Lugubrious — Roleplayer Guild

The inquirers to the frontier village are acquainted with its woes, oblivious to the peril that has encircled their left-behind compeers

Foothills Forest near Woodstop

@TheFake @Lord Zee

While Emile got enough of an idea from how eager Niklas appeared to be from the speed with which he made his proposal, he saw nothing wrong with it.  Making a commitment here meant sinking some time into this place, which struck him as far too remote to be a real experience with this new world, and he hadn’t planned to settle down the first place his group saw.  Plus, half of his team –including his niece- remained far removed from Woodstop, and would more than likely never be able to set eyes on this place.  However, the village offered a substantial opportunity to learn what this world was about nonetheless, everything from the lay of the land to the people that populated it to the politics that policed them.  Getting on the good side of some noblemen also presented a potential fast-track to this region’s ruler, or at least high society.  Emile needed connections, and with that in mind there was really only one option.

He did not intend, however, to treat earnestness with earnestness.  ”If you’ve got good work and good company I don’t see a good reason to refuse.”  Like lightning, Emile forgot what he was going to say.  Thinking quickly, he covered it by glancing up in a theatrical manner, brushing his gloved fingers against the bottom of his helmet like a wise man strikes his beard.  Niklas didn’t seem to think that anything was amiss, and taking Emile’s behavior as foreign eccentricity.  After a brief moment, his thoughts returned.  ”Before I can say anything conclusive, however, I need to know more about the situation.  What are these ‘dire straits’?  Why the hidden village?”

The young count glanced at his brother, whose eyes had risen from his deskwork.  They shared a glance, and without even so much as a gesture, the pair came to a conclusion.  “Effin, Leave us.”  When Niklas faced the newcomers again, his fare bore marked seriousness.  “Please understand that not just anyone is given this information.  Most adventurers don’t care about the ‘why’, just the ‘how much’.  The short story is that Woodstop is not just a frontier village, but a large-scale experiment on the part of queen Oriculus.”

Emile took special note of that name.  Oriculus, the queen of this region, which must be a kingdom then.  He regarded the reveal with curiosity, going so far as to give a slight incline of his head.

“It’s a test of human ability to build, fortify, and prosper, and also in an attempt to install a sort of trap in beastman territory as our foe sweeps ever onward.  When the time is right, it’ll be the base of operations for a large-scale assault on the tribes’ back lines.  With the leaders out of the picture, the rest will surely fall into disorganization and defeat.  Will that suffice?”

Feeling pleased that he’d gotten as good of a look at the scenario as he did, Emile gave a nod.  “Yes indeed!  I believe, then, that the two of us will lend our blades to your cause.  What would you have us do?”

Niklas’s shoulders practically sagged in relief.  A closer look at the man, even with his poorly-concealed joy, revealed bags under his eyes and unkempt hair.  Little time for sleep or grooming, Emile assumed.  The count wasted no time replying.  “I am overjoyed to hear it.  First and foremost is the matter of Effin here,” Niklas shot a glare the old axefighter’s way.  “A Vulp scout escaped.  That is to say, a fox beastman, a crafty and vicious breed.  They make up in training and tactics what they lack in comparison to other beastmen, see.  Regardless, the fact of the matter is that our position might already be compromised.  It escaped thanks to Effin's crew, but there can be only one explanation as to how a beastman pierced the mages’ defense in the first place: an insider.  Someone in Woodstop has betrayed us to the enemy and led them to our doorstop.  But that’s a matter for another day.”

Starting to pace up and down the floor, Niklas concluded his briefing.  “By now they’ve reached the warband.  I suspect an attack at dusk.  We’re well-defended, but an entire Vulp warband will devastate our defenses and hand us on a silver platter to the next tribe that combs the area.  That’s why Ingvar is currently reviewing our equipment and soldiers: to put together a diversionary force.  This force will attempt to intercept the warband and stall it for long enough for the mages to collapse the current entrance, then set up another one complete with wards and illusions.”  He ceased his pacing and clasped his hands together.  “We’ll set out a half hour before sunset.  If you were to join us, I feel as though we would be able to not just pull this off, but with minimal casualties.  I count myself a good judge of men, and there is something about the two of you that fills me with resolve.  Can we count on your presence?”

With a little excitement brimming in himself as well, Emile gave a nod.  ”You may.  Foxes won’t know what hit them.”

