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8 mos ago
Current They will look for him from the white tower...but he will not return, from mountains or from sea...
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11 mos ago
Thirty four.
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2 yrs ago
Never eat the lemons alone. My friend? He at the lemons alone. I had to put him down once he started to salivate.


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I did a thing. It was a mediocre thing. I enjoy my characters being injured. Yes.



Etoile was, quite predictably, displeased with how out-of-hand things were getting. She snorted somewhat disdainfully at the elaborate introduction of this 'Lazulin Mulciber.'

"Etoile. And he is not my friend. Now stop talking and start moving."

A moment later, the young-looking red-haired girl from the cabin—the one who had seemed so familiar—walked up, and showed that at least she knew what she was talking about. Etoile rolled her eyes as she burst into motion, calling back to her: "Nice to see that there's at least one other person here who knows anything about magic." With that, she dashed over to the blonde kid, lashing about her with her sabre at ever-swelling flocks of birds that hovered around him. She winced as a small raptor of indiscriminate type buried its talons into the soft flesh of her organic shoulder. Even the thick woolen mantle couldn't quite keep the claws off, and as it disengaged, it ripped a huge slash in the garment.

"I have no idea why you're still out here. How long does it take to get a few deckworkers and people taking the air down into the cabin? Your incompetence appears to have few boundaries. But as long as you're trying to draw the birds off so your friend over there," she jerked a thumb at Pagonia, "can get people into the cabin, I'll see if I can give you a hand."

That, of course, was the ideal moment for Etoile, distracted by her lambasting, to demonstrate her own incompetence. A sizable chunk was ripped out of her thigh by a particularly large bird as she missed it by a handsbreadth. She did manage to sever one of its wings on a second strike as it came back towards her, but the damage was done; blood was rapidly inundating the fabric around the wound, and a moment later, the pain came through and she staggered, barely managing to remain standing. "Bloody birds," she hissed through tightly-pressed teeth. Shit, shit, shit! Her options instantly dwindled heavily. The wound was extremely painful, hampering her ability to move around quickly. More than that, though, she didn't know if the bird had slashed open an artery or something, but the wound was bleeding more than she would've liked. If she passed out in the middle of this, the odds were heavily weighed into her being eaten rather quickly. She swore at herself for being so careless.

And this is what I get for relying on magic, she thought acidly. She'd been neglecting her swordsmanship practice in favor of running from Inquisitors, and now she was put into an impossible situation because of it. She spat a stream of bloody spittle, and realized that she'd bitten her cheek hard enough for it to bleed. Sliding the sabre into a more favorable grip, she pressed her offhand to the wound, grimly continuing to fight on and distracting herself with the impossible hope that just pressure could staunch the bleeding.

"If I see a bird after this, I'm going to murder it," she muttered to herself, trying her best to pretend that there would be an 'after this.'

@Altered Tundra
Sorry; college got busy, and allergies and sickness should never mix ever ever. Ready to go.
My backspace key just cracked in half.

I feel like this is an appropriate metaphor for how writing works.
Boat thing has been donked. Or, well, kind of. Hopefully this is in line. Sorry the post is so short.
"Everyone ready? Good? Good. Let's head out."

Punching her gauntlets together one last time as if to make sure they wouldn't fall apart, Tori picked up and shouldered her backpack, heading towards the door. She strode through the streets, looking far better than she did the last time she'd walked by in the opposite direction. Shading her eyes, she looked up at the sky; it was approaching late afternoon, so the sun hung low in the sky and, more to the point, to the west, in front of her. She paused a moment to wait for anybody lagging behind to catch up before turning.

"Alright," she said, pointing to a sign that said DOCK - 15 MILES, "here's the deal. The dock is about six, seven miles to the south. The road winds around the forest, since people don't like going into it. Full of Grimm, y'know. So that's the question. You guys want to head into the woods and maybe fight along the way, or walk about twice as long and probably not get to the boat until two or three in the morning?"

