Lugubrious

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

Overwhelming strength and conviction--is it all one needs to defeat insurmountable odds?

Woodstop

@Lord Zee's Revenmar, @13org's Yasha

Singlemindedly ferocious as they were, the foxmen of the Vulpuryun Tribe boasted their fair share of wits. Even those among them that couldn't boast a dozen battles under their belt could recognize the two abnormalities that had taken the field. No regular soldier could, after all, rack up such a body count at such a blistering pace. From the moment that foxes started dropping like flies, their still-standing comrades took notice of the lethal knight's shining armor and the crested swordsman's flying razors of wind. After finishing off the last man challenging him atop a nearby boulder, a burly foxman with a huge greatsword began barking orders. The beastmen not directly engaged with Woodstop's soldiery, or entranced by the silver warrior's taunt, began to rotate their positions. More druids and hexfoxes appeared near Revenmar, and archers took up positions close to where Emile was fighting to nock and loose their arrows.

Giving Revenmar a respectable distance, foxes wielding hexing wands began to channel energetic purple magics. They moved his way in waves, and their lapping touch seemed to increase the weight of his already-heavy armor. His powerful muscles were forced to contend with the debilitating might of Gravity, strong enough to lay out flat any ordinary soldier, and to bring even the most prodigious strongman to his knees. At the same time, the druids flourished their lightening rods to shower him with bolts of electricity from afar, aiming to cook him in his heavy plate. A rarity on the battlefield, such armor nevertheless sported its fair share of weaknesses.

For his part, fortune favored Emile; the allies he fought beside spotted the bowfoxes taking up advantageous positions to fire upon them. When the call went out, Randy looked to confirm for himself, and ended up smiling despite the dire circumstances. “The subhumans display more military practice than I would have anticipated. Look over yonder, Emile! Our foe has pegged you for a magician and seeks to penetrate your arcane artistry with a quarrel or two.” He paused to concentrate, dodging backward as a spearfox grew too close for comfort. His movement left a comrade's flank open, and the spearfox altered her weapon's course to bury itself in the soldier's thigh. While the man let out a startling scream of agony, he lunged forward toward the fox and bashed her shield with his own. Stunned, she couldn't react in time to avoid a vertical air slash from Emile that parted her arm at the shoulder. Her howl was cut off by the soldier's axe, which he slammed down into her collarbone from above to get around her still-raised shield. As she toppled, he fell back too due to his brutalized leg, and the next moment he was being left behind. Randy fell back, his palm aglow with a green luster, to start healing the injury as he dragged the soldier back. “Tarry not, mercenary! Those arrows will rain down upon us in seconds, now that there's an opening.”

Emile nodded, and as he stepped onto a small rock sticking out of the grassy hill, he swung his sword to throw another air slash at one of the archers. The relatively slow-moving air razor left the bowfox plenty of time to duck out of the way, however, and the next moment an arrow shot Emile's way. For a second, he couldn't process how fast it was moving; sharp though his vision was, they did not make possible the impossible feat of speeding up perception, and to him the arrow looked scarcely slower than a bullet. He felt the impact before he saw it. ”Huh!?” Panicked, he looked down, but the arrow was already twirling away to fall, harmless, in the grass Just before piercing his belly, it had been stopped by a thin barrier surrounding him. It hit him the next moment, just before the second arrow did: aether body. The swirling orbs floating in the air around him were proof—the Comet Chaser's blessing had prevented harm. Randy, still watching, looked dumbfounded as the arrows smacked into Emile one by one and magic spilled into the air instead of blood. The other soldiers had taken cover behind knolls, trees, or shields, and they appeared just as surprised. Not one to rest on his laurels, Emile ducked behind a large stump. Thud, thud, thud went the arrows into the stump, and then they stopped.

The woman in armor beside him, whose dirty-blonde hair, pale purple eyes, and short sword gave her away as the very same soldier who'd helped Emile moments before, stared at him dubiously. “That's some useful magic. Got any to spare, mate? Ya might be able to head back out, but we're pinned down here.” Her face became a scowl of anger. “How many bleedin' bowfoxes they keep in reserve? Gonna take the hill, we were. Now we're sittin' ducks 'til their duffers come 'round and clear us out. Unless ya fancy chargin' 'em one by one.”

Silent, Emile took a peek around the edge of the stump. His visor allowed him a clear look at the well-built beastman commander on his rock at the hilltop. “Better to take care of the real problem.”

