Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current I want to see things - that no one else can see
2 yrs ago
I'll judge you with my Stand! 「Greased Lightning」!
2 yrs ago
At maximum overbork
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2 yrs ago
Are you tired of peel, peel, peeling potatoes? Stop!
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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

What Lies Beneath


At the apex of Deadbeat Sky’s extendable staircase, before the door flanked on either side by armored angels, a familiar figure reclined in what was unmistakably a fold-out chair.

While made of period materials, chiefly wood and leather, its construction spoke of a hint from the far-flung future, at least as far as the more medieval-themed Armada was concerned. If the furniture’s style suggested any sort of incongruity, however, its occupant seemed unaware. Clad in leather, bandages, a poncho, and his signature wide-brimmed hat, Mr. Solomon Screed embodied everything stylish –or, perhaps, quaint- about the Wild West. This, of course, made for yet another anachronism, not that the mummified gunman seemed to care.

When Lily, Brucie, and their doggy companion approached, he rose from his comfortable portable to give his master’s guests a bow. “G’mornin’,” he greeted, his voice rather less raspy than how the others might remember. A half-full mug of black liquid situated beneath his chair provided the reason why. “Ah hope, even in this here dismal cavern, yew lot slept well through the night.” Straightening up, he moved to the side, dragging the chair out of the way as he did. “I.O. and Egon are en route. As for Marotte…”

The mummy’s cracked lips broke into a smile, then began to change. Screed’s entire body shifted, not with a flash of magic or puff of smoke, but in a rather horrifically organic matter. Bandages unwrapped themselves, becoming tendrils that then receded; his hat shrunk and thickened, sliding down over his face as its top gathered together into an uncanny mockery of human features. Bright colors appeared as seams split apart to reveal eyes, and in another second a gaudy jester of flesh stood before Lily.

After the speedy transformation finished, the creature took yet another bow, though one more reminiscent of a performer than a servant. ” I̸ ̷am̀ here, M̡ada͠m̶e̸, to̶ ͏fight ͘at y̕o͟ur̨ ͘sid́e.”

A moment later, the ground began to shake. From the rightmost of the five paths leading out from the main door, a colossal, bipedal stag beetle approached, his shell a brilliant metallic green that sent motes of light rippling off the walls. A gray beard stretched down from the bottom of his greathorned helmet, overlooked by round, friendly black eyes. Around him a thick eddy of smoke swirled, and as the titan came near the fumes resolved them into the shape of a diminutive, besuited specter.
The brawny bug spoke first. “Hello, Ms. Lily,” he rumbled. “I am Immovable Object, but please call me I.O. I look forward to lending you my strength.”

“Ya know who I am.” Egon took a deep breath through his cigar, then puffed out a plume of smoke that molded itself into accusatory finger at Marotte. “But you oughta know betta than to pull off some kinda stunt like that wit’ some ‘n who don’t trust us yet.” His smoldering, fiery eyes regarded Lily’s trio. “So what’ll it be, chief?” The other two joined the ash specter in gazing expectantly at Lily, ready to proceed at her command.



Beneath a nigh-cloudless sky, tousled by a cool breeze, stroked by the morning sun’s gentle rays, Oldtown was at peace. One could almost forget the lethal, ongoing trial-by-combat and the ominous mystique that permeated it, but like a stormy horizon it lay in the distance, threatening to surge in and wash the City away.

Though brimming with optimistic hope, Runch’s inquiry went unanswered by the limp knight. Still, his heart beat on, pumping blood throughout the body restored by the pirate’s supernatural cereal. Even the impression left in the side of his head behind the temple appeared to be mended, and the ripped flesh on his ear scabbed over. When Runch checked his former opponent’s eyes, he found no glaze in their murky brown depths, yet still something about them troubled him. When had he opened the Knight Sylvestre’s eyes?

A few moments passed before those inexplicably open peepers fell closed, then opened again with conscious slowness.
If Arthur had been looking for much in terms of agreement from the others, he’d have be disappointed, but with everyone newly busy with their portion of their first assignment he figured hey could use some slack. Hogan did vocalize some sort of response, though his mustached compatriot did not quite know what to make of his hissing. Still, Arthur guessed that the sentient reptile would be putting up a fuss if he disagreed with the planned course of action, so he took the vaguely alarming noise as a sort of assurance. “I’ll just, ah, go and grab a van, then.”

