MULTI_MEDIA_MAN

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

Oswald's Valentine's Day Boredom

Oswald was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he was going to do with his day. He was uncharacteristically tired, and had been resting for the past half an hour or so at this point, just staring up into nothing in particular.

Fuck, he was bored. Sitting up, Oswald was greeted with an empty dorm room. The girls had left him to go do their own thing, whatever the hell that was. Probably would involve making jokes at his expense and some kind of shopping, maybe? Girls had some weird thing with fashion and shopping, especially in Vale.

Shaking his head to collect his thoughts, Oswald checked his Scroll for the time. Thankfully, it wasn’t too late, which meant he’d be able to probably get something done. Whatever something was.

The Vengeance and Igneus Iudex didn’t need maintenance, and for once he wasn’t in the mood to spar or train. He was utterly and truly without anything to do.

The feeling was strange. He didn’t like it. Stuffing his Scroll in his pocket, Oswald strapped his sword belt on and grabbed his blade, choosing to forgo his armor and cloak for once. Today was apparently a weird day, so why bother with following the usual routine?
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Oswald found himself in a Bullhead to Vale the next time he took a moment to really think about what he was going to do with his day. Probably just wander the streets, really. Stop into a few stores, see if there was anything he’d spend money on.

Probably not, he was damn stingy with his Lien. The school had most of what he needed, and what he couldn’t get there he’d buy in bulk at one of those cheap stores where you could get a five-pound box of cereal for like 10 Lien.

He was not a high-maintenance man. Unfortunately, he also liked to eat like some kind of horrific living vacuum machine, so he spent more on food than he’d have liked to admit. Still, it was better than blowing hundreds of Lien on frivolities, like some people he knew. No names, though, he enjoyed being able to sleep at night without fear of revenge.

Stepping into a small corner shop, Oswald sighed as he realized he’d walked into a bookstore without realizing it. This was one of the last places he needed to be. He’d given up on being “smart” a while back, shameful as it was to admit. To him, books just represented the path he didn’t choose. There was no animosity in the decision either; he didn’t begrudge anybody who chose to expand their horizons mentally.

“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” Taken out of his thoughts by a worker that was probably only a little older than he was, Oswald shook his head and smiled.

“No, thank you, I’m just…looking around.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but he didn’t want to outright say that he didn’t intend to buy anything here. It felt like it would just be insulting.

Walking into one of the aisles as the worker acknowledged his response, Oswald gave a casual look until he spotted something that stood out like a sore thumb:

Ninjas of Love

What? Ninjas? Love Ninjas? What the hell did that mean? His curiosity piqued, Oswald pulled the book off of the shelf and cracked it open to a random page, giving a quick browse. Something about ninjas, something about an unreturned love, something about a war on two fronts between a group of ancient clans who all hated each other.

Boring. Putting the book back where he found it, Oswald searched out for a section on military history or tactics. He wasn’t team leader, and he was certainly glad that was the case, but it wouldn’t hurt to see if he could learn something beyond what he already knew. It helped that the topic was something he could see immediate and clear use in, as well.

Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to find anything of that sort, instead choosing to make his way out of the establishment.

“Did you find everything okay, sir?” Ah, that worker again. Turning, Oswald gave her a quick nod and shrugged.

“Well enough. Just…wasn’t anything I was immediately interested in at the moment. Sorry.” Not waiting for a reply, Oswald flashed an apologetic smile and stepped out, back onto the streets of Vale.
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Not long after, Oswald found himself sitting on a bench in the park, surrounded by reminders of what today was: Valentine’s Day. A day for couples to remind themselves and each other that they were loved and cared for.

He never paid it much mind in the past, and definitely didn’t pay it much mind now. He hadn’t had reason to, frankly: he’d never been in a relationship with somebody. He wasn’t really interested in anybody before the Siege, and after he was too preoccupied with his guilt and his self-imposed training regimen to give it any thought.

It wasn’t exactly the way he’d seen his beginning foray into adulthood going years before, but predicting the future was always asking for disappointment.

Trying to push away the melancholic thoughts, Oswald looked down at his Scroll and let out a short exhale as he ran through the contacts. Aside from his teammates, he only had Gren, Sapphire, and Robert in his Scroll. Some list of friends. He hadn’t even actually seen Sapphire since she’d left Beacon, although that was hardly either’s fault. There wasn’t much to talk about when they did speak, and it wasn’t like either had the time for a visit.

Honestly, Sapphire leaving Beacon had seemed like a worse thing at the time than it had ended up being. It was just one potential friend moving away to stay with family. They stayed in contact, sure, but it felt somewhat forced. Probably because they hardly knew anything about each other. She seemed reluctant to open up, and Oswald hated burdening people with his own thoughts or forcing theirs out, so messages between them were often simple small talk. Every now and then they’d skirt around deeper topics, and they’d even had one or two deeper conversations about their personal dreams aside from being Hunters, but…

There wasn’t much substance to whatever relationship they had. It was just the way they were. Perhaps if there wasn’t such physical distance between them, they might have been closer, but Oswald wasn’t exactly searching for something deeper, either, and he had the feeling Sapphire felt similarly. They just had enough to deal with as it was, and any relationship might have pushed their frayed minds past the brink.

Standing off the bench, Oswald made his way back to the landing station, ready to return to Beacon.
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Dear Mom and Dad,

It’s been a while. I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with classes and such, but I guess I’ve also just been slacking a bit. Terrible excuse, I know, but it’s all I got.
Beacon’s been alright. The missions get a bit intense sometimes, but I’ve been able to handle myself. I’m not my team’s leader, either, so…that’s a good thing. I’m not really ready for that kind of responsibility again, ya know?

My team’s pretty cool. Our leader, Diamond, has surgically implanted Dust in her arm, which he uses with her Semblance to fight. There’s Emerald, this sweet little cat Faunus who really reminds me of Yato in almost every way. Except she’s a girl, and she has a pair of shotguns/rocket launchers instead of a huge sword. Finally, Annabelle is our resident genius. She managed to build a friggin’ walking robot AI that uses a railgun to fight Grimm. I’ve been teaching her how to hold her own without that thing, though, after one of us had a rough run-in with a Griever a while back. (I promise that everybody is fine.)

How have things been back home? Is the reconstruction coming along as planned? I’ve been itching to get to see how Brookeborough’s been while I’ve been gone! I bet Cerise is losing her mind without me there to entertain her, too. Little nag’s always asking me to hang out when I’m not out hunting. Well, she was when I was still at home, I guess.

I’ve missed you guys. I’ll send a picture with this letter so you can see how I’m doing. I tried experimenting with keeping up a five o’clock shadow, but it’s still too damn patchy. I’ll manage to catch up with you someday, dad.
Love,
Oswald
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“Yeah, that’ll do.” Looking over the letter one last time, Oswald took his Scroll out and snapped a picture of himself that took a little too long to prepare, if he was honest. In his new armor, all his gear set up next to him as he sat by his bed, he hoped it wouldn’t get him too many questions. His parents always were too clingy after the Siege, though at least it was nice to feel cared for on the worse days.

“Just gotta get these printed up somewhere and send it with the next caravan.”

Good enough Valentine’s Day, he supposed. His mom would appreciate the letter, at least, even if it was late.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Oswald Connoly- Strange Presence

As Oswald waited for wood to be gathered, he...noticed something. It took him a short while, admittedly, but while he was staring out to the shore and thinking, he certainly noticed something strange.

Somebody was watching him. He had that crawling feeling up his spine, the one that told you you weren't alone. Turning around, he saw somebody he only recognized in passing. Sangue. The girl with the new arm that Gren, Shiro, and apparently even Sapphire had helped her with. It was a testament to their technological prowess and contacts that they managed to make a new arm for somebody over the course of a weekend.

"...Hi. Sangue, right?" He kept it short, more for his own sake than out of any sort of caution regarding the rumors of her strange behavior. Talking too much still took more out of him than he liked to admit.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Oswald Connoly- Surviving on the Island

Oswald felt helpless as he slowly shambled about the boat, only able to find a small first aid kit, which he clipped to his Dust pouch as he made his way to evacuate the sinking ship. Getting aboard one of the lifeboats, Oswald pressed himself up against one of the sides and took a breather. He needed it, as well. Not even drawing his sword, simply relying on his cane, he'd been in pain the entire time. Even with Aura and his relatively profound constitution, his wounds were still agonizing.

As they approached the island, Oswald wondered how his "performance" would be evaluated. While he was successful in dealing with the scenario, he had done so by completely avoiding everything that could have gotten him hurt. While that was certainly a survival tactic, it wasn't exactly...great. Especially if it meant relying on others putting themselves in the line of fire for you.

Once they arrived and heard Estelle's announcement, however, Oswald felt a strange combination of relief and frustration. While he'd definitely be able to help here, he wasn't sure of how to deal with a monsoon. At the same time, he was a bit annoyed that they still had more to do. This was a survival class, though...

It was time to survive.

"I can handle making a signal fire. Just...get me wood. Small bits for kindling, good dry ones to make the fire, and some wet pieces for smoke." He was almost visibly out of breath after that much speaking, and it took him a second to start moving to find a good spot. "If somebody could help out....that'd be a real big help."

Mordhaben's Institute for Aspiring Mages [Gaslamp Fantasy] [Completely Dead]

L'ilisht's test

Brovak didn't give anyone a chance for questions, or for mingling, and launched into the test immediately. "I don't want to be here any longer than I have to, so let's make this quick and relatively painless. You are to demonstrate your magical abilities for me, and I'm supposed to evaluate your skills and potential, after which we will begin the combat exams with one of the more unpleasant things from the Deadlands. You there, Ms. Voll, please step forwards and show me what you're made of, or try to."

After Magnhild's...demonstration...He scribbled an almost insultingly short note on his clipboard, then looked up to the group of six assembled before him. "Actually, on second thought, you can wait, Mr. Coridell. I like to save the most promising ones for last. You there: Little Shit, I saw what you did earlier. Since you seem overly comfortable with it... Step forwards and begin your magic demonstration."

L'ilisht narrowed his eyes at Brovak's overly-curt behavior, but he didn't pay it much mind. He was used to people being blunt with him, but he wasn't particularly used to it coming from people he couldn't intimidate or otherwise hurt. Still, he walked over to the table and took a moment to peer over the items available to him.

"Luh. Ill Isht." He took a moment to go over the proper pronunciation of his name, more for the sake of himself than any others.

"I will call you whatever I please. Now, your demonstration."

Cocking an eyebrow, L'ilisht let out a small chuckle. "Alright." Taking another moment to find the block of iron, L'ilisht took it in his hands and slowly began channeling energy into it, his core and the arm he used to hold the block growing warmer by the second. Once he felt that he'd put enough energy into weakening the block, he squeezed his fist, attempting to crush the block like it were made of malleable plastic rather than metal. After a few moments, he dropped it onto the table.

Brovak scribbled a much longer note on the clipboard than he had for Magnhild, then shot a glance at the iron block, which snapped back into shape as though it had never been damaged in the first place.

"Impressive enough. You've had a lot of practice, I take it. Now, step back to the group. Mr. Barat, please perform your demonstration."

Nodding, L'ilisht stepped back as soon as he was asked. While he was put off by Brovak's decision to call him 'whatever he pleased', he was simultaneously impressed with the professor. The man knew what he was doing, that much was certainly true.

---

Immediately after the last student in the group finished their demonstration, Brovak half-jogged to the other side of the room, where he ripped the black cloth off of the rattling cube to reveal a huge insectoid creature thrashing about, trying desperately to get at the rack of gas masks along the back wall. Without a pause, he explained what it was, why it was dangerous, and what the students would be doing. "This is an Ashhopper. It's one of the most deadly creatures in the Deadlands not because it directly kills (usually), but rather because it feeds on equipment other people need to survive there. The combat exam requires that you kill every Ashhopper in the test chamber before they 'kill' you. Try not to worry too much - the gas in the chamber is not deadly (unfortunately), so even if you fail, you will still survive and be placed in a class (against my recommendations). L'ilisht, you're up first."

