ghastlyInc

Dungeon Clearer! The Wonderful World of an Adventurer

Nehir

Nehir pattered around the guild hall, carefully dodging between legs from the less aware passersby. A small pile of documents carefully piled in his arms. He hair swirling wildly about his head as he circled around yet another of the tall folk, his footing oddly graceful for a mage, a product less of any natural alacrity and more many many years of practice. "'Scuse me! Pardon! Sorry sorry!" He chirpped as loudly as he could above the din of the guild hall, few souls actually noticing someone so far below their normal vision.

The Job Board was always so violently busy first thing in the morning. Honestly, it was ridiculous! A orderly line wasn't hard people! Sighing he pushed further into the crowd, feeling himself be rattled against the various uh...waists of the busy patrons. He squeaked sharply as someone's mace slapped against his shoulder, a hushed grumble of mild pain slipping past his lips. As much as he loved the guild, there...were times where the lack of awareness of his fellow adventurers for the smaller among them irked him.

As he burst through the maze of limbs his eyes caught sight of a Hundi barreling into a fellow adventurer. A small bubble annoyance burst in his chest, shoulder still aching from the earlier unwanted bludgeoning. "REX!" The tiny nem man barked, voice finally cutting through the noise with an authority that far outweighed its speaker. Nehir puffed his tiny chest out, one hand falling to his hip while the other clutched the papers to his chest as he stared down at the hundi (or attempted to).

"The bounty board is neither sentient nor mobile!" He said pouting, eyes glaring over the other adventures huddled around the board and pressing for space. He would like to think he looked intimidating, but knew full well that was probably a pipe dream. "The jobs will STILL be there if you wait patiently. More WOULD have been in fact!" He huffs, waving the small stack of job listings in front of him like a scolding mother.

Sighing he approached the board, trying to let his agitation wash out of him. "You will be more courteous to your guildmates, big or small, in the future or I will personally make sure you're on rat clearing duty for a year!" He said brusquely, eyes passing not only over the hundi but several other patrons as well. He didn't really have that kind of authority, but such threats were generally enough to make the more rambunctious members think twice. Taking a few pins out of the board he slowly began to pin the new orders to whatever available spaces he could reach, standing unsteadily on his tip toes and undermining the previous air of authority to a damning degree as he struggled to get anything to a reasonably readable height.

@Derg2@VitaVitaAR

Dungeon Clearer! The Wonderful World of an Adventurer

Nehir Rasim

"Don't worry! It's friendly fire!"

• Name: Nehir Rasim
• Age: 19
• Gender: Male
• Race: Nem
• Rank: 5 of Wands
• Appearance:
  At a standing height of 3'3, Nehir is actually on the shorter side of most Nem. He is often somewhat underkempt, clothes somewhat threadbare and cheaply made. He hates most shoes and would prefer to be bare foot when possible. However, the life of an adventurer often requires proper footwear, sadly all he can afford are sandals.
• Personality: Nehir is an ambitious and inquisitive mind, often sporadically hopping from topic to topic excitedly. He loves to speak and is always eager to waggle the ear of any soul kind enough to listen (or unfortunately trapped in the same space as him, depending on how you feel), especially those who, like himself, specialize in area of effect spells. Outside of work he is quiet the social butterfly, always happen to lend a hand or spare some coin to fix whatever broken odds or ends around the guild. He is also known for having a...unique presence in battle. Laughing with a mad giddiness as he rains down a veritable blizzard on the battle field. Given this record, it is common knowledge in the guild to never /ever/ allow Nehir to drink alcohol.
• Brief Backstory: Nehir was born in Estival and has lived within its boarders for all of his life. Initially his family (mother, two elder brothers and sister) made their home in a medium sized logging town two days west of Venne, his mother plying her trade as a merchant for a sizable paper mill in the area, traveling into and out of the capital on an almost monthly basis.
  
  Nehir never really had any interest in following his mother's footsteps, finding the idea of sales meetings to be deathly boring. In what few times he ventured to the capital with her for work, it was often a struggle to stay awake during most of her meetings. But there was a bright spot. The Mage's College of Venne was a long standing client of the mill and, to Nehir at least, the single most beautiful place in the world. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and start the first time he laid eyes on its halls.
  
  His mother refused, neither wanting her child to enter what she saw as such a dangerous field of study and adamant that he should follow in the family business.
  
