Lugubrious

Project Crossover [SMASH ARENA - Only PXO members allowed]

Slayer
Level 3
Day 2
Location: In-house Smash Arena
@Zarkun
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (27/30)

Yesterday, the failure of a counterhit Pile Bunker to lead into wallbounce might have thrown Slayer for a loop, but already he was beginning to expect the unexpected. Instead the blistering strike forced James a few feet away, and like any good zoner the soldier took the opportunity to put some distance between himself and his opponent. This was not an unanticipated move, and the moment he discerned the anomaly in his technique, Slayer started to walk forward. From the sound and tactile sensation of breaking, he assumed that his foe employed some variety of invisible energy shield. He was not allowed long to ponder, however, for James' evasive roll transitioned into a sudden three-shot burst from his pistol.

A human could not react to gunfire quickly enough to dodge. Such a feat simply did not lie within the purview of human abilities. Even Slayer could not slip out of the way of James' first shot, which being more of a warning shot than a murder attempt given his roll maneuver, grazed his rib and tore his suit. A spatter of blood hit the packed dirt ground, and as he teleported forward once again to avoid the remaining bullets, Slayer laughed. “Not bad!” Though his classy monocle, his keen eye caught James trying to reload. Even with a lifetime of practice, the nightstalker could only reload so fast, giving Slayer a chance to leap up for a jump-in attack. “But not good enough!” Leaning forward in midair, the vampire thrust his hands forward with the fingers extended, like a cat punching with its claws out. As luck would have it, James continued to move, and in accordance Slayer's strike whiffed. Another six-round burst blasted his way,but this time Slayer was ready. He crouched -which was to say, he morphed his cape into a chair and seated himself- and with his pipe blew out a small barrier of smoke to destroy the bullets in their tracks. Some energetic shrapnel got through, mussing the gentleman's 'do somewhat and putting a few small cuts into his face and shoulders. His eyebrows furrowed as a drop of blood ran down his cheek. “Muh...my hair!”

Indignation did not mean wasted time, as James would soon find out. Standing up and deforming his cape with surprising speed, Slayer moved in on the man who he knew was out of bullets. “Now then...withstand this!” He performed a short hop, lifting up both legs, and then slammed them on the ground to assume an upright stance. From the impact point a jet of amaranth fire exploded in a wide area, the flames unable to burn but carrying enough force to launch James up and back. Seamlessly the gentleman transitioned into another move—one James might recognize from the previous day but, should he have been hit by the blasting stomp, be totally unable to stop from comboing. “I shall sever! Dead On Time!” Slayer cannoned forward first-first, his speed and power igniting the very air around him, and his rock-hard knuckle bore down on James like a crashing wave.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Slayer
Level 3
Day 2
Location: Tetris Castle 70th and 30th Floors
@Lmpkio@Bright_Ops@DracoLunaris@Etherean Fire@Holy Soldier@Zarkun@Guardian Angel Haruki@WingsOfBronze@Rockin Strings@Crosswire
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (27/30)

Like all good things, Slayer's luxuriant nap in his jacuzzi had to come to an end. Eventually, he tired of the sensation of constant bubbling, and the heat became uncomfortable. At that point the gentleman could only give a sigh of absolute contentment and pull himself from the churning water. A quick stop in the changing room developed into a longer break as he coerced his hair back into its usual stylish and showy shape. It was during this preening that Guile's call to action came in the form of an odd turtle riding a cloud. Still smiling, Slayer read the message and returned to the Lakitu a nod of acknowledgment. A few final swipes of his comb later, he pulled on his suit jacket, tied his tie, and donned his scarlet cape. After a moment a consummate gentleman, refreshed, pleasant-smelling, and extraordinarily clean, stepped out of the spa and made his way to the elevator.

