Lugubrious

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Let me know if I went too far with controlling small parts of the fight and I'll dial it back.

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

A sidelong glance flew to Ferrian as he commented on the nature of humans. And you're not? Come to think of it, the young man did look a little strange. Either way, no time could be spared at the moment for such considerations. Every adrenaline-filled second spent waiting to skedaddle increased the likeliness of taking a full helping of iron to the guts. Rionach's look turned aghast when Luna suggested that Kazador joined them. “If they come with, we'll be targeted!” she said through gritted teeth, in a low but urgent voice. She really did not want to antagonize the dwarves in any way, especially since they'd been so accommodating, but the fact remained that her best chances did not include them. An attack made the next moment by an Archanean soldier illustrated her point. Thankfully, Kazador defended himself, and then elected to fight with his own crew. A brief sigh of relief escaped Rionach's lips, though it turned to annoyance as the overdressed sellsword spoke down on her. If the situation weren't so chaotic she might have talked back, but for now she zeroed in on the royals siblings of Askr, who were ready to depart. Given the chance to flee by the troop of dwarves, the bunch of misfits made tracks.

Their path to safety ended up bringing them face-to-face with another melee. Even Rionach, with her lack of battlefield experience, could identify the Varjans. With the suggestion of a detour on her lips, the spearwoman turned to look for another route, only to spot another regiment hot on her group's heels. The words they called out made Rionach's blood curdle, part of it from anger for General Luna's shortsighted invitation of vengeance. Before anything could happen, the merchant of all people offered a makeshift battle plan, splitting the forces like a seasoned tactician. Of course, Anna's scheme left out the majority of people present, leaving them to decide for themselves. As dangerous as it would be to turn her back on armored barbarians, Rionach liked her odds against the sword-wielding Archanean soldiers better, since her spear afforded her an advantage—besides, if the Paladin were to change his pursuit into a cavalry charge to disrupt her team's ranks, they'd need a spear to stave it off. That much, Rionach knew from her many hours spent chatting up veterans of war in pubs and inns. Rionach nodded, committed to the idea. If her choice ever came into question, self-defense would be her excuse, though with any luck she would never need answer for this fighting.

As she hefted her spear and faced the incoming Archaneans with a battle-ready stance, she became aware of fighting behind her and a flash of light. The sound of raging fire followed suit, but as curious as she was, Rionach could not afford to split her attention. Isolated as they were, the dwarves had no choice but to fight to the bitter end, and as the last fell the enemy advanced once again, fresh blood splattered across their weapons. Two approached her, one a few feet in front of the other. Take the initiative. Element of surprise. Clenching her teeth, Rionach planted her weapon's butt in the ground, pulled, and then jumped. Her spear's shaft bent before straightening with a snap, sending its wielder up and forward in a flip. In the heat of the moment she couldn't think of anything more articulate than “Rrragh!” as she slammed her weapon down during the end of her vault, aimed at the head of the first soldier. With a halberd such a move might have been deadly, but with a spear it wouldn't do much more than stun him, though that meant a quick kick to his chest would keep him indisposed for a moment. That meant, however, that Rionach was still gathering her balance by the time the second soldier reached her. She aimed a thrust at Rionach's torso, which the highlander attempted to parry by knocking it to the side, but her desperate attempt to defend meant a likely miss. Hell! Is this it?!

From the direction of Luna, axe flew into the other woman from the side, cutting into her studded-leather spaulder and dangling there. The impact and subsequent wait shocked the soldier enough to give Rionach the chance she needed. Holding her spear sideways with both hands, Rionach rammed into her opponent, toppling her over. From there, a thrust to the unprotected thigh should render her down for the count. Luna appeared to retrieve her axe, but the next moment the pegasus rider from earlier made a play at the enemy leader only to be stuffed by a single attack. Rionach jumped back, feeling overwhelmed from too much happening at once as well as the arrival of additional soldiers. As another two swordsmen approached her, testing her extended guard with swipes meant to knock her speartip aside, she found herself driven back toward the wall of the pass. Jabs could ward them off, but any committed thrust would give the other soldier a chance to get into close range, bring the fight -and Rionach's life- to a quick end. The soldiers seemed to know it, while Rionach herself had no clue how to deal with this without the element of surprise.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The Lady in White & the Fungal Knight

Location: Kno One / City Street
@Lazo@Gardevoiran

Though they felt far longer in the head of the moment, Pithy had solved in a span of a couple dozen seconds a critical situation that would have spelled death for any less of a genius, any less of a sorceress, any less of a contender.

“Hm.” The voice came in the silence that followed his test subject's wry comment and visible hesitation, tinged with a sort of allowance. “...Impressive. It seems that to make proper use of this power, I must be more creative.” A loud crack resounded throughout the restaurant, heralding the appearance of a large, stark white fissure in Pithy's inverted ice umbrella. Though in nature such a sound typically precluded the breakdown of a whole glacier, nothing else followed this crack except a snicker from the disembodied voice. “Hmhmhm. Perhaps the adage is true: it's how you use it that counts. I will keep my end of the bargain, Pithy.”

In front of her, the door swung open. At the back of the utility room, with his back to a couple of pipes, was Nero. A tight black band, one of the restaurant's napkins, wound tightly around his head to cover his eyes, and upon closer inspection his hands proved to be tied behind his back to a pipe that disappeared into the floor. He stiffened when the cold air streaming in fell across his skin, mouth twitching into a weak smile. “You made it, huh? My hero...I can't help but feel as if I've been thrust into a deeper hell, all of a sudden.”

