoto Alliance? If it’s restrained to Kyoto only, are there other prefectural exorcist alliances around Japan? What about globally? In consideration to the Fujiwara family as the governing body of the Kyoto Alliance, is the organization such that you would delegate to other major families, as in a pyramid hierarchy, or is this all more flat, with only the Fujiwara elevated? How often, even, would those of the spirit world interact with the human world, and for what reasons do these interactions happen? As an associate of the Kaganomiyas, I’m curious as to what their place is in relation to the Kyoto Alliance, seeing how they appear to be overlapping with the ‘order-bringing’ duties of the Alliance. Amongst all the families associated with the Alliance, which one is the most advanced in terms of advancements towards talisman creation?”
Otis drew in a deep breath, then motioned with an open palm for Motsumine no Fujiwara to begin speaking. He had emptied his mind of questions in a single torrent of words, but already, more were budding in the back of his head.
In
Living Life as a Monster doesn't Sound that Bad - Another Isekai RP
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Gobo gobo.
In
To Face Tomorrow - A Fantasy RP where you don't know the other characters!
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5 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Naw, nothing's been happening in the Discord either. Stone's basically been busy trying to plan everything out and get out the first posts for everyone, so we're all just chilling and doing things to other RPs.
A fourth member, a few more minutes for introductions, and now there they were, standing within the transient quarters of the Cliffs. If Arskel was the deadend of the High Road, then this was the final manifestation of such reputation. Back alleys filled with trash and framed by hobbled-together sheds. Artwork slathered upon ruined walls and piles of stone too worthless to be cleaned up or repurposed. A whole city’s worth of inhabitants, squeezed into this small, sad place, to scrap together what remnants of a living the Age of Dreams offered them. Under the beating sun, Qantz-Farron felt for the flintstone in his pocket. The sharp edges of the rock scraped against his fingers, running the length of his ring, but he did not remove it. There would be another time to partake in such pleasures.
“Sera’s summary is sufficient,” he said, turning his gaze towards Vela. “But, if you’d rather uncover the answers you seek from the accounts of others, feel free to do so.” The man paused briefly, as if there was more to say, more to explain. But he did not continue talking. He smiled instead, smiled at the blindfolded woman who saw the world without her eyes.
And, under the beating sun, Qantz-Farron strode through the makeshift streets of the Cliff, his goal the shadows of the sewers.
Unintercepted by any other member of the party, the flying arm struck Amulak right in the face. The force of the blow was almost enough to knock him right over, but once again, his investment in his defensive stats paid off, receiving only 58 damage. As he shook off the dizziness from such a high-speed impact, however, the man felt a strange weight on his face, followed by a sudden inability to move his jaw. The oni’s arm, detached from his body, had wrapped its massive hand over Amulak’s face and now gripped it there. From the putrid stump, something wiggled beneath, but the mage couldn’t make out what it was before him.
And the hand continued squeezing, tighter and tighter, until Amulak could feel his jaw begin to creak, his teeth begin with crack.
If the mage had been expecting any assistance however, it was unlikely that he’d have found it. With Klein skirting around the rampaging oni to assist Magpie with the three further away, it was up to Ames to take on the two that came at him. Raime, for all his dextrous arrow-slinging, still lacked the power needed to inflict any significant damage to the monsters, nor did he have any tools for stopping them in their tracks. His four arrows shot past Ames’s head, three sticking into one oni’s skull and one other deflected by his horn, but they did not pierce through. No doubt, just as the scout’s agility and accuracy were superhuman, so was the onis’ own resilience, regardless of whether they were dead or alive. It came down then, to Ames’s own capabilities.