  Magic infatuated Nehir, far more than the idea of selling paper ever could. Over a few years he managed to cobble together the basics of the art through a combination of sneakily buying books whenever he went to Venne (a task easier said than done...) and his own experimentation by a creek near his home. By age 16 he had the basics down, if heavily unrefined. He knew it wasn't by any means prodigious progress. But he had hoped it was enough to worm his way into the college, running away from home in the dead of night, intent on only returning when he was an accomplished mage.
  
  It...it didn't work out. For a number of reasons. While they appreciated his enthusiasm for the craft they found his methods...lacking for a better term. To the point that what few teachers who would even look his way suggested (albiet kindly) suggested he perhaps give up entirely. What teachers didn't say that knew who his mother was and knew of her objections to his attendance and refused flatly on those grounds instead.
  
  Embarrassed at his failure and too stubborn to return home, Nehir spent the next few months idling in the capital, practically burning through what little money he'd managed to save in that time. One day, wallowing in his new poverty and long standing embarrassment, he accidentally wandered near the grounds of the Guild hall, the air suddenly rocked by an explosion.
  
  At first he thought it was an attack of some sort, but the thunderous laughter that followed quickly broke that illusion. Peeking through the iron bars he saw of the wisp of ozone and wavering air indicative a strong fire spell and the mage who casted it.
  
  That explosion probably saved his life. He practically begged the guild to give him a job, starting as a lowly scribe. For the next three years he spent much of his daylight hours doing the accounting work he spent the bulk of his childhood avoiding and at night he spent his time on the training field. Honing whatever limited talent he had, not into the refined elegant tapestry of the arcane that was taught in the college. Instead he trade elegance for raw, devastating power.
  
  When he finally asked for field duty, he was warmly welcomed to it.
• Equipment: As a mage, Nehir keeps his equipment load fairly light. He carries some modest camping equipment (Nem sized unfortunately for you taller sorts.) as a small assortment of pots and pans for cooking on the road.
  His most prized possession is his wand. A scepter of heavy brass intricately etched with runes and topped with a dendrite quartz sphere. The scepter was built to reduce incantation times for his spells enough to make them usable in combat while still being able to handle the strain of it's users rather....bombastic spell choices. Sadly, there was little room for any augments for accuracy.
• Skills:

Nehir has been in the guild to know enough of the basics to be passable at basic survival skills like making camp and cooking. But outside of combat a fair bit of his work is administrative; setting budgets for outings, haggling with merchants for gear or supplies, things of that nature.

In combat Nehir is a dedicated mage of Ice and Wind magic. With wind magic he summons cutting gales of wind, tearing bloodied swaths through enemy lines. Or, if allies are in the way, howling torrents to simply barrel through, tossing whatever is in its path to the side.

With ice magic he tries (and often fails) to be a little more precise, using it to summon walls for cover for backline fighters like himself to hide behind. Or simply sending a vast bulwark of frost to lock down an area (and anyone in it).

While he lacks much in the way of variety, its hard to say that it can't be terrifyingly effective when it does work.

Dungeon Clearer! The Wonderful World of an Adventurer

Nehir Rasim

"Don't worry! It's friendly fire!"

• Name: Nehir Rasim
• Age: 19
• Gender: Male
• Race: Nem
• Rank: 5 of Wands
• Appearance:
  At a standing height of 3'3, Nehir is actually on the shorter side of most Nem. He is often somewhat underkempt, clothes somewhat threadbare and cheaply made. He hates most shoes and would prefer to be bare foot when possible. However, the life of an adventurer often requires proper footwear, sadly all he can afford are sandals.
• Personality: Nehir is an ambitious and inquisitive mind, often sporadically hopping from topic to topic excitedly. He loves to speak and is always eager to waggle the ear of any soul kind enough to listen (or unfortunately trapped in the same space as him, depending on how you feel), especially those who, like himself, specialize in area of effect spells. Outside of work he is quiet the social butterfly, always happen to lend a hand or spare some coin to fix whatever broken odds or ends around the guild. He is also known for having a...unique presence in battle. Laughing with a mad giddiness as he rains down a veritable blizzard on the battle field. Given this record, it is common knowledge in the guild to never /ever/ allow Nehir to drink alcohol.
• Brief Backstory: Nehir was born in Estival and has lived within its boarders for all of his life. Initially his family (mother, two elder brothers and sister) made their home in a medium sized logging town two days west of Venne, his mother plying her trade as a merchant for a sizable paper mill in the area, traveling into and out of the capital on an almost monthly basis.
  
