Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current I want to see things - that no one else can see
1 yr ago
I'll judge you with my Stand! 「Greased Lightning」!
1 yr ago
At maximum overbork
1 like
2 yrs ago
Are you tired of peel, peel, peeling potatoes? Stop!
1 like
2 yrs ago
You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek life beyond the shore just out of reach. Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time. The path is yours to climb.


I am currently managing the Crucible, an extradimensional tournament with a unique combat system, and have managed several Dungeon Keepers roleplays in the past along with a RWBY RP I left in more capable hands. Forgive me for melodrama as I say: I can't promise I'm a good man, but I'll do the best I can.

Most Recent Posts

So, activity's been a little dry lately. Anyone still in this?
So Runch is just unceremoniously tossed into the water and that's it? No chance to react at all? No attempt to dodge or recover or produce a new platform to catch him? I get that he can't see the attacks, but he still knows what she can do and seeing her point right at him is certainly cause to say, "Maybe I should veer right." I guess I have nothing to post then, until either Motley or Erina dives in to save him.

No, I said that the missile's large (and thus powerful) enough to do that, not that it did that. What actually happens is up to you. My apologies; I get how my phrasing would leave what happens open to misinterpretation, and will try to beat around the bush less in the future.
The Fungal Knight

Location: the Big Top

Having reached his goal, the clown wiggled his fingers in gleeful anticipation before plucking a ray gun of comical proportions from the weapons cache. With that ludicrous firearm in hand, he turned to take aim at Bonesword, only to find him nowhere to be found. All that remained were a few leaves on the ground, and the sound of another automatic door closing. After a moment, the clown gave a disappointed gurgle. Where could the intruder have gone? He began his slow trudge in pursuit, taking a guess as to the direction in which he started his search.

The skeletal swordfighter sought an exit, but far more readily than an avenue out of the Big Top, he found other clowns. A huge variety of the creepy creatures infested the ship, all busy with one task or another, the appearance of the devices that they operated making every duty look ridiculous and trivial. Though quite occupied by their various pursuits, they took no time at all to take notice of Bonesword as he zoomed by, and many drew weapons from their oversized pockets or from beneath their hats in their attempts to catch him. More than a few blasts of popcorn and acid-filled pies smacked into the walls near him or his quick-moving mount, but aside from the stray kernel he managed to elude them all. Still, with every twist and turn through the bizarre funhouse more clowns were alerted to his presence, making the chase more and more dangerous. Most important was the perception and subsequent avoidance of dead ends; if forced to double back by one, he would essentially be throwing himself upon the mercy of the pursuing clowns' response times, and sooner or later they wouldn't allow the basilisk to sail over their heads.

Fortune favored Bonesword, however, and a short while into his wild chase he stumbled upon a circular room at the Big Top's center. Here, where a large colorful machine that might have been an engine span and made wacky noises, stretches of the floor were made from fabric rather than plastic or metal. Not impervious to cutting, those lengths of tarp could easily permit a desperate swordsman and his trusty seed a swift if perilous exit, provided they could escape the posse of clowns that gained on them even now.


Location: the Park

Two rushing walls of leaves collided, expansive enough to trap and eliminate practically any threat, yet once again Jin proved his alacrity more than a cocksure boast. Having escaped the leaf cascade with only a few scratches and no visible injections of the leaves' fluid, he took aim with a pistol that Pieter -ever observant and keen of recollection- recognized the moment he saw it. “Took long enough,” he muttered, then spread his hands apart. A fourth of the leaves, specifically those closest to the stand user's opponent, broke off from the main reservoir and surged forward. They flattened out as they flew, becoming a wall that caught Jin's stream of flame and continued to advance even as it burned to ash; Pieter's hope was that they might burn back the one who burned them, though even if that ploy didn't succeed, he'd exhausted one of his foe's options while protecting his resource.

When the smoke cleared, a cloud of leaves still circled around Pieter's tree. He dared not expose himself, but the noseless man could not keep silent. “Save your breath for when I get serious, kiddo!” Above, small portions of the reservoir began to break off and shoot toward Jin. The leaves packed themselves tightly together, crushing themselves into dense, razor-sharp blades that spun through the air like boomerangs. A few dozen of these flying blades zipped Jin's way, some looping around to attack from several angles at once.

