Lugubrious

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

I'm here, and have some ideas rummaging around that should make for a good character.

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

-0th post-

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious So if Erina heads off with Runch over Motley, does that put her under @ProPro's control, or would I retain control over her? Or would Lazo be put back in control of her? I'm not sure.

@BCTheEntity

Her soul, like Crue's, is now in the possession of Runch, so he retains whatever authority he has over her--not that he could technically stop her from going with Crue. Either way, Propro controls her.

Yo dawg! I heard you liek Fire Emblem... THE REBOOT

Color me interested. I'll keep an eye on how this shapes up.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The Lady in White

Location: Kno One
@Lazo

Another chuckle resonated through the restaurant in reply to Pithy's barb. “Forgive me. I won't bore you with any more details.” The sensation of predatory eyes, peering from every shadow and every surface, bored into Pithy as she drew near the kitchen. For now, the hallway had turned silent; perhaps her evasion of the lethal fanblades sufficed to demonstrate her mastery over this area. Far from content to keep that quiet intact, however, the Lady in White addressed her omnipresent adversary once again.

“And here I thought we weren't stating the obvious,” the voice chided. Without any obstacle on the way, Pithy could enter the kitchen freely. When she did, she could see that the checker-tiled floor proceeded normally about halfway down the room's length, then promptly turned upward. Appearance-wise, the floor looked like it had been lifted up like a sheet of paper and the end attached to the ceiling. Various facets of cooking equipment kept the fringes of the floor anchored to the ground, but in the openings left but such a phenomenon, hard-packed walls of miscellaneous kitchen items barred the way around. No other mode of entry or exit could be glimpsed in the area that Pithy could access, save the doorway she came in by. The way, it seemed, was shut. “Of course! Though since this is not a lecture, you'll have to figure things out for yourself. Feel free to think of Kno One as an ordinary ghost, if it helps you understand that you cannot harm or interact with it. Now, take a look at this. You've figured out the building itself is invincible, but does that still apply to parts of it I've moved? The tile was part of the floor, after all.” The nearest stoves, which were on, bore pots of water whose bubbles were audible. After the voice grew silent, their lids floated off, and from their sputtering contents stands of pasta began to rise. They slithered through the air like sea snakes through the ocean, moving about in great numbers but in an aimless fashion.

Inari

Location: What Lies Beneath – Toward the Underground City
@Kapuchu

Content to be patient with the pair's cautiousness, Emile waited with relaxed posture and wide-open ears on the chance that Lily elected to respond. When she started speaking, he listened with bated breath. Even with his face masked, he seemed visibly surprised when the kitsune admitted a knowledge of Disney—as taken aback as Lily had been moments before. His shock shifted to a shaking with laughter that he worked hard to suppress when she gave voice to disbelief in the idea that planets could be round. Just before he started to twitch, the faintest whisper of ”Flat earth!” escaped his feathery lips only to be buried beneath his acquaintance's speech. Her next few statements, however, dispelled whatever mirth possessed him in the blink of an eye. Emile sat bolt-upright at the mention of 'isekai', sitting stock-still as though he'd been discovered doing something wrong. After she sighed, seated herself, and explained what isekai was, the owlman gave a nervous laugh. “Heheh...sounds like some super cliché trash, good thing I don't know anything about anything like that...” When it became clear Lily was studying him, he sobered up hastily.

Still focused despite the less-than-concealed emotional roller-coaster Lily put him through, he remained attentive as she gave her own story. At the motion of disks, one of his arms moved into a thinker's position, its elbow resting on the other while its fist lay across the section of his helmet that occluded his mouth. Nothing that she told of rang any bells for him. During her pause, he vocalized what little he could come up with. “Hmm. I've heard of something called Discworld, but I don't know anything about it. Probably not what you're talking about. I'd assumed you were from the past, but you're actually from the future, huh?”

Afterward she proceeded into answering the critical part of his inquiry: the workings of the tournament, of which he harbored only a basic knowledge. He mulled over the information as it was presented, turning his head to gaze off into the middle ground. When Brucie began to speak, however, he glanced his way just in time to watch Lily silence him with a jolt of lightning. With as many beans spilled as she deemed appropriate, then, she posed him another question. Flashy as the fiery feather was, the gears racing in his mind occupied him for another few moments. Only after another “hmm...” did he allow his attention, once eagerly given, return to her.