Lips curled in a proud smile, Hargrihn the Highlander stood with his enormous claymore atop his shoulders. More a long chunk of sharpened iron than a real sword, his 'weapon' could have put an entire team of lesser foxes to shame, but this Vulp's physique made it clear he was no ordinary beastman. For a moment it had seemed like the human force, bolstered by its steady stream of reinforcements from the village as well as the two forces of nature that fought for them, would take the hill and force the warband out of the valley. No matter how strong it might be, however, anything on the battlefield was subject to military strategy. There was no move the humans could make that the Vulpuryuns lacked an answer to. Though a veteran of many battles, Hargrihn did not typically issue commands like this, but he felt sure that the effectiveness of his calls would earn a newfound respect from the warlord once he became aware. Still, the Highlander's true passion was the fight, and he almost wanted to let the humans advance so that he could leap down and join the brawl himself. It was with a shimmer in his dark eyes, then, that Hargrihn watched the shape of the special swordsman rocket up from behind his stump on wings of aether. For a moment, in fact, a great many eyes were on Emile's spectacle as he hung in the air, his magic wings a steam of effulgent teal and pitch-black trail, before he drove straight toward Hargrihn.

At the last conceivable moment, the Highlander moved his sword to intercept Emile's double overhead slash. The resulting clang rang across the battlefield, and the fox's grip held against the Comet Chaser's push. As Emile's feet touched stone, Hargrihn pushed the locked weapons down, and bared his teeth in his enemy's face. “A beautiful light show. Very impressive! But not for the Highlander!” He adjusted his grip as he spoke, his grin widening. “Magic, dexterity...tools of the coward! There is just one path for the true warrior, stranger!” Mustering his strength, Hargrihn gave a mighty shove. Emile's loose footing on the edge of he bolder gave way, and he tumbled backward to land in the grass. Above him, a great black shadow blocked out the sunlight dappling through the treetops. “Muscle power!”

Emile rolled out of the way, and Harghrin's sword split the earth where he lay a split second before. In a flash the Comet Chaser regained his feet, and the fight was on.

-=-=-

The thickness of the woods meant that the sounds of battle faded away with haste as Yasha made her beleaguered retreat. In the hollow of a deformed pair of trees, whose trunks had grown together into a warped curve, she found a place to hide and rest. In the shadows beneath the leaves the pale sharpshooter did not stand out so much as one might think, and as her breath eased she could feel the stillness of the air. No errant breeze filtered through this forest, and only the drone of insects, the swish of leaves, and the song of distant birds interrupted the silence.

That lull remained until an odd noise disturbed the atmosphere. At first it could be mistaken for footsteps, but rather than the fall of shoes on leaves and roots, it sounded far more like slapping. Even stranger was its frequency; the soft, meaty noise could be heard several times per second, unassuming in volume but detectable thanks to the woods' general quiet and growing louder as whatever it was grew closer. After a few moments, the noises' perpetrator passed within Yasha's view. For about a second she could make out the unusual but familiar shape of Lenore, who she'd seen but perhaps not assigned a particular significance to last night after the enigmatic transition. Not far behind Lenore followed two more conventional-looking flesh golems, their freakish forms all the stranger for their silent attendance to their mistress. Lenore did not notice Yasha in any way, but instead headed in the general direction of the illusory boulder the markswoman spotted a short time ago—though in fact, Lenore's current course could take her right past it, if there weren't any foxmen to clue her in on where to go.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Sorry, folks. I have been busy, but I'll have a post up in the next couple of days. Hang tight until then!

The only person who needs to post in the near future is @Lazo. It's been quite a while, but I haven't been sharp about monitoring as of late.

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

@13org, @Lord Zee, I have been busy, but I'll have a post up in the next couple of days. Hang tight!

The Three Realms War [A DMC, Bayonetta and Darksiders RP]

A room packed full of powerful presences, including a fair few unfamiliar to Souta and several all the more potentially problematic for their familiarity, bid him keep his tongue. He did not, of course, put blind trust in the angels, but what were Lily and Fenn going to do? Though the agents' consensus had been but a short time ago, he already felt unsure as to what they intended. It would appear, based on the demons' obstinate refusal to part with their orb, that there was no plan to enter the Jungle Tabernacle and secure the seal. How then, one might ask, could the seal be placed under the Charred Council's protection? The smith had no idea, but he did know that his voice mattered not at all among this lot. Anything he might say could easily strengthen the tension filling the air, which was already fit to burst.

No small part of this escalation rested on the shoulders of the one other human-looking being present aside from him and Akoni: a white-haired guy who in the span of moments had managed to establish himself as a prick of preternatural proportions. As any Japanese man with a shred of propriety might be, Souta was affronted by his utter rudeness on a personal level. He felt as though this man shamed his race before the angels; though all parties present might not agree, common courtesy demanded at least a little respect and self-composure.

Any second now this powderkeg could erupt into bloody conflict, which -it occurred to Souta- might be what Henry and his demon allies wanted. Wrath, at least, was trying to mitigate the situation, but Souta felt sure that angelic pride and demonic rebelliousness could not coexist for long. Wearing a nervous expression, Souta flicked his eyes between all the major players present. We can't start fighting now. We have a real problem on our hands, and Sevrin could appear any moment. If a brawl starts, it'll play right into that bastard's hands.

Project Crossover [SMASH ARENA - Only PXO members allowed]

@Lugubrious Dude, I love your post. Who knew such a gentlemanly character could be that funny? Much better than my post for Steve.

@Rockin Strings

Thank you very much, but don't put yourself down! This isn't a competition.

SAGA [An Original Dragon Ball Universe RP] - Always Open! [CAS/ADV]

Type 0011 “Severa”

PL 910 Human Cyborg
Location: VR Training World “Gehenna” / Secret Facility in Central Capital

From the moment she started to become aware of her surroundings, Severa could tell that nothing made sense. Golden light filtered through spindly dark objects, far enough away that the haze obscured their forms, leaving only four things in focus. To her left stood some sort of edifice, lacking detail but awash in a strange feeling. Home. Try as she might, Severa couldn't quite control herself; she felt as though she were strapped into someone else's head, watching from a first-person perspective but unable to direct her body's movements. Yet, despite the confusion and restriction she felt no fear. In fact, something unfamiliar and strange warmed her heart...a sensation that long since drifted away. Her eyes drifted between the faces of the people nearby one by one, but a sort of jitteriness blanketed their features, leaving them essentially faceless. The only thing Severa knew for sure was that she cared for them, and they for her. In this bizarrely vague but carefree place, she felt the handshakes of old strangers: affection and security, which so long ago had ceased to darken her door. Within the back of her mind, however, a lingering unease told her that this comforting scene was not hers, and never was. Though joy surrounded her, Severa was overcome by a longing sorrow, a sadness that spawned from the troubling assurance that none of this was real. Shaking, she looked back at those around her, seeking reassurance, but already they were moving away. The cheery sunshine receded, and as Severa reached out to take the hand of the closest person, she could feel it slide away like water between her fingers. Around her, the colors began to move faster and faster, the landscape melting away, until there remained only darkness and a pining for the touch of home.

Severa gasped, her head swimming painfully. A quick look around made it apparent that the world was upside-down, but she could grasp from the ropes around her feet that it was she who was misaligned. Further examination revealed that she hung, upside-down, from a gnarled tree. Below her yawned a pit lined by torches and filled with stakes, their blood-encrusted points rammed in some cases through stinking corpses. Around her, other bodies hung, but their stillness and her silence told her all she needed to know. As always, Severa was alone, and tonight the scent of death threatened to choke her before she could even impale herself. In every direction, more trees stood like looming spectators, watching those suspended in their midst in quiet anticipation. Her face, however, bore neither fear nor irritation, but instead a grimace of resignation. Fraught with danger as it was, this current predicament interested her far less than the odd hollowness somewhere deep within her mind. She knew that, moments ago, she'd been dreaming, but she could not recall her dream's subject. It left her bitter, as though she'd been denied a small convenience.

No matter. Inexplicable feelings troubled her daily, and as blasé as this situation was, she might as well get it over with. Tightening her stomach muscles, Severa curled upward, then straightened out. In such a manner she began to swing back and forth. For several passes she performed this same motion, a living pendulum, until she deemed her arc satisfactorily large. This time, when she curled, she reached out a hand toward the ropes that trapped her. In front of her fingers, the air began to spin, coalescing into a bladed disc that sawed straight through her bindings with a sound more like a ringing bell than a machine. Immediately she began to drop, but her swing brought her close enough to one of the other hanging bodies that she could plant her feet against it and push off. The impact of her shoes against the rotting flesh caused the skin to slough off, but Severa paid it no mind as she springboarded herself to safety. A midair flip brought her into the ideal position to land on the edge of the spike-pit with a roll, and after getting to her feet the girl dusted herself off and walked to the nearest tree. Two larger sawblades formed, one for each hand, and in a matter of moments Severa had stripped the tree of a sheet of bark. From there, it took only a short time to carve a suitable hole into the wood, which she entered before stretching the bark back over the opening. Then, with a slit in the bark to peek through, it was time to wait.

A quarter-hour passed before she spotted the shadows moving among the foliage on the other side of the spike-pit. Severa observed with nonchalance as a man entered the torchlight. His clothes marked him as a farmer, but the swelling of his left shoulder, and the spiny-toothed orifice nestled there, cast doubt on the notion of him ever being human. He walked toward the pit, a notched sword in hand and a yellow-green glare in his eyes. Behind him three similar creatures followed, and they spread out around the gruesome hole. One placed her back near Severa's hiding spot, and after making sure that no other monsters were coming, she went to work.

She burst from her cavity without much in the way of aplomb, leaping toward the nearest creature with two sawblades summoned. The first strike, a backhand slash, plowed through her target's midsection. Severa executed a full twirl, bringing her reverse hand in for a messy cut through the shock creature's torso, and the final slice after the spin put the miserable thing out of its misery by shearing its head into halves. The creature to her right turned toward her, scythe upraised, and Severa slung her right hand's sawblade into his chest vertically, where it dug itself in for a full second before losing its spin. Without time to admire her handiwork, Severa executed a corkscrew dive across the spike pit, forming another sawblade so that she could execute an x-slash to reduce the hapless monster to four quarters. Not counting the one struggling with the blade lodged in its ribcage, that left only the original. A tongue lashed out from his shoulder-mouth, seeking to bury its tip in Severa's face, but lopping it off with a blade was the very definition of easy. Her target swung his sword, which Severa intercepted with both blades at once. Its force threatened to break through, or push her backward into the pit, but the spin of the girl's saws sent incessant vibrations down the metal weapon into the creature's hand, numbing the nerves. A moment later, Severa shoved the sword to the side and dashed the opposite way, allowing the orbiting blades to strike once each before disappearing as she passed behind the monster. Before the thing could turn around, she dealt a swift kick to its back, causing the monster to tumble toward its own pit.

It did not reach the spikes. Severa's first sawblade, reacting to her summon, flew from its dying victim's chest to hang just above the pit, over the spikes. The monsters she kicked fell upon it, held on the bloodstrained edge by gravity, screeching until its halves fell into the pit on either side of the blade, which vanished back into the air. Just like that, the forest was quiet once again. Her face unchanged, Severa scooped up the fallen sword and turned to jog away into the foliage.

Project Crossover [SMASH ARENA - Only PXO members allowed]

Slayer
Level 4
Day 2
Location: In-house Smash Arena
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (0/40)

Dashing, domineering, deadly—Slayer cut quite the figure as he sauntered Gnasty's way, plans of attack running through his mind. His concentration on the idea of using Dandy Step to punish any move the repulsive brute made, however, availed him little when his allies took advantage of his distraction to move in from the sides and strike from afar with powerful ranged attacks. Void, ice, laser, and energy bombarded the great Gnorc, ripping into him before Slayer even got the chance to lash out with one of his newly-recalled techniques. Realizing with only a trace of distress that his presence in this fight would soon be obsolete, he picked up the pace to a powerwalk, intent on planting a Crosswise Heel in the damaged region of Gnasty's head. He never got chance; Fox and Naija struck once again, their formidable speed driving their finishing blows home and sending a him, battered, to the ground.

Naija set to teasing the fallen freak without delay, prompting an admonishing smile from the vampire. ”Now now, dearie. Our foe still draws breath. We must finish him now before he makes good his--!”

His words became reality with startling speed. Having regenerated enough to take action, Gnasty picked himself off and sprinted away from the heroes at a pace that would have traumatized any doctor of physics. With a final ejection of mutated green blood, the overgrown ogre disappeared into the hole through which he'd come.

”...Escape.” Placing his hand against his brow, the gentleman shook his head in mild disappointment. ”Ah, no matter. 'He can run, but he cannot hide'...isn't that the saying? Where he goes, we will follow, for the virus must be eradicated.”

Scarcely had he taken a few steps in pursuit before the familiar sounds of a train reached his ears. Slayer did not pause in his stride, but took note of the strange howl that accompanied the vehicle's whistle. How odd. He waved over his fellow warriors as he marched on, privy to the sight of lights down the tunnel. A moment after he reached the breach and began toward the tracks, he heard a sudden and meaty thwack that resounded off the walls, and his mind was filled with curiosity. Quickening his pace, Slayer arrived at the platform and beheld at once two incredible things: the inert remains of Gnasty Gnorc, and the phantasmagorical locomotive that had eviscerated him.

The sight bid him raised his eyebrows and almost displace his monocle. ”Goodness! What a sight.” Fascinated, he looked up and down the waiting train's length. ”Its haunting exterior reminds me...'tis the Halloween season, is it not? Perhaps this devilish contraption has arrived neither in malice nor benevolence, but as a harbinger of an even greater thrill.” He chuckled, realizing his overindulgence in wordplay. The battle concluded, he removed from his pockets a fresh pipe, which he proceeded to light with a flame-igniting snap of his fingers. As interesting as this development was, he was also eager to see what the others thought of this apparition.

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

Indigo Afina – Frenzy Fort
@t2wave@Lunarlors34

Ashlyn's sudden arrival evoked a sidelong glance from Indigo. Her distrustful look indicated that the scene of a training room set ablaze and a sparring partner sent to triage had not slipped her memory. Crossing her arms, the sorceress turned to the fire witch and told her, “Just a moment, missy. You're still on probation for your last little spate of boredom-relief. That means no more blasting the training floor.” Her gaze shifted to the job board, not too far from her desk. ”If you're itching for something to do, why not do some actual work? Leaving job choice up to the soldiers doesn't mean you can rake in wages for twiddling your thumbs.” When her eyes returned to Ashlyn's face, however, they found a pitiable plea that Indigo couldn't bring herself to ignore. Another thought crossed her mind as she pondered her decision, and with a sigh she gave a shrug. ”Then again, Bartholomew might be out on his walk this time of day, and you could use a chance to practice some restraint. However!” She looked down on the girl with all the severity she could muster. ”You'll be doing this trial out back, behind the Fort. The snow-covered obstacle course should provide a decent battlefield, and chances are your flames will thaw out the equipment. If I go out there tonight and the course is charcoal, however, you can look forward to a complete restriction on martial activities. Alright?”

Once Ashlyn affirmed her compliance, Indigo gave a nod and turned to Cyra. ”Alright then! Sorry for the delays, young lady. Please follow Ashlyn here around the Fort to begin your trial. Triumph over her, and your membership among our ranks is assured. I must admit I'm a bit biased for you...give Ash a good thrashing, won't you?” She gave a lighthearted laugh and held the door open for the two girls to head through out into the light snowfall.

SAGA [An Original Dragon Ball Universe RP] - Always Open! [CAS/ADV]

Character Information

Character Name

Colette Penning

Alias

Prototype 0011 “Severa”

Age

24

Race

Human

Sub-Race

Cyborg

Gender

Female

Occupation

N/A

Height

5'1”

Weight

115 lbs

Hair Color

White, though closer to gray than pure white

Eye Color

Black

Visual Appearance

Hider

Written Appearance

Slender, practically albino in complexion, and dressed in tight black accompanied by flowing white, Severa gives off a stark impression. Her face is most often one of pain and paranoia, very seldom shifting, and not at all personable.

Personality

Though her highly reserved, quiet bearing might make her seem unremarkable at first, Severa exhibits an exceptionally violent personality. She displays no hesitation at all to attack when she deems it necessary; neither does she give any sort of disinclination toward things others might consider horrible or disgusting. More vitally, perhaps, she's completely desensitized toward violence. She is fearless in a more technical than literary sense; she does not feel fear, but she will act in a manner that would best unsure her own survival in a fearful situation. In fact, her own survival is her modus operendii. Severa is pragmatic, intelligent, and selfish. Though quick to commit acts of violence if provoked, she prefers to avoid confrontation. Her preferred fighting style is assassination--keeping out of sight until an opportune moment arises to make a decisive strike.