Around the two, a new change began to spread over the walls. They began to rot, growing thin and neglected, with holes suddenly appearing like tears in stretched-out cloth. Behind Pithy, the door fell off its hinges and rusted away to nothing; a loud and startling smashing noise rang out as her icy barrier hit the ground, scattering its degenerating pots and pans everywhere. Through the growing gaps all around, Pithy could see the entire restaurant wasting away. “Hmhmhm. Have fun with the woman you tortured, traitor. If you survive, cherish the time you have left. As for you,” he addressed Pithy, his tone lightening a touch. “Though I'm a professor, I daresay I learned more during this experience. There's no particular reason we'd meet again, but if we do, I hope it will be without confrontation. If you try to interfere with our business, though, I won't pull my punches. Perhaps you got a sense that I wasn't being too serious. As for Nero, I hope you treat him exactly as he deserves. Goodbye.”

The voice faded just as the restaurant wasted away in its entirety. When the transformation was complete, all that remained where the premier establishment Moscow Caliber once stood was a condemned, derelict ruin most of the way through the process of being dismantled. Gone also was the omnidirectional pressure of some unidentifiable yet supernatural presence. The restaurant itself might have as well been a mere dream, but as Pithy's bruises told her, it was all too real. Whatever had inhabited this wreck had not just projected illusions, but altered it physically, violating any number of universal laws in the process. All in all, the abilities and properties of the unknown untity made for a difficult-to-comprehend scenario.

Of course, the loss of walls meant Pithy could see outside again, and that both Mountain Dew and Bonesword could see her. Though remarkable to look at to say the least, Bonesword harbored one feature of special implication: a drone hovering around him, oriented exactly in Pithy's direction and reorienting itself whenever she moved.

The Cereal Killer

Location: Oldtown
@Propro

Runch's uneventful journey, made in morose quiet, took him out of the flooded portion of the historical district and into a region identifiable from the streetsigns as 'oldtown.' He passed by buildings of many different periods, distinct in design if not distinguishable by era to someone knew to this particular world. Patiently his drone reoriented itself as he detoured around buildings, guiding him ever closer to the next step on the way to his dream. Every step of the way, however, plagued him with the harrowing memory of what he witnessed; the minutes marching on had yet to deaden the disturbing image his ally's actions. Behind him, nagged by the question of what she was fighting for, trailed Erina. No longer was this any sort of enjoyable competition, especially since she disliked fighting from the first. Though together, the pair of Runch and Erina could feel the pang of loneliness—of being lost somewhere they still didn't understand, unable to do anything about it except to continue walking forward.

Their dogged continuance in putting one foot in front of the other brought them to a plaza just as the sun's retreat behind the horizon turned the heavens orange and pink. Bordered on all sides by various buildings, this place might have been a hub for tourist activity when -or perhaps if- the City of Echoes sustained a populace, but now its cobblestoned expanse lay close to empty. In the quadrant of the place to the arrivals' right, however, a couple of people could be seen from the moment they entered. Both defied understanding at a first glance, requiring a keen eye to make out anything more from the outset than that one appeared to be a female martial artist and the other a male knight. Clad in armor and sporting what looked like a screw through his head, the latter could be seen drilling melee techniques under the guidance of the former, who featured two different metal boots and just one arm.

Even if Runch and Erina attempted to hide, their drone had already gone forward enough to give their approximate position away. Furthermore, the two strangers across the way possessed a drone of their own, which -having exhibited a number of adjustments in the span of a short time previously- zeroed in on their location. Both the knight and the martial artist ceased their activities at once, watching the direction indicated by their drone with intent. The same conclusion had befallen both parties: that their next opponents were nearby.

Keeping an eye out, the knight strode over to where a few weapons lay upon the ground, stooped, and picked up both an impressive halberd and a unique shield. The deftness with which he handled both betrayed expertise in the field of arms, and the stance of his companion -even though casual- suggested a readiness to spring into action at the drop of a hat. Given their current position, a surprise attack without the use of accurate, long-range attacks was implausible, so they held their ground and waited to see what their new acquaintances would do.

The Book Keeper

Location: Flooded Historical District
@BCTheEntity

When Crue's former allies disappeared from his sight, he stood alone once again in the City of Echoes' Historical District, with only his Stand for company. Upon his return to the inn, he found it vacant as always. Behind the few locked doors lay possessions without owners, mildewed and dusty. Piles of black rubbish marked the places where abandoned bits of food rotted some time ago, their smell as lost as their shape. In the kitchen freezers, savable victuals remained for consumption, though nothing that would satisfy the specific palette of a vampire. Though the inn provided a good avenue for rest and relaxation, and a decent place to spend time, it was lacking in many respects, yet suitable for a man who lacked much also. Now, most of all, Crue lacked a purpose, and this place secreted away none to provide. With his soul trapped in a device that could render him barely able to fight with its holder, he could not win the tournament to gain his one wish, and if there existed a way back to his home, he would not find it in the Historical District. If anything presented a solution, it was -maybe ironically- the Inquisitional College on their island across the city. The city itself, of course, wasn't an issue so long as the great chasm that divided Uptown from Downtown remained, as witnessed by the vampire the night before. On the other hand, a man of learning might wish to wrinkle out the secrets of this extraordinary city, for how could there be a more magical or mysterious place?

Though the inn served as little more than a comfortable dead end by itself, it lay at a proverbial fork between many roads that lay before the man known as Motley Crue. If a selection was to be made, it demanded rumination.

