Lugubrious

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious
Can I break Oren's drone?

Edit : Not gonna try, but I will say that BS had his body back when the fight concluded.

@Banana

Heck, I missed that part of the reading. I'll go back and edit it.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Final round posted! I hope I've drawn the battle to a powerful conclusion.

@Roughdragon1, your new character is accepted as a guest. You're able to place him wherever in the City of Echoes you want; once you make an introductory post doing so, I'll respond and get your situated.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Knight Sylvestre vs the God Hand Round 3

Location: the Neighborhood – Grocery Store

This time, Juniper didn't charge. Her opponent had changed somehow, courtesy of that creepy screw in his head, and she was not a fool. By now, she knew her enemy's strength's and weaknesses, and with the time for playing around passed she did not hesitate to use every tool at her disposal.

Around her body, the air shimmered, and from ethereal magic currents a whole host of small spheres began to form. The projected ball bearings hung in the air, menacing and still, for a split second before shooting at Cyril like a firing squad's deadly barrage. For the second time the armored man boosted sideways into the shelter of an aisle, and with a sigh Juniper pursued him.

Cyril had almost reached the opposite end of the aisle, running at near-full tilt despite his rising fatigue, when a magicked wall appeared in front of him. Without breaking a sweat he attempted to shoulder-charge right through it, only to find the wall double-layered. He spun in place to find Juniper opposite him, surrounded by another volley of ball bearings and flanked on either side by what appeared to be giant projected crossbows. All at once the priestess's projectiles blasted forth, and with no other recourse the vanguard used his sheen to boost upward. Beneath him the wall crumbled with a violent noise, blown apart by its maker's other projections, but Cyril's focus was on the secondary batch reforming around Juniper before his eyes. He landed on top of one of the shelves, crushing cereal boxes beneath his weight, and began to sprint along its top while more projected items narrowly missed him. In a matter of second he closed in on Juniper position.

The priestess tensed her legs and leaped. She sprang up toward Cyril's high ground and aimed a devastating spinning crescent kick toward his head. Knowing better than to block, and spurred on by sharpened perception and reflexes, he ducked beneath the kick before reading a halberd swung toward the woman who hung in the air. As her revolution brought her back to facing her opponent, Juniper unleashed a facsimile of Cyril's own weapon straight toward him. A split second before the polearm's point would have sunk into his throat, the vanguard shoved his glaive upward, and deflected his enemy's blade with all the strength he could muster. It shot up and over to stick in the ceiling like an arrow in an archery target. Without missing a beat, Cyril took advantage of his raised weapon to deliver a brutal overhead chop Juniper's way. Already falling, she pivoted out of the way long before the blade had a chance to bite in.

As she touched the ground, Cyril felt a twinge of familiarity. With only a second to ponder it, he cast his mind back to the previous day—the brigands that attempted to kill him outside the city walls. He'd extinguished one's life by cutting short a large, telegraphed swing to deliver a fatal thrust to the chest, and the muscle memory of those moments stuck with him here. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he linked the cleaving stroke into a speedy jab, and his halberd's curved point dug into Juniper's shoulder. It hit the collarbone and stopped cold due to its lack of power, but the vanguard knew even though his foe only grit her teeth that it must have hurt like hell. He couldn't dwell on this little victory, of course, and followed the thrust up by revving up and hurling his shield down at his enemy from above. For a moment it looked dead-on, but the martial artist span out of the object's glittering sawblade, and the moment her rosary began to light up Cyril's every instinct told him to dive straight back.

By some miracle, no doubt attributable to the screw, he landed on his feet the next aisle over, albeit heavily. Eight blasts of potent, vengeful magic annihilated the upper portion of the shelf he'd perched upon a second before, sending pieces of cereal flying in every direction. He then heard a cry of hatred, and the next moment the entire shelf exploded outward as Juniper punched straight through the barrier.

Taken by surprise, Cyril weathered the blast of debris as best he could, but didn't manage to evade the oncoming freight train in time. He got the briefest of glimpses at Juniper, and the three black arms sprouting from the shoulder of her missing left one currently planted in his chest, before he himself was sent through the aisle. A massive crash echoed through the grocery store, louder even than the one that immediately preceded it.

Without the aid of the screw's focus, Cyril could not have pulled himself together and wiped away the blurriness of his vision, but compose himself he did. Ignoring the thick hair that stuck to his neck and cheeks from the sweat, he struggled to get to his feet, and with his off hand he cast away the mangled remains of his breastplate. Behind him, instead of a shelf, was the cold, solid surface of glass. Rather than marvel at the modern cold-storage unit behind him, Cyril looked to his own wounds. His forest-green gambeson was ripped and stained brown in several places, the result of the dents pounded into his armor having broken the skin beneath. He was terribly sore all over, and he felt sure that some of his bones were fractured. “Uugh...” He watched Juniper walking toward him, knowing that she wouldn't try and make a scene like last time she thought she had the advantage. This time, he felt sure, she would try to end it quick.