A few minutes later an unmarked white van came to a stop by the curb in front of the Speedwagon Foundation building, and Arthur stepped out to throw wide the back doors. With a dubious look he eyed the enormous creature basking not too far away and the elevated bumper Hogan was destined to ascend. “Hmm…” An idea hit the man, and while not one he felt to be wise, it did seem the most practical route to take. Holding out a hand to Hogan, Arthur told him, “Don’t think you’ll be able to climb in, but if you don’t mind I could have my Stand put you in. It’ll be quick and easy, I promise.” If Hogan felt disinclined, the only other course Arthur could imagine was leaving him behind, though perhaps for such a simple and thumb-intensive task that would not be a bad thing.

Hogan watched the van draw closer, his mouth lay agape to let any excess heat vent from his body. This wasn’t Hogan’s special van so there wasn’t an easy way to get in, fortunately though Arthur proposed a quick and easy solution. Those being two of Hogan’s favorite things he was more than agreeable to the idea. Sure he had literally zero idea of what this man’s Stand could do but that wasn’t an issue, the reptile had confidence that this human was somewhat capable. Hogan then slowly closed his mouth and just looked at Arthur, slowly moving his head up and down.

A broad smile stretched over Arthur’s face. “Great! I’ll get straight to it, then. Hopefully no random users in the area, though I suppose that would make our job easier…” The large man murmured an indistinguishable phrase into his whiskers, and the air behind him shivered. From behind his back a giant shape unfurled, sleek and angular, a dark-silver titan’s upper half. The curved spires that reached up from the sides of where its neck would be neatly framed its absent head, but nevertheless an odd feeling creeped across the crocodile when he peered into that empty space. It was the untraceable instinct that something was there, like a black creature in front of a black background, watching unseen.

The Stand reached out, and with its hydrant-thick arms gathered up Hogan as best it could. With gentleness but little ceremony it deposited the reptile in the back of the van, then disappeared from sight. The feeling of something unknown lurking about, however, persisted for a while longer. For his part, Arthur seemed to ignore it, waiting by until he could close the back doors and then pile into the driver’s seat. Another moment and the odd pair was off.

Due to the traffic, as well as difficulties finding parking, getting to the library took longer than expected. Even when Arthur did find an open lot, he embroiled himself in a somewhat frustrating delay at its entrance because of his lack of familiarity with American currency and its slight variations on the color green. Nevertheless, the odd pair did finally arrive within walking distance of their destination, though the idea of walking anywhere in a metropolis with a fifteen-foot reptile at his heels did not seem practical to Arthur. After exiting the parked vehicle the mustached man threw open the van’s back doors. “Now, Hogan,” he began, “I’m sorry to say I don’t think it’s a great idea to bring you with me through crowded streets into a library. So I found a spot at the back of the lot and backed in, so you can have the doors open and get some sun but not be seen and cause a panic or anything. You okay waiting here while I go in and use the computer?” Arthur attempted a supportive smile, having no real recourse if, for whatever reason, Hogan disagreed.

Hogan was pleased the vehicle had finally stopped moving, he hadn’t known until now but he was pretty sure he had slight motion sickness. Though aside from that he was fine just laying there in the back of the van. Hogan looked up as he heard Arthur get out of the driver seat and make his way around to the back of the van. A soft click signaled to the reptile that he was about to get some fresh air. Hogan looked at Arthur as the doors were opened up, and the man wasted no time in stating his concerns about Hogan wandering around in public and how he thought it’d be better for Hogan to stay with the van. And Hogan was inclined to agree, lacking both the ability to read books or use computers, furthermore he really didn’t want to. So again the scaly giant slowly nodded his head in agreement to what Arthur was saying.

Man, Hogan was really getting to like this guy, he did all the work!

With a nod of his own, followed by a cheery wave of farewell, Arthur set off. Though the streets bustled with activity, he made good time over the relatively short distance before him, and in no time at all ended up seated at one of the many desks inside the Library of Congress tapping away at the keyboard. The middle-aged man took a bit longer than most to get accustomed to how the setup and database system worked, but in less than twenty minutes he completed a list of every likely location he could find, the names scribbled on the back of a yellow book return slip. Confident that he now possessed enough information to begin a search, he labored to end the computer’s session before moseying on out of the place, stopping only to bid the personnel at the front desk goodbye.