The ride was short, but at its end lay something worthwhile. Around the same meeting table where he and his allies had first been briefed before venturing into Erion, a platoon of fresh-faced heroes waited to receive their first orders. This bunch, Slayer felt, seemed more full of that determined vigor that so often flowed through doers of good, and he felt as though they might be more reliable than the grittier, more realistic individuals who abandoned the cause in the twilight forest. Putting together the faces he knew from his previous mission and those he'd spotted during the funeral, the vampire could more or less claim acquaintance with everyone present. He had yet to properly introduce himself to most of the newcomers, however, and looked forward to getting to know them better. There were a couple complete strangers, however, such as the pudgy short man and his lanky, purple-clad companion. One stank, literally and metaphorically, of greed and repugnance, but the other's hollow look and bent posture spoke of self-pity. Recognizing this, Slayer felt compelled to try and talk to the man, perhaps give him some attention and companionship. ”Good day to ya all. Just seeing the lot of ya rearing to go lifts an old man's heart, ya know.” He did not ramble on, however, and instead fixed his eyes on Guile to await a hearty dose of intel.

From the way the soldier described things, Slayer felt as though he'd missed out on something, no doubt linked to the hubbub earlier in the morning. All the same, his countenance betrayed nothing, and rather than quibble about 'cat burglar' this and 'King Dedede' that, he sought to glean what he could. Evidently this strangely-named monarch had gained possession of the precious items pilfered from the funeral, and awaited a stern confrontation from the ramparts of his Butter Buildings. ”How...cheery! A lighthearted change of pace from the gloom of that solemn kingdom, eh? Yet I suspect there is much more to this realm than meets the ear.” Next, Guile addressed the veterans directly. Though he wondered if a single mission warranted any sort of status as venerable instructor, Slayer commanded a vast treasure trove of knowledge when it came to helping out.

Certainly,” he gave a nod and turned around, holding up his hands to draw attention. ”Most poignantly, I'd like ya to be aware that things around here may not 'work' as yer used to. As best I can tell, reality operates slightly differently in different worlds, so be prepared to adapt to new and strange situations. This includes yer own abilities, so don't rely on any gimmick ya might have to carry ya through a dangerous situation. If we had more time, it'd be smart to run some tests, but we don't have much to spare. Second, try and observe yer teammates and find someone who compliments yer fighting style. On yer own, ya might be strong, but pairing up is all sorts o' good. Cover weaknesses, enhance strength, combination attacks...don't be afraid to try something new. That should cover the basics, mm?” He gave a firm but encouraging smile, sure that he could convince the new heroes that things would turn out well.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Are we doing a fire emblem awakening arc?

@hatakekuro

That'd be interesting, for sure

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious I mean, if it's not something you're expecting to have control over, don't feel forced. I'm just trying to come up with events for Motley and Erina to respond to, is all, and it feels like they're a bit disconnected from the rest of the game as far as interaction goes. Anyway, I can handle the encounter, since all of the above's the case.

@BCTheEntity

The way to get them interacting would have been to call Oren and get me to do something that way, or to be linked with Runch's com.

@Lugubrious So Serhan didn't find anything/anybody then?

@ProPro

Nah, not this time.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious I'm not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping you'd make the tentacle-mouths do some antagonistic stuff. That's why I introduced them, is all... just saying.

@BCTheEntity

Apologies, I thought they were just mindless mooks you were dealing with. If you're wanting me to do something for you, asking would be the best way to get that across. At the moment, everyone's in a sort of 'free mode' where I'm only doing big-time stuff, as Pro said, so I wasn't expecting to be given the reins of something that seemed so minor.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

So I guess there was nothing and nobody else in the Old Basilica to find?

@ProPro

Not just sitting there. I didn't get the impression that Runch looked particularly hard.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Knight Sylvestre

Location: the Neighborhood
@GreenGoat

While rummaging in his little sack to make sure his provisions were secure, Cyril happened to touch the overlarge screw again. Even glancing off its surface with his knuckle sent a shiver down his arm and into his spine, not of cold but of something more akin to queasiness. It just felt off. Leaning against a crate of melons, he pulled the freaky object from the bag and stared at it with tired eyes. “What the hell are you?” he questioned in a whisper, turning it over in his hands. It wouldn't phase into his skin if he touched its column with a part of his body that wasn't big enough. Cyril got the distinct impression that the object didn't just slide into the body as a form of hands-free safekeeping. There must be some sort of trick; his experiences back home convinced him. In their efforts to manipulate, oppress, and destroy humanity by whatever means necessary, some of the cleverer and more magical demons created talismans or other enchanted objects infested with all manner of hexes and curses. He knew that another squad in the army had found and sacrificed itself to destroy a mirror that, when used by a human to view his or her reflection, corrupted the human into a demon monstrosity based on his or her own sinfulness. Was this screw a cursed object? The announcer had said to stick it in his head. Knowing him, Oren had been joking, mocking, or both, but maybe he had been telling him how to use it.