  Nehir never really had any interest in following his mother's footsteps, finding the idea of sales meetings to be deathly boring. In what few times he ventured to the capital with her for work, it was often a struggle to stay awake during most of her meetings. But there was a bright spot. The Mage's College of Venne was a long standing client of the mill and, to Nehir at least, the single most beautiful place in the world. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and start the first time he laid eyes on its halls.
  
  His mother refused, neither wanting her child to enter what she saw as such a dangerous field of study and adamant that he should follow in the family business.
  
  Magic infatuated Nehir, far more than the idea of selling paper ever could. Over a few years he managed to cobble together the basics of the art through a combination of sneakily buying books whenever he went to Venne (a task easier said than done...) and his own experimentation by a creek near his home. By age 16 he had the basics down, if heavily unrefined. He knew it wasn't by any means prodigious progress. But he had hoped it was enough to worm his way into the college, running away from home in the dead of night, intent on only returning when he was an accomplished mage.
  
  It...it didn't work out. For a number of reasons. While they appreciated his enthusiasm for the craft they found his methods...lacking for a better term. To the point that what few teachers who would even look his way suggested (albiet kindly) suggested he perhaps give up entirely. What teachers didn't say that knew who his mother was and knew of her objections to his attendance and refused flatly on those grounds instead.
  
  Embarrassed at his failure and too stubborn to return home, Nehir spent the next few months idling in the capital, practically burning through what little money he'd managed to save in that time. One day, wallowing in his new poverty and long standing embarrassment, he accidentally wandered near the grounds of the Guild hall, the air suddenly rocked by an explosion.
  
  At first he thought it was an attack of some sort, but the thunderous laughter that followed quickly broke that illusion. Peeking through the iron bars he saw of the wisp of ozone and wavering air indicative a strong fire spell and the mage who casted it.
  
  That explosion probably saved his life. He practically begged the guild to give him a job, starting as a lowly scribe. For the next three years he spent much of his daylight hours doing the accounting work he spent the bulk of his childhood avoiding and at night he spent his time on the training field. Honing whatever limited talent he had, not into the refined elegant tapestry of the arcane that was taught in the college. Instead he trade elegance for raw, devastating power.
  
  When he finally asked for field duty, he was warmly welcomed to it.
• Equipment: As a mage, Nehir keeps his equipment load fairly light. He carries some modest camping equipment (Nem sized unfortunately for you taller sorts.) as a small assortment of pots and pans for cooking on the road.
  His most prized possession is his wand. A scepter of heavy brass intricately etched with runes and topped with a dendrite quartz sphere. The scepter was built to reduce incantation times for his spells enough to make them usable in combat while still being able to handle the strain of it's users rather....bombastic spell choices. Sadly, there was little room for any augments for accuracy.
• Skills:

Nehir has been in the guild to know enough of the basics to be passable at basic survival skills like making camp and cooking. But outside of combat a fair bit of his work is administrative; setting budgets for outings, haggling with merchants for gear or supplies, things of that nature.

In combat Nehir is a dedicated mage of Ice and Wind magic. With wind magic he summons cutting gales of wind, tearing bloodied swaths through enemy lines. Or, if allies are in the way, howling torrents to simply barrel threw, tossing whatever is in its path to the side.

With ice magic he tries (and often fails) to be a little more precise, using it to summon walls for cover for backline fights like himself to hide behind. Or simply sending a vast bulwark of frost to lock down an area (and anyone in it).

While he lacks much in the way of variety, its hard to say that it can't be terrifyingly effective when it does work.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian chuffed as Velbrance skulked away, back to whatever dark plotting corner of the party he'd slithered from. He almost wished Tyathe had gone a little further, but made no mention of it. But orders were, regretfully, orders. If the Captain said that reducing the high born punk to a red smear wasn't allowed, then both of them would have to suck it up and let him go. He gave a vague wave in Tyathe's direction as she fired off her parting words. "Horse's and water Radistirin. Horse's and water." he rebutted pointlessly, knowing full well the vampire likely wouldn't have listened if she DID hear him.

He leaned against the buffet table for a while, letting the room drift over him as he cleared his head. The princess was here, which meant Alisha wasn't far off. And with the offer of a dance still hovering at a definite 'maybe' he really didn't want to hurt his chances by talking to royalty while in a bad mood...oh. And that said princess could probably have him executed on the spot. That was also good incentive.