Power surged out from the core of his body, through his arms, into his sword, and with a burst of light, the warrior’s weapon sliced into the first monster’s legs, sending them toppling forward…right onto Ames himself. Momentum was conserved and his opponents had no fear. The legless one bodyslammed into him, and was enough to topple Ames over. He may have been a warrior, but he had distributed his stats evenly. Against the physically-focused behemoths that he faced, Ames had neither the might to match them, nor the versatility to outskill them at the moment. The warrior was pinned down to the ground by one, while the other oni leapt up into the air and delivered a two-footed flying stomp right on Ames’s skull. The Battlerider’s Cowl, made of tougher fabrics than the fashionable wear of the real world, prevented the toenails of the pale-skinned monstrosity from tearing into his flesh, but the sheer impact of the blow was enough to stun, and with pain set at 40%?
It felt just like being curbstomped in real life; such was the agony that would’ve accompanied such a blow. The warrior’s health dropped 118 from the combined attacks, and if he couldn’t find a way to escape the situation, there would certainly be more to follow.
Magpie, perhaps due to her own commitment to raising her strength or perhaps just because she only had to worry about a single oni, had much more success in her endeavors. Grasping either side of the monster’s head with a grip strength easily beyond half a ton, she shook past the disorientation of having her own head bashed in and through the mask of blood, the brawler bent back and did exactly what she had planned to do. With the snapping of rotted tendon and muscle, the twisting and cracking of bone, the head was raised up high, splattering gore over Magpie’s face. There was a sense of elation there, a sense of accomplishment. She may have been a STR-focused bonobo, but feats like this justified the validity of her build, at least for now.
Then, Magpie heard something burst, right up against her own torso.
Looking down at the headless oni’s chest, she saw it: dozens of wriggling, black worms, tearing out of the desiccated corpse’s flesh and launching themselves right at her. She had entangled herself already to the monster, lacked the ability to get out of the way with expediency, and within an instant, countless pinpricks of pain lit up her navel, 37 damage dealt for the 37 worms beginning to burrow themselves into her. Another meal. Another host.
And as for Klein, rushing in to take on another oni?
His fist swung through the air, smashing into the one-armed oni’s head, cracking the skull beneath the flesh. There was no feedback though. No head movement, no acknowledgement. The oni looked at him with its dead-eyed glare, and then…
…Klein found himself upside down, half his vision gone, jaw strangely loose, and his whole person hanging from the broken branches of the second tree he had crashed through. Amulak, below him, struggled with an animate arm around his own head, while in the distance, he could see the body of bull-lifting oni begin to glow ominously with a golden aura.
What exactly had happened to him?
His mind could still not process it, but there was one thing for certain: he was missing 263 HP.
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
The crystal was cool to the touch and vibrated slightly as she pawed at it, but other than that, did not respond to Ari’s movements. Zhi-Toren was also still as Ari explained more and more, but her eyes were filled with a curious intensity. Occasionally, they’d flicker with a blue light, only to be blinked away moments later. Finally, the woman folded her hands on the table, right as a waiter came up with their order. A glistening pile of syrup-drenched pancakes was placed before them, as well as some truly insta-worthy bubble tea, held in handcrafted glassware. She motioned briefly for Ari to start eating, and then said, “Ari, what would you say to an offer to join my guild? I could put in a good word for you to management just based off what you’ve told me, and the sense of responsibility and determination you have reflects well on your character.”
With an expert flick of her knife, she cut a star into the first pancake and transferred it over to her plate.
“Anyone can gain levels, after all, but, in Horogi especially, so few are willing to explore, and even fewer are willing to explore without seeking treasure. That, my dear, makes you unique. And that makes you desirable.”