The adrenaline flooding through him forced his battered arms to bring his weapon, still clutched in a deathgrip, forward at the last moment. Juniper had launched herself toward him, straight into his weapon, but to Cyril's shock the point of the halberd she practically impaled herself on did not sink so much as a centimeter into her belly. Instead, his polearm was forced backward—repelled by an immovable object.

She's invincible like this!?

“Now die!”

She was moving too fast to stop herself as Cyril put all his might into angling his glaive upward. The elevation gained was slight, but it was enough to turn a fatal skullcrusher into a blow that, with all of Juniper's weight behind it, glanced off the top of his helmet and continued into the display refrigerator he'd been thrown into. Her fist penetrated the glass easily, ripped through the plastic bags of frozen vegetables, and came to a stop against the refrigerator's steel back.

Kunngg

If the impact hurt, she made no noise, but neither did Cyril, who Juniper was now essentially lying on top of. Given the angle, none of her arms could reach him, and her legs weren't in a position to strike with any force at all. Lifted off the ground, she couldn't employ her massively increased speed, either. The vanguard saw the opportunity, and seized it.

He planted a shoulder in Juniper's midriff, clasping his arms behind her back. His armor shimmered with its familiar silver sheen, and he barreled forward with Juniper in a full-body tackle. When his boost ran out, he continued sprinting forward, through the holes busted through the two separate aisles.

“If you saved...this power until now,” he told her matter-of-factly as he ran, “It's gotta...be...your trump card. I'm guessing...it doesn't last too long. Right?!” Juniper made no sound until she was driven into the far shelf of the original aisle a second later, the breath torn from her lungs in a tremendous gasp. Jolted, Cyril reeled back, and saw to his satisfaction that though Juniper's freakish extra arms remained, the power surrounding his right had faded. With startling speed, the martial artist recovered and aimed a sweep kick to take her foe to the ground, where he'd be finished. Cyril saw it, and used his sheen to dodge backwards while bringing his halberd back for one last blow.

The vanguard wasn't a gambling man. He hated the uncertainty of life—of not being able to depend on things staying normal or safe, of having to wake up knowing each day could be the last. But now he could see Juniper's pitch-black fingers balling into fists, and knew that this next second was everything. All or nothing, feast or famine, it would all end here.

Cyril swung low with everything he had left.

There was a flash of silver and scarlet, followed by a low groan.

Black eyes wide, Juniper fell sideways, her calves carved clean through.

She hit the ground in a splash of red and black, the former spreading out while the latter faded away. The instant he realized it was over, Cyril's whole being sagged. With a clatter his halberd hit the floor. He stumbled backward, hit a shelf, and slid down into a sitting position. Never in his life had he felt more exhausted than he did now, but it wasn't just tiredness that plagued him. He tried to avert his eyes from Juniper, but in his state of perception he could not avoid her stare. Even as she still breathed, her eyes looked glazed-over, and they were fixated upon Cyril's own despite his visor. Beneath that hollow glare a dreadful moment passed. For the Knight Sylvestre it was a victory, but it hardly felt like he had won.

The Lady in White

Location: Governance Hub – Art Gallery
@Lazo

“Aaaand that's a wrap, folks!”

The facetious phrase resounded through the art gallery's foyer, followed by the incessant noise of the drone's rotors. “Magic!” The announcer shouted, the arm of his flying machine gesturing theatrically. “Mayhem!” It span in one circle after another before coming to a halt with the arm extended. “Melee!” Pulling back, the pincer delivered a punch to the empty air, then another. “A brutal fight with a nonlethal ending! Finally, something I can get excited about. But how didja know ya could steal Mr. Dew's soul usin' the spike? I told Lily, but I don't remember tellin' you...”

Mountain stirred, and the drone's camera swerved to capture him as he grabbed the gallery's welcome desk with his good hand and, whimpering, pulled himself to his feet. Once standing, he took a moment to breath before turning to glare at Pithy with unadulterated hatred. In one fluid motion, even with the agony of his arm and the lingering pain caused by his opponent's voodoo-esque torture of his phylactery, he scooped his rifle up from the ground and pointed it at her. Of all things, the sort of amused intonation that often accompanied a smirk could be heard through Oren's mike, and a tense second passed before he lowered the weapon. Shock polluted Mountain's wrath-infused features, and he looked at the drone as if to question it. Though he said nothing, what happened could be inferred: for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to shoot his opponent. This realization, oddly enough, came separate from the magical attacks Pithy no doubt prepared. Mountain lips moved, something imperceptible and unprintably foul muttered between them, before he let his gun fall to the ground. With very little ceremony he stormed from the building.