The Murder

Location: Street Mall
@Propro

Still sporting a wide, toothy grin, the fat man replied with what must have been intended to be a disarming laugh, had he any semblance of charm. “Bahahah! Might not look it now, but I have plenty of customers! Over three dozen, whether they know it or not! They just have to find me. I've got something everyone needs. You, my friend, are a lucky man” As the shopkeeper continued to speak, his accent became more apparent, though that wasn't to say that Samuel could figure it out. It was a bizarre thing, possessed of a couple different inflections -Chinese, Russian, Japanese, Italian, even German- all combined into one strange, bassy dialect only describable as 'ambiguously foreign.' When Samuel indicated the animate art monster, the man followed his gaze, then waved a hand at it dismissively. “Naaah! They're not here for me. Everything with its purpose, yes?”

He chuckled again, then swept his hand over his wares before crossing his arms. “So, anything look good? You strike me...er, rather, I mean I have a knack for telling things about people, and you strike me...as a troubled man, mister! Something painful deep inside.” A look of sympathy passed over his face, and he strode out from behind his stall to stand next to his visitor, like a family member trying to help him find a sale. “Right? I am sure of it. One of my fine treasures here can bring you peace. For you, my friend, I'll make a bargain!” Grinning once again, he clapped Samuel on the shoulder.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Though satisfaction at a job well done coursed through the Margrave at a job well done, something else made an impression on him as he watched his hurled car's handiwork in action. The clones obliterated by his oh-so-clever projectile did not blink out of existence or dissolve into mist; instead, they burst. Bones crunched, blood splattered, and organs were jellified. For a fraction of an instant, every ounce of horror from a catastrophic car crash appeared before him, but the next instant they were gone. Flinching, the Margrave narrowed his eyebrows. He ducked behind cover as someone else he didn't recognize, likely one of the villains he'd been sent here to stop, proved himself a temporary ally and a rival all at once by turning his own massive strength on a train car, which he hurled at the enemy in short order. It, too, left in its wake a trail of stomach-turning carnage, leaving the Margrave queasy and thankful that the light in the warehouse wasn't too good.

That's...worse than lifelike...God, it's pure awful. Those people better not be real. I've got to trust in Decoy. He knows me, wouldn't tell me to go lethal on real people. He reassured himself over and over again, alternating between inner expressions of confidence that the individuals he'd reduced to smears in mere instants were not real, and that if they were Decoy could be blamed. When he saw the leftover chunks melt into unidentifiable mush after a couple handfuls of seconds, he shook with relief. His deathgrip on his MAC-10 relaxed somewhat as he scanned his surroundings. There seemed to be no end of the copies, but none were focused on him at the moment now that Jason stole the spotlight. Momentarily clones. Not real. Like clay dolls. Still, I don't know if I'd be able to do that again, even if I had another car. Going to retrieve his old one was an option, but before he could begin planning a route toward it in the chaos, the sound of a real gun firing jolted him into awareness.

He peeked above the crate he hid behind, trying to figure out the shooter and any victims. As much as he liked his MAC-10, he knew that engaging someone with a real weapon would be idiotic. Superpowers were all well and good, but a world of strange abilities had only marginally diminished the terrifying lethality of guns. Try as he might, however, the Margrave couldn't find a target. There were simply too man clones, both on their feet and on their backs, waiting to despawn like video game enemies. As he hunched back down, his communicator came to life with the voice of Messiah, calling for a retreat. For about two seconds, the Margrave thought about the current situation, what with the impossible odds and indiscriminate use of both powers and firearms; in the end, an antihero -unburdened by the brash courage of the zealous do-gooder- need not risk annihilation in a doomed standoff. He opened his mouth to ask where Messiah was, only to feel a sudden wave of heat as a stray beam of energy singed the loftiest portion of his 'do. “...My curiosity is satisfied.” Once again he popped above cover, his eyes on Tulpa's monstrous projection. To him, it posed as much of a threat as the villains and the clones, even if its master stood alongside him as an ally. Speaking of which, where is everyone? He'd been near Messiah when he entered, but have stayed by the main door when she went off, he'd been alone for some time now. How long had it been? Minutes? Seconds? With his dander up, the Margrave felt like every moment lasted a millennium.

The reverse held true for the entity he was observing. While he kept on eye on it as he sought a fellow Ward in the tempest of activity, it began to act strangely. Despite that, the Margrave found his attempt at focusing shattered by the sudden and startling scream of the one known as Troll. Her swearing got the gears in his head turning. That gunshot was only a few seconds ago. Did it hit one of her goons? No wait, she's not with the crooks we found here. The only one she's supposedly allies with is 'Overrun', that duplicating tryhard. Where'd he go? There came a crash as the train thrown by Thunderbolt was returned to center, more than likely by one of the power-exhibiting clones. It served to remind the Margrave of his original intent, and what inspired it: the dangerous unpredictability presented by these increasingly divergent clones.

He started to move, dashing along the warehouse walls toward what looked like an escape route. A shadowy man stood there alongside a smaller figure he recognized as Lillian, who was just getting up. Before the Margrave could get close, three clones approached him from the right. Without thinking he aimed at them and sprayed. One took a few rubber bullets to the face and went down, while the second received a couple to the torso and arms before jumping back, in pain. The third, however, took a bullet without flinching, and as the Margrave watched a change spread across him like a ripple in a pond. His exterior reconstituted into a shiny, gray-black substance, not at all unlike the rubber of what hit him. Material absorption? There was no time to ponder. The clone closed in, and the Margrave hopped forward to deliver a side-kick. He felt every ounce of power drain from his leg the moment it made contact, its force absorbed by his foe's body. ”Rogue!” He barely got his arm up in time to prevent a rubbery fist from clocking his temple and taking him down for the count. Spinning in place, he attempted to sweep the clone's leg, only to receive a sharp blow to the back of his head while his back was turned. ”Bah!” he mumbled, seeing stars. Not such a good trick.” There was no time to think of a counter to this clone's ability, so he simply dove at him. Not expecting the sudden onslaught, the clone toppled beneath his weight, and as it hit the ground the Margrave landed on top of him and, in a rather comical fashion, bounced right off.