He poured himself a glass of wine while he cold down, watching as various knights drifted towards her Highness. Not that he didn't blame them. Lady Eliabelle was undeniably magnetic; as gentle in demeanor as the rumors suggested and beautiful. Well...in a sense. If pressed, Gill would openly admit she was easily up there with one of the most attractive people he'd ever seen, but was hard pressed to care. As if his mind had written off the prospect of being anything more than a guest from the word go and (in an effort to keep his hopes down) had reduced the girl to...decoration.

Gillian scowled down at his wine, not enjoying that line of thought and more than a little ashamed for having stumbled through it. He'd FELT like a thing in the eyes of more than a few people. With enemies it was fine, hell preferable at times. But it had taken a few years to get used to civilians doing it."Admiration and ignorance make for good poison..." He grumbled to himself, draining his drink quickly.

He silently grabbed the wine bottle and a few spare glasses before making his way to the group hovering near the Princess. He held off approaching the girl for the moment, content to let her indulge herself on the mini-captain. Selfish as it maybe, he'd feel like a sack of shit if he didn't at least ATTEMPT to treat her like a person before the night was out, but it was probably the wiser choice to let her approach him.

He eyed the knights as he approached, putting names to faces. Rowan and Nicomede were easy picks, being contemporary knights (if slightly older). He'd spared with both more than once, though admittedly had a preference to Rowan. Rowan was challenging, matching Gill's obscene strength with enduring patience. Gill had rarely not learned something when they had spared, even when he won.

Nico, on the other had, was simply infuriating to fight. If Gill didn't make it a point to try and over power him as quickly as possible, the wormy tactician would almost always win. Not to say he hated the man. He rarely spoke to any of his fellow knights, and the fact he'd bothered to actually LEARN their names was paying greater respect to them than most. But Sparring with Nicomede? Yeah. It was the worst.

The woman took him longer to recognize, if only because she had left before he'd become a knight proper. Parnella had spoken highly of Elwen Gela during his time training under her. And given that Seige Parnella was largely (and wholly justifiably) considered to be the most sadistic and dangerous Living Reliquary alive at the moment, that was reason enough to commit the woman's face to memory. Gillian honestly shuddered to think what the hell Elwen did to actually impress a senior Rose like her.

"Generally speaking...we keep them too tired to be terrorized by a flock of dragons, much less Rowan." Gillian chuckled, offering an empty glass to his companions and waggling the wine bottle with his free hand. The glass rattling brightly as it clinked against the metal of his arms. "We make them do squats in full kit whenever they get caught checking out an instructor. We had Nico take off his shirt after the cool down one time. You could hear their knees popping for two days straight." He adds in a whisper, chuckling as he refilled his glass before moving on to the others.

@Heartfillia@VitaVitaAR @Krayzikk @Sync

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian grinned viciously as their resident immortal cornered Lord Velbrance. Part of him wished the woman's impulse control would slip for a moment, just enough that the mans wrist broke. It wouldn't be ideal, he knew. It was a controversy hey didn't really need at the moment. Besides, men like Velbrance had a history of ending up on the wrong side of the Rose's eventually, though not always fatally. "My irreverence is my own." Gill said, cutting in and gently attempting to pull Tyathe's hand away. Not terribly urgently however.

"Whilst Sir Radistirin and yourself may disagree with me on the importance of theology, we can be agreed on the importance of Elione's example." He said evenly and loudly enough that whatever eaves droppers that might have congregated could understand him clearly. "My point was that there was nothing innately special about Elionne. She merely that she acted on a base impulse present in all people, that of protecting others. Be that with personal sacrifice or not. The only difference Elionne has from any other soul, as Tyathe is pointing out, is the extent to which she was willing to go in the name of that impulse."

He released Tyathe's hand, freed of Velbrance's filth or not. "I have failed to meet that example in the past. Likely everyone here has. Hell, perhaps even Elionne has failed once or twice in such matters. And it is likely we will, in moments of weakness, fail again." He said, crossing his arms.

"That, more than her sainthood, is the example that Elionne set that I choose to admire. That in the face of the inevitable failures that she might have suffered, she did NOT fail to maintain that base impulse and act on it at every opportunity she thought possible as so many of us do. Sainthood is the REWARD for that, and that is all it is. A reward. If Elionne never achieved it, then she'd still be someone to admired and emulated. So, I stand by what I said." He finished, glaring at the boy Lord. Oh the slimy fucker would find some way to put all that in a bad light, he was sure.

