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7 days ago
Current That is true and perfectly alright. However I can still be presented with a list of people having been online within the last 12h. It seems the one with the most recent login is on top of that list.
2 likes
7 days ago
Adding people who use ghost mode as friends appears to give hints when they come online since the display order changes. I'm wondering if ghost mode can effectively be penetrated by adding a lot. Fix?
3 likes
11 days ago
It appears that I'm finally on my way of significant improvement. Trying to restart my usual posting schedule now...
7 likes
13 days ago
In case I don't respond today it's due to me still feeling sick and drained. I hope you understand. Apologies to all my partners!
2 likes
16 days ago
Feeling somewhat depressed. Vacation's over and I don't wanna know how much work has piled up. Also struck by a gastrointestinal virus.
3 likes

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"How dare you!" was all Bardeck would find himself confronted with at the beginning. The soldier was defeated physically, but he left no doubt about what he considered himself to be on the layer of psychology and honor -- quite the opposite. "What the hell do you think I am 'working' for ? Don't you even recognize the most primitive of uniforms ?" The man bared his teeth and met Bardeck with a facial expression completely filled with anger. However it was rather obvious from the remainder of his body language that he was also suffering from very considerable pain.

At least there were no attempts to secretly reach for his weapon and stab the muscled man while he was so close. "Oh yes, go on and kick me! Once I'm dead you won't know anything, fool!" One deep, heavy breath was immediately punished by violent coughing, causing blood to spill out of the man's lightly bearded mouth. It took some time for him to recover and continue speaking: "We're a simple escort, and you won't be amused by the fact that we've been escorting a regional administrator!" Well... a very 'small' regional administrator in the metaphorical sense, but still a person of more than average importance. Nothing Bardeck and the reddish monster needed to know. "You could have triggered more attention than you might be able to handle!"

In the meantime, Ferthyr found himself confronted with a little dilemma: Should he kill the one trying to get away or let him go ? While the latter option certainly was more comfortable, it also held the risk of unnecessary bits of information leaking through. Whomever this man would report to, that one would know when he and Bardeck had been where. Of course they could alter course and do whatever pleased them, but still it caused concern in Ferthyr's mind. Yet he was less of a monster than he looked like and opted for being lazy. Turning his head here and there in order to reassure himself that the man was heading away, he approached his companion and the defeated with the broken rib.

"How are we doin', hm ?" was what Ferthyr asked, directed at the injured person and with a sarcastic smile written on his face.
Gartoj


Not enough!

With as much ferocity as one could possibly put into an item of such vanishingly small mass, the goosequill was pushed through the small opening. It was plunged into a black sea below of it, but as much momentum as there had been initially as quickly it was killed before an inevitable impact would have destroyed the carefully cut tip. With small, violently separated droplets adding themselves to the mess already created around the little jar, the tool was rapidly guided back to Gartoj's journal.

Or was it a journal ? A bookmaker possibly would claim it to be far too riddled with non-alphabetic elements, while a magician -- or a mathematician, as far as one could say that such a person existed -- would scold its author for being far too... chaotic. A stream of thoughts jumping from sheet to sheet to even mere fractions of a sheet in an not always sequential manner. Only few had ever looked into the drow's tent since his arrival at this camp, but those few had already made sure to let him know that he was wasting his resources on nonsense. Almost needless to say that Gartoj's view of the matter was a very different one. Right now he was merely trying to calculate how much bread, water, wine and other supplies he would need for the upcoming journey on the basis of an estimated duration. He was quite sure that Szazah would ultimately have his will come true, even if there were people seen around him to whom the attribute 'unusual' could be assigned in the best case.

However Gartoj possibly wouldn't be Gartoj if his most immediate surroundings wouldn't at least partially mirror the things he was thinking others to be. That pathetic assembly of wooden pieces beneath his butt was hardly a match for his size, but building an own one would most likely do nothing but openly present his lack of artisanal talent to the entire Moving. Maybe one day he'd just happily sumble upon a leftover piece of a trunk that he could simply roll in and use as a replacement ? That hammock next to him had been a different issue... He had been forced to reinforce both it and the poles it was hooked up to right after the first time gravity had blasted him through it. Otherwise ? Well he had not yet tried out what the stablemaster would do upon seeing him approaching. Those beastkin definitely had some advantages sometimes. Or those of his own kind who were blessed with actually being more normal.

Yet most calculations came to an end and so did this morning's one. Moaning a little under his self-inflicted backpain, the drow stretched himself and got moving. The sound of rain coming down made him feel just a tad more miserable rightaway. Just... why ? Snow would have been a much more appreciable thing, but it appeared they were right at the borderline where it no longer was too dry, but still too warm for such things to happen with comparable intensity. The nights in the tent weren't long enough to let his clothes dry completely, so by now they were pretty damp on the outer layers and providing their environment with quite a bit of an distinct odour. Gartoj could keep himself as clean and tidy as he wanted, but he simply couldn't solve that problem with the means available. Once there'd be more wind it wouldn't matter anyway.