The screw felt heavy in Cyril's hands. Something new had occurred to him. The tournament's organizers wouldn't just hand him something to kill himself with. Even if it did something horrible to him, if it helped him win and fulfill his wish, wouldn't he take it anyway? The scope of his dream lay far beyond his own life, sanity, or dignity. Was there anything he really wouldn't do to bring about an end to all evil? Such thoughts troubled him. After all, he couldn't even be sure that the Crucible would really grant a wish, and that was just the start. Breathing deeply, the vanguard tightened his hand around the head of the screw. “God, don't let this hero's journey turn me into a monster. Please.”

Ding-dong

The tone—the sound that played when he walked through the Grocer's automatic doors. Someone was here. After tying his sack and pushing it beneath a produce shelf, Cyril grabbed his glaive and with a flourish brought it into running position. He moved, quick and quiet as his armor allowed, toward the building's front entrance. If not for the clamor of his gear, he might have tried to stay quiet and observe the newcomer, but he knew that after being taken unaware like this there was nothing to do but to face the unknown head-on. Halberd in his left and screw in his right, he rounded the corner of an aisle and slid to a stop on the polished brownstone floor.

Before him stood a woman with black hair, clad in flowing white and red and bearing eye-catching musculature in the one arm she appeared to have. Her right bicep, her fingers, and both of her bare hips featured an astonishing amount of scarring. One word flashed through Cyril's mind: tough. The ruggedness of her physique made for a serious contrast with her stark, somewhat ceremonial clothing, and to the vanguard it warned of dangerous latent power. He didn't imagine a threatening attitude would get him far with her, but he felt compelled to represent as well as he could a resolute knight, weary and detached perhaps but not lacking in fortitude. Raising his halberd up, he slammed its butt on the shiny floor, and from beneath his bristling mustache asked in a loud voice, “Have you come for my soul?”

The Fungal Knight

Location: Amusement Mile – Echoed Dead Man's Rock
@Banana

In contemplative quiet Oren heard the skeleton out. Ranting about clowns typically did not bode well for one's sanity, but the announcer treated Bonesword's report as though it contained the murmurings of a saint. After every pause he interjected an insightful yet somewhat patronizing, “Hm!” but before long Bonesword had nothing left to tell. “Magic cannibal clowns, huh...? Well, that might explain the other things our radar has been picking up beside the choppers and the big one, if they're also evil aliens with flying saucers. Even for the Crucible, that's pretty in-'tents'. Circus tents, that is. Not past tents, but future tents.” Oren did not care so much for specific aspects of clown physiology or psychology as he did their abilities, movements through the city, and implications. If all these clowns wanted to do was to eat people, they'd starve to death in a city populated solely by powerful fighters, if they didn't die trying to snag a snack or two. In that case they stood as little more than another wave of mooks, but Oren couldn't help but figure that there might be something more to these clowns than met the eye.

Bonesword asked if he could give his thoughts on the 'echoes', and Oren punctuated his reflexive shrug with a sigh of exasperation. “It's your time, buddy. Do what you want with it. I don't know if you'll have figured out any more in a night than the College Researches did in a hundred or so, but who knows. It might even be kinda 'humerus' to hear you try! Neheheheh...”