He turned his gaze over to Fanlily. "Who cares about saints. The people who matter are the ones who will help. Saints might be in that category, they may at times define it, but they are not its sole occupants. Try and maybe fail to become a saint if you must, but never fail to be willing to help no matter the cost. That is all that I, or anyone else, should demand from a Captain. Or ourselves for that mater."

Fate/Eternum

Assassin-Lucius

"Aw what the hell..." Lucius grumbled as he watched the hulking form of a honest to goodness dragon burst into the stands, black flames engulfing a few poor souls in a pyroclastic flow. While it definitely wasn't the worst way to die he could think of, it was way up on that list. He stared a moment, racking his brain for anything he might be able to to help kill that thing before it got out of control. He came up with very little, damning his class for its weakness in dealing with heavy hitters like that. He wasn't even sure if his Noble Phantasm would WORK on something like the dragon. It didn't feel like a traditional servant and, sadly, those were his only valid targets with the thing.

And even if it did, he doubted it would help much. His spears could hurt a heroic spirit, even if they were still mundane by comparison. There was just only so many times a person sized target could be stabbed until their body just gave out either due to exhaustion or bloodloss. But with something that large? He could literally stab it all day and get no closer to killing it.

Then something occurred to him. While his Phantasm couldn't damage the behemoth, it MIGHT still cause it to lower its guard for a surprise attack. Provide he kept its attention. With a quick nod to the servants behind him he disengaged from the trio of shadow servants, dropping to a dead sprint for Arturia.

"Saber!" He bellowed as he ran up along side the King of Knights. "If you can get that big bastard to lock eyes with me, I might be able to get you a clean one hit kill. Can you do another one of those giant blasts?" He asks hurried, casually slashing a shadow as they passed it. Neither having the time nor the patience to finish it off.
@Rune_Alchemist@VitaVitaAR@RolePlayerRoxas@PKMNB0Y@1Charak2

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian bit into his apple again, eyeing the little Lordling, starting to question how much lee way his position as a Living Reliquary gave him. He decided that eschewing social convention and slapping the little fucker probably wasn't in his wheel house for the moment. Still, the bastard was putting the screws to the minicaptain, and he was starting to doubt the girl even knew it. It annoyed him, even if he silently agreed that the girl had no right to her position. But it was different. He'd have to follow orders. He had a stake in the Rose's and what good they could or couldn't do with this child at the helm. He would live and possibly die on her decisions. This...outsider. He had earned none of that right to question.

"Who cares?" Gillian said bluntly, pointedly looking at Fanlily. "Saint's nothing more than a fancy title with a little divine backing. Living Reliquary is much the same." He said clearly and evenly, trying to pick his words carefully as he skirted some quasi-heretical dismissal of Sainthood. "But you wanna know a secret I've learned?"

"When you might die and someone saves you a bandit is as good as a Saint. It doesn't really matter what you were before..." he adds, taking a bite of his apple once more, munching as he continues. "You just ARE the person who stuck their neck out for them. Elionne ain't special in that regard. Never was."

Gill unceremoniously drops the half eaten apple onto a plate, seemingly finished with it. "And while I didn't know the woman, I can't really imagined she'd care much for things like caliber or worthiness. Can't exactly use either to protect anyone but yourself."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian trudged into the party with little fanfare, a decidedly unamused scowl on his face. Hilda had been good as her word when she said he would wear the damnable outfit he was currently in. The woolen robes could be graciously described as 'archaic' at the best of times, the dull blue coat attempting to choke him as if Mayon herself was vicariously communicating her displeasure with him. He stood out like an ornately dressed sore thumb, if a traditional one. Many of the nobles gave him the odd glance, his figure brought to their eyes both by his dress and the clearly grafted limbs of his station. Hushed whispers passing between them as he passed and made no attempt to interact with them. Gillian ignored them. He wasn't here to be fawned over by people who had no earthly clue what these arms really meant.

He opted instead to stay close to the mini-captain, wagering that she would be a thankful lightning rod for any fawning that was to take place. That she would also very likely be the first to meet with the Princess was also a pretty useful, even if it wasn't the Royal Gill was particularly keen on seeing. What he had forgotten to take into account was that the Captain would also attract annoying back handed complimenting nobles as well.

Gill regarded Lord Velbrance like one might a particularly fat fly buzzing around their head. Which was to say, an unwanted common pest that most sensible people would happily slam into the nearest table if social graces allowed. "He's even hovering by the food. How apt..." Gillian said plainly, palming an apple from the buffet.

