Lugubrious

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

Though Rionach couldn't boast of a thorough knowledge of the man introduced to her as Jerod Staudinger, she got the distinct impression that he would not react well to the titles 'problem child' and 'delinquent noble'. She shifted nervously. Status might protect Keerin and the rest of her group, but even with her self-proclamation of heroism, the Valentian doubted any of them would forgive a verbal misstep from someone like her as easily. Distancing herself from the bad blood brewing between Jerod and Keerin, she focused on Jarde, and after a few moments noticed that he was studying her. Her eyebrows rising just a touch, Rionach adopted a cautiously optimistic expression. Perhaps he remembered?

His next words told her as much. Of all the reactions to have, however, she had not at all expected him to be abashed. Still, his apology shocked her more. How was a blue blood in any way beholden to her? Either this prince endeavored to hold tight the principles of formality, despite his appearance, or...could he think highly of her? Rionach rushed to quash the notion. He must be buying into the heroine deal, that's all. I need to be sure to act the part. Well, I am something of a heroine, but maybe not as much as I've said I am. She swallowed, a stinging sensation running through her mind, when Jarde told her to think nothing of his rescue. “Ah! Yes, of course. Comrades looking out for one another.” She did her best not to look put out at all. “S-still...ahem. Still, it would not be right for one such as I to walk away without paying you back. No good deed should go unrewarded—that's the hero's way. It'd be a cruel world, otherwise.” Her spare hand formed a fist that came to rest on her hip, cutting a suitably heroic figure despite the baleful, withering look of Merilia.

Rionach, hearing her name, attended Keerin. The Sage imparted a troubling truth, one that had darkened the doorstep of the spearwoman's consciousness already, but one she'd been too distracted from to give proper attention. Valentia could be in grave danger. Before she could stop herself, Rionach envisioned Gadanka in flame, the handiwork of the craftsmen crushed underfoot and the herdsman fleeing to avoid being slaughtered like the animals they kept. Despite herself Rionach shivered, calming her imagination by reminding herself about Valentia's great army, and by focusing on Merilia's voice. A sudden shift seemed to have taken hold of the acerbic blonde, who considered cooperation with Rionach in preventing war from ever reaching a Valentian front. Though wary of some sort of trap, the spearwoman allowed her head to nod. “...Yes, that would be ideal. I thought as much myself, of course. We might not have gotten the whole story when chaos broke out last night, but we were at 'ground zero' so to speak. If we can put a stopper in this...calamitous brew, I need never worry for my homeland. And of course, the world would know our names!” A resolute grin had taken hold of Rionach, though inwardly she could barely keep herself from shaking. There was only one option here, one she knew well but had never before used with stakes this high: refuge in audacity. From now on, there could be no Rionach: Peasant Footsoldier. These people would come to know her as nothing less than Rionach: Hotshot Heroine.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Slayer
Level 5 || Day 3 || King Boo's Castle
@Zarkun @Majoras End @Tenma Tendo @ONL
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (18/50)
Word count: 502

An expression as guarded as it was exasperated overtook Slayer as his group closed in on its target. Around them, the darkness had coalesced into an impenetrable haze with a clear border beyond which no light seemed to exist, save for similar well-defined circles of light around various candlesticks. The gentleman did not appear frustrated, however, until he needed to stop himself from stepping over the edge of a tremendous abyss where the floor of the central chamber should have been. A quick look down confirmed no end in sight, and the bothersome sight restriction left no suggestion of where to go for the moment. For want of an option the vampire looked around at the spherical, rather harmless-looking specters floating around. It took him but a moment to discern that when his gaze fell upon any one of their number, that ghost shied back, trying in vain to hide its scrunched-up face behind tiny, stubby arms. ”Bashful? Slayer ruminated aloud. An idea struck him, and -figuring that it couldn't hurt to try- he lashed out with a backhand into empty air, the speed of the blow igniting momentary purple flames.