The Cereal Killer and Book Keeper

Location: Flooded Historical District
@Propro @BCTheEntity

Aralynn tracked the pirate as he made his move, fabricating a raft of cereal in a mad rush straight toward the siblings' position. “Foolhardy at best,” the woman criticized, raising a hand his way like a wizard casting a spell. To Motley, her fingers and palm opened up to reveal secret, miniature missile silos, which without further ado rocketed their contents forward. The sticky projectile of Captain K. Runch never got near; it appeared to burst apart in midair. A second later the remainder of the missiles exploded at his feet, the palm-missile in particular large enough to render his raft asunder with its explosion and send the devil fruit-eater into the drink.

By that time, her earlier salvo had been dealt with by Motley's cunning defensive maneuvers. No illusions persisted in the twins' mind about the fighting ability of their vampiric adversary, who'd demonstrated in the tournament so far a terrifying capacity for using every resource at his disposal to take his enemies down. Every part of him could be made into a weapon, in ways ordinary humans just couldn't conceive of. All the same, Aralynn and Davian assailed him with certainty that they could find away. If their new power couldn't deal with this threat, after all, what was the point? While she kept her attention fixed on Motley, who appeared to be buoyed above the water by his own pitch-black stand, her brother examined Erina before she disappeared. Doubtless she'd notice that during her jaunt, not only did the Boys of Summer react to her movement, but some would move to follow her. With this many elements in his stand, he knew he couldn't possibly use any one of them as a conduit to see in the manner that the Barnabys could. “The spiritualist is attempting to flank us,” he informed his sister.

She gave a nod in reply. “That leaves only Crue for now. Stay focused; I'm sure he's about to attack.” Her next plan of action she did not state aloud, for while she knew not their extent, she knew Motley's senses to be superhuman. She doubled over, and from her back ten large missiles burst forth. They sailed straight up, their turning radius nothing to admire. After that, Aralynn knelt, and at the same time released both a large missile from each palm and a huge one from her knee, comparable to the size of her leg. The three shot Motley's way, even as the earlier ten converged on their target—not the vampire, but the top of a nearby church steeple. The first six hit at once all around the edges, neatly blasting the entire top of the tower off, and the remaining four hit one after another to guide its fall, so that it might plummet toward Motley like a boot toward a roach.


Location: Main Street

Following the brief but intense struggle with the shadowy ambushers, and none the worse for wear, Malveil made tracks through the city. He left the great pit, and the sight of the colossal crow, behind as his path took him through streets. Here and there, pockets of walking corpses gurgled and gasped as they meandered around, but even in groups they posed no threat to a real combatant. Once in a while, from dark alleyways and closed manholes, the harrowed shrieks of other monsters like the ones Malveil dispatched could be heard. They did not appear to be able to spring their traps and materialize in fighting form unless one went out of his way to investigate the sources of the noise, but they did not appear to be the only threat. As the buildings grew shorter and dingier, the street trash thicker, and the public utilities like phone booths older and less operable, the possible avenues of attack rose. Out of the corner of his eye, Malveil could glimpse discrete movement among murals and displays of graffiti, but a direct look would reveal nothing out of the ordinary.

Some time later, the row of tenements to the left opened up into a bridge across a brown river. On the other side a misty, tiered neighborhood occupied the almost conical island, its only light a bar by the name of Slow Dancers' that stood dead ahead. On the right of the bridge on Malveil's side, a sign read 'Welcome to the Village' next to a map display, complete with a 'you-are-here'. Using the map, he could tell that the quickest route to the ocean on the City of Echoes' left side would be to follow the river on the Village's opposite side, where a street that traced its bank could take him straight there.

In the opposite direction, on a defunct fire station's brick wall facing the bridge, was an especially eye-catching piece of street art: the intricately spraypainted image of a shaggy, bipedal creature with antlers and huge fangs. Its milky white eyes bore no pupils, yet they seemed to stare outward Malveil's way.
<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

Long time no see, Lugu!

Hello! Nice as it is to drop by, I probably wouldn't have if I wasn't mentioned, I'm afraid. That doesn't mean I'm not glad to answer any questions anyone might have about Slough's stuff, though.
I've got another question:

How large is a Violet Slug?

<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

My guess is somewhere around the size of a rabbit. Although they could also be regular slug sized.