With a crack he landed on a nearby crate, back-down. The sturdy construction did not buckle beneath him, but instead inflicted a fresh burst of agony all across his body upon impact. ”Guh!” Without even a moment's break, a new roar shook the warehouse—one that penetrated every fiber of his being, telling him to void his bowels, scream like a girl, and sprint out of the warehouse, in whichever order seemed convenient. By the time his vision cleared, Lillian had fully transformed, and in terrifying proximity to his person. As he scanned furiously for a way out, he noticed Evelyn not too far away. Finally, an ally! We've got to get her projection thingie under control. Yet again, however, he found himself interrupted when he went to yell to her, this time by Evelyn herself. When he followed her gaze, his eyes grew wide and his face grew white -well, whiter- to see her fearsome projection attacking Lillisaurus head-on. He began to struggle to get up, gritting his teeth against the array of aches all over his body, and accelerated his pace when he spotted Evelyn under attack by clones a few crates away. Wait, no—he was also under attack by clones. They'd worked together to scale the meager wooden heights that separated them from the Margrave and were now trying to yank him from his perch, including the pesky rubber one from before. When the Margrave went to shoot them, he noticed that his gun appeared to be missing from his hand. ”Even better!” He kicked one clone's head with all the force he could, stunning him into falling off, but before he could retract his foot a pair of mitts closed around him. ”Dammit!” With a final cry the indisputable badass tumbled from his perch.

For the second time in as many minutes he made a rough landing, though this time the pile of clones he fell upon provided a slightly more amenable option than solid wood. He might have even been able to turn it to his advantage had one clone with glowing eyes not immediately blasted off an explosive burst of force, sending a half-dozen bodies flying like bowling pins after a strike. Flailing wildly, the Margrave's hands closed around the lower bars of a catwalk guardrail, and there they clung with desperate strength. Not a moment later, beams of wrathful power scoured the warehouse interior, ripping through clones and crates alike. With eyebrows raised the Margrave stared at its source: Messiah. ”There you are. I'm glad as hell I ended up up here.” Apparently shocked out of his usual manner of speech, he continued to hold on to the catwalk's underside for dear life.

The roar of fire began to overtake the sounds of fighting, though thankfully not so loud that the Margrave couldn't here his next set of orders. ”Right, yeah, I'm coming.” Clamping his jaw shut, he let go with one arm, and hurriedly rummaged through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. A beanbag fell toward the ground, growing into a full-size cushion as it did, and a moment later the Margrave landed upon it. He rolled off it and jumped to his feet, a bruised but alive and functional mess. From there it was a quick jog to Alessa, Lillian, and the soldiers. He looked around for Evelyn but did not find her, and in his distraction didn't notice the clone who reached his fellow Wards before he did. He witnessed the clone shoot the equivalent of a shotgun blast into Lillian's back, and wordless cry of surprise and anger ejected from his gut. It was followed the next moment by, ”Hey, fucker!” as something snatched from his jacket grew to full size in his hand. The next moment a baseball bat cracked against the clone's head, its force splitting the wooden bat apart, and the clone dropped faster than a convict with cement shoes. A second later the bat clattered to the floor as well. "Ow, ow, ow, gaaaagh!" For a few moments the Margrave could scarcely think thanks to the pain in his hands and forearms, but he managed to compose himself and jog to his teammates' sides. Reaching out as gentle as he could, he attempted to put Lily over his shoulder from the other side and alleviate Alessa's burden. ”Keep it together. We're all getting out alive. We'll be okay.”

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

A winning smile took over Rionach's features as Kazador addressed her. Of course, she couldn't take it as a sign that she'd achieved respect or recognition just yet, since he seemed to be answering nearly everyone, but it was a start. “That's right! Valentia's...okay. Old wounds never truly heal, as they say. As for why I'm here: is it not obvious? To do whatever need be done! There is suffering and misfortune everywhere, and it's a poor heroine who refuses to broaden her scope beyond just one nation.” Though already possessing more to say, Rionach fell silent, her time in the spotlight over with. It wouldn't do to hype herself up in the opening moments of the first act; if her journey of self-aggrandizement taught her anything, it was to carefully balance people's expectations.

Around her, life went on, including the opening of a nearby shop by a merchant of apparent renown. In her travels Rionach had naturally heard of and bought from the Anna sisters. The quality of her goods could never be drawn into question, but a few encounters had fostered a sort of cautious understanding between the two greedy women. Their mutual attempts and getting the most possible out of their arrangements while giving up as little as possible had led to a couple of lengthy stalemates in times past, though to Rionach's shame she had to admit her rival's charisma and business sense far better. Before the gathering crowd could fully block off the view of Anna's stand, Rionach happened to catch her eye, and the pair exchanged a cheery if knowing wave. Though at the moment her inventory could use some restocking, Rionach decided to forego bargaining with Anna for the time being, and not just because she disliked the idea of getting jostled by all her other customers.