The Blood Devil

Location: Offshore Shipwreck
@RoughDragon1

'Slithering' wasn't quite right to describe the noise that grew louder and louder, more and more intense, homing in on Saria's position. It sounded more like ripping: the indiscriminate, heedlessly brutal tearing of everything in the path of an unstoppable force. The ship itself shook, moaning and rocking like a diseased animal, until from its guts the infestation surged forth. A black mass, far too large for the passage it took, exploded out of the boat's main deck. It shot skyward, a dizzyingly fast tree sprouting from steel, and as a tree would it branched outward. In the light of day the shape became apparent. Evocative of a snake, it far more closely resembled a living nightmare, for from its main body dozens of other trunks split off in different directions to become fanged heads. The aberration's maws -and there were many- did not adhere to the typical hinge-like arrangement most mouths followed, and instead opened in myriad directions often too stuffed with fangs and smaller snakes to even come close to closing. Heads, it seemed, were not necessary for mouths to exist, and many split the mottled, corrupted scales themselves. Venom-drenched fangs stuck at random from the hideous thing's armored exterior, causing toxins to drip down its body to be flicked at by the countless forked tongues.

The air became filled with a bowel-churning, hair-raising rasp, a chorus of tortured, hateful hisses and noises simply unidentifiable. Steam rose from the wretched hide of the Writhing Worm, exposed as it was to the pacifying light, but any reprieve would be a long time coming. With agonizing slowness, the abominable serpent bent toward Saria, its howl low and full of raw, bestial fury. The ship continued to shake, heavy vibrations coming from down below. A half-dozen heads cracked wide to issue forth razor-sharp, predatory shrieks before shooting forward to bury themselves in Saria's body.

Gaben's Chosen

Location: Flooded Governance Hub
@Hostile

Mountain's explanation of his vehicle's make earned a scoffing noise from his artificial heart. “Yeah, well, sounds like nonsense to me, pal. Water's got to be a foot deep on some of those streets. If I didn't know better I'd say you're cheating...or maybe your power is reality bending to make things as convenient as possible? Gotta add that to my list...” A few minutes passed.

When he made the request for additional information, Oren's voice turned smug. “Why, no, friend! I don't mind at all if you want to spend your second call to get some additional info. Here's the scoop: the place looks like a parliament building, Classical-style, but it's actually an art gallery. Big, weird statues out front. They're all moderny. As for the artifact, well...we haven't recovered it yet, or really gotten a good look, but we know it's in a sculpture just inside the gallery's main entrance. Happy hunting!” The line went dead, leaving Mountain alone with the sounds of a high-strung motor and splashing water.

Blackjack

Location: the Village
@Deadnaut

More than a little annoyed at the audacious music being blasted by Teller, and at being obliged to shout through it in reply, the announcer offered the soldier a succinct response. “Leave the Village! Head toward the tallest buildings! He's near what's left of Main Street, having fun with the new residents!” As soon as possible, Oren cut the line, leaving Teller to find his opponent more or less on his own.

Konosuba: This Wonderful World's Alternative Paradigm

@Lucius Cypher I don't know your policy for sure, but you may want to keep a light finger on the 'closed' button, so to speak. In any new roleplay, there's always a couple players that quit immediately or make characters but never post, which artificially inflate the starting lineup. Just food for thought

Konosuba: This Wonderful World's Alternative Paradigm

𝓠𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓵

A few moments passed while Quarel tried to distract himself from his ire. He stood still with his arms crossed and cycled through everything he could see in order to calm down, turning only his neck. Naturally, the strigiforme's glinting eyes fell on those around him, and for the first time to gave the other foolish hopefuls a good look.

One, skinny and garbed in robes as flowing as his dark hair, gave off the impression of a mage, but having heard him talk, Quarel likened him more to a costumed student. He possessed none of the reservation, pomp, or mystique that one might expect of a wizard. Then again, he looked young -as best Quarel, with his limited experience with humans, could guess- so maybe he didn't know any better.