Three minutes later, Emile and Revenmar stood outside the drumlike guard tower, surrounded by townspeople.  Among them were a good few soldiers and guards, but most appeared to be craftsmen or similar providers.  Word of two striking outsiders had spread quickly.  So many spoke at once that individual words were almost impossible to make out, so after a moment of just being baffled, Emile decided to give a short bow to his left and right before asking Revanmar, ”Mind moving ahead of me?  Your frame is larger, and will part the crowd better.”  Behind them, Effin following, looking a bit put out he didn’t get to shoulder through the people himself.  The two navigated the crowd, ignoring the questions and brief touches, and with Effin’s guidance made their way to the Corpse Lodge.  On the way, there was a slight noise and pressure on Revehmar’s waist, between the plates.

There, inside the deluxe-size log cabin, they found Randy waiting on a bench in a private side room.  “Adventurers’ chamber,” he explained as he motioned them over, and around the dim fire pit they sat.  Randy chose the floor rather than a stool, leaning against the wall to support his back.  “Can I fetch you refreshments?  The wine is boorish and the bread flavorless, but it surpasses the weevil-infested tack most villages dole out.”  His gaze switched between the newcomers, and Emile shook his head.  Randy shrugged.  “Well, at least take off your helmets.  Avail yourselves of what little comfort you have.”

Ugh.  Not this already.  Emile had already forgotten what excuse he was going to use, if he even thought of one yet.  He held up his hand to signify no thanks and after a moment added, ”Don’t think so.  If….uh, they thought I was ugly back home, I shudder to think what you lot might say.  I like having it on, anyway.”  He winced, knowing that he ended on a weak note.  

However, the two adventurers nodded sagaciously.  Effin even chuckled.  “I hear ya.  Ladies ‘round here don’t want nothin’ any of us’re sellin’.  An old coot, a tall weirdo, an’ a baldin’ midget.  Sometimes they call the three of us the Heartbreakers.  Uuhuhuhuhuh…”  He brushed off Randy’s withering look.  “So what’d the bosses say?”

A short explanation later, Effin gave an impressed whistle.  “Ain’t surprised ye two getting’ the luxury treatment.  One look atcha’s all it takes.  A whole Vulp warband on the outside and a traitor within, huh?  God must be cranky today.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Y’know, if someone in ‘ere’s tryin’ to sabotage the village, and suddenly two strong-looking strangers show up to save the day, I wouldn’t put it past ‘em to make an attempt on yer life.  All of a sudden Banhhort and Gaile comin’ down with food poisonin’ when they eat with the rest of us makes too much sense.”

Randy snapped his fingers.  “Yes, that would explain it.”  He pointed at Revenmar’s abdomen.  “I’ve been trying to figure out what that was for a few minutes now.  Pull it out at your leisure, man of steel.  I am ready with a healing magick.”

Protruding from between Revenmar’s incredible plate mail was the handle of a small, common dagger.  It had dealt no damage, of course –the knight hadn’t even noticed it- but its presence said enough.

-=-=-

Under normal circumstances having a strange woman with a dark aura cup Lenore’s chin might have been uncomfortable, but since in the last half day her pre-established level of discomfort had been blown away, she did nothing but allow Kallahar to move her.  A close, face-to-face moment might have been more impactful and less ominous had her face not been almost as eerie her helmet, but she did not ignore the Death Knight’s words.  The sentiment Kallahar now communicated was that she should focus less on her appearance and more on the good person she was inside.  After a moment of initial dismissal of this notion as cartoon nonsense, Lenore found herself thinking more and more about what the older woman said.  Kallahar stared off into the woods, but Lenore watched her, looking for more advice perhaps.  You can never truly be anything that you do not wish to be.  Well, she was a Shoggoth, and she’d already devoured a corpse by accident, so she didn’t think that she could just put this new state of being aside.  