With a combination of Wide Warp and Spatial Haste, the scouting team made easy work of keeping up with the carriage. The five continued moving across the grassy hills, using the terrain as a barrier to avoid detection, until they came to a higher knoll a half-minute ahead of their quarry. Helena barked out a break command, and her squad fell to its collective knees. Psugeoth and Gretchen hurried to regenerate their mana, while Odile and Tungus stood by. Their commander, however, crept up the side of the knoll on her belly until she could peer over the top at the process coming into view.

Though her subjects moved with haste, her keen eyes took in what she could of their features. Wealthy, she observed, not just by the make of the vehicle but by the armament of the paladins. Even normal full plate cost a pretty penny for humans, and the gear of these two -while laughable compared to even the dinkiest armor found in her Guild- stood above standard human fair. Then again, she couldn't presume that this world operated by the societal rules of the one that came before. One rider's face she could see, and noticed by his ears that he seemed to be an elf. The carriage's driver she could also see, a homely man fixated upon the path before him with a baleful sort of rigidity that, to Helena, suggested anger. As the entourage flew past she attempted to spy inside, but opulent curtains blocked her view within. From the carriage wheels a great plume of dust flew up to obscure the vehicle's passing, but before she lost the view she spotted a few buildings in the direction her quarry appeared to be headed.

Helena allowed a short time to pass before she straightened up and waltzed down the knoll. “Nothing much of interest. Somewhat better-off compared to the average human. Settlement ahead. We should hurry.” A billowing darkness spread over her the next moment, and the scouting party disappeared, its pursuit re-engaged.

Before long Helena's squad came to another stop inside a small ravine, and the five either jumped up to the edge or stretched to see what lay beyond. A few hundred meters away, the pitiful cluster of shoddy huts stood like a huddle of old men, lost in the middle of nowhere. The carriage and its escort would arrive only a moment later. Sound would carry through the still air, Helena knew, and afford her team a chance to sate their curiosity. As insignificant as this village seemed, it proved the new world's first glimpse of civilized life, as well as their chance to get an idea of what sort of place their organization found itself.
Never one to miss obvious social cues, Arthur gave a respectful nod of the head to Mr. Armstrong and then took his leave of the man's office. Given the most recent arrival's position, he took care to circumnavigate the reptile, just in case all that wrestling left Hogan feeling a tad ornery. A moment later the sizable former wrestler stood in the waiting room once again, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. When the others joined him, he did not hesitate to voice his thoughts.

“'Cause I took a taxi here, I'm afraid I have no means of transportation save my own two legs, so a van might be a good bet. Though, he didn't say anything about making arrangements with the staff or procuring keys. Maybe they're just sitting there waiting for us, hmm? If we've got a few moments it wouldn't hurt to head over and take a look.”

Before Arthur could so much as take a step toward his declared destination, however, his cell phone gave a chirp. Other noises issued from the pockets and bags of his new compatriots, so he took it to mean that some pertinent information had already arrived. “How exciting!” he remarked as he produced his phone and flipped it open, pecking at one button after another with an overlarge index finger. A few seconds later and he could peruse its contents, which he read over while feeling rather like a bounty hunter with a newly-updated hit list.

Squinting, he scanned line after line. “...A wise guy, eh?” he said at length. With everything he could glean from the text committed to memory, he flipped his phone closed and crossed his arms. “Well, since it's daytime, visiting the greenhouses makes sense. If we don't find 'em by late afternoon we can switch to comedy clubs, but of course the real problem's which one he might be going to. If there's a library nearby I could use a computer to look up the city's prominent nature centers and clubs, maybe narrow down the playing field.” He chuckled to himself. “Guess we'll be using that van sooner than we thought!”
In a city as big as Denver, one could get lost just as easy as one could lose oneself, and Elliot didn't particularly care which came first. With a full hour passed since his self-extraction from the media feeding frenzy that enveloped the convention center, he'd managed to find for himself an ironic sort of peace in the industrious hubbub of downtown, resting his legs while only intermittently coming to a stop. From his corner in the RTD tram car he peered, glassy-eyed, through the window at the storefronts and offices that slid past, giving a frequent glance at the myriad of people that came and went.

