Lugubrious

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

@Lugubriousyou around?

@TheFake

Yep.

Project Crossover [SMASH ARENA - Only PXO members allowed]

So, according to the posting order, @Rockin Strings goes before I go again, I think.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@RoughDragon1, @FloodTalon, I am looking forward to a post from you two in the near future.

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

@Lugubrious Spoke too soon. I don't think Cyra ever actually joined Frenzy Plant.

@t2wave

If you're referring to the promise I made, I kept it a long time ago; I said that I would 'post'. I thought your interest in the character might have petered out, but if that is not the case I'll edit in a continuation of that mini-storyline.

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

Cormorant Sanders

@Caits@Joshua Tamashii@Zarkun

The bushy white eyebrows of Frenzy Plant's general conveyed his misgivings. ”A few hours for a chance at an explanation? Though my long years have cultivated much patience, I confess that I would prefer a succinct and direct delivery of whatever theories you or Sasha might have.” He felt as though he were being used as a springboard. Not every pause in the conversation required his or Fraquar's response; the old tactician did not bear the weight of any major revelations. Any moment now, though, the master of Phoenix Wing might punctuate her interesting suggestions with a much-anticipated reveal, so Sanders remained at rapt attention.

Owen Whately

@Joshua Tamashii

Following Owen's voice approval of Amelia's request for company, he'd expected her to make conversation. In fact, he'd been curious just what she'd talk about. Would she want to know more about Frenzy Plant, or these soldiers in particular, or would she have told of herself and her own guild? Would she have broached the subject of magic, or perhaps pursued shared interests? Though the fencer shared the same dubious outlook of Phoenix Wingers as the majority of his guildmates, he wasn't averse to understanding them better. None of this, unfortunately came to pass; instead of her tongue, Amelia moved other parts.

Guarded curiosity flitted across Owen's features to see the strange objects that appeared to extend from the girl's body. Their weirdness gave the impression, beyond the obvious implication of sorcery, that they were manifestations of magic in some way or another. At least, that's what the southerner assumed. Talented mages often surrounded themselves with enchantments, after all, for aesthetics as much as protection. The intrigue he felt in the face of the unknown faded, however, and he soon took his eyes off the strange girl. If she didn't feel like talking, he and his allies wouldn't intrude upon the silence.

Frenzy Plant Job Board

@Hatakekuro

TROLLBLEMAKERS
2-man job – 0/2 spots taken
Frost Trolls sighted on Mount Lisbet, drove off trappers and stole their hard-earned gold
Large, dirty, prone to fits of violence and swearing, extremely toxic, and with a bad sense of humor
Commander's Note: Lashing out at trolls typically worsens the problem, since they love negative reactions and don't mind getting attacked, but this should be early enough to drive them off for good. Since they regenerate very, very fast, humiliating or otherwise mentally defeating them should yield better results

NOT-SO-SECRET-SERVICE
4-man job – ¾ spots taken
The informant for the guild Petal Storm, who we've been tracking thanks to Eliza's trail of false information, has called in the cavalry. She and three ranking members of Petal Storm are meeting in the Oak Town Historical Society today at noon. A four-man team should be able to storm the meeting and capture all four without too much trouble. Their imprisonment won't spell the end for Petal Storm, but it'll be crippled and perhaps driven by desperation to make a fatal mistake

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Knight Sylvestre

Location: the Neighborhood

Though Cyril hadn't intended that he submit himself as a patient to the medical van's unknown, unusually bulky attendant, his own wounds proved so severe that after only ten minutes or so of sitting by the ambulance he could barely keep himself upright. As steely as his resolve had been during his hectic fight a short time ago, the screaming of his muscles and the hideous outcries of his broken and fractures bones agonized him to such a degree that he almost wished for death. He fumed with irritation amid the pain; if he was going to die a pitiful death from internal bleeding or something, why didn't it hurry up? Moreover, even after Cyril removed his helmet, the screw in his head did not appear to be coming loose any time soon. No doubt the sharpened perception it provided also made his hurting more acute. The vanguard barely noticed hitting the ground as he slumped over backward, the sunny sky turning dull, and neither could he quite make out the large shape looming over him as it all faded to black.