A little bigger than a rabbit, but not much.
Level 4
Day 2
Location: Platform City Subway
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (0/40)

No small amount of curiosity compelled Slayer to examine every detail of the haunting locomotive, but his fascination did not render him ignorant to the approach of four strangers. At the sound of footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder. A well-dressed man with long white locks, whose getup colored his own style of class with a sort of grimness, walked his way at the head of an extraordinary entourage. Though Slayer had not yet had the pleasure of introducing himself to this Alucard fellow, his manner of address indicated that his reputation proceeded him. The momentary sight of the black-clad noble's sword did not warrant so much as a batted eyelash from the gentleman, for the newcomers interested him far more. He could not help but marvel at the sort of phenomenon that could bring such disparate beings together. Around Alucard stood a brawny truck of a man, slender youth with bright spectacled beneath tousled black hair, and a tiny child in a yellow raincoat. A task awaited him, it seemed: guide these new heroes through whatever thrilling seasonal surprise awaited them on the other side of a ride from the Doom Train. All that remained was to stop gawping and start talking.

”Oh! Of course, where are my manners?” He joked, his accented though properly enunciated voice genial. ”My name is Slayer. Most excellent to meet you all!” Holding his right hand over his heart, he gave a polite bow. ”Please forgive my slowness. I shall endeavor to be quicker on the uptake. Heavy Weapons Guy, was it? I assure you, I am no spy of any kind, though now that I consider it, isn't that just what a spy would say? If I might be so bold, could I refer to you as simply 'Heavy' instead?” He gave a chuckle. ”Akira Kurusu...if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that you're Japanese, correct? I am unaware of the situation in other worlds, but in the realm from which I hail, there are precious few such persons remaining in existence. Were you to visit, I can only image you'd be lauded as a national treasure. Either way, you may rely on me in whatever missions we undertake, Joker.” After that, only the most enigmatic member of the trio remained. Quiet and unassuming she seemed the type of be easily missed, and though Slayer could not see her whole face, she bore a harrowed visage. When this little girl 'spoke', she communicated via sign language, and the gentleman furrowed his brows. ”Oh, dear. I'm afraid my signing is very rusty...I should have known better honestly, such a shortcoming is a hairs-breadth away from inexcusable...” While he missed much of what she was trying to say, he got the message of her second sentence, though understanding it was another matter. Six...six years old? While a child might in fact say that, I shall go out on a limb to make this assumption... Kneeling to make himself seem less tall and imposing, Slayer gave the child a bow of her own. ”The pleasure is mine, Six. Welcome to the team!”

He rose to his full height a moment later as he stepped back, but his smile did not diminish. ”Twould seem we have a good lot here.” Stepping to the side, he indicated the Doom Train's nearest door with a flourish of his hand. Your first adventure awaits. Shall we depart?”
For the Wards, just let me know if you'd rather be skipped since there's not a lot happening at this precise moment and you're just going over the final plan before showing up. If you'd like you can buff a potential post with their before-mission preparations too. Just a suggestion.

Apologies for the late reply, but yes, please count me out for this turn.
Type 0011 “Severa”

PL 910 Human Cyborg
Location: VR Training World “Gehenna” / Secret Facility in Central Capital

In seconds Severa's grisly handiwork faded from both sight and mind, the whole encounter a predictable and forgettable interlude. Lacking in subtlety, it left no impression, but nevertheless accomplished its function of adding another layer of reinforcement to the untold thousands that defined the girl's fighting ability. When the last trace of torchlight was minutes away, Severa allowed herself to slow down. Her face, mired though it was in the near-total darkness, bore the hollow sort of indifference that this world trained upon it; not an ounce of fear polluted her being, not necessarily due to her conditioning, but instead a product of the simple fact that nothing in this place was scary. Boring but lethal was not so much as a hell but a grindstone, a nightmare that rendered its occupants dead even if its repetitive horrors did not kill them. No courage could be gleaned from Severa's stride as she made her way up an incline that led out of the twisted forest—just drilled-in efficiency. When the hill gave way to a sudden drop high above a basin, she sat upon the black grass at the edge, her legs dangling off the precipice. Beneath the starless black sky, she held her head in her hands.

The tingling took a little longer to fade. For as long as she could remember, every time that something died by her hand, an undeniable sensation of pleasure had blossomed in her brain. There had been a time that she reveled in it, riding the high of slaughter for days on end, but something had changed. Severa could not remember what, or why, for in this place all memories grew hazy save for those forged in the rush of combat, but she learned that this jolt of euphoria did not come from inside herself. She knew it to be a manipulation, though she could say nothing else about it with certainty. From the day of that revelation, Severa learned to keep those impulses under control. In doing so, she found in time that she saved herself from the only truly frightening thing in her reality: the killers.