“I cannot be sure, but the most well-known fictional feather in my homeworld is called 'Phoenix Down'. I believe it revives a near-death ally it is used on.” Something in his tone had changed, growing more serious and a touch slower. Contractions disappeared, and his slouch gave way to proper, straight-backed posture. “Let us rewind for a moment, however. Were you about to say 'phylactery', hammerhead?” Holding his right hand up and open for a moment to make it clear he was going to use it, Emile reached into his pocket and withdrew a palm-sized object. Dark red, or perhaps black, in color, it resembled a heart drained of all life. He span it on one finger, a sudden current of air keeping it aloft and rotating. “When the scouting party found the corpse of my friend Clotho, this was on her. Afterward, she told us what little she knew about it, and the tournament. If we find where poor Verrine died, I'm guessing she will have one of these, too.” Sighing, Emile let the inert phylactery fall into his palm before stashing it in his pocket. When his eyes reopened, they locked with Lily's. “As you might have gathered, two of my friends were brought to this tournament to fight, and both were killed. It has left me hurt, but it is not healthy to dwell on such pain.” He placed his hands by his legs, their palms on his stone seat. “Not that I blame you two. Unless you have traveled a very long way, there is no reason to believe either of you were the killers.”

As if trying looking for some sort of help from above, he tilted his head back and stared into the darkness between him and the cavern roof. “So, the winner of this tournament gets one wish. Maybe it is a blessing that Clotho dropped out, heh. She is an ambitious one. I dread what Verrine might have wished for...” He shivered, then shook his head with a chuckle. His composure seemed to relax, suggesting that something in the back of his mind that had been needling him had been resolved. His manner of speaking, not unlike rambling meant to fill time, returned to normal. “Hmph, what am I talking about? Knowing her, she would've wanted me to be happy. Anyway!” Emile clapped his hands together, looking between Brucie and Lily. “From my calculations, you're ready for the semifinals. Eight souls under your belt, is it? That's one-fourth of a wish. A heavy burden to bear. And when the load gets heavy, it's a good idea to have a lot of friends.”

Emile disappeared.

His practically-instant displacement sent a blast of wind in the direction of Lily and Brucie. It lasted only a split second, but it was blistering in its speed and power. More a screech than a howl, it blew into them and faded away almost as suddenly as its maker, who now stood on top of the pillar with arms crossed. Though the whole thing happened so fast as to leave pretty much anyone flustered if not tumbling, what happened could be pieces together: though Emile's departure was invisible to the human eye, he had not teleported. Instead, it was his physical movement from a sitting position to his current pillar-top perch that created the surprise gale—unintentionally, a mere byproduct of natural locomotion, like the wake of a boat that might sweep away of school of minnows. In the alcove where he sat previously, two intricate sabers lay against the wall, unused and abandoned by the man they had been hidden behind throughout the whole exchange. When the owlman spoke, his voice came louder and stronger than before. “On behalf of the guild Air Rave, I offer you our services.” He indicated the citadel-backed raven with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “With our help, you can win the tournament no problem. All I ask in exchange is what we work together to amend your wish, whatever it is, to help us out, too. After all, the wish has no limits. There's no reason we can't all get what we want.” To punctuate his words, he held up his left hand. On the appropriate finger a ring began to glow bright white, the crest of interlocking wings on its face visible in the radiance.

The Cereal Killer and the Book Keeper

Location: Flooded Historical District
@Propro@BCTheEntity

Evan as Motley launched himself into the air, preparing a final attack to ensure its fatality, Aralynn gave no sign of being aware of it. For a brief moment her struggle grew more feverish, but the pain that even the slightest movement brought upon her stung her back into stillness, wherein she could get as close as possible to relief. Around her the Boys of Summer stood, noiseless and resolute as frontline soldiers before a cavalry charge.

It wasn't long before the vampire's chemical assault, carefully articulated, blasted forth. A deluge of caustic stomach acid accompanied piercing spurts of pressurized blood, all fixated on the sitting duck at water's edge. Her brother's small army of grim specters went to work, dutifully sliding in front of each incoming blast one after another. The vile liquids' speed necessitated the Boys of Summer to cluster together to prevent any getting through, and for a brief instant the onslaught hung in the air, thick enough to make the sunlight dapple; then, the first target made contact with the first projectile. Together the pair fizzled out of existence, more speedy and anticlimactic than the feed on a turned-off television. After that, the interceptions came hard and fast. When the blood beams vanished, they left behind a trace of negation that continued to erase any blood that followed, which could be said to count as the same attack by whatever bizarre and ephemeral rules governed Boys of Summer's usage. With one beam gone after another, the acid shower began to coalesce, but well in advance of the entire acid attack's negation, the silent protectorate was depleted. Faint, strangled gasps of true agony could heard over the sound of melting flesh. For a few, fleeting moments, a mechanical shape could be seen to be hovering over Aralynn's body, but it soon faded away into vapor along with the aura that surrounded her. After forty seconds, only a smoldering ooze and acid-scarred bones gave evidence that she ever existed.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@Lugubrious
Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy Margrave updates?

@Old Amsterdam

Maybe, but either way, I'm glad I could make it enjoyable!

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Azura
Level 1
Day 3
Location: 26th Floor of Tetris Castle, the Reception Hall
Experience: |||||||||| (0/10)
Word Count: 1063

The look given to Azura in response from the President did not please her, but neither did it phase her. A brusque attitude was, after all, the only form of rebellion one could have against someone in a place of authority. His eyes and face made it clear, furthermore, that after embarrassing both himself and then shamelessly demonstrating equal parts immaturity and unsuitability for leadership, he expected his new underlings to lap it up. Such damning conceit. Through eyes half-closed out of indifference, Azura turned her attention to her remaining allies in turn.

She regretted failing to understand much of what the strange young man, who gave his name as Vent, had to say. In a refreshing turn of self-awareness, however, he did say that he expected as much. Even with his strange physiology, Azura could figure out that he felt almost as annoyed by their supposed superior's antics as she did, but in contrast he behaved more chipper and obliging. Maybe that is the attitude to have, Azura considered. It's possible that the Boss is acting the way he is in order to get a rise out of us. If that's the case, I'm giving him exactly what he wants by reacting poorly. She resolved to pick up cues from the remaining members.

Out of the remaining two, the more sizable machine spoke up next. Though her materials and make were unknown to her, Azura recognized Piper as an inorganic construct, not too dissimilar from some of the golems that could be found in her own world. This one, however, proved herself possessed of intelligence practically indistinguishable from a human's, so the songstress resolved to treat her as such. Right after Piper, the unknown soldier introduced himself. He gave a salute, which Azura dismissed as a formality wasted on the Boss, before describing both himself and his world of origin. Though once again Azura found herself irked that some of his terminology escaped her, he gave out every impression of being a capable and competent soldier. For a moment she stared at his equipment, watching him handle its small parts, before coming to a conclusion. As appropriate as it might be for the Boss, her silence and lack of cooperation were rude -even tactically unsound- to these other comrades. Taking a breath of the chilly air, she prepared to speak.

Not unlike her lance, the words of the Boss cut over her attempt at introduction, and for a moment Azura appeared paralyzed by the name assigned to her by him. Spear...babe? A pet name suitable for a tavern wench. She pursed her lips. Since I didn't introduce myself, I suppose its to be expected. If...he is lascivious, I will have to speak to whoever delegates these assignments. A sigh escaped her. If we survive with him at the helm.

What followed was a strange series of events: a fellow Azura guessed was a local approached, his stance indicating no violent intent, before fleeing with a shriek at the sight of Piper. From beneath furrowed brows, her yellow eyes watched him sprint back toward the nearby encampment. How out of character for a warrior. Could these 'steel gods' be so intimidating? He must have mistaken Piper for one such enemy. Perhaps that gives us an idea as to what our enemy is like. Her reflection fell by the wayside as the familiar sound of feet on the move met her ears. Refocusing in the direction that the scout retreated in, she spotted a troop of fighters headed her way. It didn't take a genius to guess their intent.