“Look at 'em go! That suppression sure is something else. You didn't know, did you?” Oren's drone directed its camera back to the Lady in White. “Man, today's a big day for lucky breaks, wouldn'tcha say? Just look at that pigeon!”

As he spoke, the flying machine hovered toward one of the statues in the entry hall, a sage kneeling in prayer. A splatter of drying brown blood stained the clergyman's raiment, and just beneath it was the mutilated corpse of an ordinary-looking bird. “Nailed by a stray bullet during the fight! No wonder there weren't any space shenanigans. I'd say something about two birds with one stone if it wasn't so darn easy...” The drone abandoned the scruffy, blood-matted body to float in the direction of a statue in the hall's center. In the lap of the seated crone was a nest, and between the two snow-white eggs was a golden arrow. “Yoinks!” Oren directed his contraption's arm to clasp the object with its pincer and hold it up.

Spinning about, the drone began to head for the exit, but the announcer's voice did not abate. “Good work there, Miss White! Your opponent, as I'm noticed, had a habit of getting' on people's nerves—even yours truly! After takin' that dude down, you're pretty much a favorite. Anyway, you're free to do whatever. Since you're all about modern technology from the looks of it, maybe ya wanna find out Mountain's hoverboard. Bet that'd make the highlight reel, eh?”

You can loot:
53. Board
Fly away to the danger zone
Provides speedy horizontal transportation and long jumps (provided enough speed has been reached) for the rider

The Fungal Knight

Location: The Shore
@Banana

For once, Oren kept quiet. With most of antiquity's warrior burials, the blade was pointed down toward the noble corpse's feet, with the hands clasped across the hilt. Of course, there was the logistical issue of Saria's current stock of hands, but the announcer maintained his silence so as not to disturb the moment. His usual eagerness with witty quips and colorful commentary did not extend, necessarily, to ruining a salute to the fallen. No doubt, his surprise played in; his money, were he betting, would have been squarely on the Blood Devil. Everything about her spoke of a more hardcore swordman than the less serious skeleton, but it was he who stood victorious. Maybe it had been the venom coursing through her veins, or the burning blood, or perhaps her death wish had won out above all else in the end. The pumpkin song was a nice touch, too.

His respectful vigil did not last, though. The whir of the drone's rotors brought the machine down from its lofty angle, and its camera fixated upon the body-deprived skull of the winner. “Visceral—that's how I'd describe it. Raw, messy, and passionate. I didn't expectcha both to respect one another at the end, given the vehemence with which ya fought, and the words used. Then again, I didn't think ya'd beat a Frenzied opponent either, Boney, but after all that fightin' ya came out...'ahead'.” His pun made it clear that the fight didn't lay nearly as heavily upon him as it did on Bonesword. Still, while he'd be quick to laugh at his own hilariousness any day of the week, he barely managed to snort this time. Even Oren could not commit to making light of this outcome.

“Well, congratulations, I suppose. No prize in tier two of the tournament, if that's whatcha were expectin'.” He paused for a moment, thinking about what he was going to say next. “Battle's not done, Fungal Knight. You're almost halfway there. Oh! Actually, you do get something. Your opponent got her artifact not long before the fight. Almost a waste to see it wasn't used at all, actually, but on a beach...might not have ended well, yeah.”

You can loot:
18. Egg Timer
Rules were meant to be broken
Changes the direction of gravity for the holder based on the turn of the timer

“See ya later, skele-tons-of-fun. I got another fight to call.”

Inari

Location: No-Man's Land
@Kapuchu

As Lily ministered the healing estus to her critically wounded canine companion, she was doubtlessly aware that the drone belonging to Oren was hovering nearby. Its presence would have entailed little more than an ambient vrrrr if not for the visible bullet hole in the machine's side. Damage to internal circuitry had completely disabled the drone's pincer arm and item clamps, which all hung limply from the gadget's hull. Its rotors did not sound healthy. Really, it was a miracle that the thing could still fly, but compared to other miracles going on in the vicinity that little triumph was small potatoes to say the least.