”Hullo, fine spirits,” he greeted. ”You lot seem nice enough, so I'd rather that we part ways as civil acquaintances, but if you insist on hounding us I'll be forced to banish you to the afterlife with my Spectral Hellfire!” For a brief moment Slayer swapped out his calm, amicable face for a dangerous leer, but he could keep it up for a few seconds only. The thought of what he must have looked like made him want to chuckle, but for the sake of his bluff he steeled his countenance.

Crossing his arms and looking back into the void, Slayer noticed that what he assumed to be ghostly lights were in fact pitiful lights giving away the locations of a number of platforms, suspended above the darkness. The gentleman suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, and affected a resigned inclination of the head in its place. ”I suppose it can't be helped, hm, lads? Alley-oop!” Ruffling his dignified composure, Slayer leaped forward, windmilling his arms and legs no small amount. His mental calculations proved sufficiently sound when his pristine Oxfords tapped against his nebulous target's solid surface, and to an untrained eye the gentleman appeared to be perched upon the Stygian black itself. He beckoned to the others, though Heavy's physique did not fill him with confidence in terms of acrobatic accomplishment. ”No time to waste. If you need help making it the full distance, jump my way and reach for my hand. I shall catch you.” Heavy, of course, was the chief recipient of his offer, but it occurred to Slayer that Six might need a hand as well. Now that he thought of it, actually, he hadn't thought much of Six for some time now. He cast an eye around the feet of his comrades, searching for a spot of reflective yellow. Where could she have gone...?

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Elliot's stupor, half contemplation on the night's events and half nigh-comatose delirium, remained throughout his stony-faced, staff-assisted stroll, up until the moment he recognized what was about to happen. Like a bolt from the blue it pierced his haze, and devious smirk overtook his features despite the fatigues that kneaded his mind.

From the staff member offering the prompts, there came a muffled groan of disbelief as Elliot appeared before him. After a moment, the agonized voice asked him, “Isn't it past your bedtime?”

Before a nanosecond could pass Elliot burst forth with a breathtaking tirade.

“What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.”

Pure malice dripped from the operator's words as he snarled, “Go on ahead. Asshole.”

Elliot looked as though he'd made the single greatest achievement the world had ever known. His face, somewhere between a goofball's idiotic grin and the expression of unmitigated bliss an exhausted man sliding into a hot tub ought to wear, signaled a man thoroughly pleased with himself. “Hahah. Aren't the passcodes great? And totally necessary?” He then trudged into the meeting room, seated himself, and steeled himself to face Director Kens.

He kept quiet, his face pronouncedly less self-satisfied as it had been when he entered, while Lillian, teary-eyed, said her piece. Since nobody else seemed eager to make sure Kens was off their back, Elliot decided to weigh in next, his voice grim. “Don't know the full story, but yeah, we weren't the only ones with eyes on that place. Some loony woman...uh, Troll, was it? She sicced some freakazoid on us who could make clones that got their own random powers. That backed us and the Community bozos into a corner, so everyone went nuts trying to survive.” A pitying look went Lily's way after that, though not in intentional connection his previous statement. Elliot couldn't call himself a compassionate antihero, but he felt bad that Lily seemed to be taking everything so personally. This mess wasn't her fault any more than it was his—and in no conceivable reality was it his fault. Saying anything construable as gushy now, however, while under review of the Director, did not seem wise.

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

A nervous silence occupied Rionach during the first portion of her trip as a part of Prince Jarde's party, though her inner thoughts swam with turmoil. Over and over again the embarrassing scene from last night played in her head. There she'd been, kneeling in front of someone she'd just offered her service to, and his response: nothing. She might have just as well not existed.

He hadn't stopped her when in the morning she, presuming his lack of denial a roundabout form of acceptance, tagged along with him, but his total lack of response to her sincere pledge rattled her. Even if those she met were not impressed with her appearance, attitude, or history, they typically told her so. Never before did someone greet what she was positive had been a heartfelt declaration with indifference. When he did speak several hours down the rode, Rionach jolted to attention as though she'd been shocked with Elthunder. Jarde asked for an introduction, and the redhead blanched. Could I have really forgotten? No way. If I didn't say anything, it was because I was intimidated! He didn't look like he wanted anything to do with me last night! By the time she composed herself, the more important-looking individual out of her and Jerod had already given his name and a short response, which was just as well. In the pecking order, commoners went last—of which she appeared to be the only one here. No matter; Rionach would have to keep up the pretense of being a well-known heroine much longer, and hope that she could excuse the lack of battlefield experience that Jarde witnessed in the battle.

“My name is Rionach. A traveling hero from Valentia, hoping to spread my name across the land.” After introducing herself, Rionach felt sure that she had said as much last night by the campfire, before the whole bloody kerfuffle got underway. One by one Jarde's retainers gave their names, and from their manners Rionach could deduce their natures without much trouble. In fact, she found herself stifling a giggle at how blatant the disparity was between them, like something out of a fairy tale. [i]A calm, collected woman all in blue, and a fiery, aggressive woman in red. This prince must have an eye for aesthetics, though not just in terms of theming.[i/] Both the appearance and the attitude of Merilia irked Rionach; her first shared words during this entire trip were of flippant vocabulary and accusatory tone. Did she think Rionach was some sort of assassin or harlot, chomping at the bit to get at Jarde? More importantly: weren't royal retainers, weighted down by the honor of their positions, supposed to be more restrained and subtle? Keerin fit the bill, but if not for the quality of her gear, Merilia could have been some pushy greenhorn high on the sort of unearned authority that one might get from a fledgling city guard.

Making sure not to appear too slighted by Merilia's presumptuousness, Rionach bowed her head. “Never, my lady. I would never impugn on my Prince's honor after he saved my life.” As for whatever implications there might be for another big name from Elibe traveling as a mercenary, Rionach elected to steer clear. Politics weren't her business unless Jarde told her they were. All she needed to worry about now was making a good impression and not giving Merilia the slightest satisfaction.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Knight Sylvestre and the Cereal Killer

Location: Oldtown Plaza
@Propro

A subtle change could be gleaned from the knight in particular as Runch approached. Though he appeared just as guarded, the outright hostility that haunted his features before waned when the captain presented himself openly. Perhaps the vanguard did not lessen his suspicion of an attack, but rather he seemed to respect Runch being up-front with his intentions, whatever they might be. Silence came as the pirate's reply after his introduction, continuing until his request had been extended across the timeworn cobblestone. Eyes still dull, the knight glanced at his comrade, who gave a noncommittal shrug in reply.

Removing a hand from his polearm, the knight reached up to the screw that protruded from his head, and began to finagle it in a casual manner. “Might as well,” he drawled. “Cyril. A vanguard in service of the city Malingurd.” He paused to allow Juniper to introduce herself if she wanted, but she shook her head. Though he'd been the one to reply, Cyril seemed to share her disillusionment with any niceties, evidenced by the almost sleepy, resigned look his affixed to Runch. “Awful carefree for someone who's made it this far in this bloody tournament,” he remarked, “Don't tell me you're enjoying this, pirate?” A detectable undercurrent of bitter scorn affected his voice as he asked, not really caring one way or another if the ridiculous man answered answered.

Beside him, Juniper put a hand on her hip. “Not much use chatting if someone's going to die in a few minutes. Unless you don't actually want to fight?”

“Hah. Nobody's backing out this far in. But you knew that.” Cyril gave a shrug of his own before frowning at the captain. “No need to beat around the bush, pirate. You could surrender your heart to me and join us, but you won't. So whatever we say, we'll end up fighting, and either you'll kill me or I'll kill you.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Maybe the winner will even be the one to survive, get a wish, and realize it wasn't worth it.” Disconsolate, he leaned against his halberd for support, locking eyes with his fellow mustached man. “Make it quick, pirate.”

By this time, two new pages had filled into Runch's journal.