Content to sit and watch, Rionach observed each unique individual pointed out by Kazador in turn. The idea of royals traipsing about while some sort of important meeting was going on puzzled her, but questioning them was not the duty of some random traveler. Eager though she might be to spread and make great her name, Rionach knew better than to gain the reputation of some impertinent upstart by trying to cozy up to every notable person she saw. On the subject of who she saw: Rionach's eyes wandered to a little girl and then to a woman she guessed to be the girl's mother, and there her eyes remained. An ever-so-slight grimace passed over her features as she took not of the visitor's appearance. “Hngh.” Damn sorceresses. Bet she's never lacked for people fawning over her a day in her life. Do all stacked women have the dark gift, or does it just make its practitioners more beautiful? Ugh. And she's a mother too, with that figure. Some women have all the luck. Averting her gaze, Rionach stared into the fire. With people like that around, who'd ever look twice at some spear-slinging bumpkin from the mountains? In her contemplation, she missed the stranger's question, though answering it would have strained her manners regardless.

After a few moments her attention turned to another new arrival, this one astride a horse and protected by brown armor. He introduced himself as nothing less than a prince of Renais, but his manner bespoke a disregard for formality and his location of a distaste for diplomacy. This could be an opportunity. A nobleman with connections happy to mingle with common folk. She stood up, using the butt of her spear to help, and gave Marwood a polite bow. Whether or not he cared for such niceties, it could get them talking about customs and things. A good first impression was a must. “Welcome to our little party then, Prince Marwood. The name's Rionach, and I'm glad to have you aboard! Djeld here's prepared tea, if you'd like some.” She produced the cup of tea she'd been given but hadn't actually drunk from, holding it up without holding it out in an effort to offer it without invading personal space.

The next second, the sound of an explosion rocked the camp. Startled, Rionach jumped and fumbled the cup. She grabbed at it as it fell, getting herself splashed with hot tea, but couldn't snatch it out of the air before it hit the ground. “Bollocks!” The shouting reached her as she stooped, leaving her wide-eyed. “They're fightin'!?” she blurted out, more to herself than anyone, as she straightened up. Sure enough, the camp had roared to life, thanks in large part to the inferno that had replaced the generals' meeting tent. “What in Mila's name?!” The sudden realization hit her that any number of extremely important people might have been killed—history was being made before her eyes. Yet, this was one high-profile event she wanted no part of. The noise of battle filled the air, and more out of reflex than desire to fight, Rionach yanked her spear from the ground. Quite keenly she understood that she had no allies here, no side to take. Nobody stood at her back to prevent some random soldier from loosing an arrow or plunging three feet of steel through her vitals. It had always been this way, but never before had she been in a situation in which her singularity might mean her death.

A look of terror on her face, she whirled to face Kazador when he spoke, wary of attack. “I don't know anythin'!” she exclaimed. “The big tent just blew up, and everyone's fightin'!” Based on what she heard, the erupted conflict had two sides split by race, each accusing the other of treachery. She glanced at an incoming human unit whose attention already lay upon the dwarves. Things were about to get bloody, and nothing she could say would stop it. Technically speaking, as a Valentian she should be on the Alliance's side, but turning her spear on the dwarves she's been with moments ago felt wrong. Plus, since she wasn't a soldier, she had no duty to attack anyone. Getting involved with either side would be a huge -and probably fatal- mistake. Yet, turning and fleeing would ruin her reputation and image, barely-established as it was among these people. Her eyes flitted between Marwood, Alphonse, and Sharena. There was only one option: refuge in audacity.

“Your Royalties! Considerin' the confusion and chaos, you should get clear of here immediately! If you're willin', I'll help cover your retreat!” With any luck, they'd realize that they couldn't afford to leap into a conflict with no clear wrong party. They might wonder who the hell this redheaded woman was to be offering them advice and protection, but at the very least it was clear Rionach wasn't a mercenary, and she had a plan if called into question.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Slayer
Level 5 || Day 3 || King Boo's Castle
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (16/50)
Word count: 552

A sudden change in atmosphere brought Slayer's guard up, and with crossed arms the gentleman peered at the specter whose ghoulish face wafted among the vapors around him. He considered experimenting with a fiery punch to the royal apparition's laughter-filled mouth, but the lack of refinement that such an endeavor would suggest bade him push the notion aside. In front of his team, the gates flew open, and with a noise like a monster inhaling an irresistible force yanked the heroes forward, causing Slayer's face to turn from curiosity to annoyance. Not content to pull the would-be intruders onto the grounds, the vacuum persisted in dragging them across the lawn and then inside, giving each one without high defense a severe roughing-up. After tumbling a few feet when the wind subsided, Slayer wound up in a casual position laying on his side, propped up on his elbow. Around him, candles sparked to life in eerie manner, illuminating an interior gloomy and ominous as it was deceptively big. ”I've had a sudden feeling that today won't be so enjoyable, after all.”

He picked himself up and dusted himself off, noting with a sour look the new scuff marks all over his fine clothing. For a few seconds he conducted a physical examination on himself, both to make sure that he'd suffered no injury and to stretch out for the exercise to come.