All this is, of course, conditioning based on her experience in VR Training. The real Colette is judgmental, haughty, and sometimes rash, but a deeply empathetic and caring person. All of this has, however, been buried very deep. Because of her near-total lack of real world experience and socialization she is extremely awkward around other people, and while paranoid, somewhat curious and quite naive. Somewhat like a child, she takes things at face value, and has seen enough abnormality to believe almost anything in a literal sense

Background

Born into money, Colette and her brothers Alistair and Vernon lived a carefree life of luxury for their whole childhoods. As kids of stars often do, they exhibited a few odd quirks -the most noticeable being egocentricity- but for the most part they lived ordinary if spoiled lives. That began to change, however, when their parents' careers in the acting business tanked. They knew theirs was a cutthroat industry, but neither could have imagined how far they would fall. When the money began to dry up, the difficulties began. With no small amount of self-absorption themselves, Colette's mother and farther turned their frustration and despair on one another and their children, and the kids' early teens saw them develop into problems at school. Putting their natural talents to use, the three siblings spent their free time putting others down in order to feel better about themselves, unable to put anything in the void their parents left. It came to be that when the three and a handful of 'friends' were arrested for breaking into, vandalizing, and stealing from South Capital's Movie Headquarters, nobody was surprised.

However, instead of spending time in juvenile detention, doing some community service, and returning to their lives, the three siblings were left to rot. Not a peep was heard from their parents who, having fallen out of the limelight, were no longer subject to the public's scrutiny. After a week behind bars, an ordinary-looking bus appeared with the words 'Child Services' emblazoned on the side. The detention center's current crop of fourteen undesirables shuffled aboard, and that was that. They did not, however, arrive at their intended destination. The bus descended into a private parking garage, where the confused kids were herded into a strange facility. After all were crowded into a small white room, the door locked behind them, and through vents in the ceiling a yellow gas poured in. Colette's head span, she hit the ground, and the world went dark.

Kept unconscious by IV drip, every child was inducted into the experiments of Dr. Naru Long, a disgraced scientist gone into hiding to work as an experimental arms manufacturer. The surgeries commenced one-by-one, each unwilling volunteer outfitted with cybernetic enhancements before being plugged into the VR Training system—a virtual world of nightmares. There, alongside the others, Colette was forced to survive a literal hell of horror for ten years. She learned how to use her new powers quickly, but it took far longer for her personality to change. Faced with gruesome imagery and the necessity to sneak and slaughter or die every single day, she became number and number as her instinct grew sharper and sharper. Eventually, she lost all memory of her past self, and truly became Severa. On occasion she crossed paths with a fellow test subject, unaware that the brief spots of hope and company were often false, for those that died were replaced by artificial intelligences made using their minds at their last 'save point' before their expiration. In the real world, Severa and her surviving allies had grown from childhood to adulthood and gone through several sets of augmentations, perfect soldiers lying in waiting. The procedure remains ongoing, the cyborgs kept in stasis while their consciousnesses continue to suffer, under the watchful eye of Dr. Long.

Weapon & Techniques

Weapon

N/A

Power Level

910

Techniques

Accelerotation – Severa's onboard weapons system is a highly advanced, prototype remote particle acceleration system using state-of-the-art electromagnets and spinning energy meant to emulate the ki-based destructo disk technique. In each of Severa's palms is an “Accelerotation Engine” which, after starting to spin, accelerates the particles in front of the palm in a vortex to create a high-speed sawblade with exceptional cutting power. Depending on the particles available in front of her palms, she can create sawblades with different compositions. These spinning blades can be slung through the air, and thanks to the rapid and precise activation/deactivation of her electromagnets, orbit around her, return to her if slung, and generally fly in circular patterns. The end result is an elegant and deadly close-to-midrange weapon, best at blitzing through the defenses of slower targets

Leitmotif

Overlord : Advent of the Gods

The battle is joined, friends and allies coming together against a common threat, save for those separated by misunderstanding

Woodstop

@TheFake's Kallahar, @Lord Zee's Revenmar, @13org's Yasha

Mixed feelings abounded in the room as the silver knight shut off his commanding persona as easily as turning off a faucet. The sudden change told everyone present that Revenmar was capable of changing moods at the drop of a hat, which meant that no matter how affable he suddenly seemed, he could threaten any one of them again in an instant. All the same, the tension in the room eased. When the cookmaster, the paladin, and the axe-fighter left, the shaken workers returned to their duties as well as they could.

Morderik's distress persisted once the group returned to the mess hall. He looked as though he wanted to be outraged, but knew better than to question the bizarre warrior he'd offered his aid to. Into the silence that followed, Effin interjected himself. “Well! Reckon we couldn't 'ave got the scoop any faster. Angenny, eh? I know 'er. Quiet, but always awful full o' 'erself. Like everyone around 'er was disgustin' or embarrassin'. She got long brown hair, dyed red.” He waved the cookmaster off. “Thanks fer yer 'elp, Mord. 'Ave a good one.” With a nod toward Revenmar, he started toward the door.

A sound split the air, resounding through the hidden town's still atmosphere. For a moment the two horn-blasts surprised Effin more than anything, but his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled a moment later. He'd never heard the sound, but he'd drilled for it, and his face spoke of bad news. “The alarm. Beastmen in the valley. God, we ain't ready...” Moving with a speed that defied his age, the burly axe fighter shouldered open the door of the mess haul, slowed just long enough to get his heading, and then charged in the direction of the barracks. “C'mon! They're comin'!” By that time, the entire population of the mess hall had mobilized and was heading to one of the two doors with great haste.

The scene outside was one of pandemonium. People ran every which way, arms full of what they'd been working on a moment ago or equipment to prepare for when the enemy was upon them. In particular, the barracks broiled with frenzied activity, with soldiers climbing in and out of windows to get past the traffic jam at the door. A man with a crisp uniform beneath his halfplate barked commands, trying to establish a method in the madness. Effin joined the surge heading in and tumbled from a window a moment later, hatchet in hand. At the same time, a familiar silhouette appeared. Emile jogged onto the scene and extended a hand down to help Effin up, who accepted without any hesitation.

His face inscrutable beneath his crested helmet, the comet chaser looked back and forth between Revenmar and Effin. ”Looks like our spy'll have to wait, not that I found anythin' on my end. We under attack?”

Effin looked at him as though he were daft before turning to run in the same direction as the rest of the soldiers. “Yeah, yeah!”

Gathering that the situation was too urgent for any further questioning, Emile followed. He reached out and, for the brief moment moment he was close enough, clapped a hand on Revenmar's shoulder as he passed by. “Let's get goin'!”

Before he knew it, Emile passed through the gates. He looked up after passing beneath the catwalk and spotted the man he knew as Oswalt, bow at the ready. There was no time for familiarities, so he pressed on. Already he could hear the sounds of metal against metal, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. My first real fight. The column of soldiers rounded a copse of trees, and the hidden valley opened up before them. Right away Emile could see the enemy—a wall of orange and brown, bearing weapons of dull iron and bone, already more than halfway across the span of dappled grass and grappling with the first wave of human soldiers. More foxmen poured through the illusory boulder that marked the valley's entrance by the second, their form more a stream than a flood, but still startling in its implication. How many are there? Yet, despite the enemy's numbers, Emile felt confident. His excellent vision, combined with his visor, meant he could scrutinize every detail about the beastmen before him from a long way off, and none looked especially strong. Added to that the readout of his enchanted lenses, which told him that no fox's power exceeded 'minor threat', and he felt sure that he could take them.

When he reached the front lines and immediately stepped on the corpse of a man with a broken-off bone spear through his throat, he almost dry-heaved. So distracted was he that he didn't notice a vulpuryun swordfox darting toward him until the beastman was only a couple meters away. His eyes widened as he reached for his left saber. “Whoa!” The swordfox's bloody blade was already in the air, but Emile drew his own with incredible speed, unsheathing and slicing in a single stroke. His bright edge blossomed with cutting wind and sheared through his foe's wooden spiral shield, barely slowing down. Its tip slid through the swordfox's leather vest and into his torso, leaving an inch-deep gash all the way across. The windforce of the blow knocked the beastman back after cutting him, throwing him to the ground, and Emile transitioned into a powerful overhead slash with the same blade. A verticle wind slash fell upon the prone fox, very nearly cutting him in two as it extinguished his life in an instant.

The bright green flash of Emile's Euphoria blades drew the eye of everyone in the immediate vicinity, ally and enemy alike. A spearfox a few meters away hurled his javelin at the new threat. Moving with natural grace, Emile swatted the javelin aside as he closed the distance, with a dash, then drew his other saber with an upward slash that carried the bloody fox into the air. Emile, high on the thrill of battle, repositioned his swords for an -xslash at the airborne enemy and let it rip. Unable to dodge, the howling foxman was dashed to quarters midair.