Yet…I play the role I have chosen for myself, and so should you.  That reminded her: the whole idea behind the character she’d become in the first place.  Lenore XIII was a character with a hyper-evil appearance and power set, but such an incredibly benevolent and good-hearted character that her score had been in the top 20% of all positive alignments.  All that was merely flavor for the fact that Lenore was a good person.  If Lenore was real, Liana would have loved to meet her and go on adventures with her, and now she was, albeit in the strangest possible way.  I can keep playing at being a good person.  Maybe like this, I could be more of a hero than I ever could in real life.  I just have to master this body…like learning to ride a bike.  Eating dead things just happens sometimes…  Lenore shivered a little as she rose, but she rose nonetheless.  While she didn’t feel as though Kallahar had imparted any sort of life-changing revelation, she had helped Lenore remember that what she looked like wasn’t the end of her world, and didn’t need to define who she was.  Once she got the little quirks like inadvertently grabbing corpsesnacks down, it would be smooth sailing.

As such, she began to practice as the two waited.  Recalling her weapon of choice from Yggdrasil, Lenore quickly discovered that she could summon the Crucifix of Nag'shi Kraw, a twisted staff made from the deformed bones of the mutants created by its maker.  She gave it a few experimental swings and proceeded to casting sprays of poison and toxic gas, not noticing the figures gathering behind the nearest hill.

About ten minutes after Lenore rose to her feet, the terrain seemingly produced an inordinate amount of foxmen.  At least fifty of the beastmen surrounded the pair, covering every angle, though at a safe distance.  After enough time to make it clear that the ladies had nowhere to run, the horde of foxes divulged three unique specimens.

One was a surly-looking Mercenary in highlander’s clothing, bearing a hefty zweihander.  Opposite slunk what appeared to be a female fox Spellsword, thoroughly clad in light armor, wielding both casting catalyst and kukri.  Between the two, astride a ragged-looking horse, was a drab-coated but nevertheless ornately-armored Cavalier, saber and trident in paw.  The three foxes examined the two strange women in their way, and after a short time the knight barked, “Who is't stands in the way of the vulpuryun warband, so bold as to standeth idle aft'r slaught'ring our scouts?  Art thee of the enshielf village?”

All around, the fox warriors flattened their ears and growled, creating a threatening atmosphere.

Knowledge, as they said, was power, and a true antihero didn't hesitate to sacrifice time and even sanity in the pursuit of the means to realize his ideals.  Whether delving through a mad scientist's laboratory or a mad teacher's chemistry lab, an ancient library of lost civilization's secrets or a more modern library of books for one's research paper, the Margrave did not mess around.  Though school did, for the most part, harbor more self-righteous simpletons and nauseating normies per square inch than the PRT headquarters, Elliot found himself enjoying it more.  Here, in his senior year of high school, he was beholden only to the law of the jungle in this student-eat-student rat race for the best grades, and in this contest of champions Elliot came well-equipped with wits sharp as cheddar-coated glass.  Wanton villainy, as he found, did not suit him.  Neither did the mantle of the neon spandex-wearing goody-goody.  If Elliot Prat's ability and attitude, exceptional yet widely misunderstood, would only bring him scorn in the world of metahumans, perhaps he could carve himself a niche in the more pedestrian sphere of life.  To do that, he'd need to go to college, but since student loans offered a path tempting but darker still than the soul crystal of some warped sorcerer, his antiheroic quest for a scholarship was of paramount importance.

It was with a suppressed smug satisfaction that he slipped his spiral notepad and textbook into his forest-green backpack, stood, and made for the school's exit.  Another week in the bag, so to speak.  Being able to put aside expectations of heroism and heavy responsibilities sat so well with him that he felt sure he wouldn't stay with the Wards for the long term, even with the insufferable snotwad Dean out of the picture.  In short order, the Margrave made his way to the Wards' predetermined gathering site.  Since he moved for no man, unfortunately, he arrived a definitive last, strolling through the holographic classroom's doors into a room filled with girls.  What might have been a dream come true for any other guy served as nothing more than another turn of the knife for Elliot, since each one of them hated his guts.  He could not blame them, of course; it was only human to revile what one didn't care to understand.  Such prejudice would be their undoing in due time.

The Margrave wasted no time striking a momentary pose.  ”Salutations from the lofty yet deep realm of antiheroic academia, plebeians.”  He altered his position to a less outrageous but more charmingly innocent stance.  “No doubt, though your countenances carry naught but disdain, the furthest realms of your consciousnesses have longed for my darkly glorious return.”  Unposing himself with a flourish, he did not wait for a dismissive response but instead made his way to an unoccupied seat on the fringes of the room, where he proceeded to occupy the chair's very edge.

Lugubrious Member

Player on the other side

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts