Avatar of Lugubrious

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Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current Forgotten footfalls, engraved in ash
3 mos ago
Stalling falling blossoms in bloom
3 mos ago
Even if our words seem meaningless
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3 mos ago
Time turning on us always
4 mos ago
Fusing into the unknown

Bio

Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.

Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.

Most Recent Posts

The melee began in earnest. Flesh ripped, cloth flew, weapons scraped against one another, and blood spattered into the thirsty sand. A number of relics, with powers as distinct and far-ranging as those poor Evokers who wielded them, wrought special havoc. Their use demanded a somewhat more defensive bloodbath than one might normally expect from such a barbaric sport, since each so-called demon needed to figure out the others' abilities and work around them, lest their lives be extinguished by some gimmick. It was a task that demanded constant vigilance, yet amid the murderous chaos, a pair of eyes lay not on his fellows.

Harold shook his head, more than dubious, as one of the Evokers called forth blasts of flame against Kheris himself. Fool. Do you think he would be out here if not completely assured of his safety? Even if we can see this tyrant face-to-face, that does not make him vulnerable. It was with resignation, however, that Harold realized a moment later that Kheris appeared to have no particular tricks up his sleeve; he simply remained and withstood the burning onslaught, unfazed. “What a monster,” the foreign scholar bemoaned, making sure to keep his voice low. With a morose look on his face he watched as the executioner appointed by Kheris appeared and swelled to enormous size. Though he'd known it already, Harold couldn't help ruminate over how the god-king's society functioned. Since magic is gone from the world, such a feat is only accomplished by a relic. Since both are Evokers, what is the difference between a god and a demon? Only Kheris' say-so. This realm's law has no principles—just the whim of the powerful. The over-the-top spectacle ended with somewhat anticlimactic suddenness, with the son of Kheris crushing the offender beneath his heel. The other warriors of the arena had ceased fighting, meanwhile, and backed as far away from the colossus as they could. So truncated was the supposedly terrifying execution that Harold almost needed to stifle a chuckle.

What came next, however, made Harold freeze in place, for it was no joke. The tyrant announced that his nation would be going to war, not just with one enemy, but with all the world...a global conquest. When Harold recovered a few moments later, releasing his breath in a wheeze somewhat like a sigh, he bore an expression of amusement rather than grimness. “So it's war, then.” That meant mission complete, though in an odder fashion than Harold would have ever anticipated. To declare global war not with a crippling surprise attack but over a bloody colosseum, with a day for rumors to fly before the first attacks even began...it beggared belief. While Harold knew for certain that Kalnach recognized Kheris as a threat, he could not imagine that the other nations remained ignorant of either his ambition or his barbarity, and his intention of conquering them all would, if backed up by an attack on Elenoir, make nothing more apt than a temporary alliance between every other power with the soul purpose of putting Kheris down.

Pausing for a moment in his contemplation, Harold made a start toward the nearest exit, thinking, I'll need to round up Levi and Flora before heading straight home with the news. To think that Kheris himself would eliminate the need for subterfuge. With plans set, however, he could continue to ponder the god-king's plan, finding the cracks deeper and broader with every moment. If he means to topple each nation, he'll need to minimize his losses and shorten his campaigns, lest his forces deplete or his enemies' strength grow overwhelming. That means hitting each target one-by-one with all he's got. Which means all the others would be able to rally their strength in the meanwhile, and possibly assault Kheris' domain itself while his army is away. If he split his forces between attacking and defending, there's no way he could take down the other powers decisively. He wanted to laugh. What could he even do if he gained some ground? His people might be brainwashed, but the other countries know him for what he is. He could not possibly maintain any control over such a massive area, and even if he and his family are strong, they cannot be everywhere at once.

He would have plenty to think about, and plenty of time to think about it. For now, an obstacle had reared its head before him. At the gate he approached, a few guards stood watch where none stood watch before. Their thorough scrutiny of every person seeking to leave had already created a bottleneck, even though the majority of the crowd stayed behind to continue watching the blood sport. Harold wagered that he knew who their targets were. Given the unpredictable powers of relics, an arena fighter might have conceivably been able to make a run for it, and Kheris clearly meant to allow no 'Demon' the slightest chance at escape. To his fortune, however, Harold had thought ahead. Only a fool would have marked himself as a member of the dominion's most fanatically hated and persecuted caste. Furthermore, he carried no incriminating evidence of being an intelligence agent of Kalnach, aside from his skin and clothes, which he did hope with some feverishness would not be enough.

There was nothing for him to fear, so he strode up to the guards with no hint of trepidation or something amiss. After making sure to study the reactions of the few civilians that preceded him in line, he followed in turn. As a foreigner, he made sure to be a touch more surprised. “Oh, inspection? Yes, sirs.” He gave no hesitation or resistance, allowing himself to be searched over.
Knight Sylvestre vs the Cereal Killer – Round Final


For a few seconds, all was still.

Runch dared not breathe during those tense moments of silence. Two possibilities flew through his mind as he stared, fully alert, at the prone body before him. Is he down? Is he out? His heart raced as he observed, during that brief but electric period, that his fallen adversary did not seem to be breathing, either.

Wary of a ploy, the pirate stooped, bringing his head closer. There it is. Scarcely a whisper, but there nonetheless. That feeble rasp told him his effort went not in vain, and that his zeal did not leave a noble life squandered. Relieved, Runch allowed himself to vent a heavy breath, and for a moment he let his eyes close. The nerves in his body, taught with overuse and seared with the pain of his injuries, relaxed. A hard fight just as he predicted, one of his hardest to date, even though his opponent harbored no special powers nor superhuman attributes. No, no. After what I witnessed, this is no mere man.

“Courage, devotion, and ability...all things I admire, sir,” he told the limp knight, his voice gentle. “But you are wrong about one thing. No life is worthless, and for someone with such empowering conviction, I'd say yours is worth a great deal indeed. You're a sour man, Cyril, but I am sure you have friends. Sacrificing yourself for your vision makes for a good story, but what about those who care for you? About your mission's fulfillment? It would be more noble to keep living, and keep fighting, instead of throwing it all away.” Smiling, the pirate turned the vanguard over onto his back, and reached for the pendant about his neck. “When this is all over, I'm sure we'll become good friends. And I'll say all this again, to your face. Omnomnom...!”

A lightning bolt—raw instinct. It surged through Runch and galvanized him into action, throwing himself like a man possessed straight backward. An instant later, a blur slammed into the ground where he stood an instant before, shaking the ground and sending shreds of it flying. Sliding to a halt, Runch righted himself and raised his head to see the interloper standing to her full height. “Juniper.” In a fraction of a moment, the good Captain's warm demeanor froze solid into cold disapproval.

The shrine maiden, however, wore a smile. After cracking her neck, she adjusted the hair that her barely-avoided meteor stomp mussed, then quipped, “In the flesh.”

Her swagger left Runch with no doubt, though her attempted surprise attack gave him little to begin with. Once again, he tensed himself for battle, though his aching muscles and open wounds gave vehement protest. The journal told me what she can do, but...I've forgotten most of it. In this condition, I may not be able to triumph. What unfairness! With little in the way of hesitation he gave his inner frustrations a voice. “Not very honorable of you to jump in on our one-on-one duel, miss.” He nudged his chin at Cyril, who lay behind his ally. “Is this what your friend would have wanted?”

In the background, Erina jabbed an accusatory finger at the other woman.
“Yeah! You're breaking a divine accord!”


Juniper gave a shrug, though with only one arm the gesture looked a touch off. Ignoring Erina, she replied, “Hey, it's still one-on-one. But, seriously now. To be fair, it's not what Cyril would have done, but it is what he would have wanted. So, it looks like I'll be finishing what he started. Not that it matters in the end.”

The bristling eyebrows of the Cereal Killer furrowed. “'Not that it matters'? What do you mean?”

A different smirk seemed to possess Juniper. Rather than the churlish grin of the opportunistic brute, often worn to rub foes the wrong way and enforce her image of confidence, this smile spoke of some kind of secret being kept. “Well, once this is over, I'll let you in on what I've figured out, but suffice to say I'm positive we're all being played, the College included. But we have to keep playing along for now, and progress the bracket. Soul's gotta be taken.”

Runch didn't believe his ears. It wasn't that the tournament contestants were being manipulated, though his experience a little earlier had convinced him that the College people were the pullers rather more pull-ees, but rather that after saying as much that Juniper insisted on fighting. “...What? If we're on the same side, why jump in and take my soul? I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I did win this kerfuffle.”

Pointing a thumb at Cyril, Juniper said, “We need him for what's coming. And if you take his soul, the backlash might kill him.”

The feeling that a fight -or more realistically and worryingly, a beatdown- would be inevitable mounted inside Runch. “Nonsense,” he protested, his lopsided mustache drooping. “It's just pain, not deadly.”

Juniper cocked her head, her expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. “As someone who speaks from experience, unlike you, let me tell you that the shock alone might do it. Not everyone's made of iron like you, cereal boy. You know, it's impressive that an ordinary human like him managed to give a demon like a hard time. Let's see how you like fighting someone more on your level, eh?”

“It's true that he did well. But shouldn't that tell you something?”

Unmoving, Juniper bore a face of steel. “Hmm?”

Runch crossed his arms, trying not to give away his heavy breathing as he recuperated. “Well, far be it from me to boast, but since there's no limit to how much cereal I can make, I could have simply kept out of his range and blasted him with explosive cannonballs until he fell over.” He watched Juniper's eyebrow twitch, and stifled a chuckle. “Omnom. I wanted to give him a fairer and more interesting fight, especially because he agreed to an honorable duel. So, I held back some.” Wearing a cheery expression, he leveled his spoonsaber at his new opponent. “I'm sorry, lassy, but if you insist on trying to cheat me, I won't be extending you the same courtesy.”

Again Juniper's face broke out into a smile, though one stained by anger. “Tough guy, huh? For your sake, you better not hold back.” Her dark brown eyes gleamed in the setting sun's orange light, and they beheld Runch's lips moving ever-so-softly. “Let's go.”

Springing her tense muscles, she leaped upward a moment before the pirate's lightning-quick cereal lance pierced the air. Beneath her, the surprise spear exploded, but she kept her eyes on her target. Palm directed at her, the pirate muttered something once again, and from his hand a continuous volley of cereal spikes burst out. Having expected such an attack, Juniper conjured a car door in front of her to act as a shield, taking each starchy stiletto while allowing her to see her foe. One after another the spikes exploded, threatening to knock Juniper off course, but the next moment she landed right on front of Runch and tried to ram him with the shield. Moving with deft precision despite his wounds, he hopped back out of harm's way, only for Juniper to pop the magic barrier and trigger the spikes to burst right in front of him.

With momentum on her side, the martial artist lashed out with an armored roundhouse kick that carried her into the air, then a turn kick before she landed. A haymaker flew out next, but Runch disappeared beneath a shell of bluish cereal, and when Juniper struck it her blow bounced off with enough force to send her reeling. In an instant the Cereal Killer burst his shell, showering Juniper with blueberry globules, and before his adversary could recover he pulled the trigger of his flintlock to send an iron-hard pellet into the shoulder of Juniper's remaining arm. Stars blossomed in her vision from the pain, but years' worth of built-up endurance allowed her to act. She flipped backward and landed a few feet away, bringing her head up in time to see a giant marshmellow sailing her way.

Calling upon her magic, she conjured a cocoon around herself just like her enemy's, and at just the right time released it to reflect the marshmellow back at him. Taken by surprise, Runch swerved to the right, but he could not get his pistol out of the way in time. Shlorp! The gooey mass nabbed the gun and yanked it from his hand as it flew by to plop against the cobblestones a couple meters back. The pirate's attention snapped to Juniper. “That's right. You can learn others' moves.”

“Who toldja?” The shrine maiden demanded as she ran forward. Runch coated his spoonsaber with cereal as he swung it, increase its range and weight, but instead of attacking Juniper jumped into the air, spinning as she flipped over him. At the three-fourths point on her arc she twisted around and delivered a thrust kick to Runch's head. He stumbled forward, turning and murmuring as he did, and launched a stream of honeyed oats at her. Juniper dropped out of the way of the beam, but her enemy did not cease it, forcing her to sprint around him in a circle to avoid the Bori Bori Firehouse. As she ran, a blue orb manifested on her silvery greave, and once it fully formed she paused a moment to spin about and kick it the pirate's way. With an expert hand, however, he batted it away with his cereal-covered spoonblade, though the weight and jolt made him lose his grip on it and the weapon span away with the bomb. A second later Juniper's mistimed detonation went off, the blast throwing the spoonblade back in Runch's general direction, but rather than pause to pick it up he kept his Firehose going.

After another couple seconds Runch brought his other hand up, uttered three words beneath his breath, and from a colossal blast of cereal erected a Bori Bori Wall directly in Juniper's path. The woman did not slow down, instead launching into a jump kick to smash through the obstruction. When her technological foot made contact, however, it sunk into the squishy, crumbly cereal, and the rest of her followed suit. An instant later the honey stream washed over her, inundating her with inexorable stickiness. She could only watch, teeth clenched and humming with energy, as Runch began to construct a massive, burning cannonball.

Knowing full well what she had to do, Juniper allowed her seals to dissolve, and with a haunting cry the God Hand was unleashed.

An explosion of light radiated out from her, annihilating the cereal and honey that bound her. From the spray of chaos Juniper emerged at a sprint, her right arm aglow with a fierce radiance. Runch attacked, but not as quickly as his enemy. A flurry of blows smashed into him, targeting the joints all across his body. He regained his footing just in time to holler, “Bori Bori Jet!” and blast off out of the way of a right hook that might have ended the bout then and there. Looking down as he shot skyward, he watched Juniper tense up, then launch herself after him in an incredible jump. Runch rained down a series of heavy oat clusters, but one after another they shattered against Juniper's head. Before the pirate could come up with something else Juniper caught up with him, grabbed him by the foot, then yanked him down with unprecedented strength.

As he plummeted, faster than terminal velocity, Runch managed to right himself and shoot off sideways a moment before hitting the ground. Juniper crashed down where he would have hit, her shining fist making a crater in the ground. As the dust cleared, the heavenly light faded, and Runch saw his chance. That empowerment seems to make her invulnerable, but she's open now. Circling her in the air, he did not bother to hide his move, and barked, “Bori Bori Cannon: Cracklepop Recipe!” Out flew several explosive payloads in a spread formation.

Juniper grit her teeth and ran, completely forced on the defensive by the new attack's sheer area of effect. BABABABABANG went the blasts, the first causing a speedy chain reaction from the rest, and Juniper did not escape unburnt. No action could be taken before another volley obliged her to take flight once again. BABABABABANG! Scattered flames licked her clothes, setting them ablaze. Stifling a cry, the shrine maiden hurried to extinguish them, almost losing sight of the cereal-streaming blur that circled above her like a bomber. Already, another assault hurled her way. Something needed to be done—and this time, Juniper had a risky idea.

Standing still, but ready to move, she waited for the explosives to come. The volatile deluge fell upon her, but at the last moment, she leaped into the air with a backflip. Not a split second to spare, the blasts went off beneath her. They propelled her upward a touch, but her true goal lay elsewhere. Around her neck, the rosary flared to life with an arcane purple glow, and the next moment a fusillade of magic bolts screamed toward Runch. Though surprised he kept his head and changed course to avoid them, but the bolts followed him, homing in with uncanny precision. In midair a dazzling purple explosion bloomed, leaving behind a dazed yet still airborne pirate when it dissipated into sorcerous vapors a second later. Juniper saw her opportunity, and seized it. She reached out with her hand; projected magic loops formed from the ether, creating a chain tipped with a simple metal jaw that clamped shut around Runch's arm. From there, all she needed to do was pull, and with every ounce of her strength, she did.

The intrepid captain hit the ground back-first, and everything went black.

-=-=-


A murky, unknowable amount of time passed before the Cereal Killer came to. He felt pain before anything else, but after a few moments, his blurry vision began to pick up shapes and colors, and the murmur of voices met his ears. Decorated wooden walls surrounded him; beneath him, a mattress and blankets. Turning his head was laborious, but when he did, he realized by the furnishings that he appeared to be in a bar. He spotted three women—Juniper, Erina, and an ordinary-looking lady he did not know. A short distance away, he also saw Cyril, stripped both of armor and most of his clothing, and still unconscious. In fact, Runch realized that he, too, was wearing only his pants, though his torso maintained some covering thanks to all the bandages and wrappings.

“You're awake. Good! Thought you'd wake up before him.” Juniper commented. She motioned behind the counter at which she sat. “We've got some stuff to talk about once Cyril comes to. Want anything to drink?”

Inari

Location: Deadbeat Sky
@Kapuchu


Shaking his head, Carreau scratched his chin with a talon. “Not exactly. Vague enchantments aren't really our thing, and if we employed measures like force fields, you would not have been able to enter.” His golden eyes slid over to Verrine, who straightened up at attention. The owl man extended an entreating hand toward her. “Verrine, would you be so good as to hurry over to the main entrance and inquire with the guards? The object we're talking about is a metal contraption with spinning blades, about the size of a tortoise.”

“Yessir!” Brimming with enthusiasm, the rosy-red slime took off running. After a few steps she began to melt into a gelatinous tide, and began to pick up speed. With an odd slapping noise the mass slammed into the dining-room doors, pushed them open, and rushed out into the atrium.

Carreau exhaled sharply through his beak nose, evidently amused by his subordinate's gusto. His attention visited Brucie for just a moment, Carreau noting with a smile made difficult to perceive by his bizarre mouth that the shark appeared to be feeding the dog, then returned to Lily. Judging by the telltale swivel of her ears, hers had never left him. In a situation like this, caution was warranted, but by now his understanding came tinged by a few drops of impatience. The kitsune's attitude, well disguised but not invisible, spoke not just of paranoia but a severe problem with authority. Carreau felt slighted; he did not expect much of Lily, and in fact needed nothing from her other than to follow through with her end of the bargain, but anything more than empty courtesy would have been nice.

He followed along as she brought up the phylacteries again, and nodded his compliance to her advice. “Of course. Wind can be leveraged as damage when condensed, but it is most excellent at control, and ordinary blasts of air take the form of nonlethal impacts. You'll have nothing to fear from me.” His guest then applied the same proposal to Brucie, who deviated from his intense yet heart-warming spectatorship of Mouse to give his assent.

For some reason, Carreau expected that Lily was done, but another question was on her tongue. While he had given some consideration to who in Air Rave would be accompanying Lily, he offered her a different answer first. “Considering the array of talents to pick from, I think it most prudent that you select two or three who you think would best suit your fighting style. If you have no preference, however, I do have a few suggestions. First, Margot is both strong and hardy. She would be able to take the brunt of your foes' attention, leaving you opportunities to strike. Plus, though this is just a guess, I feel as if the two of you might have a sort of affinity. Second, Egon Baratta would compliment your magic with his own. As a Cinderghast, he wields extremely powerful pyromancy. His manipulation of ash and smoke can also debilitate enemies. Third...hmm.” He paused to consider. “To be fair, there are quite a few of us. It would depend on what you're looking for in terms of teammates. Supporters, to empower or heal you? Frontliners to soak up the damage and control the battlefield? Fighters of magical or martial mastery? If you like, I could rally the troops, and you could pick from among them.” He made a tent with his talons, elbows on the table.

The next moment the doors burst open again, and from the reddish sludge that raced in Verrine reformed. Her chest heaved from exhaustion, but her smile was bright. “Boss!” She exclaimed. “The machine you described was there! One of the guards spotted it coming in a half-minute after you all came in, and whacked it with his halberd. It's...uh, not wrecked or anything, but it doesn't seem to be moving, either.”

Cocking his head, Carreau asked, “So what do we do with it?”

Verrine blanched. “H-huh? You're asking me?”

“Of course.” Carreau brought his hands closer to his mouth, hiding his lower face in a vaguely sinister fashion. “Our guest needs it to find her next opponent. As one of my faithful lieutenants, you can figure it out, right?”

With a nervous laugh, Verrine balled up her hands into fists and held them close in a rather theatrical show of concentration. “Y-yes, certainly! Uh...if it's not working, that means it needs to be...fixed? But I can't do it. So...I need to find someone who can. Er.” She scrunched her eyes closed and shook her head. “It's made of metal. Complicated parts. Oedin's a sciency kind of guy, but...oh! Serval! I'll take it to Serval!” She looked to Carreau with wide eyes, waiting to hear his pronouncement.

It was with some effort that Carreau kept himself from beaming. “Very good,” he told her. “But don't rush over there yourself, you've already worn yourself out. Just summon an Umbra in the Atrium and give it a message to repeat to the guards.”

Quite overjoyed with her success and Carreau's praise, Verrine nodded and bounced off toward the door again.

Carreau looked back at Lily. “We were saying?”
Fuchigami Momoko


In an unfamiliar place, a warrior stood out because of his potential threat. Even in a locale visited by hungry bandit troops, frequented by swaggering pirates, and patrolled by zealous samurai watchmen, a new face that came bearing new arms seldom failed to catch the eye of the cautious or the opportunistic. As she approached the docks, where she'd determined that the Crescent Moon Manor resided, Momoko spotted a few such individuals drawing glances from the citizens. Yet, when she drew near, the attention of the crowds invariably passed to her.

By now Momoko neither acknowledged or cared about the affronted looks of shock and intrigue that sailed her way. Long ago she'd decided how to present herself, and to say her decision came about for the sake of her work, while not wrong, would not even be half the truth. She dressed in this wildly improper manner, which not even the sultry shogi women employed, specifically to set herself apart. Everywhere she went her appearance was seared into the minds of her onlookers. Later, through questioning and rumor, they would learn she was a mystic of a vanished, erudite order, or something to that effect. What they thought of her did not matter—only that when something went bump in the night, they knew who to send for. At the very least, she felt a bit of elation that a few of the Odikawans, whispering a furtive three-syllable word that the priestess recognized as her name, seemed to recognize her. Hopefully the fact that her reputation had preceded her to this shaded port town meant that her future would be a bit brighter. I'll drink to that thought. And she did.

When Momoko spotted patrolmen surrounding the manor, she knew that she came to the right place. By the time she arrived, the townfolk knew that the officials surrounding the manner would permit no approach, so Momoko peeled away from the crowd and approached with no obstacles. Her face grew surly as she recognized the coat of arms adorning the samurai flanking the manor's main entrance. Lotus. Warmongers, fiends, murderers, tricksters. Wonder if these ones fought in the war...how much blood they wiped from their blades. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she drew nearer. She presented the letter, still clutched in her hand, and with a gruff, “You're late” the guards permitted her to enter.

Before she could get four steps in she found herself accosted by more security. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, only to blanch when they asked her to hand over her enchanted items. “Uh...” The urge to leave rushed over her like a tidal wave. Part with her basin and pipe? She'd be defenseless, and worse, wine-less. But could she really back out now, and pass up the funds promised to her? Now that she thought about it, this entire venture reeked of a trap. Use money to trick me into going somewhere...strip me of my things...these next few minutes could very well be my last. Must have been drunk when I accepted this deal. “Heh,” she murmured, amused at the thought. Her eyes passed over a set of nearby weapon racks, their pegs and slots filled with all manner of equipment. At least I'm not the only one. Hopefully, that meant that there were others in this boat with her—others who might be convinced to protect her should things go sour. Too late to back out now anyway, now that I'm inside. With reluctance she produced her pipe, then with a glance of pained longing, forked over the basin. Feeling uncomfortably like she was leaving a part of her behind, Momoko allowed herself to be led into the manor's interior.

Upon entering the exquisite main chamber, she clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Whoops. Guess I'm pretty late.” Five other distinct individuals preceded her, none of whom she happened to know, though this did not surprise her. A well-built, dignified elder clad in green...a gorgeous woman in black, of whom Momoko was instantly a little jealous...a scarred soldier bearing the traditional chonmage topknot alongside a less-traditional goatee...a rather normal woman in red...and a large, formidable man with only armor over his torso. The wildness of his hair and face suggested a bold, free-wheeling nature, one who did not bother with society's propriety. Momoko's eyes remained on that last man a little longer than the rest, prompting her guide to request that she join the others at the table. Not responding to the servant woman, the priestess obliged, sauntering over and plopping down upon a cushion at the table. Without even ten seconds' wait she raised her hand to signal the servant. “Sake, please! And mochi or senbei, if you have it.” She leaned forward and put her elbow onto the table, resting her head in the same arm's hand. Smiling, and with eyes half-lidded, she told the others, “I haven't eaten,” as if it were something to be proud of, or as if any of them would care.
While Momoko is arriving last (or maybe next to last, given that Burnski's character remained outside until lunch) I'm going ahead and posting for her, so that anyone else has someone to interact with / react to once they arrive.
PC


OTHER


The Angelarium

The Hierarchy of Laguna
((For better images, refer to the official book))



The Demonomicon

-in hell, the strong survive, and the strongest rule. Beyond that, there is no semblance of order among chaos. Demons of this book are sorted by their strength.
((for better images, refer to the official books: Infernal Demons, Darkside Bestiary, Devil List






Gilgamesh Database

Gilgamesh is unrelenting in its defense of humanity and humanity’s interests. To do this, it employs what amounts to a private army known as the Reclaimers, but as with any armed force there exists a cream of the crop.




The Charred Citadel

The base of the Firebrands, the agents of the Charred Council. It has numerous facilities, positions, and more to be explored, utilized, and upgraded.
Fuchigami Momoko


Try as it might, the rays of early sunlight could not rouse the bedraggled woman asleep from her straw bed. The landlady from whom she rented a night's rest indoors, anxious to have the last guest out of the house, had checked in several times. Initially it had taken some self-convincing that her temporary tenant was alive at all, but no, she was just asleep, albeit the deepest, most oblivious slumber the landlady had ever seen. The state the woman had been in when she arrived explained why, but after a time -when it became clear the sun and birdsong would not be sufficient- the landlady lost her patience.

Entering the room, she laid her hand on the sleeping woman's shoulder, and when that provoked no response began to shake. Only when the landlady joined her wake-up call to the shaking did the other woman begin to stir. Her eyelids slid open to reveal strange, pale irises that stared dully around the room, her vision bleary and indistinct. “Please wake up, miss!” The landlady was saying. “I am sorry, but you have to go! I need the room for the day! I'll give you ten minutes to get up and out.” With a final prod, she turned and vacated the room, leaving Momoko to wonder who she was, where she was, and how she got here.

Oh, yeah...

She sat up against the wall, rubbing her eyes. Bit by bit, the details got back to her. Five days ago she had been minding her own business, half-drunk and wistfully watching the festivities. A spell of spiritual peace had overtaken the area as of late, and money had grown short, though her spending habits were more than likely just as much to blame. The next day, she knew, she would have had to choose between food and lodging, meaning another miserable night nestled against a tree. Out of the blue, however, a messenger had appeared. An ordinary boozer would not have been able to converse with the stranger, much less read the scroll he proffered, but Momoko was no ordinary boozer. In a matter of moments she'd digested what the message had to say and told its courier that she agreed to its proposition, then pocketed the promised gold. After that, the festival days had been very enjoyable indeed, though Momoko found herself able to recall precious little of it.

Shrugging off the stupor that still clung to her, she rose from her bed and dressed herself. A look through the shutters revealed a port town, not too shabby but by no means upscale, which meant she'd managed to reach her destination. Good... she concluded, relieved, and she went to dress herself. As ferocious as her binges might be, she paid special attention to her kimono, since it was not only her favorite but also part of her popular image, so she was glad to confirm no more than the odd wine stain as she slipped it on. From there, she fingered through her satchel to find her comb, then used it to tidy up her hair. It's getting pretty long, she mused, though she wasn't thinking of cutting it, since it posed no real issue. She knew she'd been drinking last night, not as much through memory or deduction as self-knowledge, but nary an ache troubled her head. In fact, despite the cheap lodging, she felt pretty good.

Her eyes widened, and she searched through the satchel again. As the second passed, her mouth turned into a disbelieving smile. “No way I spent it all...whole gold bar's wortha cash...” At the bottom, she turned up a handful of coins, and sighed. Better than she would have thought, but worse than she would have hoped. After putting her things away, including the basin and pipe she'd hidden under her bed, she stood up to straighten herself out.

A knock at the door made her jump, yelping in surprise. “It's been ten minutes! Get out of my house!” Sheepishly, Momoko finished tying her belt, put on her sandals, and slunk past the disapproving landlady out the front door.

Once back on the road, she looked left, then right. Wonder if there's anywhere for breakfast. She glanced at the basin dangling from her satchel-strap. “Ah, who am I kiddin'. Got breakfast right here.” Undoing the latch with a single, practiced motion borne of extreme familiarity, she lifted the bowl to her lips. By the time it got there, it had a few cups' worth of plum wine in it, and she drank the lot in less than a second. She licked her lips, a tingling sensation running through her mind, and exhaled. Good thing I don't get tired of that taste, huh? A second drink came to pass while she tried to remember where to go, then gave up and fetched the letter to reread. “Silver crescent,” she murmured aloud before returning the basin to its strap. The end of the summons bade her look at the sky, where the sun was moments away from leaving the horizon behind, and she gave another sigh. “Hope they don't mind...me bein' a little late.” With as much of a spring in her step as she could muster, she hurried down the road.
Things are going well. I'll have a post coming before long, and I anxiously await the others'.
With calculating eyes the Margrave watched as the heroes and villains began their fight. Around him the chaotic tumult roared, but he remained firm, standing like a lone bastion upon a mountain peak until an invader threatened his domain. How exactly the Rocker mistook his new fan for himself when he himself stood not only near but also in front of her, the Margrave could not imagine, but it was hardly the cur's last mistake. The vagabond stretched his arms out to the side like a child pretended to be a helicopter, his unwieldy, top-heavy weapon -dual wielded like an absolute tool- straining his arms to even be kept at such an angle, then executed a pincer attack from either side aimed at the little girl.

The pickaxes' metal heads never struck their intended target. A grin of dark delight upon his face, the Margrave lobbed his baseball bat upward, then took a quick step forward with his forearms held out and up like goalposts to block. He intercepted the pickaxes' harmless shafts with those forearms, and the instant he made contact the crude weapons began to shrink. Baffled as to where this dashing interloper had appeared from, and what exactly he did to his weapons, the Rocker reeled back for a brutal headbutt, but the Margrave was at the ready. "You FOOL!" Though his arms ached from the initial impact of the former pickaxes' wooden grips, he had no trouble popping the thug in the face with his fists, one after another. Stunned for a split second—it was more than enough.

Slipping his scarf off, the antihero strafed behind his adversary, made a loop, then wound it around the Rocker's neck. The next moment he recovered and began to struggle, threatening to hurl the smaller, more fascinating man to the stone-strewn floor, but the Margrave's talent was already at work. "Wriggle if you like!" he sneered. "You are already done for." His scarf began to tighten and harden, squeezing the man's throat as it tried to turn toy, and after only a few seconds the hapless goon blacked out.

The Margrave yanked his scarf off and replaced it around his neck, then like a showman offered a bow to the slack-jawed child who'd just witnessed her hero at work. “Have no fear, little miss; much more dire enemies have tried. Let's get you out of here. As much as he wanted to reduce Ceramix's golem to a collectible figurine, there were other heroes on the case, and the civilians needed shepherding. With a parting glance at the action, he placed a hand on the kid's shoulder and began to escort her out. Any other people he met on the way to the main exit, hiding or trapped, he hurried to help.
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