The Boss suggested fighting them, but that struck her as a hot-blooded and asinine solution. These people were supposed to be, from what she understood, allies or at least contacts. Any sort of conflict between them would lead to nothing but problems: strained relations, casualties, foes taking them by surprise or making advances during the infighting. Azura sensed that her time had come; an opportunity lay to take out three birds with one stone.

Ignoring the Boss's quibbling about team names, she stepped forward in front of the rest of the group. The Stormcloaks were still far enough to give her a brief moment to do what she needed, and Azura did not intend to waste it. Holding her lance horizontally against her thighs, she bowed in the soldiers' direction, and called out. “I am Azura, from the kingdom of...” There came the briefest pause. “Hoshido.” She straightened up, and dropped the Blessed Lance in the snow. The Stormcloaks were getting closer, not yet convinced. ”We wish to parley with your leader. There is no need for violence, or fear. This is for you: a token of peace.”

This is the moment. She cleared her throat, and began to sing. Her soft voice rang with astonishing clarity through the frigid air, rolling across the snow like the first sunbeams of a brand new day. For a couple seconds she sang without words, but carefully-chosen lyrics began just after.

“In endless dreams, countless realms collide
Hope falls only to rise like the changing tide
But all dreams come to an end,
A light lost to time, just whispers on the wind.”

Beneath her heavy winter clothing, her pendant glimmered. Her song soothed the mind of all who heard it, calming the urge to fight and allowing stress and fatigue to slip away. It did not force compliance, like a siren's song, but rather invited serenity and appreciation. If it ensnared the eye and enchanted the mind, it was because her performance possessed true beauty and grace, not because of some sinister magic. When she finished, Azura could not help but to gasp at the sting of pain in her heart that followed. It clawed at her from deep within, a brief but acute attack on her soul. She knew its origin, but could never speak of it. Once the moment passed, she opened her eyes to stare out at the soldiers with a gently sorrowful face. Every warrior in their camp must have heard her song, but if it did not quell the fighting spirit of those just in front of her, she could not be assured of her own survival, much less the success of her mission. This was a test—to see if the outpouring of her heart held true in this world as much as it did her own.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Nice post @Lugubrious! One problem though, you forgot to mention the giant Evelyn-crafted monstrosity that burst through the brick wall of the warehouse to enter the fray (which also roared in a fashion I believe).

Seen here.

@yoshua171

Thank you for looking out for me. If you look again I did mention Evelyn's monstrosity, though I didn't mention breaking through any walls.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Tension continued to mount, and the Margrave's inscrutably handsome features bore an expression ever grimmer. As he waited for some sort of plan of action, the ego-rending words of Chatterbox continued to fly. Could this be my nemesis? the daring vagabond pondered to distract himself. A villain who, having acknowledged the vast gulf of power and skill between himself and the legendary Margrave, seeks to whittle down my courage through sheer loquaciousness? Who is this man!? He tried to keep alert, but it proved difficult as the feeling of helplessness mounted. I cannot sit here sputtering any longer. Even if it be foolhardy, I have to act! To extinguish this derision and demonstrate my vaunted prowess! He grit his teeth and rocked forward off the wall, ready to stand and do something.

Then a pair of roars shook the premises, one not long after the other. Surprised and, for a brief moment, possessed of clarity of thought, the Margrave twisted around and peeked his head up to peer into the warehouse through the window he and the Wards' leader hid beneath. His eyes locked on to the titanic frame of a great reptile, its fangs large as knives and its scales tougher than crocodile hide. Though far bigger than the turkey-sized velociraptor, it didn't stand quite as high as the awesome Tyrannosaur, though that wasn't to denigrate its fearsomeness. A primeval carnotaur...? the Margrave found himself wondering as it rampaged into the warehouse interior, attacking the Community evildoers with wild abandon and -more importantly for him- seizing their attention. Alongside it was a far more otherwordly beast, a six-limbed monster that could only conceivably be attributed to Tulpa. Though he'd borne a grimace only seconds ago, the Margrave found himself grinning. ”The enemy is in disarray. 'Twould seem they're not quite living up to the hype. Come to think of it, if they really were that strong, would they need to rely on intimidation tactics? I feel as though a great burden has been lifted off my shoulders.” He spoke quickly, aware of how inappropriate a dramatic monologue might be at the current moment. The impetus to act remained with him, after all, and he was loathe to waste such a perfect opportunity. From the shouting he heard earlier, he supposed that the dinosaur was in fact Tiger Lily, but even still he felt it ill-advised to risk jumping in alongside his new, carnivorous ally, or Tulpa's nightmarish projection. No matter—from a distance, the Margrave was an even greater threat.