Emile looked down just in time to see two beastmen with strange-looking gear lunge at the same time. This time, he was not poised to counterattack, and the foxed thrust their staves into his chest at the same moment. In an instant, a painful tingling filled his body—paralysis. What? These creatures shouldn't be able to CC me. Gritting his teeth, he started to move, laboriously forcing his way through the affliction. The foxmen betrayed no emotion from behind their masks, but their ears flattened; evidently, they were surprised, too. Before either they or Emile could act, however, a pale hand reached in from the side and grabbed hold of one's head. A beam of red magic burst from Randy's palm, firing clean through the fox's head, and as the other turned a soldier Emile didn't know jumped in from the other side to bury her short sword in the other's back. With a halfhearted snarl it fell.

Randy grinned, his mint-green pompadour a-wobble. “You possess some exceptional magic, my friend, but have a care. Our foes' druids carry lightning rods that can render any man immobile. Though, it would appear you were seconds away from freeing yourself...” Frowning, he turned his attention to the next wave of foxmen, approaching fast. He cast a protection charm over the nearby soldiers. “...I will support you. Let us proceed!”

The group charged. Remembering a skill of his, Emile raised his swords to clang together for Rally Spectrum, planning to boost his allies' attack. The memory of a man lying dead in the dirt came back to him, however, so he called, “Rally Defense!” before leaping forward to join the charge.

-=-=-

Death came for the vixen, her failed attempt at an ultimate attack making true what she'd known would come to pass. Her dying gasp, venomous to the last, vanished into the whispering of the woods. Her kin dead or fled, Rorryln had been the last vulpuryun standing, and her demise left Lenore and Kallahar alone together.

Lenore breathed a sigh of relief. The adversary she'd judged worthy had met her end without an excess of pain, and there didn't need to be any more fighting. She allowed her eyes to slide closed as she steadied her inhalation, and her hands' deathgrip on her staff ceased. To either side of her, the grim flesh constructs stood without moving, waiting for their master's command. She gave them none; already Lenore felt tired, but she knew the end of this conflict with the beastmen lay far off. In a few moments, she imagined, her respite would end and she would have to pursue the bulk of the vulpuryun warband. To do less would be selfish, an invitation for the horde to attack the village her uncle discovered. While he could handle himself, any attack would mean the loss of life, and the last thing she wanted was to see innocents dead.

To her left, Kallahar stood up. Lenore stopped leaning against her tree and turned to face her, ready to give an affirmative nod. What the Death Knight said, however, left her dumbfounded. W-what?” She was leaving? Why? Before she could come to her senses, Lenore was by herself. ”Wait! I know I-I didn't really help much there, but you said yourself I should be who I wished to be, or something like that! If I'm gonna be a heroine, I can't just slaughter people! Nobody deserves the k-kind...the kind of stuff I can do now...” It was too late; Kallahar was gone. Just like that, Lenore had nobody but her unthinking, unfeeling new bodyguards.

A moment passed before she sniffled. ”Damn it, it isn't fair...” Before long, her panic gave rise to frustration. ”What the hell's her problem? Leavin' me alone, just 'cause I didn't chase after and kill those poor foxes...” After a moment of wiping at her eyes, Lenore cradled her staff against her chest and head. Trying to think of what to do next. ”I've got to find Uncle E,” she decided after a moment. ”He'll help me. No, I'll help him. If I help save the village, they can't possibly hate me.” So intent was she that she hadn't noticed a tendril emerge from beneath her dress to grab and drag in the body of Rorryln, nor the muted crunching. ”Okay.” She shook her head to focus, then started to run in the direction she'd been heading before the ambush.

-=-=-

Like people crowding around a fight, the trees closed in around Yasha's battle to escape her magic-induced haze. Sun filtered through the trees onto the leaf-strewn, root-tangled forest floor, and into the eyes of the sharpshooter. Fresh in her mind was a scene of wanton slaughter, of thunder from the heavens and the rage of the earth, a frightening and confusing dance of crystal, fire, and blood. Emerging into this woodland felt very much like emerging into a dream, or perhaps waking up from a nightmare. Its serenity was surreal until the telltale noises of armed conflict pierced the windless trees.

Following the sound would lead to an altogether strange sight. Humanoid shapes obscured from a distance by the canopy's shadows resolved into the forms of foxes who ran like men, armed with a variety of weapons, into a boulder nested amid some trees packed trunk-to-trunk. Instead of smacking into its stony face, however, the foxmen dashed straight through the huge rock, and in return that illusory barrier admitted the clash of weapons, the cries of beasts, and the shouts of men.