@Greengoat
The Gakui-Re clan’s recruitment office was ostentatiously decorated and wholly distasteful. Longcoats emblazoned with vaguely inspiring mottos were framed, while paintings of the King of Brigands, a ruggedly handsome man with a sick fade, a skull mask, and a goddamn motorcycle was plastered everywhere. The merchandising available for the sole Superior of the Gakui-Re clan was certainly intense, ranging from pillows to fans to all sorts of clothing in all sorts of sizes, and the clash of vibes, from fanclub to gang of criminals to elusive Robin Hood-types was almost disorientating. Adding to the confusion were the other paintings present to advertise what exactly the Gakui-Re had to offer. Stampeding horses against a sunset, juxtaposed with a motorcycle gang racing down switchbacks. Cozy wild life in yurts, juxtaposed with drunks living it up in bawdy taverns. Perhaps this had to do, in part, with the ‘freedom’ espoused by the Gakui-Re clan, but on the other hand…this really just felt like someone took all the things they thought were cool and jammed them into one messy collage of an office.
And of course, sitting cross-legged was the bulky Rien known as Gan’Bol, who looked at Calace, picked his nose, flicked the booger off to the side, took a hearty swig from his gourd, and said, “Sorry girl, our rides have height restrictions. Come back after you've grown a couple more feet, ye?”
@Haha
And the hand continued squeezing, tighter and tighter, until Amulak could feel his jaw begin to creak, his teeth begin with crack.
If the mage had been expecting any assistance however, it was unlikely that he’d have found it. With Klein skirting around the rampaging oni to assist Magpie with the three further away, it was up to Ames to take on the two that came at him. Raime, for all his dextrous arrow-slinging, still lacked the power needed to inflict any significant damage to the monsters, nor did he have any tools for stopping them in their tracks. His four arrows shot past Ames’s head, three sticking into one oni’s skull and one other deflected by his horn, but they did not pierce through. No doubt, just as the scout’s agility and accuracy were superhuman, so was the onis’ own resilience, regardless of whether they were dead or alive. It came down then, to Ames’s own capabilities.
Power surged out from the core of his body, through his arms, into his sword, and with a burst of light, the warrior’s weapon sliced into the first monster’s legs, sending them toppling forward…right onto Ames himself. Momentum was conserved and his opponents had no fear. The legless one bodyslammed into him, and was enough to topple Ames over. He may have been a warrior, but he had distributed his stats evenly. Against the physically-focused behemoths that he faced, Ames had neither the might to match them, nor the versatility to outskill them at the moment. The warrior was pinned down to the ground by one, while the other oni leapt up into the air and delivered a two-footed flying stomp right on Ames’s skull. The Battlerider’s Cowl, made of tougher fabrics than the fashionable wear of the real world, prevented the toenails of the pale-skinned monstrosity from tearing into his flesh, but the sheer impact of the blow was enough to stun, and with pain set at 40%?
It felt just like being curbstomped in real life; such was the agony that would’ve accompanied such a blow. The warrior’s health dropped 118 from the combined attacks, and if he couldn’t find a way to escape the situation, there would certainly be more to follow.
Magpie, perhaps due to her own commitment to raising her strength or perhaps just because she only had to worry about a single oni, had much more success in her endeavors. Grasping either side of the monster’s head with a grip strength easily beyond half a ton, she shook past the disorientation of having her own head bashed in and through the mask of blood, the brawler bent back and did exactly what she had planned to do. With the snapping of rotted tendon and muscle, the twisting and cracking of bone, the head was raised up high, splattering gore over Magpie’s face. There was a sense of elation there, a sense of accomplishment. She may have been a STR-focused bonobo, but feats like this justified the validity of her build, at least for now.
Then, Magpie heard something burst, right up against her own torso.
Looking down at the headless oni’s chest, she saw it: dozens of wriggling, black worms, tearing out of the desiccated corpse’s flesh and launching themselves right at her. She had entangled herself already to the monster, lacked the ability to get out of the way with expediency, and within an instant, countless pinpricks of pain lit up her navel, 37 damage dealt for the 37 worms beginning to burrow themselves into her. Another meal. Another host.
And as for Klein, rushing in to take on another oni?