Not too far away, but on his way out in a rather amusing anticipation of Quarel's own intentions, was s staff-bearing individual garbed in a unique mix of robes and armor. Not an inch of his skin was visible, so while Quarel assumed he was human given his general shape, nothing could be said for sure. What he could discern, however, was that in only a few moments the stiff, well-clothed man would be out of sight beyond a riverside copse. What a fascinatin' fellow. No hello, no goodbye...guess he likes his own company. Armor meant wealth, but a staff meant a cleric. Didn't he know that well-to-do healers plus lonely roads equals bandits? Don't wait up, sir, but I'll be on your tail. On second thought...if he was walking away from this scene, it seemed very doubtful that he could cough up much for any thieving marauders. Drat. I'm so mad, I'm not thinking straight. He resumed his omnidirectional watch

Onto the scene trotted someone new and, to Quarel, very strange and unusual. With long, blonde hair, fair skin, and a distinct weak spot in her steel cuirass that left her heart dangerously unprotected -perhaps baring skin in such a way is customary for females of this region?- she appeared human...from the waist up, at least. Below the belt, this woman had the body of a horse, her torso emerging from where one's neck would normally be. The sight befuddled and amazed Quarel, and he didn't like the sensation. What in the world? What is this freakish combination of human and animal? Pick one or the other, dammit. He fixated upon the sack slung over her 'back', whose soft clinking noises suggested the presence of an attention-grabbing amount of coin. Its owner seemed intent on butting in now that Xiang's show was over, and the look in Quarel's eyes warned her that she wouldn't be spared his irritation if she disturbed him while he was busy being upset. Eyes narrow, he watched as she traded a few words with the sappy necromancer, but all of a sudden she reached back for her bag of treasure, brought it forward, and withdrew a handful of money she held out to Shiroe without hesitation.

Quarel's brow-tufts shot up. What. His mind raced with questions, as well as a pointed anger at himself for not paying attention to what he was asking, and like everyone else he stared at Yuji as she asked for everyone to produce their 'adventurer cards'. Not having a clue what she meant, but desperately wanting to, Quarel followed by his first instinct to rummage around in his pockets, pretending he was looking for something. A moment later, though, the centaur seemed to come to a realization, and after plopping down the sack of cash she invited everyone present to take as much as they needed to get a card.

A lot ran through the strigiforme's mind in the instant that followed. The hubbub between his eartufts included, it's about time!, music to my ears!, how interesting and of course, yesyesyesyesyes. In the end, he stepped forward with a comical lack of hesitation and with a “Don't mind if I do,” made his withdrawal. A look of thankfulness came over his face as he stepped away again, but he stopped well short of fawning. It didn't take a genius to know that money was the manipulator among manipulators, spent to buy favor as easily as food or fine things, and he wondered what agenda this horselady had in mind. Then again, not even the Nightcrawlers' bosses played money games with their underlings; it was a waste of resources, and these mobsters were more businessmen than sadists. Smiles could be faked, but Yuji's looked real, even if Quarel couldn't say he ha much experience with human faces. He decided to incline his head in a polite bow, and to say, “Your generosity will not go unremembered.”

Of course, remembering a good deed and paying it back were two different things. Quarel had no intention of reimbursing his benefactor. She'd made the decision to throw her money away to this gaggle of misfits, so he figured she had more where that came from. Yuji lacked the sharpness in her eyes, the gauntness in her face, the forward, seeking bend of the body—she did not share his hunger. He did not resent her, but he felt no urge to put on the mask of an altruist for a lucky bolt out of the blue.

So, he was to buy an adventurer card. The temptation to put these fortunate funds elsewhere was not insignificant, but the gift had weighed on his indecisive mind and started to tip the scales. Even if it looked like a dead end, he could give this adventuring thing a try. That much he could do in gratitude, at least. There was only one small problem. “So, Miss. Where might a poor lad purchase such a card?” After all, Xiang hadn't mentioned any specific headquarters building for Axel's adventuring folk.

Konosuba: This Wonderful World's Alternative Paradigm

𝓠𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓵

A perfect mirror, enveloped in a wreath of leafy green, stretched hundreds of meters before him. Its gleaming surface reflected the white-blotched blue of the cloudy sky, and the feathered face of the one who stood apart. Though one of the first to arrive, Quarel had felt the distinct and familiar urge to linger at the back of the group most keenly, and strayed away while the others assembled to the water’s edge. As so often happened, the less sociable decision was the wiser one, and in a quiet couple of moments of both figurative and literal reflection, Quarel was able to take in the exquisite beauty of Yuji Estate. In that time, he didn’t drum up any philosophical musings, nor poetic praise to heap upon the sight. Creativity wasn’t a crop he’d cultivated, but even if he had, trying to impose words on such an experience might have struck him as pretentious. Quarel liked to think he was a simple man, one not in pursuit of any higher ideals like beauty, but even he could pause and stare with eyes of brilliant gold into the lake.