To a degree it amused him that people would be engaging in the everyday hustle and bustle of life when a supervillain incident just occurred not too far away, but he knew that they couldn't afford not to. No matter the nature of the hardship, life could not be put on pause until one felt ready for it. Allowing pain, loss, or fear to hinder oneself—weakness, defiance of that all-important axiom of life: continuance. The show must go on.

Realizing that his leg had fallen asleep, Elliot uncrossed the both of them and shifted his position, making sure to prevent his overcoat's edge getting caught between the seats. What the heck am I going to do with my day? he wondered, not for the first time. Whenever he began to give the issue any thought he always seemed to get distracted, delegating the decision-making to an ideally better-informed, but more realistically more-bored and less-comfortable future version of himself.

The convention, if he remembered right, should have lasted all day and then some. Thinking of the time he spent in there before the incident and then extrapolating that experience fourfold made him realize how thankful he really was for the Rockers' uninvited appearance. Now, the world was his oyster—if the metropolis of Denver constituted the world. Though full of problems, as any edifice of a flawed humanity would be, it struck Elliot as a pretty good place to be.

He felt the tram come to a stop, and heard the light tone that signified the doors opening. A large, hard-faced man in khakis and a dress shirt stomped over, with sunken eyes and prominent stubble. Standing close to the door, he took hold of one of the vertical bars, preparing for the tram to continue. Elliot's eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer, taking in the aspect of a man who looked down on his luck. What troubled him so? Work? Family? The lack of one or both, and the feelings of worthlessness and failure that accompanied it? If Morales were here, he might have been able to tell this man something that would make his day.

But Elliot was here.

Nodding to himself, the young man picked himself up and strode straight off the tram, neither pausing to acknowledge the stranger nor watch to see if he took what he gave. A moment later the tram pulled away, and the Ward stood before a bank of some sort. Elliot did not recognize the spot where he ended up disembarking, but that suited him just fine. Too much longer and the sun would be so overhead that using it to determine compass directions would be difficult -though not impossible for the Margrave, vaunted genius that he was- but Elliot could just make out which way the sun lay for now, so he took a path directly opposite to it. Looking and feeling unusually chipper, he made tracks over the concrete sidewalk, past trash can and iron bench, scrawny tree and parking meter, until a corner restaurant caught his eye. “Something of an early lunch,” he reasoned with himself as he moseyed right on in, “But my heroism is vast as my appetite, and a breakfast of coffee ill prepares a man for a day of adventure.”

A few minutes later, the enigmatic man of mystery, inimitable and indomitable as midnight itself, sat outside in a little wrought-iron chair at a little wrought-iron table, munching away at a hearty dish of fries coated in melted cheese and corned beef, with a side of pickles.
Helena Lichter

From the moment the ghoul commander's team set foot outside the Cathedral, its leader knew that Yseult's first creation had been hard at work. Already a rich, megalithic assortment of flora, the part of the forest that constituted the Cathedral grounds now swelled to burst with the dread aspect of Halloween. Masses of thorns and briars, enormous vines, bizarre fungi, thick grass, and piles of leaves filled it, not to mention the vast army of pumpkin monsters that occupied it, whether secreted away in discreet niches or hiding in plain sight among the vines that flourished with their non-sentient cousins.

Of course, with the illusion cast by Anna, Jack's defense system now appeared to be a haunted ring around ordinary forest, but their collective work satisfied the Supreme Lord's orders to conceal and protect. With a witch, a naga, a troll, and a humanoid aberration in tow, Helena made her way through Jack's territory and into the woods beyond.

The squad set out at a brisk pace. Helena based her direction on the position of the sun, operating under the hopeful assumption that it determined direction the same as in the world she left behind, though it occurred to her that even if it did not there existed no way to tell otherwise. Not too long after exiting the Pumpkin Patch, her ears picked up the quiet rustling sounds of movement through the undergrowth, but a quick examination turned up nothing more than rabbits on the run. Still, Helena reflected, Just because it's only animals here doesn't mean the perimeter is totally safe. Our assignment remains; those stationed at the Cathedral must see to its immediate surroundings.

The sun overhead, though filtered somewhat by the leaves and branches of the canopy, proved uncomfortably hot after a while spent marching, but the group pressed on until it reached the forest's eastern edge. Beyond the rather abrupt end of the treeline, a vibrant prairie stretched into the distance beneath a cloudless blue sky. At the edge of the two biomes, the monstrous crew stopped to rest in a patch of shade. Though not as splendid as the colorful Field of Flowers on the fifth floor, it bore a serene pleasantness. It might not have impressed many, but the nation of Helena's birth bore no such open, rolling stretches of untouched pasture, so her hazel eyes lingered for a good while.