His fist swung through the air, smashing into the one-armed oni’s head, cracking the skull beneath the flesh. There was no feedback though. No head movement, no acknowledgement. The oni looked at him with its dead-eyed glare, and then…
…Klein found himself upside down, half his vision gone, jaw strangely loose, and his whole person hanging from the broken branches of the second tree he had crashed through. Amulak, below him, struggled with an animate arm around his own head, while in the distance, he could see the body of bull-lifting oni begin to glow ominously with a golden aura.
What exactly had happened to him?
His mind could still not process it, but there was one thing for certain: he was missing 263 HP.
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
The crystal was cool to the touch and vibrated slightly as she pawed at it, but other than that, did not respond to Ari’s movements. Zhi-Toren was also still as Ari explained more and more, but her eyes were filled with a curious intensity. Occasionally, they’d flicker with a blue light, only to be blinked away moments later. Finally, the woman folded her hands on the table, right as a waiter came up with their order. A glistening pile of syrup-drenched pancakes was placed before them, as well as some truly insta-worthy bubble tea, held in handcrafted glassware. She motioned briefly for Ari to start eating, and then said, “Ari, what would you say to an offer to join my guild? I could put in a good word for you to management just based off what you’ve told me, and the sense of responsibility and determination you have reflects well on your character.”
With an expert flick of her knife, she cut a star into the first pancake and transferred it over to her plate.
“Anyone can gain levels, after all, but, in Horogi especially, so few are willing to explore, and even fewer are willing to explore without seeking treasure. That, my dear, makes you unique. And that makes you desirable.”
@Greengoat
The Gakui-Re clan’s recruitment office was ostentatiously decorated and wholly distasteful. Longcoats emblazoned with vaguely inspiring mottos were framed, while paintings of the King of Brigands, a ruggedly handsome man with a sick fade, a skull mask, and a goddamn motorcycle was plastered everywhere. The merchandising available for the sole Superior of the Gakui-Re clan was certainly intense, ranging from pillows to fans to all sorts of clothing in all sorts of sizes, and the clash of vibes, from fanclub to gang of criminals to elusive Robin Hood-types was almost disorientating. Adding to the confusion were the other paintings present to advertise what exactly the Gakui-Re had to offer. Stampeding horses against a sunset, juxtaposed with a motorcycle gang racing down switchbacks. Cozy wild life in yurts, juxtaposed with drunks living it up in bawdy taverns. Perhaps this had to do, in part, with the ‘freedom’ espoused by the Gakui-Re clan, but on the other hand…this really just felt like someone took all the things they thought were cool and jammed them into one messy collage of an office.
And of course, sitting cross-legged was the bulky Rien known as Gan’Bol, who looked at Calace, picked his nose, flicked the booger off to the side, took a hearty swig from his gourd, and said, “Sorry girl, our rides have height restrictions. Come back after you've grown a couple more feet, ye?”
@Haha
“Well, that sucks,” Shika chimed. “But hey I’ll just do it this way then.”
They pointed outwards with a finger, and from there, a new finger, a new hand, a new arm, a new chest, a new head, a new pair of legs grew, this time mirroring the general physical appearance of the Envoy, complete with eyepatch and suit. Asexual reproduction was a gift that plants had, after all, and all the extra superficial changes just came from the supernatural alterations that Shika could afflict upon plant life. With fake-Envoy beside them, Shika snapped a couple of pictures, did some thinking, and slapped their fist against their palm.
If this was going to be a gathering quest, then it only made sense to make it into a zombie apocalypse, no?
So Shika and fake-Envoy became four. Then eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two. More humans, plucked out from the memories that the corpse-flower had of Siracha City’s residents, emerged from the originators, each now sporting some monstrous tumor in a part of their bodies. As if they were infected by a parasitic devil. Veins bulged out from their flesh, and the horde moved in jerky, unwilling fashions, puppets controlled by the strings of an alien intelligence. Shika smiled, shot finger guns at fake-Envoy, and sent that particular puppet off to start collecting the black stones around the temple grounds.
As for the rest, the corpse-flower had only one thing she wanted to do.
Turn up the volume.
“Ugh, it hurts!” “Someone save me, please!” “M-mommy…” “I can’t, agh!” “K-kuh, just kill me!”
Amidst the cacophony of terror, despair, and all around badness, Shika molded their own body once more, molting out of their skin like the snake scales that glittered around the area. Now standing at seven feet in height with a glorious updo and lips painted as red as blood (or maybe it was just actual blood), Shika fully embraced the role of a truly, magnificently evil dommy mommy, chuckling with dark desire as their puppets continued to shuffle about on the now-desecrated temple grounds.
“Yes,” they chuckled, holding a glass of wine (translucent leaf cup and grape juice) to the sky. “Dance for me, you pitiful mortals.”
If that didn’t grab the Devil Hunters’ attention, then nothing would.
Except maybe bioterrorist attacks in high-population density areas of the city, Shika supposed.
Swift as a raging fire, Magpie launched herself across the grove, fists up as the warmth in her stomach surged out to the rest of her body. In an instant, her fists were aglow with white light and she unleashed a flurry of blows so swift that even Raime, with his buff activated, could only see the afterimages of her swinging fists. Before any of the oni could turn around, twenty scorchmarks emerged on the back of the biggest of them, pulverizing flesh and crushing organs. Like smacking a tank of water that was already leaking, Magpie pounded more blood out of the fresh wounds of the oni. Viscous, black blood splattered out with a decaying stench that caused her nose to wrinkle, so potent the pungency was. But Magpie was already in it!
It was showtime, baby!
With a gurgling roar, the oni whipped around, his mouth still coated with gore, his eyes white with death-promising bloodlust. Both arms reached out in a bear hug, but before they could wrap around Magpie’s back, the creature was suddenly jerked backwards, hands clapping around her shoulders instead. Tendrils of magical power snagged onto his ruined flesh, intensifying as time continued to pass, and his companions howled as well. Amulak’s Arcane Vortex, centered on the group, clumped them up briefly. Their rotten flesh sheared away from the pale blue energy that wrapped around them, and their proximity enabled Raime’s rapid-firing. The Scout’s Dewsilk Shortbow practically sang underneath his fingers, arrows embedding themselves into the knees of a couple of the creatures. He could tell, however. Without any special skills to circumvent the issue, his paltry strength alone was what powered his attacks, and just like against the centipede woman, Raime’s arrows didn’t drive themselves nearly as deeply as he may have wished.
And though Amulak’s Arcane Vortex continued to shred at their bodies, these were no emaciated ghouls within some lightless tunnels. These were monoliths of physical might made flesh, and as loosened skin was torn off from their body, they advanced regardless. Two of them rushed past Magpie, hurtling towards the rest of the group like a pair of rampaging bulls, their tongues lolling out. In mere moments, they’d close in on the backline of Raime and Amulak, unless Klein or Ames tried to intercept. But how on earth did you intercept two semi-trucks? The ones in the back weren’t pausing either. With ferocious effort, the one grappling Magpie drew his head back and then slammed it into the brawler’s own. Once, twice! Skull cracked against skull, the monster’s forehead against the cursed material of her battlemask. It shook her thoughts clear outta her head, if she had any to begin with, and she received 73 damage from those devastating strikes. And through her dizzying vision, she could see that one of the remaining oni had buried their hands into the base of the creature they’ve killed. With sinew-popping effort, the bull’s corpse began to inch off the ground…but to what end?
More immediate, though, was the threat that the last oni provided.
His milky eyes locked onto Amulak, that dark-cloaked mage, and he punched.
At this range, it was physically impossible for a melee attack to hit him. But then, the fist got closer. And closer. And CLOSER.
The oni had punched with his arm so hard that his arm had torn off from his shoulder, and flew at Amulak like a ballista bolt. What the fuck was wrong with these monsters?
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
Zhi-Toren listened intently, nodding a couple times as Ari recounted the difficulties accompanied with sewers. It made sense, after all, for a level 1 newbie to fall prey to even the slimes the city employed in their sewers. It made even more sense, for someone with such little game sense, to then imagine that the sewers, rather than being an integral part of Nyu-Taro’s infrastructure, was actually a proper dungeon for adventurers to grind in. That didn’t answer, however, why the one that came with her had perished as well, and when Ari brought up subjects such as a palace?
The purple-haired woman raised a hand, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
“You’re talking about a palace? A bell? Apologies, Ari, but could you back up a bit?” Zhi-Toren slipped out a small crystal from her pockets, and placed it on the table. “What happened, exactly? Could you run me through how you got to the place with the palace from the place you entered the sewers?”
@Greengoat
It was showtime, baby!
With a gurgling roar, the oni whipped around, his mouth still coated with gore, his eyes white with death-promising bloodlust. Both arms reached out in a bear hug, but before they could wrap around Magpie’s back, the creature was suddenly jerked backwards, hands clapping around her shoulders instead. Tendrils of magical power snagged onto his ruined flesh, intensifying as time continued to pass, and his companions howled as well. Amulak’s Arcane Vortex, centered on the group, clumped them up briefly. Their rotten flesh sheared away from the pale blue energy that wrapped around them, and their proximity enabled Raime’s rapid-firing. The Scout’s Dewsilk Shortbow practically sang underneath his fingers, arrows embedding themselves into the knees of a couple of the creatures. He could tell, however. Without any special skills to circumvent the issue, his paltry strength alone was what powered his attacks, and just like against the centipede woman, Raime’s arrows didn’t drive themselves nearly as deeply as he may have wished.
And though Amulak’s Arcane Vortex continued to shred at their bodies, these were no emaciated ghouls within some lightless tunnels. These were monoliths of physical might made flesh, and as loosened skin was torn off from their body, they advanced regardless. Two of them rushed past Magpie, hurtling towards the rest of the group like a pair of rampaging bulls, their tongues lolling out. In mere moments, they’d close in on the backline of Raime and Amulak, unless Klein or Ames tried to intercept. But how on earth did you intercept two semi-trucks? The ones in the back weren’t pausing either. With ferocious effort, the one grappling Magpie drew his head back and then slammed it into the brawler’s own. Once, twice! Skull cracked against skull, the monster’s forehead against the cursed material of her battlemask. It shook her thoughts clear outta her head, if she had any to begin with, and she received 73 damage from those devastating strikes. And through her dizzying vision, she could see that one of the remaining oni had buried their hands into the base of the creature they’ve killed. With sinew-popping effort, the bull’s corpse began to inch off the ground…but to what end?
More immediate, though, was the threat that the last oni provided.
His milky eyes locked onto Amulak, that dark-cloaked mage, and he punched.
At this range, it was physically impossible for a melee attack to hit him. But then, the fist got closer. And closer. And CLOSER.
The oni had punched with his arm so hard that his arm had torn off from his shoulder, and flew at Amulak like a ballista bolt. What the fuck was wrong with these monsters?
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
Zhi-Toren listened intently, nodding a couple times as Ari recounted the difficulties accompanied with sewers. It made sense, after all, for a level 1 newbie to fall prey to even the slimes the city employed in their sewers. It made even more sense, for someone with such little game sense, to then imagine that the sewers, rather than being an integral part of Nyu-Taro’s infrastructure, was actually a proper dungeon for adventurers to grind in. That didn’t answer, however, why the one that came with her had perished as well, and when Ari brought up subjects such as a palace?
The purple-haired woman raised a hand, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
“You’re talking about a palace? A bell? Apologies, Ari, but could you back up a bit?” Zhi-Toren slipped out a small crystal from her pockets, and placed it on the table. “What happened, exactly? Could you run me through how you got to the place with the palace from the place you entered the sewers?”
@Greengoat
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