On the basest level, this castle did not live up to the dimensions its exterior implied, which suggested some form of active distortion. If it were consistent, and the place was merely larger, then the task would be marginally more difficult, but Slayer worried that this place's interior might be mutable according to its deathly denizens' whims. He'd have to assume the former, or no plans he made would be of any use at all. So long as the main doorway stood nearby for reference, even this plethora of doors and hallways didn't seem too unmanageable, but Slayer ruminated that once any interloper took a few turns and things started all looking the same, becoming lost in this physics-defying space would become a serious issue. And who knew what could happen to someone who spent too much time in this place? Traps, monsters, and boredom could very well be the least of a hero's concerns. ”Blasted spirits. There's an etiquette for how to treat guests, very simple. We'll have to treat you in kind.” Turning to address his group, he held up a hand as he spoke his mind. ”So, we've got a potential labyrinth on our hands. In this sort of situation I've seen a fair few people split up, and seldom has it ever ended well for them. At the very least, if we do decide to try and cover more ground ought to have teams of two. It'd be wise to making markings or leave a trail to show where we've been and find our way back; if we get lost, I expect these ghosts'll have a field day with us. For now though, we might as well stay together to see about that big room up ahead. If you have any ideas or strategies, tell me as we walk.” Placing his hands in his pockets, he set off down the main hall toward the sizable, boo-infested room.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Hey I'm sorry, I'm going to have to drop out of this. I've just been incredibly tired lately because of college and stuff, meanwhile this just isn't as fun for me as it used to be. Sorry for wasting so much time, I wish everyone the best of luck though.

@floodtalon

To be honest, I had concluded that was the case some time ago. Hope you find greener pastures elsewhere.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The Lady in White

Location: Kno One
@Lazo

An abrupt clatter resounded throughout the kitchen as Pithy's levitated pots shoved against the pulled-up tile floor, causing the anomalous surface to bend downward like the curled-up edge of a scroll. With only the barest resistance it was smoothed back toward its original shape, not even threatening to spring back into place should the pots be removed as curled paper would. With the entire section of floor cleared out of the way, the sorceress's route to the door leading out of the kitchen lay free for traversal. A noise of ponderment permeated the restaurant as the pots were laid down on the corners of the restored tile. “Hmm! So since I changed it, it lost its status as part of the structural integrity. There are limits to what it can manipulate, after all.”

Anticipating his test subject to head to the door to Nero without delay, the speaker continued. “That's one of my last questions answered. I suppose all that's left is a proper send-off: a brute-force test for both you and me. Let's see now...”

A deafening series of cracks sounded out as frozen bits of kitchenware broke free from the clutches of ice to float into the air. Alongside them, the various implements that formed the boundary walls on either side of the spot where the floor had become a barrier broke formation. Every available object began to orbit Pithy as part of a tumultuous cyclone of metal, pasta, and ice. One second passed amid the constant clamor of objects smacking into one another, then two, then three. After the third moment the entire assortment of cookery rerouted to make a beeline for the center—Pithy herself. A crushing omnidirectional wall assailed her, its force not quite overwhelming, but certainly significant. More worrisome, perhaps, was the makeshift cocoon's resistance to being pushed away. Though individual objects would react to outward force accordingly, they slammed back toward the center like bolts pulled off from a magnet and then released, seemingly singleminded in their collective instinct to squeeze Pithy's life from her body.

Inari

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

Questions swirled in Emile's mind, though none that Lily could answer. First and foremost was the ultimate: would this arrangement hold sway in this interrim world as it did in hers? Given that everything about his own guild worked the same as it did before despite no longer existing in a game world-made-real, he couldn't afford to assume it didn't. Could he swear this oath, and risk losing his power--the power he'd spent so long achieving in Yggdrasil, then truly earning in the new world? He Made as if to speak, stretching out a hand in assurance, but his voice caught in his throat and his fingers curled up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn't trust this Lily. He'd never planned on trusting her, feeling sure that if at any time his goal was in any jeopardy he could simply power his way through. The decision to strike a deal had been borne out of his latent goodwill, and the lack of enjoyment he got from malicious acts, but his goals were the same as ever. They were the ideals of an overlord, the role he'd chosen for himself and grown to fit into: to maintain hold of the power he'd miraculously possessed to protect the fantasy he cared more deeply about than the reality he left behind, to protect the beings who gave him the respect and adoration few ever had in the real world. Without that power, he feared he could not have that life. Maybe the guild NPCs he'd become the master of would maintain their loyalty if he lost his power, including the Sigil of Sovereignty...but maybe they would not. They might turn on him. Even if they did not, he wouldn't be anything like what he once was. Emile knew he could never go back to being a mere man, especially in a fantasy world of magic and monsters.

After a painfully long time, Emile turned up his head, his eyes bright and narrow. "My path is clear. Everything I do is for the sake of my guild—my friends, my family. I won't risk sacrificing a single thing. Your suggestion of this oath implies you don't trust me. Yet, you'll have to trust me if you want my help. As a gesture of good faith, however, I'll tell you my wish. I desire one ability, which I call Dev Mode. It'd be a limited form of reality manipulation, albeit strong enough to protect all I care about and do certain things like reunite me with my old friends. I'm sure it sounds a bit villainous to want the power comparable to a minor god's, but I'm good for it, really.”

The Cereal Killer and the Book Keeper

Location: Flooded Historical District
@Propro@BCTheEntity

Thick as pea soup, the tension between the three contenders standing at the water's edge did not go unnoticed. A few dozen dark eyes bore witness to the death -no, obliteration- of Aralynn Thule, and though the one who watched through them could not bring himself to utter a word, he could find it in himself to make a promise. Erina, to whom he was hardly introduced, need not hear of it. Despite his status as both an honorable foe and the temporary host for Boys of Summer, Runch would not catch wind of his resolution, either. Not even his sister's callous murderer deserved to know. A job was one thing, and a conviction something else, but family something altogether different. He hadn't been oblivious to the risk in this endeavor; he and his sister both knew it. Yet, that did not mean that Motley Crue would escape paying the price for his brutality. Davian would not forget his vow.