The drone's program drove the camera to zoom in on the touching scene unfolding before it, impartial and businesslike, but the man behind the motor did not react with such soullessness. He could not, and did not for a moment think to try to, suppress a smile. Coming on the heels of a particularly gruesome spectacle, that was saying something. After a moment his voice, somewhat distorted, rang from the machine's microphone. “And we have our winner. Nothing like something heartwarmin' to take the mind off a 'shockingly' violent death, huh? I'm, uh, really gladja both pulled through. World'd be a darker place without my favorite fluffer and sharker. If you're itchin' for an item, I'm sure poor Jiang had his tier one artifact around here somewhere. Rest of the day's yours, but if you're at all into givin' the ole College a helpin' hand, there's something not too far off we...well, we could really use help with.” Unbeknownst to the announcer, the drone had begun to list, and was losing altitude at a slow but steady pace.

You can loot:
45. Glasses
See that which is unseen
Provides x-ray vision

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

Shoot, I totally forgot that was where Apocalypse Now was sent. I ought to just stop saying things.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

@BurningDaisies I believe Kallahar said that she'd be going south (which we know to be in the direction of the Slane Theocracy) and my characters expressed an interest in joining her.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

The menagerie of outsiders attend the impromptu meeting, tensions high and answers few

---

@Rune_Alchemist @Spanner @Hammerman @Lord Zee @drewccapp @TheFake

As he might have expected, Emile wasn't the first to leave the guild hall's rapidly-deteriorating confines. After traveling a short way around the ex-structure's perimeter, he came upon a group already assembling out front. Relieved as he was for the chance to meet up and talk with the others, he couldn't suppress a twinge of pragmatism that ran through his head. Almost without meaning to he began to size the three individuals up, just as he'd done in the game. In a world like Yggdrasil, where PKing could happen anywhere and everywhere, it paid to be cautious and regard each player as a potential threat. Here, he felt somewhat bad for feeling compelled to do the same, but nevertheless he examined each in turn.

The first, and perhaps least remarkable, was a lean man in earth-toned armor that managed to be stylish and intricate without even being conspicuous, let along garish. His bow distinguished him immediately as an archer, and given the rather high average player level in the flashfire guild Apocalypse Now, in this world the man was no doubt analogous to a legendary Bowlord. Emile caught himself and shook his head a touch; was the situation already so mundane that he'd accepted this impossible shift and started to let his imagination run wild? Even if this ordeal seemed straight out of a dream, he needed to keep his head on straight. Accepting this as reality was step one, and not losing himself in it would be a long road.

With that in mind he scrutinized the other three. One girl, who appeared to be some sort of fairy, grew to full size before his eyes before vocalizing her attempt to cope with the situation. Emile stifled a commiserate laugh. I'm with you there, kid. His attention turned to her attendant, an elf lady in armor, who appeared to be the straight man of their two-part act. What caught his attention about her, aside from an odd aura of light, was that Tania introduced her as an NPC. This caught Emile by surprise. He knew the term, of course, and that players could essentially create extra characters controlled by AIs to follow them around or whatever, but to see one just as lifelike as the player characters around her...she gave every indication of having a mind of her own. Well, why not? Emile shrugged after a moment. NPCs coming to life makes as much sense as any of this madness. He turned his attention on the final person present -a classy, almost foppish-looking demon fellow whose robe suggested he was a mage- only to catch a few choice words from the fairy.

With a voice full of scorn, Tania ridiculed those responsible for destroying the guild hall. Behind his helmet, Emile frowned. He hadn't expected such a sudden change of tune. Had she really not been aware of the Beholder's rampage? Nobody had used excessive force in dispatching the creature during the chaos; every ounce of blame lay square on its tentacled head. Maybe, he reasoned, she's simply venting fried nerves on the first targets that present themselves. I can't really blame her...but it's still awfully immature. He glanced sideways to see if Liana had heard the insults, but she didn't seem to give much of a reaction. On the other side of the coin, meanwhile, the long-haired demon mage struggled with a surge of emotion threatening to overflow, but he reigned himself in with laudably little effort and regained his composure. Out of everyone present, Emile concluded, the sorcerer in blue appeared to be behaving the most normally. When he introduced himself as Cain, Emile gave a nod of acknowledgment, but didn't have time to return the formality before more people began to appear.

Through the clearing dust from the ruins, a handful of others arrived one by one. A paladin-looking man in fall armor plowed through a wall, made his way over, and kneeling in what looked to Emile like meditation. He said nothing and gave no hint of any insecurity, but rather acted with the poise of a loyal retainer. Huh. The strigiforme's focus flew apart as some sort of beast ascended into the sky from the building's wreckage, an angel right behind. Sooner or later, Emile suspected, he would get used to seeing such strange things in such striking detail. At about that time, the archer from the original group began talking again. He suggested putting together a plan and going somewhere as a group, which sounded just fine to Emile. That said, he wondered how the archer planned to figure out which direction was north without using the absent sun.