He remembered his comrades among the Nightcrawlers—how they thought of his coin-colored peepers as omens of good fortune, hinting at the wealth that all lowlifes longed for. That hope –the hope of a golden day, far off in the future but sure to come- kept them going, even after the weeks and months of hungry bellies and miserable accommodations piled up. Quarel hungered with them, able to piece together with a discerning mind that few would ever wake up to find that their golden day would come. Many would be arrested, or die, as criminals so often did, before the dawn ever peeked above their horizons. They labored, Quarel knew, for the sake of the bosses, who reaped the rewards while keeping their minions just hungry enough to not give up. Even knowing this, the strigiforme managed to keep his wits by promising himself that he, loathsome and pathetic being that he was, could rise above the common crook and make something of himself. That had been a while ago; now, his choices led him here, hoping to expand his horizons beyond the meager confines the Night Bosses allotted him.

Someone began to speak, her voice loud and authoritative. It was time to begin. Moving with characteristic silence, Quarel hurried up from the lakeside back toward the group, which had grown substantially. Noting with some perturbation the guide’s extravagant lack of clothing, and wondering if that was appropriate for her species, he mostly tuned her out and instead scrutinized Yuji Estate with his own bright eyes. He examined the roof in particular, spotting several nooks and crannies that might make for a good nest. After a short while the group headed inside, where Quarel got a good look at the cramped bunkhouse. Yech. Hearing Xiang go on and on about fees reminded him of the emptiness of his own pockets. He’d spent most of his money getting his gear patched up and buying provisions with which to begin this new career, and now he was expected to scrounge up what little he had left just to stuff himself in here? No way, lady. Birds and cages don’t mix. The roof’s good enough for me. Just like that, most of the complications were washed away. All that might bother him would be storage, but he guessed he wouldn’t have much to store for quite some time. His mind already made up, Quarel followed the succubus idly through the exorbitant apartments. Bathing wouldn’t be an issue either, since like all strigiformes he preened himself rather than getting wet. If these other people didn’t like his natural musk, they could stuff it. His brow-tufts rose ever so slightly as Xiang discussed a person being blown apart like she might a fun circus act, before skipping off. Okay, psycho lady. Readin’ ya loud and clear.

He did actually emit a deep chuckle when the succubus decided it was time to shill. What’ve you been doin’ for the past quarter-hour, exactly? Her news, however, dampened his spirits considerably. There were no jobs available for low-level, wannabe adventurers. Instead, everyone was supposed to find something he or she was good at and work until an opportunity arose. “Typical.” His anger smoldered; what a waste of time! He had no money for any of these ‘colleges’, but he wasn’t about to be skinned by some loan shark, either. Sure, with his pretty good strength, dexterity, and intelligence he could find work, but why bother with a civvie job when he already had at least a foothold with the mob? Prospects as an adventurer looked even sourer than with the Nightcrawlers.

Once back outside, he glared at the sky irritably. For all his dreams of going legit and making it big as an adventurer, it was the deadest end yet. With a resigned expression he wondered how long it would take to get back to Axel on foot, and where he might be able to find some trouble. Too early for drunkards, he mused. The ‘Hyenas’ have been making more noise in the residential district lately. It would be dangerous to stick my neck out when we have so little info, but if I find a couple I could rough ‘em up, rob ‘em blind, and maybe take one back for questionin’. Fat chance they have anything juicy, but who knows. I bet I can get Lars and Glenn to help me. He found himself looking at the happy, smiling face of some cultist-looking guy, and it made him mad. Complacent moron. How do you get to be that old and not know that slavery’s pretty much the only thing worse than this? We're the dregs! At least I have a hole to scurry back to. That was the last straw. Arms crossed, he turned his head this way and that, too pissed off by the whole ordeal to focus on what to do next.