Several hours of dreamless sleep later, he awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Around him were the laden walls of the ambulance's interior, and through the little windows Cyril could see that the sun had migrated onto the opposite side of the sky. Out for a while... As a test he attempted to wiggled his fingers and toes. When they gave little protest, he moved on to the rest of his limbs. Though sore and stiff enough to give a rheumatic old man a run for his money, the vanguard's body was free of the terrible pain that plagued him earlier. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. That huge doctor must have done this. Must be the best recovery I've seen in my life. I wonder what I owe him. It was a few moments that he realized the hyper-perceptiveness granted by his screw was also gone. Upon reaching up to his head he was surprised to find the hunk of metal still there, but an experimental turn determined it to be as loose as it had when he first shoved it in. Guess I'm stuck with this.

He glanced toward his left and found Juniper on the gurney opposite his, lying still but for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and clad in a plain white hospital gown. Her fresh cuts had been dressed and stitched together, her face and remaining hand in particular. From his current angle Cyril couldn't see her legs, but he imagined that their stumps had been healed as thoroughly. When her face wasn't hardened by resolve, anger, or existential suffering, Juniper didn't look half bad.

The instant he thought that, Cyril wanted to hit himself in the face, hard. How could he think about something like that, not just in such a serious situation is this, but about the person he ruthlessly crippled for life not half a day ago!? He rolled his eyes back and groaned.

“Good...afternoon.”

Under normal circumstances the rather cautious Cyril might have sat both upright, but a combination of his condition and the sudden voice's tactful softness prevented much alarm on his part. He craned his neck to see the doctor standing at the van's back doors, which were wide open. For the first time the armorless knight got a decent look at the stranger's face, and while it could almost be described as orkish in terms of natural brutality, its expression was one of most genuine concern. His obvious concern obligated Cyril to respond. “...Afternoon.”

“Hello again, sir.”

This time Cyril was taken aback. Juniper, who he'd assumed to be asleep, was now reclining against the back wall for a clear view of the doctor. In an instant the situation became awkward beyond belief—or, it would have, were it not for the specific people involved. Cyril's features were dispassionate as he and his former opponent shared a lingering glance. Seeing this, their healer turned away to stare at a couple of blackbirds instead. A drawn-out moment passed before Juniper broke the silence.

“Do you really not feel guilt for what you've done? You do realize I have only one usable limb left, yes?”

Cyril sighed, not out of any sort of angst, but as a parent might when explaining something to a child. “Hum...I'm not proud of it, but I've had to kill people. Thieves, murderers, rapists. Rebels. It had to be done, but I don't regret it. Same for you, I guess.”

Juniper gave a sharp exhalation through her nose. “Hmph. Well, at least you didn't kill me. Might you tell me why?”

It was another few seconds before the vanguard replied. “'Cause I've had enough. Didn't need to happen. And I knew you thought I would. I thought it might prove I'm not the psycho you thought I was. Don't blame you if you don't change your mind, though. What I did instead was still pretty bad. Sorry.” Even as the words left him, Cyril wondered if he meant it. Was it possible to be both sorry and not sorry at the same time? He could scarcely figure out what his own thoughts were. Was he not sorry because it was necessary to reach his goal and because she'd made him hate her, and sorry because he didn't want to have to inflict more violence? At the moment, he didn't feel like he hated her anymore. Weird.

“I'm certain.” Juniper slumped down with an air of finality, lay still for a moment, then lifted a leg to get a better look. Tightly-wrapped bandages, secured with a metal brace, terminated the limb. She produced a groan of her own. Cyril noticed that the doctor, Bill, had turned back around and had taken a jar off the shelf. “So what do you propose to do, brave knight?” she asked, her tone flat.

For a moment Cyril didn't answer. He was staring at the contents of the jar. Inside was a pile of squirming insects The doctor appeared to be considering them in the same way he would a medicine, but Cyril could say with certainty that he wouldn't be subjecting himself to any kind of bug treatment, no matter how medicinal. When the huge man went to put the jar back, the vanguard gave Juniper his response. “The next fight. Then the next, and the next, until I win. Though I assume you're talking about what's next for you.” He'd been mulling things over in the back of his mind, and now seemed as good a time as any to speak it. What had he to lose, after all? “The idiot said we're both heroes. I...I don't suppose you like me much, but I might as well ask. If it's your mission to put an end to evil, or anything like that, the two of us could work together to try and take the tournament, and I can change my wish to cover yours. Something like, 'Fulfill both our wishes.'” After holding his hands wide to signify the breadth of possibilities that awaited them, he scrutinized Juniper's face to see what she thought. Of course, he expected nothing, but a shred of him held out some semblance of hope.

A sound escaped the martial artist that might have been a snort of laughter. She continued to look at the ceiling as she said, “Pff. Work together and get both our wishes? Even if I bought that, just look at me. All I have is one arm. Are you going to carry me around the city, Prince Charming?”

Cyril didn't know what to say to that. Needless to say, he hadn't thought about this idea too much. He pondered the question in silence until a tentative voice issued from the brawny physician. “There's someone...who can help.”

Both contestants glanced his way with curiosity. The looks on their faces were enough to convince Bill to continue. “In Oldtown...a man who can m-make objects out of souls. Not from this world, but not in the...the Crucible. A sword, an axe, prosthetics...he can do what I...can't.”

An annoyed look flashed across Juniper's face. “...Ignoring the news about more people from other worlds, everyone needs the souls in the phylactery to offer to the wishing machine.”

Dr. Bill shook his head. “Doesn't matter where...just huh-have to have them there.”

Cyril studied Bill's face. How did this lowly college employee know all this? It struck him as extremely strange. While Juniper was quietly coming to her own conclusions, the vanguard asked his own question. “How many of these people from other worlds are there?”

For the first time, the doctor gave an expression other than dull worry: a slight smile. “Don't know. ...But I know s-some. The smith in Oldtown...the things in the sky...and him, heheh. He hid it well, but I know...”

As Bill's words became murmurs, he turned away, and Juniper addressed Cyril instead. “I have made up my mind. Because I'm obviously not going anywhere on my own, and I don't want to stay with the college or Bill here, I'll go with you. I don't like it, but I have no choice. We find this smith, get me new legs, and then we'll see if we team up or not. Adversity makes for strange bedfellows.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “So to speak. Understood?”

What are the odds. Accepting the deal instantly, Cyril nodded, sat up, and swung off the gurney. He planted both feet on the floor, noticed that the puncture wound in his foot had been properly taken care of, and stood to his feet. Right away he decided that while he wasn't totally recovered, the doctor must have employed some sort of magic. There was no way bones could heal this fast. Keeping that in mind, he walked over to Bill and tapped him on the shoulder. “Mister, are you able to take us to this smith in this...horseless carriage?”

The giant man shook his head again. “No. Cheating. But I can tell you where the train is.”

Cyril looked over his shoulder at Juniper. Despite himself, he almost laughed at the look of dismay on her face. He had no idea what lay ahead of him, but somehow he'd be walking it a girl who tried to kill him on his back. “Looks like I'm carrying you after all, mademoiselle.”

The Lady in White

Location: Governance Hub – Echoed Tower
@Lazo

The amount of pride the Crucible's announcer took in his drones could be gleaned from the complexity and character of each machine, meticulously crammed with technologies and employed as a mechanical extension of Oren's own persona. Any drone's destruction, while not costing him monetarily, severed both a hand and an eye with which he could interface with the City of Echoes, but he had plenty to spare. Not a single one went wasted, except when recharging at the tower, and after the drone dispatched to oversee the Pithy-Dew fight dropped off its precious cargo it returned to its regularly-scheduled programming. Following the GPS tracker in the Lady in White's phylactery, it returned to her to act as an eye in the sky. With more important things to spectate and do, Oren left it in its automatic cycle to watch from a distance in case anything worth recording should occur.

He might have never switched his computer screen to that particular drone's channel had a glance at his display of the city not shown him that Pithy's marker was drawing close to his headquarters. After a second take to confirm that his system wasn't telling tales, he exhaled deeply and rested his head in his hands, staring off into the middle ground. “So she's coming to give me what-for. Not good...not good at all. It shoulda taken her way longer...how'd she know the way?” He scoured his brain for an answer, distracting himself from the problem of a pissed-off Pithy being on his doorstep in minutes. A few seconds passed before he went with the only solution he could think of: she somehow found a working car and followed his drone. “What a world. Chances are she'll really try 'n off me, or at least torture me for info...” Oren spoke aloud to himself without hesitation, formulating his thoughts. He eyed the arrow, sitting pretty on his desk, agleam in the noontime sunlight.

“...No way. I can take care of myself so long as I can take her by surprise. All she needs is one look...” He breathed a heavy sigh, heart pounding. His fingernails rapped against the tabletop in a steady rhythm. “If she starts something I'm gonna hafta act out a little sooner than planned.” He checked the overhead view one final time, confirming that Pithy was alone, before reaching for the drone controls.

-=-=

A shape, silhouetted in darkness against the sky, slid out of the tower's uppermost window. It descended with mechanical precision, coming to a stop a couple meters from Pithy's head. “Ya came!” Oren's voice issued from the contraption, unaccompanied by a holographic image of any kind. “First person to accept my invitation, and lemme just say, I'm glad it was you and not that giant troll creature. Poor brute, rest his soul. What can I do ya for, dearie?”

The Fungal Knight

Location: Port District
@Banana

A zoo without animals made for a poor visit. Though Bonesword couldn't have guessed it during his exploratory jaunt through the place, the zoo's residents had been for the most part evacuated by help that the College enlisted, for when the city had gone dark, the creatures had remained behind. Now, only squirrels, raccoons, birds, and a few others populated the place, and the dearth of animals left the skeleton a poor selection to scan with his mysterious transformative watch. In the end, he exited Roarke's without scanning a single one, having instead been overtaken by the excitement of a compelling idea. Just a few meters from the zoo's gates Bonesword labored with his magic to bring into being a plant facsimile of a beast far nearer and dearer to his heart. While his endeavor turned up pronounce success, the exertion depleted his life force to send him sprawling against a bench as an inert skeleton. There, in the patient company of his basil-isk, he lay.

Not even a single leaf stirred on that street for some time. The heavy, almost lazy atmosphere that filled the avenue settled like a layer of dust, but the uneventful haze did not last past noon. Just a few minutes before the sun reached the pinnacle of the cloud-rich sky, a disc of immense proportions floated over Port Town. It span, every inch as colorful, noisy, and uncanny as a merry-go-round, as it moved down the road. As the bizarre craft approached it would have become clear to Bonesword -were he awake- that the fanciful saucer was in pursuit of someone: the woman known as Guðrún, an employee of the Inquisitional College. She sprinted at top speed, but the wheeziness of her breath and the sweat of her brow suggested that she was on her last legs. Only fear put the wind in her sails, but her efforts were for naught.