Cyril Boniface
Vanguard knight
Formidable, calculating, relentless, resourceful
Aggressive yet skillful fighting style using everything he and his environment have to offer. Able to give himself a burst of unhindered speed in any direction. Possessed of incredible precision and clarity of thought should the screw in his head be adjusted just right

Juniper
Brawling shrine maiden
Uncompromising, brutal, confident, manipulative
Extreme physical ability that can be even further enhanced in short bursts. Massive prowess as a hand-to-hand fighter. Able to use ritualistic magics to cleanse evil and harness local spirits. Can create and use projected items. Her boots, crafted from the souls of defeated foes, can be used to generate and launch bombs, and to inflict curses that drain life and amplify damage taken, respectively

The Lady in White

Location: City Street
@Lazo

True to Pithy's hypothesis, the drone which had been fighting to maintain a respectful but constant distance from Bonesword now reoriented itself with respect to Pithy. It pointed the way toward the towering highrises and colossal glass monoliths of the downtown city center, their peaks of steel and concrete silhouetted against a sky tinted by setting sun. In the immediate vicinity, however, a number of smaller buildings lined both sides of the street, which itself split into a four-way intersection only a short distance away. With nothing to worry about in regards to trespassing, the small and strange party could pick freely from any option. A row of small apartment buildings, each one a vertical slice of its own style and design, awaited just next to where the space the phantom restaurant Moscow Caliber had occupied, but the ones across the road were nicer. Nestled here and there were a laundromat, a liquor store called Byway Brews, a sit-down pizza joint by the name of Tempting Mister's, a multi-floor book shop with a uniquely creative architecture, and a parking garage. In the direction Bonesword came from, more stark business buildings formed the bulk of the facilities, though a large sign way down the road indicated the presence of a zoo. Across the intersection, one corner was dominated by a gas station -its lot the most open space in the area one could get aside from the roads themselves-, the strange pumping devices of which were new to Pithy. The other corner featured a hair salon and an office, nestled together.

Inari

Location: Deadbeat Sky
@Kapuchu

Singlemindedly, the Umbra led Lily and Brucie through hallways, up and down stairs, and across various rooms. Many of them, the rooms in particular, harbored all kinds of traps and sported various themes, but anything that might have obstructed a passerby's path looked to be in an inactive state. Only floor and wall glyphs responded to the kitsune's approach, divulging the occasional Umbra to stare as the could-be intruders strode past. Though the route could not be said to be anything but intricate, the journey did not last overlong, and when Lily's guide dove into a floor glyph and disappeared, it was on the threshold of a fascinating door. Embedded in the otherwise normal citadel wall was what could have easily been the jagged, uneven stone surface of a tunnel side deep underground, its angular chunks of obsidian dotted with spikes of metal. Recessed into this misplaced outcrop and at the top of a few steps was the door, a simple if appealing and heavy wrought-iron affair that would take a concerted effort to push open if the lever beside it was not pulled, causing a hidden mechanism to crank open the door using a track in the floor.

The workshop's interior stood out as unsettling yet beautiful. It was as if the inside of a cavern, or perhaps the cavity of some leviathan, had been converted into metal and the floor smoothed out. Strangely organic structures of metal, arranged intriguingly alien forms, constituted the walls and furnishings. Tools, various materials and half-finished projects -principally weapons- littered the place. Of special note was the one weapon laid with care against a wall: a weighty brutalizer resembling a pickaxe, though more properly described as a pile bunker on a shaft. The entire room sported a rough Y-shape, with the entrance at one prong. From the right side of the fork came the searing light and heat of a furnace, and the machines preceding it appeared to deal more with the processing and manipulation of raw materials. The fork's other side utilized the entire spectrum, a stunning arcane lightshow emanating from the chamber at its end. Its chaotic, random energies, barely contained behind a magic field whirled and crackled in a tempest of power, and inside that storm a silhouette could be seen. Bipedal, it seemed to be working at some task, but after a few moments it turned to head back toward the workshop proper. As it grew closer, its silhouette became more distinct, taking on the rigid and craggy shape of a golem. Yet, that same inhuman form also appeared to be shrinking, its spikes and disfigurations lessening. In particular, its oblong, three-eyes head rapidly became more ordinary, until the approaching being crossed through the barrier and into the workshop's more normal illumination.

The entity still resembled a golem, albeit one with the texture of gleaming stone, but the material on its head and torso had almost fully dissolved. As Lily watched the last of it faded away, leaving a distinctly human male torso and head. With limbs still of metallic stone, he was clad in nothing more than a wrap around his waist and a belt to keep it in place, if one didn't count the 'S'-embellished eyepatch beneath his rich honey-blond hair, which extended to the small of his back in a thick braid. The complex contraption, with a sparking core of magic, hummed in his left hand as he smiled Lily's way. “So you're the ones,” he murmured before giving a deep, extravagant bow, holding the device to his muscular chest. “Welcome to my home sweet home, sir and madam. My name is Serval, here to serve your every need.” He straightened up, and in an offhanded way chucked his gizmo onto a nearby table. It narrowly missed a pile of similar, more stable-looking ones, and rolled off onto the floor. Serval laughed lightly. “But who am I to stand on ceremony? Just tell me what you need, and I will get to work.”

The Murder

Location: Street Mall
@Propro

Sam's fingers, snuck like snakes into the pocket of the odd merchant, encountered a pile of coins with an audible clink. If their owner took any notice, however, he gave no indication, save perhaps a quiet smirk; his attention didn't deviate one inch from the potential customer before him. “Aha! My friend, it is an excellent bargain for us both. You see, what I want from you in payment is something I believe you want to be rid of. Eheh...it might not have occurred to you, but you carry it with you even now.” Pulling away a short distance, and returning to the back of his stand with a flourish, the merchant held out his hand. “Just slip those sticky fingers into your own pocket and pull it out. I can tell you are no man to be afraid of yucky things, but even so, do not be surprised by its strange shape, nor its stomach-churning writhe. In exchange, any one item of mine is free for the taking.”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious Look, I can't keep not doing anything in this with no action taken on my part. I've been in no mood to keep participating, and frankly, I'm not feeling any motivation at all to post as Motley, especially with most other players at the start of things having vanished by now. I don't imagine my dropping out ruins any significant plot points at this stage, anyway; if it matters, I wish you luck in concluding the game appropriately.

@BCTheEntity

If there's nothing I can do to help, then I thank you for your well-wishes, and for playing. I'd look forward to writing with you again some day.

Project Crossover [Video Game Crossover RP]

Azura
Level 2
Day 3
Location: The Land of Skyrim
Experience: |||||||||||||||||||| (0/10)
Word Count: 531

Even with her low vantage point, Azura quickly became aware of the firepower her new allies possessed. Taking the enemies, too self-sure in their newfound armament to be cautious, by surprise, the heroes routed the Forsworn in just a couple minutes. When the bombardment stopped and the songstress deemed it safe to rise from the snowy bed where she’d thrown herself, she spotted a number of fresh carcasses starting to frost over where they fell. She found herself giving a nod of acknowledgment. “These advanced projectile weapons seem to increase the pace of battle several fold. They kill with…frightening efficiency.” One could only shudder when imaging such weapons introduced into her world. In the wrong hands, they could lead to slaughter on an unprecedented scale. Now more than ever, Azura felt determined to bring the confluence of worlds to an end.

Around her, the Stormcloaks hustled about, gathering the fallen equipment. Though none of them seemed to notice Azura except to move around her when she happened to block one’s path, she hastened to escape the commotion and join the group gathering around the warriors’ leader, Ulfric. She responded to his proposal of retirement to the fortress with a nod, and prepared to follow him. Only then came the crashing sound of thunder to split the sky, yet without any lightning in sight. Azura froze when a chorus of ethereal voices followed the thunderclap, the words rolling across the land in an unfamiliar tongue. Bemused and alarmed, the songstress looked to Ulfric for explanation, and once he had the heroes’ attention he obliged them. Eyebrows furrowed, Azura listened in rapt attention.

The Stormcloaks’ commander did not give an explicit declaration about the Greybeards themselves, but his reverent tone spoke of some great authority, one seldom seen or heard but respected nonetheless. From the name, Azura pictured a conclave of old sages, and from the magnificence of their Shout she could intuit that they possessed power to back up their perceived status. To her, the answer seemed clear; to put down the foreign threat facing this world, the heroes needed every advantage, and could not afford to ignore a call from such an important group. It appeared, however, that not everyone shared her sentiments. After spending a few minutes in an irrelevant debate with his handler, and then finally falling silent through the explanation, the President decided to interject that he wouldn’t help in the slightest. What else is new? Azura barely contained her disdain, instead taking the path of a reasonable explanation. ”Boss, these ‘Greybeards’ are clearly more important than a group of ancient civilians. Ulfric spoke of them almost like gods. Since we would encounter danger anywhere we go, Hrothgar or Markarth, it would be wise to heed the call of this authority. They might be able to give us vital information, or a way to defeat the ‘Steel Gods’.” She leaned on her lance, glancing around for support among the other heroes. “Given our situation, ignorant of this world and our enemy, we should take every advantage we can. Even if the Boss would rather sit this journey out, we have been summoned, and should answer.”

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

Rionach

---

The sudden interjection of a fellow lancer turned the entire situation on its head. With both enemies' focuses diverted due to Jarde's arrival, Rionach enjoyed the opportunity to maneuver herself away from the cliff wall. With the dangerous prospect of a two-on-one erased, Rionach could re-engage the fight with complete confidence. Though she could not afford to take her eyes off her foes' blades for any longer than a split second, the brief glance she managed to get at her rescuer confirmed that he, too, seemed to be a blue blood. That's some luck! As long as we survive, of course. Jarde's status didn't go unnoticed by the sword-wielding soldiers, either. They stood at the ready, far enough apart so as to be able to prevent any attempt to surround them. Rionach kept still, spearpoint forward, as the prince interjected an idle comment into the midst of battle. Confident enough to be chatty, huh? She didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. Either way, this shouldn't be too difficult. “Yes, sir!”

Without further ado, she lunged forward, and Jarde feinted a thrust before bringing his lance around in a heavy sweep. Rionach's spear sped in before the swordsman could reorient his shield, and a painful jab to the upper thigh came before the shield could repel it. With an iron grip the spearwoman pulled her weapon back, returning it to neutral position to ward off a counterattack. Meanwhile, Jarde's sweep knocked his adversary's sword aside, leaving his shield out alone. A followup bash with the butt of his lance to the side of that shield sent the swordsman spinning a half-turn sideways, and from there a kick to the torso opened the way for a finishing blow to the ribcage. By that time, Rionach was already breathing heavily, having to avoid and block a number of slashes from her enemy, each carefully calculated to not overswing and leave an opening. Desperate for a way in, Rionach changed her stance to hold her spear with both hands above her head, the point at a downward angle, and she made a jab at the foot. Anxious to avoid another potentially lethal hit, the swordsman flinched, then -realizing his mistake- threw caution to the wind for an overpowering charge.

Not expecting such a bold move, all Rionach could do was hold her spearhaft horizontally to catch an overhead strike that might have otherwise split her collarbone to navel. The swordsman did relent, and bulled forward with superior weight and strength. Rionach stumbled backward, all her focus and energy expended on just remaining standing, until a final shove sent her sprawling. Out of sheer luck, the butt of her spear stuck on the ground, propping her up for a split second. Before her relatively-untrained mind could race to think of a way to capitalize on the situation, however, the swordsman was upon her. A thrust would have killed her then and there, but her foe -his enthusiasm perhaps overpowering his reason- went with a wild horizontal slash. At the last moment Rionach managed to hold up her forearm, and the blade caught equal parts pauldron and sleeve, stopping in its tracks. The force rattled Rionach's bones, and a blossom of pain shot up her arm, but all she could see was the shield edge rising up to careen toward her face. Before it could, a lance point sprouted from the swordsman's sternum, and with a gasp of agony he slumped sideways.

Jarde pulled his weapon free and held out a hand. With a nervous, numbed laugh, Rionach accepted it and was pulled to her feet. Around them, the battle seemed to have ended for the time being—furious but brief. The Archaneans seemed to be on their way out, their leader presumably dead, while a look at the Varjans confirmed the same. “Whoa. Guess this group's got some real talent.” Embarrassed at forgetting herself, she glanced back at Jarde. As far as she was concerned, he might have as well had a halo above his head. “Er, thank you, sir! You saved my life. I am forever in your debt.” Still jarred, she performed a bow as best she could. To have a royal scion intercede on a mere peasants behalf...she was astounded that any prince would stoop to such a level. It was a footsoldier's job to be expendable, after all, whether or not she actually was one. Everything she'd ever heard about royals indicated that the idea of risking one's neck for the life of a commoner was ludicrous, yet here he was. Still smiling like an idiot, she ran her fingers through her hair, staring at the ground.

A yell rang out the next second, belonging to Anna. Startled back out of her thoughts, Rionach packed up her spear and ran in her direction.

Everything was a dark blur until the misfit platoon came to a stop in a forest, congregating around a stream. The water could have been flowing a little faster for the sake of safety, but thirsty soldiers seldom thought of viruses and parasites. As they alleviated their thirst, the big names spoke one after another, and Rionach listened carefully. For the most part, she snuck glances in wonderment at Ferrian—only once before had she ever seen a Manakete, and even that was from a distance. Fighting alongside one added another point to the list of unforgettable experiences she'd gotten in a single evening. It would have been easier to believe this whole thing was a dream. When Rionach held out a hand, she saw that it was still shaking from the shock of almost dying. Closing her eyes for a moment, the spearwoman took one steady breath after another.

When the question came up of dispersal, Rionach knew she wanted nothing more than to run away from this conflict, and find somewhere safe to live and work until things felt normal again. Then again...wasn't this the opportunity of a lifetime? Her eyes settled on Jarde. Agenda or not, she owed him her life. Fear and doubt whirled about in her mind, but Rionach picked up her spear and approached him before kneeling, head bowed. “Uh...pardon me, sir. I d-dare not presume, but if it please my Prince, I would swear myself to your service to try and repay you for saving me.” The butterflies in her stomach formed a whirling tumult, though Rionach couldn't tell why. This was hardly the first time she attempted to ally herself to someone of note. Was it the lingering shock of battle? It had to be.

Fire Emblem: The Eternal War [ENDED]

We were told not to at some point during construction, then never given the update that we could.

In terms of posting, I'm planning to today.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Like a dying beast, set aflame by its fervent pursuers, the trainyard warehouse let out a final roar before falling to pieces, its insides too incinerated to support its own weight. Margrave, not yet quite gone from the scene alongside his fellow Wards, turned back to gaze into the inferno. Even from here, he could feel the heat on the hairs on his face. What a day—even his imagination could not conjure a clever turn of phrase to describe it any further.

With any flight of fancy wasted, then, Elliot turned his attention to his allies. To put it simply, both Lillian and Alessa were in awful condition, and Evelyn -who joined them a short while after the initial rendezvous- seemed...disturbed. Elliot frowned, eyebrows furrowed. If what she'd seen left her shocked, he didn't know what to say to her. The only path that lay before her, a valley through the depths of this trauma and out onto the plains of inner peace, was to recollect the shattered pieces and forge them together into something stronger. Fighting for what was right, Elliot knew, was not the glorious heroism of cartoons and comic books, but suffering; it was knowing that you would never make a difference in thwarting the evil of the world, and more than likely die nameless, but forging ahead anyway. This was reality. If the Wards didn't know it already, today's events would be a fitting introduction.

While examining Evelyn, Elliot realized how tired he, too, felt. Holding himself together, he continued to help his teammates over to the PRT van, so that they might all be ferried homeward. Only when sure that his aid would no longer be required did the young man allow the haze to overtake him, resting his eyes as he labored to steady his breath.