Equally responsive was Runch's phylactery, as well as Crue's own, neither of which exhibited any semblance of intelligent response to what either said, including suggesting that Oren was listening in. In Crue's case the dead stiffness of his own heart device implied instead that it was out of order for good.

A few moments passed before it became apparent that to Runch's misfortune, his sincere words fell on no ears but his own, Erina's, and the vampire's. The only indication of any kind given to him came in the form of the drone assigned to him, however nearby with an eye devoid of light. As he moved, it reoriented itself around him to always be facing a certain direction: that which would take him to his next opponent. No other road lay before him on the journey to the pirate's perfect ship, and the sorrow nipping at his heels urged him on his way. However, Crue's final words to the pair did linger after his departure, much like something else that could very well remain close nearby, albeit out of sight to everyday eyes.

The Murder

Location: Near the Village
@Propro

After spending a few moments studying the map in front of him, Samuel's target moved on, rounding the corner to cross the bridge and enter the Village. At the same time, however, something happened with the graffiti beast. For a few seconds the strange shifting appearance around it could be attributed to a change of the light or a momentary blur of the eye, but after that it could scarcely be denied that the street art was moving. Moving as if being repainted frame by frame, it inched along the firehouse wall, its stance growing lower as it did. The next time Samuel blinked, it disappeared, only to be spotted again on a wall a little further down the street. It continued to relocate, bit by bit, until it slipped around a corner and out of sight.

Pursuit of the graffiti beast back into the run-down district would take Samuel on a winding path. Though his supernatural senses made tracking a non-issue, even tracking a nonliving target, the eerie two-dimensional entity never seemed to be making an effort to escape him. It led him through sidestreets and alleyways, some of them bristling with dark shapes in the shadows, but as if warded off by some protective incense they curled away from him at every turn. Not even two minutes into the 'chase' the beast ceased its movement on the side of a run-down shop in a street mall—a roadway converted into sidewalk for pedestrian use alone, its sides lined with storefronts of all kinds. Running down the street mall's center, an assortment of public works like statues and fountains could be seen, but no people...save one.

An old-fashioned merchant's cart stood just in front of a flowerbed, and behind it stood a fat, ugly man. With bristling whiskers, surprisingly well-kept hair, upturned nose, and a larger-than-average mouth, he might have easily been some hooligan from a Saturday-morning cartoon if not for his expensive, gaudy manner of dress. Being a magician, Samuel could recognize the garb of a showman, even one dressed this classily. This fellow seemed absorbed in his wares until Samuel approached, at which he clasped his hands together and gave a nod of welcome. “Good evening, sir!” the man greeted in an amicable though guttural voice. “See anything you like, let me know. I'll get you what you need!”

He waved a hand over his inventory. Beneath the glass in his cart was a variety of items. There appeared to be a notebook, well worn, alongside a crystal ball, a few varieties of lamp, an ornate box, the severed hand of some ape resting upon a cushion, a green mask made of a wood, a statuette of a bird of prey, a hand mirror, and a collection of coins.

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

No matter whose face Rionach looked at in the glow of the campfire, all she saw was bored, uncaring, annoyed, bored, bored. Some hadn't even turned their faces up when she'd split off from the path threading the center of the pass and made her way over into their midst, which perturbed her given the care she gave every day to her appearance. Some nights, she reasoned, even the brightest stars in the sky went unnoticed by people who thought they had better things to do, though even that reasoning's implication bothered her since it suggested that nothing was literally better than paying her attention. After planting her spear's shaft in the ground and beginning a casual lean upon it -for the one who stood tallest would invariably catch the eye, sooner or later- she learned pretty quickly that the group of misfits was uncommunicative as well as unwelcoming. That said, one of their number, a sorcerer judging by his clothing, did begin to fiddle with some herbs and a teapot. She split her gaze between his eccentric expression and the brilliant flames, until a couple of stocky, hairy men strode into the silent gathering to break the ice with a powerful belly-laugh.

Though a bit startled for a split second, Rionach didn't wait long to crack a smile. The dwarf cut right to the bone: this was one awkward encounter. Still, she felt confident and at east, and the others were sure to notice. The notion of making an introduction appealed to her as a marvelous idea, but she caught herself before launching into one—better to wait until a few others had gone, so as to set up a contrast and avoid looking too eager. First to speak was the wizard, his words short and to the point. He made an offering of tea to everyone, and Rionach's wheels began to turn. Strange sort of guy, but good manners. Par for the course for a court mage of some kind. If he's got ties with nobility or some kind of academy, he's definitely worth getting to know! Since everyone's been super stark so far, accepting his tea will show I'm accepting of him, even if I don't drink it, which is probably for the best. Tilting her head slightly in acknowledgment, Rionach gave Djeld a little wave. With a nod of gratitude she received from him a cup, and she knelt beside her upright spear with it held in both hands.