When the call went out and Messiah began to move, the Margrave advanced just after her. From his heavily-laden coat he produced the toy gun he brandished in the mission prior, which promptly reverted to a MAC-10 in his hands. Rubber bullets or not, it would do some damage, particularly to enemies focused on a monster from the distant past. Perhaps I've been overthinking things. Bullets, applied tactically, solve a miraculous amount of problems. He stopped just after following Messiah through the doorway, and while she went ahead he trained his submachine gun on the group of baddies from behind cover. Lillian will shrug these off, he reminded himself as his index finger slid onto the trigger. ”Laying Waste: Opportune Burst!” he muttered through his smile before squeezing the trigger, sending a spray of bullets in the direction of the foe.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Slayer
Level 5 || Day 3 – Morning || On the Doom Train
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (16/50)
Word count: 596

Claws of keratin met claws of flame, sending up sparks as the two sets of weapons slid off one another rather than clanging together. The tremendous momentum of both combatants carried through to strike the other's chest, and the next instant the force slid the two apart. Thanks to the odd impact, their slashing blows managed to convey pushing power rather than cutting power, creating the distance between them. Slayer glanced down at his chest, then at his lupine opponent. Some satisfaction tickled him as he noticed that Warwick got the worse deal out of their exchange by a long shot, but the damage to his suit jacket and tie disgruntled him to such a degree that any joy was buried. Complaining could come later, however; for now, Slayer had a fight to win. Through gritted teeth, he told the werewolf, ”I admit I respect your ferocity, but I've gotten a bead on your one-track mind. Steady yourself; this may get rough.” He clenched his fist and began to move.

The next second, the PA sounded off once again, interrupting the four-way fight. Its first words brought an official end to the warm-up battle. With a wry smile, Slayer relaxed his stance, slipping his hands into his pockets. ”Color me surprised that you lot would think so little of us,” he told Warwick, who turned his back and limped away in a huff. One by one the other fighters departed, all except the Death Knight, whose approach bespoke of a bonus of conversation. ”Should I have the time, I'd be happy to lend a hand,” he said in response to the warrior's request. His gaze grew more interested as his acquaintance's speech shifted to strategy. An intangible enemy, eh? ”Gracious of you t'let me know. I'll keep that in mind.” With a slight bow of his head, he bid the Death Knight farewell. It wasn't long at all before the train, already slowing down, came to a halt. The nearby doors slid open, and Slayer strode up to the car's edge.

Before him lay a grim vista; twisted black trees, spectral blue flame, a wrought-iron gate, and a house that looked physically warped all screamed 'haunted'. Even the grass, a touch off-color, gave off an eerie vibe. Add to that a miasma of dark mist that made whatever lay on its other side wobble back and forth like jello and the scene could scarcely be more surreal. It made Slayer smile. ”Wouldja look at that!” He allowed the skeletons to lead him out at the head of his group, gesturing to the haunted mansion as he turned part-way around. ”Classic stuff. Perfect blend of barren and spooky, not too heavy on the décor, and the waverin' effect given by the mist makes it seem all dream-like. Jack-O'd have a fit, I'm sure.” He paused in his assessment as the Headless Horseman approached to talk about schedules—both his and theirs. As the Horseman spoke, Slayer adjusted what remained of his tie and dusted his jacket off. ”Six hours? Goodness, I hope it doesn't take that long.” By the time he finished, the Horseman was already gone, and with an ominous whistle the fabled Doom Train was rolling once more.

Slayer stroked his goatee, considering the path that lay before him. ”Hmm...well, we have nothin' if not time.” Holding his labels, he performed an about-face to address the group. ”Are you all well? I failed to pay as much attention to your fights as I should've. If everyone's in good shape, we can proceed with our little hunt.”