After that came a distraction—the black knight who'd put an end to the wild Beholder, still eking out that repellent arclight. Emile winced until she dismissed it, and waited until she happened to glance his way before giving a nod of thanks. The thought struck him that he'd be able to convey his emotions better without the helmet on, but then again, how exactly did one smile and so forth with an owl head? Still, he pulled off his helmet and tucked it beneath his arm as Kallahar touched the ground near everyone else. She too had a plan, and funnily enough it diverged a solid one hundred and eighty degrees from the archer's, though obviously she hadn't been around yet to hear his idea. With two groups taking shape, Emile wondered where he'd choose to go. Compared to the faceless metal revenent, the archer's merry band seemed a lot more personable, but Kallahar's tone hadn't been disagreeable either. Then, naturally, he could choose to strike out on his own, but he knew he had to watch out for Liana. For the second time Emile glanced her way, worry writ on his owlish features. She wasn't just vulnerable mentally; if strength carried over from Yggdrasil, which by all accounts it had, she was the weakest person here.

When Tania opened her mouth with venom on her tongue a second time, Liana did take notice. Full of guilt for causing so much trouble even accidentally and stung by the fairy's insults, she clasped her hand and hung her head, staring at the ground. The sight deepened Emile's misgivings about her. Guess I might've misjudged you. Not a poor soul trying to cope with the situation, but a brat who enjoys putting down others. Liana was already in a sorry spot, full of confusion and disgust with herself, courtesy of her new form. Added to that her blatant declaration of petty intentions, and he couldn't stay silent any longer. “Now hold on a minute, miss. No need for callin' names. It was the Beholder that did all the destroyin', and nobody else.”

He cleared his throat, and held up his free hand with the palm upward. His gaze swept across the assembled group as he addressed them. ”As for me, I think it'd be better to get to know you all. My name's Emile, and this is L-”

”Lenore.” His niece interrupted him, gliding forward a few steps. Clearly her extreme discomfort with herself remained, but all of a sudden it looked like she'd decided to step up. The thought gratified Emile, making him think that standing up for her had helped her out a little. Her decision to introduce herself with her in-game name, however, made him curious. Well, the two could sort that out later.

Giving a nod, Emile continued. ”We're from Scotland. Findin' someplace to go and sort things out sounds like a great idea. Most important thing to me seems like figurin' out the lay of the land, so to speak. Chances are there's a whole country of places and people we need to learn about. Just...you know, bargin' in seems like a bad idea.” His golden eyes gave Tania a somewhat pointed look before he put a hand on his niece's shoulder. ”I'm thinkin' we might go south. That okay with you, er, 'Lenore'?” She nodded, and Emile turned to look at Kallahar. ”We can be your company then, if you don't mind.”

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

Many thanks, captain! I'll try and keep things fresh and fun for whomever it may concern.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Also, to everyone else...if I start leveling up Robin, I was wondering. Should I make him the dedicated healer type? There are such classes in Fire Emblem along with it's respected abilites for each class. I ask this because it seems there aren't many characters that have support abilities. Either that or they have self-heals of some sorts.

@DarkRecon

I'd highly recommend playing what interests you versus playing to fill a role. You can't be of much use to anyone if you become dissatisfied with your character and lose motivation. Anyway, if I remember correctly, Awakening Robin could only naturally promote to Grandmaster, but a more supportive Sage class can be chosen to allow healing without diminishing spellcasting ability.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

It is true that providing people a pure sandbox with no GM involvement tends to leave people to quit the moment they lose steam. That's been my experience. People can write stuff about the setting any time they want; the promise of something interesting that the GM has in mind for the setting, and experiencing that, is what often keeps people engaged in an RP. To me, it's reminiscent of video games. Games like Minecraft can have an interesting premise, but without any sort of central narrative or real engagement with the world, a lot of people can get bored.

Personally, I find it fun to make stuff up in a sandbox setting, particularly if other people can experience it, but I can see how a hands-off approach be analogous to neglect, @IceHeart. What do you think? Also, you totally got me on the 'important locations' list. I somehow didn't register that it would be for player-made stuff as well.

Come to think of it, if you're looking for a co-GM to help provide more stuff to engage players with, I'd be interested in lending a hand.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

RIP. Guess thats it for me then. Good luck, people.

@GreenGoat

I'm not sure what you mean. I might have taken both rounds so far, but if you put your all in and takes Round 3, you have a good chance to reverse-sweep me. You're a great writer, after all. I'm guessing one of the factors as to why I've done well so far is greater length and more content.