A couple seconds later, she became aware of some movement, and straightened up against the three beneath which she'd taken shelter. Even from this distance, she could make out the shape of a carriage and what appeared to be a reptilian creature pulling it along at a swift clip. Mounted warriors of some kind preceded the carriage, and the whole ensemble left a trail of dust in its wake. “Commander!” came the rumbling bass of Tungus to Helena's left, “I see...”

“As do I,” Helena interrupted, cutting the troll off. She kept her eyes on the unknown group, considering her options. With how desperately the guild needed information, she felt the temptation to stage some sort of assault for the purposes of capturing interrogation subjects, but she could not disobey her current master's prime directive. “Do not attempt to engage. We will follow them, using the hills an grass, until they stop or I judge we've gone far enough.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, she spoke to Gretchen, then Psugeoth. “To keep up I need you to Wide Warp the entire party, and you to cast Spatial Haste on us to continue after them until Warp can be used again. Go, now!”

Gretchen through her arms wide, a tide of darkness sweeping forth from her robe. It enveloped the part and then coalesced, taking all five creatures with it. About one thousand feet to the north the dark cloud reappeared, depositing the group with minor disorientation. Psugeoth, the silent astrologian, took the chance to cast a spell that increased the party's movement speed, and the next moment the squad launched into action, sprinting through the grass with as low a profile as they could manage until Gretchen could cast Wide Warp again. The cycle continued, again and again, keeping the group roughly parallel to the carriage as it traveled.


Still brimming with curiosity, Tatter could scarcely sit still as Volaris began to speak, though her energy dulled as he went on. As best she could tell, the vital task that would be hers and Lexicon's to fulfill appeared to be research. Sure, research could be fun, but what the superb specter desired sounded more like schoolwork. Of course, Tatter never darkened any schoolhouse's door, but she did know about the institution among humans.

However, Volaris' murmurings of a world redefined in the guild's image rekindled her excitement. A guild without limits. Images ran through Tatter's head of not just waiting for intruders to enter the Cathedral and hoping they reached her, but going out into the world to let her nightmarish abilities run wild. Twisting body and soul alike on a massive scale if she so chose, infiltrating any society she pleased, setting up situations of heart-wrenching emotion and overwhelming tragedy...the more she thought about it, the more her spirit quivered with anticipation.

“Hmm! ...Okay!” She replied, her voice high and bright, filled with childish energy. “Well, milord, I've got tons of paper around I can have some minions use to record spell names and results. If that suits you for data collection, we can start our tests right away using who we have on hand: you! The arena would be great, of course, but if you like we can down to the bottom floor of the Thaumaturgium. It's pretty clear and open, and there's husks and other creatures everywhere we can test on. While we're at it, Lexicon and I could try out our magic to make sure it works fine.”

Smiling ghoulishly, she floated up into the air, her forearms and lower half unraveling into strands in preparation for flying. After a moment she gave a shrug. “Or, I guess we could head straight to the arena. Sturdy as this place is, the power of a Supreme Lord might be too much for it to handle, and there's a bunch of stuff that could break, or fall off, providing you're okay for testing in the first place?” The consideration hit her suddenly, as through her enthusiasm kept her from thinking the whole proposal through.
Though by now proficient in the language's usage, Souta couldn't boast a thorough or even good knowledge of English idioms or sayings—and he likely never would. Yet, he did know one that ran through his head more than once during the long, uncomfortable, humid trek through the jungle to find some spiders: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. The demon who accompanied him, who aside from simply being a demon also almost certainly had opposed both humanity and the Council in the past, gave Souta the creeps. It was saying something, then, that he couldn't decide whether he liked Gideon or Wrath less. In the smith's last mission the Nephilim had flown his true colors, not just entertaining but engaging in the notion of betraying the Charred Council he supposedly worked for in order to side with that stuck-up asshat, Kushiel. Wrath might not think anything of it, but as far as Souta was concerned he could drop dead, and when he bothered he made sure to wear an expression that indicated as such. By the time that skittering, many-legged and many-eyed monsters appeared in the underbrush, Souta found himself thankful for the company.

A few moments later, the Broodmother herself made an appearance. Despite all that he had pictured, Souta felt an inkling of disappointment that this monster seemed to be a fairly ordinary spider, if one put aside her size. Though he couldn't fathom whether or not the Broodmother would appreciate it, he put on the sort of polite and interested expression he often sported around clients, listening like a professional to what she told his group. At its conclusion he noted with some humor that even more of his expectations proved incorrect, for instead of escorting the immense arachnid to Aquapolis themselves it looked like they were on mook elimination duty. That, Souta thought, suits me just fine. A lone human might not look like much alongside warriors of the other worlds in a desperate struggle or critical assault on a single, powerful target, but against many weaker enemies he could shine. Since he didn't know what form the 'corrupted beings' that the Broodmother mentioned took, he instead imagined himself blowing spiderlings to pieces with his brand-new hardware. It was an enjoyable fantasy.

“Sounds like a plan, ma'am,” Souta piped up following her last statement. “We'll have this horde in stinkin', burned-up little chunks before lunchtime. See ya soon.” With that, all that remained was to catch up to his two 'allies' and continue trailing the spiders until it was time to party.
From the moment Armstrong first mentioned it, the notion of a fifth stand user who would be joining the already-assembled quartet of misfits did dwell in the back of Arthur's mind. Since that individual did not appear, however, he'd allowed it to drift there for the sake of focusing on his new acquaintance's briefing, having figured that whoever that person would be would bear thinking after arrival. When the sounds of a commotion, punctuated by a man's colorful language, reached Arthur from the hall, he suspected they might be heralding the elusive fifth user's sudden appearance, but never for a split second did he imagine that this individual would be anything other than the speaker. Of course, he did wonder with no small amount of curiosity what was causing all the hubbub.

When the door burst open, Arthur turned to look along with the others, and as if someone had given the man an electric shock he jolted upright, eyes flown wide open and eyebrows ascended to maximum altitude. Before him lurked a snaggletoothed reptile of monstrous proportions, so out of place it might have made him laugh if the thought of ripped flesh and crushed bones didn't factor in so strongly. “Crocodile...?” he murmured beneath his breath, any intelligibility lost into his mustache. Eyes still glued to the beast's leathery hide, he gave the rest of his attention to Armstrong for the explanation he felt he very understandably deserved. Only after Armstrong introduced Hogan did Arthur dare to blink, shaking his head to make sure he hadn't misheard that this primeval monster would be occupying the very role he had so surely felt belonged to that Simon fellow.

The others seemed to recover more quickly. Perhaps they'd seen crocodiles before? The same couldn't be said for Arthur, whose chilly home harbored remarkably few of them, though legends of the creatures' destructive power were not nearly as rare. He'd been planning to ask Armstrong for assurance that this animal was trained, but the sight of the crazy woman just reaching down and petting it convinced him his question was moot. Patient and docile, or...maybe... Arthur watched with slight disbelief as Hogan seemed to read the card Skinner offered him. Intelligent. Comparable to human. The more Arthur thought about it, the more ridiculous his own recalcitrance seemed to him. All the things I've seen, and this is where I decide it's too weird? A moment later, the businessman found he could not suppress his mirth any longer. “Bahaha! Incredible! I've only ever seen one other animal that had a Stand, but to work alongside one? Now I'm excited.” Crossing his arms, he gave to his new ally a respectful nod. “The name's Arthur. Good to meet you, Hogan.” His attention returned to Armstrong, though his planned assurance that 'anything else we can work out among ourselves' fizzled out when Skinner brought to light a reasonable concern. After its resolution, and receiving a questioning glance, he shook his head told the man, “I'm good. I'll look forward to this lead of yours.”
Level 5 || Day 3 || King Boo's Castle
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (23/50)
Word count: 579

As all good things did, Slayer's blazing straight came to an end, the last few flickers of violet flame sputtering out. Ever vigilant of his allies, he made an about-face to check on both their status and the results of his attack. What he witnessed brought a smile to his face; not only had his full-force lunge punch carried him through several layers of architecture and vanquished the specter in his way, but as he watched Joker dispatched the next-to-last one, leaving only a single foe remaining. This last boo seemed to get the hint and, its resolve clearly broken, hurried toward and past him. The other heroes rushed to catch up, stepping or hopping over the debris strewn about in Slayer's wake. When they arrived the lone boo explained the circumstances of the boss fight, and freely opened the way for them.

The vampire chuckled, sauntering forward. ”Now there's a nice touch of courtesy,” he remarked, tone rather carefree. ”I certainly hope your crew treats your next guests with a little more of it.” Inside lay a room of sheer, stone bricks, totally bereft of furniture save for the rows of uncanny azure braziers along the walls and completely uninhabited save for the crowned, corpulent phantasm levitating in the dungeonesque chamber's middle. Ghostly energy, its erratic movement and volume escalating by the moment, suffused the guffawing geist as he issued his ultimatum, which in combination with the underling's warning convinced Slayer that there was no time to waste.

Raising his voice to make sure his newfound comrades would hear him over the vile villain's cacophonous cackling, Slayer declared, ”I suggest we focus on offense. Lay it on fast and heavy, but beware a counterattack. The chamber is bare, but we can still use it to our advantage.” The gentleman composed himself, cracking his neck and then his knuckles, prepared to -as always- lead by example.

Unburdened by fear he began to walk forward, his pace brisk and full of intent. Once at a range he judged appropriate, he came to a halt and dug in his heels. "Here goes!" With teeth clenched Slayer plunged the very fists that rattled an entire castle into the floor, smashing holes into its surface that extended to the soil below and sending cracks snaking out in every direction. He then turned his hands outward to grip the underside and pulled with tremendous might, dislodging a hefty chunk of stone that finally came loose with a bone-wrenching jolt. The force lifted the chunk up into the air, and with deft precision the vampire revolved his arm until he could send a straight punch cannoning into it. A few pieces might break off, but the bulk of the mortared rock hurtled right at King Boo, and it didn't come alone. Not even a second after the impact Slayer reappeared in melee range, having teleported under cover of his mighty projectile, and on the heels of the stony slam came a burning uppercut. Carried upward by his flaming fist, the gentleman struck the ceiling, creating a web of cracks that could easily give way and shower the King with rubble if coaxed by one of his allies. For Slayer's part, though, a Dandy Step canceled into a backstep sufficed. Though no doubt as effective as it was splendid, his opening move took its toll on both fists, leaving wounds that would take a little time to heal before he could engage in fisticuffs once again.
Just after the Margrave's arrival among his fellows, something of a scene erupted not too far away. One of the major villains apprehended by the capes appeared to be in some distress, some sort of critical anxiety about the method by which he'd been captured causing his composure to melt and leaving a gibbering mess in its wake. To the toymaker's disappointment, the senior heroes did not so much as hesitate to lend him a hand. Now I've seen it all—capes coddling a killer. It must be some cosmic joke to have given such power and status to such fools. For his crimes that man deserves worse.

The Margrave's emphatic smirk, borne of a job not only well done but one acknowledged by a superior as such, persisted for a few moments before it s leftmost edge began to twitch. Though mere feet away from him and surely in range of his smug commendations, neither Alessa nor Lillian nor Tulpa, nor anybody else other than Inkscape with his no-doubt canned words of congratulations, so much as acknowledged his existence, let alone his words. Furthermore, a couple of his fellow Wards seemed to be communicating in a semi-intimate fashion, totally uncaring of the Margrave's proximity. For a few moments the toymaker's mouth hung open a bit, a stream of words washing through his mind in a furious torrent. Was it because he hadn't taken an active role in taking down the pitiful curmudgeons? Because he didn't throw himself at the wounded Wards in an overt display of sympathy and goody-two-shoes team spirit? Or was it because he was, simply, the Margrave? After a brief time, his jaw clamped shut, lips pressing together as his eyebrows furrowed. “As if the inimitable, invisible overlord that is me needed -or even wanted!- so much as a gaze from one of these self-absorbed cretins,” he growled under his breath, turning his back.

With the incident resolved, and in a manner that glorified the heroes so thoroughly, the public did not hesitate to swarm the convention building and its tights-wearing defenders. Citizen and press alike converged on the capes and Wards, smothering them in questions and requests. Through the human flood Elliot made his way, not even bothering to pull down his cap. No bright smiles met him, no desires for autographs confronted him, and no questions stymied his unremarkable advance. After a couple moments he cleared the thick of the crowd and walked free, hands in his pockets. This is my fate, he repeated in his mind as he headed for the Wards' van. This is my curse.
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