Next to speak up was a mercenary. The words he picked made his profession plain, though that sincerity struck Rionach as just a bit unusual. Though in most cases the truth was easy to see, few mercenaries so barefacedly admitted that they fought for money instead of any principle. Upon closer look, Rionach noticed that his clothes appeared to be of remarkable quality for some footsoldier. Expensive garb. Upright bearing. Either he's an incredible talent, he's from a rich background, or both. Is he trying to convince us otherwise? More than meets the eye. Her attention turned to a third talker, who let slip scarcely more than his name. Try as she might, Rionach couldn't discern much of anything about him, and her focus gradually slipped to the warmth between her fingers. It was a female voice that roused her from her distraction, one belonging to a young woman who made no effort to disguise her high-class attire. In fact, casual dialogue thrown out in the course of her greeting suggested that she held some kind of military authority. For a moment the realization took Rionach aback. Had she wandered into some private meeting? What was a commander doing here, trading pleasantries with seemingly random strangers, instead of in some tent or at some meeting table? Rank and order, I guess?

Following her was the somewhat snappy introduction of a female archer, who revealed with a little attitude that she held the same profession as the Jerod fellow. From Rionach's perspective the two were as different as night and day, but she could not apply any more scrutiny right now. She felt it was time to make her debut. Rising up off her knees, she let go of the tea cup with one hand and put it on her waist, looking around from face to face for the second time. “Hello, everyone! I can see we're a pretty laid-back bunch, so I'll make it short. My name is Rionach, and I hail from the city of Gadanka in Valentia. I'll forgive you if you haven't heard of me, but I'm kind of a big deal. Local heroine, jack-of-all-trades, and super modest, too!” She gave a short, bright laugh at her own joke. “Seriously, though: it's great to meet so many interesting people. I hope I can compare!” With that, she leaned back against her spear -which curved slightly beneath her weight- and pretended to take a drink of the tea.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

With no small amount of pride the Margrave watched his rubber bullets bounce off a number of the criminal scumbags, diverting their focus and thwarting their machinations with painful stings. In mere moments the Community dogs' formation broke apart, perhaps in some small part because of the rampaging dinosaur, and they appeared to be in full retreat. Pulling his free arm around behind his head with his elbow pointing straight up, he leaned back as he blew nonexistent smoke from the barrel of his MAC-10. “Hmmhmm!” he sneered, ”You scatter like leaves. Looks like my darkness was darker than yours!” After his count reached five, he unposed himself and took another look around. Considering the significant threat posed by metas with unknown powers, this situation could scarcely have gone better. ”This situation could scarcely have gone better,” he remarked aloud, poignant and thoughtful. The very next instant, a new voice resounded through the warehouse—female, and oozing with malice. After her initial greeting, he pressed himself against cover while he scratched his head. He could have sworn that he'd heard that voice before, but he could not for the life of him place the source. No matter; if he couldn't remember, it couldn't have mattered.

What did matter was what Troll said next. Maniacal, she spoke of an unknown Father, the prospect of soul-destroying suffering, and -most vilely- families of rats somewhere in the warehouse. Yech. Hate those things. Despite his unflappably cool demeanor, he did in fact jump a little as the doors to the building closed themselves in an abrupt and startling manner, which annoyed him. Hmph. Naturally, the Margrave's body is so trained for survival that it moves of its own accord when confronted with any thread. Steeling himself for some kind of emerging threat, the Margrave awaited what this unknown enemy had in store. In short order she revealed that it wasn't she who would be going on the offensive, but someone else.

The slam of another door drew the Margrave's attention, and he zeroed in on the source. Out onto an elevated catwalk strode an indescribable figure in black, who began to speak without delay. He addressed the Wards in particular, his manner akin to a storied rival's, which struck the Margrave as hilarious as it was inappropriate since now was the first time he could ever remember encountering this villain. Most peculiarly, he picked out Elliot by name, which might have been perturbing had someone by the name of Elliot been present and alive. Unfortunately for this masked menace, there was only the Margrave, and following the word 'edgy' the Margrave's own manner turned critical.

Clones appeared to the tune of wild laughter, and the stranger began his assault. Emerging from his hiding spot into the open, the Margrave extended his whole arm to drive his index finger like a lance toward the vagabond's heart. A contemptuous smile on his face, he opened his mouth wide to heap disdain upon his unworthy foe.

Unfortunately, his words were utterly quashed by those of Chatterbox.

Tapping his foot, the Margrave waited patiently for the irritating man to cease his thundering. A couple clones charge his position, but an almost-indifferent spray of rubber bullets from the Margrave's firearm told them that this land belonged to him. All the while, he kept his arm out, the finger temporarily held in the upright 'wait' position. When at last Chatterbox fell silent, the floor became the Margrave's once more.

With renewed passion he thrust his pointer at 'Overrun'. ”Whoever the hell you are, you reek of a desperate and pathetic need for attention! You think you look threatening, but I'm more worried about what Hot Topic is gonna do now that some tryhard's bought up all their stock!” At about the same time as that sentence concluded, Tulpa's monstrous projection gave a bloodcurdling roar. Shaking his head, the Margrave raised his voice a couple more notches and bellowed on. ”Normally a great hero such as I wouldn't bother giving such a lowlife the time of day, but seeing as you came all this way, I'll dole you out a fresh serving of justice before you scurry back to your mommy's basement!” The clones were getting closer, and way more numerous, so he wasted no time reaching into his coat to pull out a small metal object. Flicking it up and catching it like a coin, he reeled back like a pitcher preparing to throw a fastball. Decoy's approval of lethal means came about then, which coaxed from the Margrave a wry smile. ”I'm three steps ahead of you, Decoy,” he muttered before raising his voice again. ”Choke on this, wannabe! Rush Hour!”

Every ounce of the Margrave's strength hurled the tiny object at the swarm of approaching clones. For a split second it was no more than a blur. Then it returned to full size, becoming a scrapyard junk car flying into the clone brigade at sixty miles per hour.