Unable to run any farther, she collapsed, and the ship set down behind her. On the ground, it was indistinguishable from a circus tent, and its entrance disgorged a pair of clowns armed with guns as silly-looking as their owners. Giggling, the pair closed in on Guðrún, their oversized shoes slapping against the pavement with every step. There came a clicking sound as the woman pulled a small pistol from her belt and clicked off its safety. Before the clowns could react, Guðrún opened fire, sending bullet after bullet into their neon-bright costumes. After a moment, however, the exhausted redhead could only utter a groan of despair. Her last-ditch attempt seemed to have barely bothered the clowns, and with a dark chortle the closest one pointed his own gun at his prey and shot a blue bolt at Guðrún that trapped her in a balloon on contact.

While the shooter occupied himself by grabbing the balloon, the other had shifted his attention to something even more interesting. Very close by was an odd sight indeed: a snake monster and a skeleton, side by side on a sidewalk bench. With a grin, the clown cocked his weapon and moved in.

-=-=-

When Bonesword came to, he found himself trapped in a giant vacuum cleaner.

In fact, both he and Charlie II were within the confines of a large machine tank, about the size of a sports utility vehicle. Through the see-through plastic their surroundings could be made out: the interior of some kind of building, with lots of colorful swirls across the curved purple-green walls and ceiling among the myriad tubes and cables. While this particular spot was new to the skeleton, he'd seen this aesthetic once before—just last night, in fact, in an experience that just as easily could have been a fever dream.

The Chessmaster

Location: Ruins of Main Street
@RoughDragon1

'Pretty rough place' stood as an understatement, given the nigh-apocalyptic scene that confronted the otherwordly man known as Malveil Silverlocke. Around him loomed buildings that rose higher than any his world had to offer, in every direction but straight ahead. Not fifty meters before him yawned a massive, cavernous hole in the ground. With the nonexistence of military-grade bombs in his home world, he was left to assume an earthquake or sinkhole of mammoth proportions, but no matter the cause the reality was clear: in front of him lay an abyss, wreathed in a ring of excessive destruction. Around the seemingly bottomless pit was a tangle of concrete, steel, and asphalt in various states of obliteration. Particularly striking was the flaming wreckage of a formerly-sleek black vehicle of some sort, the long blade on its top twisted like a serpent. Something dire had gone down in this spot, and not long ago, either. That much was crystal clear.

This realization wasn't, however, the half of it. A cloudy sky, with the sun shining through white clouds, gave way to a black shadow. Instead of the moon, the shape of an impossible massive bird eclipsed the sun, not a thousand meters from the ground.

Despite all the calamitous hubbub in the area, it was a minute before something grabbed Malveil's attention. From the general direction of the bird, several figures whose shapes could not quite be discerned from this distance had descended, and now a pair of them were headed his way. As they grew closer it became easier to make out the differences between them; one was a person aside a winged beast that appeared, for all intents and purposes to be nothing less than the mythical griffin, and the other outdid even that by turning out to be a person with wings instead of arms.

The two touched down a couple hundred feet away, allowing Malveil a decent look. For starters, both were women. The griffin-rider was clad in a long, tidy cloak of dark red, but what looked like blue hair framed her hooded face. More details were difficult to make out, particularly compared to her ally. Clad in a in an outfit that resembled a blend between a kunoichi's garb and a dress (with a functional rather than fanciful design despite the red-purple-blue gradient on the front that complimented its predominant white coloration) the winged woman sported feathers as white as her hair, tied back in a spiky ponytail save for a leafy bang over her left eye. As Malveil watched, the feathers shrunk into her arms and the underlying blackness faded, leaving limbs indistinguishable from a human's to cross beneath her chest. With a stoic expression she examined the man and his pawns from head to toe, called across the distance, “Stop. This is now a restricted area. State your name and business.” The other woman, still astride her griffin, regarded the Chessmaster with a suspicious glare from beneath her burgundy raiment.

TheCereal Killer and the Book Keeper

Location: Historical District
@ProPro@BCTheEntity

Oren's genial grin, broadcasted live through the drone's holographic screen, was directed straight at Motley. “You're in luck, my glum chum. With pretty much all of the fights concluded already, I've got nothin' better to do than answer questions for a while, so if ya wanna have a protracted conversation with yours truly, yammer away!”