"If anyone has no fear going into a fight then their either an idiot or arrogant enough to deserve to die." Gillian said, neither bothering to bow or address the Lord properly as he took a large bite of the apple. "As I'm told, Jeremiah fell into the latter category and got beheaded for his troubles, among other things." He added, casually wiping the juice from his mouth onto his sleeve before extending it to the Lordling to shake hands in greeting.

"Captain Danbalion might be green, but not so green that she forgot to respect the danger the situation, however slight. A far better showing than most people three or four years her senior." He said, his tone that of glowing praise despite the implied insult to the Lord. "I'm sure if the other Reliquaries were in attendance, they would agree." He added, knowing full well that atleast one mirrored his own opinion....but he was also pretty sure he and Parnella would be loved to have joined in jabbing at the man if she were here.

Fate/Eternum

Assassin-Lucius

"As the Lady wishes...But it had best not be another nude." He warned in a teasing tone, knowing he could probably squeeze a few more coins out of the girl if it was. Lucius leapt from the private booth, savoring the feel of free fall for a moment before gravity took him, dropping him into the chaos of the stands. He landed hard on the back of a shadow Servant, feeling whatever ephemeral equivalent to a spine snap under his weight long before his spear buried itself into the creatures skull. Light exploded from the otherside of the arena as The King of Knights cut a bloodied swath through the attacks with her noble phantasm.

Frankly, that weapon felt like cheating. And were this a grail war he'd have taken that as a solid indication that killing her master, and leaving Arturia alone would have been the sole option for dealing with her (however much the idea galled him). But thankfully, no such war was in place, and he'd be a fool not to have some gratitude for the massive overkill being on THEIR side. He pushed forward down into the stands, casually flicking his spear into the neck of a shadow as he passed.

"speaking of our side..." He mumbled, sprinting past a hurdled ball of lesser masters guarded by a trio of servants and throwing himself into a group of five shadows. He ducked past an axe aimed his face, bring his spear up to deflect a sword as it attempted to catch him off guard. Throughout the arena, every friendly servant felt a sudden boost in their speed as he activated his skill; And Salvius Was There. Those at the highest echelon of agility likely felt little change, there was only so much speed one could have after all. But it would sure up the defenses of the lesser servants and make their heavy hitters all the more a threat to the shadows.

"Mores the pity it doesn't affect me though..." He thought, parrying a hammer before driving his spear into the throat of the would be assassin. His hand firing out as he did so and grasping the axe wielder by the collar before driving his knee into the brutes face, dazing him the milisecond he needed to wrench the spear from his now evaporating victim and draw it across the shadows spine. The remaining three shadows backed away quickly, now not so eager to swarm him with their current number. The two sword wielders (and a curiously small shield fighter it seemed), took a defensive posture. Evidentially deciding to stall until their numbers recovered.

That was all fine by Lucius. He only really needed one of them to stay alive to keep the skill going. And with the shield fighter there, a match up he'd admit would be annoying to deal with even if these were relatively trivial foes, it was an easy choice. "DO TRY AND MAKE IT QUICK!" He yelled toward the center of the arena. "THIS TRICK ONLY WORKS FOR A LITTLE WHILE."

@Rune_Alchemist@VitaVitaAR@RolePlayerRoxas@PKMNB0Y@1Charak2

Champions Have Arrived in the New World: A Problem Children and No Game No Life-Inspired Isekai RP

Leith Walton

Leith listened in silence as his captor of choice voiced her explanation, attempting to put some logical frame work into all of this.He found scarcely little worked. The 'shoggoth' as she called herself seemed friendly enough, and he was not one to not accept the hospitality of a good servant. Even one as squishy and semi-transparent as this."...While I did hit my head on the way down...I received no such missive. Mine was merely an invitation to a new world. I agreed only because I assumed it some sort of japery." He grumbled from his place on the ground before Lila broke into her own explanation.

"While that is all well an good Miss Lolla-pffft Lovelace..." He said, idly wondering if blowing raspberries was common in this new worlds surnames. "What is it that you are getting out of this? One hardly expends what must be a considerable effort in bring forth other worldly beings and furnishing them with servants..." He says, gesturing to Vel who....he supposed he needed to start paying now? He was unsure if he'd just gotten an employee or been taken hostage and the girls word choice hardly cleared such matters up. "Not even to mention the probably considerable cost of trans-dimensional postage for the sake of charity. Whilst I'm without a doubt as to my ability to thrive in yours or any other world, I'm afraid I must ask what your catch is."