A light in the distance seized her attention, forcing her to displace all other thoughts as she hastened to process the unknown stimulus and assess the threat. Across the empty space of the water-filled gorge, something metal reflected the stark glare of the moon. It appeared to be attached to a dark shape, and as Severa, watched, it made a slight movement, and the sound of a bell filtered across the gap. One of us, she understood, and in reply she lifted her hand. Around her palm, the air began to spin, forming a bright blade that revolved for a second before she let it dissipate. Her signal given, she continued to observe as the stranger seated itself on the opposing cliff.

While the possibility of a threat remained, the person across the way shared much with her. Whoever it was, it wasn't a killer, though defining what a killer was in the first place led to much trickiness. Every individual like Severa, every survivor, needed to kill and kill and kill again just to make it to the next day. As far as her scattered encounters informed her, Severa felt sure that each one received the same stimulus as she for the act of murder. Then there were non-survivors who fit the mold of murderer with extreme precision, but they were allied, so to speak, with the monstrous things in this plane; their status as enemies could not be questioned. The difference, then, had to be in awareness; some of the survivors, during their wanderings, knew that something was wrong, that a true mystery and a true danger dwelt beneath the surface. Then, there were those who did not care about what might be going on beneath, those for whom the carnage was everything. Their quest for gratification, for the rush of blood, consumed them completely. Severa knew from experience that it wasn't intelligence or cunning they lacked; the only difference between she and they was that she could bury the drive to maim and slay, and they could not. But why did she bother? Why did any of the abstainers? Really, she had no idea. The bell-ringer, across the way, probably didn't either. Still, here they were, a couple hundred feet apart yet altogether close in spirit.

Soon, this little rendezvous would have to end. It wasn't her first, and with any degree of luck it wouldn't be her last. Another constant, observable by the abstainers: if several lingered too long in any one place, whether or not they engaged one another in combat, monsters would appear from the woodwork. This, Severa felt, happened too predictably to be mere coincidence. It served to further her ideas about the existence of some manipulator, who contrived to keep the abstainers apart. This did not dissuade her from trying when the opportunity arose; meetings like this, where the most eventful communication might be a distant wave from each party, kindled inside her a strange sensation like the fiery joy that ignited in her when she killed, but much, much weaker, and smoother. It felt like a more natural good, rather than the good that struck her like lightning to incentivize further bloodshed, and Severa assigned to it value for that reason.

Rallying her weary muscles, she forced herself to her feet. “Live on,” she whispered, her voice a croak from lack of practice, though her words lost in the warm breeze. Severa gave a stiff wave to the unknown stranger, and the bell rang out once again. Then, she started to move in the direction the water flowed far below. A horde could appear at any moment, and in an effort to establish her own self with what little power she had, she wished to avoid further combat if at all possible.
Once again, my apologies. I'm more or less free from attention-compromising concerns at the time being, and I will endeavor to reply on an individual or two-person basis for those who put out responses quickly, so that the pace of the smaller fights can increase.

If you have questions about foes I'm throwing your way, do not hesitate to ask.
Knight Sylvestre

Location: Oldtown

Cyril's capture galvanized the remaining fighters into action. Whether or not they knew or liked him, they knew that as soon as they started getting picked off, this arduous struggle would be over. As the darkness began to close in on the pinned vanguard, Souta became surrounded by a fiery glow, and before the eyes of those still able to see a powerful blaze consumed him from nowhere. Juniper stood agape, wondering if her last standing ally had been somehow immolated by this unknown force, until a surge of water followed the flames to give off a burst of steam. When the breeze carried it away, the smith looked nothing like himself. A strange stone armor, haphazard in its forming enough to make him resemble a demon, now covered Souta.

With the ample weight and protection the power of his unique, unknown power, the enigmatic metalworker stepped forward into the cascade once more. Yet, as easily as before, he was carried off his feet and thrown back. The voice echoing from the jagged, asymmetrical helmet afterward managed to convey its immense disappointment and frustration despite the strange headwear's distortion. “Are you kidding me? This water can't be physical. Nothing like that should be able to move me when I'm in Trigger. Must operate on different rules...” The invisible foot of Howell's vengeful entity crashed upon him again as he stood, but this time he practically shrugged it off. All that defense would not save Cyril, however, who appeared to have blacked out.

Juniper clenched her fists, mind racing. Hotheaded as though she might appear, she had been paying attention. These two appeared to be using some sort of magic that completely disregarded conventions, but she got the nagging feeling that the trick for the vortex specifically was actually quite simple. There wasn't time enough to puzzle it out, but as much as she wanted to, she couldn't let Cyril be crushed to death. The pettiness of revenge aside, he did have her soul, after all. Concerning the problem at hand, she could rattle off a few things about it. First: the torrent was not insurmountable, for somehow some progress had been made. It had only been when she got back into the fight that Souta and Cyril suffered a reset of their progress. Second: the torrent cared not about the weight of objects introduced to it, nor the effort with which they strove to conquer it. Third: when the flow didn't repel an assailant, it was only when two of her trio were fording it together. Maybe it has a set amount of force it can bring to bear at once, and when confronted by several enemies, it has to split the force into multiple, weaker ones. There were holes in her theory, but it was better than nothing, and time was -of course- of the essence.

“Souta! Let's jump in at the same time!”

Even without his face visible to show his feelings, Souta appeared desperate enough to try anything. “'Kay!”


One of Juniper's new metal legs went down into the water, and though the push was there, it felt terribly weak. What. It's that simple!? She took another step, then another. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Souta doing the same, and as their confidence waxed, their speed picked up.

In the eye of the storm, Raleigh and Howell shifted from one-hundred-percent self-sure to surprised and fearful in a second flat. Their foes were employing some sort of strategy that seemed to be working; no countermeasure had come up during the afternoon of testing. “How could you have figured out a weakness when we couldn't find a single one!?” The sunken man demanded. Still floating overhead in the grip of Howell's entity, Cyril was suddenly cast down to tumble along the ground. At one, two forces descended upon the assailants, but the moment they hit the water, they were repelled. Souta's stony facade and Juniper's outstretched hand breached the eye of the tempest at that moment, and in a splash of ethereal water the cascade dissipated.

Raleigh's scream was cut off by Souta's fist which, alongside bloodying her nose and teeth, knocked her out instantly. In a flash, Juniper delivered a snap kick to Howell's jaw, flooring him. He hit the cobblestones first, and Raleigh's limp body fell on top of him, but his eyes remained open. Pressure closed in on Juniper from all sides, and before she knew what was going on, the invisible hand yanked her toward the sky. All became a blur as she shot upward at impossible speeds. Blue became black in a matter of seconds, and she could focus on only one thing: a star in the far-flung reaches of space, just a twinkling speck to someone on Earth. When it started getting visibly larger, she began to brace herself, and the next second slammed into something blinding and yellow.

When her head stopped spinning, Juniper opened her eyes. She was laying on a hard, flat, brilliant surface that expanded infinitely in every direction. Dumbfounded, she could only look around. The incredibly brightness of the ground met the pitch-black void of space at the horizons, and as she scanned the sky, she could see a single star glowing brighter than the rest. In silence she considered what might have happened, pondering the ludicrousness of the idea of being snatched and taken to a star untold googols of miles away, until she became aware of two shapes on the ground nearby that looked just a touch darker than the rest. Their outlines gave the impression that they were feet, and as Juniper stared, something began to move. Only detectable by the shimmer it gave off its ghostly body as it moved, it was gargantuan, on par with the titans of myth, yet strangely emaciated. Though humanoid, its head could only be described as some sort of grotesque, immense flower, and from its back there extended a huge, curved protrusion that resembled a crescent moon. It raised its hand to crush her, but before the shimmering mass could descend, everything dissolved into a blur once again. Juniper's last fleeting look of the thing was as she zoomed by it, in the direction of the bright star. Still shocked, she glanced over her shoulder, but all that remained of the bizarre plain upon which she lay for but an instant was a sparkling dot in the unnamable distance.

In a few seconds the blur faded away once again. The martial artist could see the cloudy sky of late afternoon, and feel the cobblestones at her back. An outstretched hand appeared, the last chunks of sorcerous stone turning to dust, and she reached out to take it. Nearby, Cyril was making a laborious effort to stand up himself, and while he worked at it Juniper glanced at the bodies of the College employees. The woman still breathed, albeit through a destroyed mouth and nose, but the man sported a skull that had evidently met the wrong end of Souta's hammer while Juniper had been...'away'. “He cast some sort of illusion...a hallucination. It must have been.” Juniper told him.

Tired and confused, the smith shrugged before turning to walk in the direction of a restaurant. “C'mon,” he told both Cyril and Juniper, “We could use a few drinks after whatever the hell that was.”

The Fungal Knight

Location: the Big Top

BoBonesword's revelation -that the egg timer affected the gravity of the user- proved exactly correct as he began to fall upward. The hammer that he clutched, however, remained decidedly in the purview of its wielder, affixed instead to conventional gravity. Thus, when the skeleton-turned-clown's grip failed, he found himself on the ceiling of the Big Top's capture chamber in a matter of seconds. A handful of meters below, sporting a quizzical expression, the ogreish clown stared up at him. No clear avenue of attack remained for the freak now that his enemy lay out of his reach. A few moments passed before an idea popped into the carnie's head, and with the hammer in hand he shuffled to one of the wacky-colored doors. Its motion sensor activated as he drew near to let him pass, and the clown made a beeline for the nearest wall-mounted weapons catch. Several goofy-looking ray guns and one flamboyant bazooka hung there, but given his build the clown could not be said to be making good time.


Location: What Lies Beneath

Lily's caution earned her another half-hour of waiting a short way off from the mushroom garden, but in time she did become aware of the low whine of a second drone, eking from between the between the dimly luminescent stalks. It grew steadily louder as it came closer, but no other noise could be picked up even in the oppressive silence of this massive cavern.

The kitsune's foe did, however, appear.

He walked out from a bundle of spindly mushrooms, his steps slow and halting. Unmasked by a helmet, Teller's features were plain to see, and his glazed, languid countenance told of a decided lack of wellness. Black goop coated his futuristic armor, especially thick around his hands and forearms, where it besmirched the rifle he held in his grasp. In front of him floated the drone, but he did not glance at it when it reangled itself to face in Lily's direction. Instead, he reached out and grabbed it, his fingers working quickly to shut it down and attach it to his belt, before he turned his dull eyes from side to side. Their gaze looked over the scenery beyond the pseudo-forest's age.

“I knooow where you aaare...”

Of all things, his voice sounded wet. Before he turned to face Lily, somehow fixating in her direction despite the lack of guidance, a few more strange things could be glimpsed. From his lower back sprouted a gooey black tail, its tip a spade, and his shoulderblades gave rise to winglike extensions that lacked membranes.

“Your souuul...I need it. Give it, sooo tasty. Won't ask nicelyyy...I must feeeeeed.”

The soldier's face began to bubble and boil, the sky turning to jelly. His mouth grew to take up his whole face, the teeth yellow-green pillars that gnashed together again and again before opening wide. Two additional arms sprouted from his ribs and reached into his maw to retrieve a pair of curved swords from within his gullet. When the mouth closed, it shrank back to its normal size, Teller's liquidated human features reappearing. Black slime flowed from his lips to cover the top of his head, where it altered into a horned military helmet with a microphone. Music, energetic but distorted in parts into a hideous-sounding remix, began to echo through the underground.

“Coming for you, tasty!” came the garbled ultimatum, through the noise.


Location: the Park

While the tree Pieter inhabited harbored no more leaves on its boughs, the remnants of Weird Autumn swirled like a stormcloud of oranges and browns above and around their controller; after all, in a world where a single mature oak could have two hundred thousand leaves, a single twister made no difference to the whole. Jin's dash toward Pieter proved to be a shortsighted maneuver as a portion of the original tree's magicked leaves swooped down on him from the front, and those of his former cover closed in from behind him. The two waves hastened to crash together with the assassin in the middle.


Location: Main Street

Blood-curdling shriek after uncanny shriek sounded out from the alley as Malveil grew closer, intensifying until the very moment he rounded the building's corner to peer down it at the abhorrent things within. When he turned his gaze upon the horrible noises' source, however, only trash looked back at him.

The next second, blasts of blackness appeared above him, in every direction. Murky dust expanded into a nebulous cloud that blocked out the sun, and from the sudden dark descended a squadron of shapes blacker still. Misshapen, abominable, and with no two quite alike, the nightmarish things cackled at the surrounded fool that had fallen for their ambush. Wasting little time, the ghouls mounted their bloodthirsty assault, the first lashing out with its twisted limbs to gouge Malveil's flesh from his body.
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