He turned his attention on Runch before reorienting his drone to face the pirate's way. “You're askin' if a taken soul's gonna come back after the tournament's done?” The image of the announcer scrunched up his eyebrows, then after a moment gave a lackadaisical shrug. “Beats me! Haven't gotten the chance to see what happens when someone says 'hi' to the machine with all thirty-three.”

Without missing a beat, Oren continued. “So anyway, looks like the day is yours. Pal around, explore temples, kill tentacles, whatever tickles your fancy. Your next opponent's in the same zone, so chances of runnin' into him are low. Y'know, between you and you and you and me, it'd be better to wait for what I've got in store for ya tonight. It'll make the search a bunch easier. If ya got any more questions, just call your helpful, obliging pal Oren on your phylactery. Turnin' the drone to automatic...now! Later!” The screen disappeared with a fizzling noise, and the purple light faded from the machine's optic. Now nothing more than a floating camera, the drone whirred upward to gain altitude for a better filming angle, and the trio of Runch, Motley, and Erina were left to their own devices in the heart of the Historical District.

Sunspot

Location: Whispering Woods - Cabin
@FloodTalon

The rap of Jin's knuckles against the cabin's wooden door pierced the odd silence that permeated the forest, and faded just as quickly. Beneath the impact, the door wobbled a fair bit, indicating no deadbolt or padlock of any kind. Twenty seconds passed with no response. In the background a smattering of cicadas among the trees set up a scratchy din, but nothing could be heard inside the cabin. Few options remained to be explored; all Jin could do was enter or leave.

Inside the cabin, the daylight peeked in through boarded-up windows to illuminate gossamer cobwebs stretching between the dusty remnants of furniture smashed by hand long ago. Beer cans, their color faded, lay scattered without a care in a world across the floor, several of them around a louse-ridden, moth-eaten sleeping bag deposited in the corner. Not a single pair of footprints disturbed the carpet of dust; if he entered, Jin would be the first person to set foot in this place since before the people of the City of Echoes vanished.

Only one object stood out among the trash and debris. Barely visible through a hole in the sleeping bag, something glinted like glass. A little rummaging would uncover a crystal of glass several inches thick and hard as diamond. In its center was suspended a shriveled hand, smaller than a human's, with ratty brown hair and two fingers extended.

You found:
42. Paw
Watch out what you ask for—you just might get it
Unusable in its current state, the glass-entombed paw is nothing more than a creepy setpiece

The stark, one-room cabin offered nothing else, not even a decent place to while away the time until Jin's next match. Dreary, dingy, and poisoned by a heavy atmosphere of malaise, the log building existed to be discarded and forgotten once more.

Outside lay the woodland, particularly vibrant and alive when juxtaposed with the neglected hovel that occupied its shadows. To the left was where the earth split apart into an overgrown cleft and a stream led the way through its canyon. A good eye cast down its length could perceive that it went on for a long way before it began to curve. That same perceptive peeper could also, however, make out the slender neck of a doe against the dark wood of an oak, bent to allow its owner the chance to graze at some grass.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

A post is coming in short order. Thank you all for your patience.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

@Lugubrious Kallahar did have her helmet off for the exchange.

@TheFake

My mistake. I totally blanked on that part.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

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.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

*Warm welcome by way of excited inarticulate screeching*

@Muttonhawk

*Comes out of hidey hole*

Oh ho Lugu.

*Goes back in*

@Scarifar

@Lugubrious Ten thousand years will give you more than a crick in the neck, ah can tell you that xP
We're just chugging along here at Divinus Inc., as one does. And yes, our new overlords by broad consensus are now Mutton, BBeast, and Termite. This is still not a democracy though, obviously xD

@Kho

Ah, I see. I have a year's worth of development to catch up on.