The drow got himself moving, pushing his enormity forward towards the tent he had been told about. In this completely soaked ground he couldn't help but find that to be quite a tedious effort: His weight was pushing his boots far deeper into it, increasing the work to get out. Tracing him along this camp wouldn't be too hard. He hadn't slept all too well, so hopefully this would be over soon. Hardly anything was more annoying then people dragging themselves and other along in a discussion that could have been shortened dramatically if individual preparation had been better. With mixed feelings and slight rings around his eyes, Gartoj entered the location and inspected the others. Something - or someone - was smelling like fire. The idea of aggressively sniffing around in order to identify the culprit was tempting, but ultimately saved as a means of retaliation in case anybody would complain about him. He wiped his white hairs out of his face which had immediately decided to cling to his skin the moment they had made contact with water.




Summary: Under-amused and tired drow expecting orders that hopefully will get him out of the miserable location.
I've read through the replies so far and have started work on my post as well.
I hope to be able to do the same.
I seldomly use Discord, but I have it.
Rogs behind of them, a mystery forge in front of them, dark elves possibly around them waiting or coming. Stood there looting, looking at decrepit stuff, until there were bowmen shooting and warriors on the rush. Killed the fools who turned the world over to its fate.

While the Skayleigh was thinking about the situation unfolding in front of him in an almost poetic manner, the urge of tossing all those items of dark-elvish origin into the molten lava around them was increasing. With a tone usually harsh even for him, he directed his words at Ursaren: "Yes, I'm sure it can! Feel free to send in a team of dwarven chisellers and blacksmiths to get this place back in shape! But don't forget to tell them about our mummified bodies beforehand or they might get angry! Frankly are you interested in taking anything from this pile of dubious quality with you ?" At least the bear-man was holding one of the swords in his hand.

An-Hasst let go of a sigh, but only to make room for a fresh intake of air which he could use for grumbling. "I know I'm putting my self at an insanely high risk of repetition, but I think we shouldn't stand around here!" Of course the proud Skayleigh didn't consider himself to be a coward in any way, but also he didn't consider himself to be an idiot. He actually was convinced that a prolonged stay here could turn out to have been a very high risk strategy sooner than they'd think.

At least Geradin appeared to be a little bit on his side. An-Hasst hadn't failed to notice that their dwarven companion was apparently opposed to any looting activity. Also he had been the first to notice that something was wrong here. The giant elf stepped over towards him and bent down in order to reduce the distance between mouth and ear. "Can you sense if there are any other tunnels around here ?"

@Banana@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity@POOHEAD189
Given the clashing and clanking sounds one didn't really need eyes in order to determine what was going on. However as Ferthyr still had decided to use them for the sake of details, he couldn't help but find a niggly, tiddly, shitty little problem to exist: Of course he could once more allow his magical talent to roam freely and invoke the very next spell his mind would come to in order to assist his companion. Also it was very likely that Bardeck would be able to hold out long enough for the completion of the process. However would the man survive afterwards ? Fire didn't exactly care about whose flesh it was consuming and with that little of a melee distance between the fighting men Ferthyr didn't see a chance to launch a strike precisely enough.

Yet there was another method available, one the elevated position he was standing one was providing him with. Even with that small hole in his left wing there still was plenty of lift left to prevent him from crashing into the ground straightforwardly when jumping over the ledge. So Ferthyr did, gliding towards the area of battle with hardly any noise to be heard over those of the weapons. What he could hardly predict though was who'd be standing where when the time was right, so the next best way of attacking would have to do.

It was the man with the mace who was lying on the ground. Temporarily immobilized he soon wouldn't be able to participate in the fight anymore. At least the sound of Ferthyr halfway impacing on him sounded pretty nasty, clearly indicative of ribs having been broken. Rolling off from the man beneath him, Ferthyr quickly tried to get away again. After all there still was a probably very well trained swordsman out there who could try to chop things off of him.
I'm innocent! Gartoj is such a cutie :)
If he had not been Gathran, the mage's apprentice probably would have been pushed backwards towards and into the small elevation that separated the loosely paved walkway around the pond from the plants that made up the rest of the little garden. His enormity saved him from having to endure this fate and Gathran was able to stabilize in time. Things were a bit different for whom could only be considered a very unexpected newcomer. He had barely enough time to realize that he appeared to be a she in fact and a quite human one before her impact onto his torso. Bulked up arms were able to intercept her from below before her hitting the hard ground, but didn't manage to nullify her momentum in time completely.

The female in front of him asked one thing, however Gathran's mind was so filled with others that not even his lips did separate in preparation for an answer. Quite frankly spoken he didn't knew it anway -- he'd just be very glad if he did. Something must have really gone totally wrong and in a way that had been unimaginable for him before. Of course he had no idea about any details and was reduced to a phenomenological point of view in his considerations.

It was only a very noticeable number of seconds later that the man standing in front of her came out of his astonishment. His eyes were widened and stared at her face straightforwardly. "I... I don't know..." was all he was able to mutter at this point, instinctively stepping away from her by a yard or so. One could see that Gathran was shrinking internally to almost nothing -- and that's not only in comparison to his quite huge outside appearance. He was so screwed up. How could he even try to fix this in time before his master's return ? And what if... there wasn't any fix ?

"Who... who are you ? And... where do you come from ?" He wasn't really expecting a useful answer, but maybe he was wrong and there was a chance that she was a mage. A better mage than he was.
Resistance is futile. You're all going to be assimilated by the Drow collective anyway. Soon.
Erm... maybe mid-term.
Or long-term if some risks turn out to be true.
Or... ahem... maybe in an unforeseeable temporal distance.
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