Of course, they could always stay at the inn in town, but she neglected to mention that. She'd never quite liked sitting still when she had something she needed to do, so she really did want to get going today. Personally? She wanted to head into the forest. She still had a lot of pent-up frustration towards that gryphon to take out.
26th of Rain’s Hand, 4E208

When Gaius woke, it was to a thrumming headache and the sound of screaming. Not the best of combinations, even on the best of days. "Thrice-damned booze," he groaned, rolling over in bed, not awake enough—or coherent enough, at least—to fully appreciate the panicked sounds of the city. The one night of drinking had turned into nights, and now it was becoming a regular occurrence to spy is burgundy-and-brown form at the Merchant's Inn on busy nights, laughing uproariously with complete strangers

Then there was a thunderous boom, and even the legendary hangover currently afflicting him couldn't really stop him from noticing it. He turned lethargically in his bed, looking out of the window. His eyes shot open. Lack of coordination notwithstanding, he bolted up, already mouthing a prayer. Dwemer. There are Dwemer in the Imperial City.

Contrary to popular belief, Gaius was not thick, nor did he have a poor memory. He very distinctly recalled exploding a mysterious device in a Dwemer ruin, sending a beam of light high into the sky with enough force to explode a mountain. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that this was a direct result of that. Burden of responsibility weighing heavily on him, he did his best to ignore the headache and dry mouth, putting on his armor at record speed and hoisting Empire's Aegis from the mantle where he'd let it rest. "Helena," he called, "stay inside, and stay safe!" There was no answer. His blood immediately jumped, and he dashed to the door to find it hanging open. The spear Helena had accosted him with on the first night was gone.

"No," he muttered, a drone that slowly grew into a bellowing shout, "no, no, no, no, no!"

Ripping a proudly-displayed mace from the wall, he bolted into the streets, looking on in horror as Legionnaires, some that he had trained with and known since he had been scant an adult, were unceremoniously butchered on the mechanical blades. His mouth morphed into a small 'o' of shock and terror for a brief moment. But only a moment. He roared, barreling down at the sphere and launching himself bodily at it. Though the mace was unfamiliar in his hand—he'd always been a swordsman—his rage fueled him, pumping liquid adrenaline into his blood as he pounded away at the Dwarven metal like a demented blacksmith. No more than a minute passed before it lay dismantled on the cobbles before him.

"This is my home, you curs!" he shouted at the ships in the sky. "You don't belong here!"

With that, he launched into a brutal slaughtering-spree through the city, bringing down spiders and spheres as best he could while doing his best to stay away from the massive Centurions and—as evidenced by the dripping of water off of his shield that had been the only thing to save him from some very nasty scalding—not entirely succeeding. It was as he was breathing heavily, hastily bandaging a cut in his mace hand that had gotten into the of his gauntlet, when he heard a sound from behind him and whirled, already prepared to cave in the metallic shell of whatever was creeping up behind him with the shield. He barely managed to throttle the blow, in fact, in time to stop it from caving in Alim's skull instead.

He stared at the man, breathing heavily with wide, rage-filled eyes, before slowly lowering the slab of metal, breathing a long sigh out. "So, the Dwemer."
Sorry it's shorter than usual, we're in a bit of a pickly situation.
Etoile's shoulder slammed into the door and it smashed open, letting her careen back down into the cabin of the barge. Luckily, the windows were holding; after a few birds—which now lay dead on the floor, in a variety of fashions—the passengers had been smart enough to shut them, and now the ravening flock whirled around, desperately seeking some entrance to the feast of blood and viscera inside. Before she could fully shut the door, a single large owl dove for her, its talon cutting a burning line across her forehead. Snarling, she lashed her sabre out at it, cutting it in two before kicking the door closed. Turning, she grimaced for a moment at the sudden silence and the watching crowd. There were surely inquisitors here, but there was no time. She wiped her sword off on a nearby swath of fabric before sheathing it and stepping forward with a crisp snap. "Stay down, stay safe, stay quiet. Make sure those windows don't open."

She'd realized that, unfortunately, there was no way to get all the passengers out. She didn't wish to dwell on what had happened to the bargeworkers that were out when the birds had arrived. There was no choice for these poor sods but to stay until the antimagic field dissipated.

She turned around to head back outside, making damn sure to close the door behind her as hard as she could and drawing her sabre again. Only then did she notice the young child that was approaching her. She looked at him, more confused than anything else. "What are you doing here? Get down into the barge, it's not safe for someone like you."

Another flick of the blade, another flash of silver metal, and another corpse splattered to the deck. She winced; while the cut on her forehead wasn't severe in the slightest, it stung fiercely. More concerning, though, the blood was dripping into her eyes. She wiped it off with a hand, settling low and preparing for hard combat. Something caught her eye, and she shouted to Zestasia over the sound of the swarm, "Hey, kid, watch your flank!"
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