"Please put on one of the filtration hoods on the rack back there, then step into the test chamber. You may use your own equipment other than that," the Professor said flatly as he walked over and pressed the button next to the blast door. It slid open to reveal the Deadlands-esque environment within, where one of the spongy flowers vomited a dust cloud upwards at the sudden light.

Taking his time to make sure he was fully prepared, L'ilisht checked each of his guns before nodding roughly. He only had his cylinder and the tube magazine, a total of 6 bullets and 4 slugs. Along with his sword, that should be enough to handle a few Ashhoppers. They were deadly enough, sure, but when faced head-to-head and not swarming, anybody with the slightest amount of comat experience could destroy them.

Satisfied that he was ready, L'ilisht put on one of the hoods and made his way into the testing area.

Brovak leaned in towards him as the student entered the chamber, and spoke quietly. "...Welcome to hell." He then slammed his fist into the button, sliding the door shut and enveloping L'ilisht in the darkness of the simulated Deadlands. A hissing noise came up as the room filled with a thin white mist, with the soft glow of the fruitlike pods hanging from parasitic vines slung downwards from the mushroom tree in the corner iluminating patches of the atmosphere. Moments after the room filled, a strange sensation struck the base of L'ilisht's brain and soul, and the room spun to life with sounds of loud buzzing and an outright swarm of young Ashhoppers dashing through the air, surveying L'ilisht and calculating their chances of success against him. Each was much smaller than the caged specimen, at only between 7 and 15 inches long, but this also meant that their wings had a much higher thrust to weight ratio.

That....was about right. Enough to be a challenge, but not enough to overwhelm him with sheer numbers off the bat. As long as he was careful enough, he'd- BANG!

Taking a shot at one with his revolver, L'ilisht drew his sword in the other hand and grabbing his shotgun with his lower arms, slowly panning his head around to make sure he knew at least where they were.

The Ashhoppers were swarming all around him, most outside his cone of view, and the sounds of their wings beating almost blended together. All of them save for one, which dropped out of the air before him, torn open like a rotten tomato by the bullet it had been unfortunate enough to catch. All of the creatures stopped shifting their flight patterns for a split second to look at what had happened to their fallen comrade and merely flew in a circle as they decided on a gameplan.

Taking advantage of the split-second pause they'd left, L'ilisht charged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc and swapping his shotgun to only be held in his lower-right hand. With his lower-left hand, he reached to grab one out of the air and toss it at the others to distract them as he barreled past the group.

The Ashhoppers would have been surprised by his charge had they been smarter than they were, but their limited intelligence gave them one advantage over humans and smarter Monsters: they thought very fast. L'ilisht's charge prompted an almost immediate response from the swarm and they threw themselves out of the way, though one's wings were clipped by the claymore. Another made a grave mistake by trying to fly directly past his head and was caught, and the strength of L'ilisht's grip crunched its thin and brittle shell out of shape and broke its legs and wings. The small Ashhopper was then thrown and barreled through the air towards its brothers and knocked one out of the mist and onto the ground, somewhat thrown off balance. The grounded Ashhoppers took a few moments to regain their balance. Meanwhile, a group of three of the creatures flung themselves at his back and landed upon his clothing, scrambling around to try to get at the filter cartridge hanging in front of his chest.

His free hand already moving as he felt the creatures land on his back, L'ilisht lifted his sword and swung it up and over his head, allowing it to land inside the modified scabbard strapped to his back. A squishy, crunching feeling told him one of the insects had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the sword's path, and had splattered in the scabbard. Rather than a full scabbard, a long part of the upwards-facing side of the device was cut out, allowing for the sword to be swiftly drawn by somebody of L'ilisht's size. On a regular human, however, the blade's length would still likely cause issues with being removed from the scabbard.

Now with two arms freed, L'ilisht swapped his revolver into his lower-left hand, relegating the smaller pair of arms to holding his gear, while the upper pair reached over his back and attempted to grab onto the monsters on his back.

The Ashhoppers on his back were fast. Very fast. He caught hold of one of them immediately as it climbed up the bottom of his hood towards his shoulders, and like the previous one, its brittle carapace buckled in his hand, spewing a jet of dark, cold goop outwards between his fingers. The other was preoccupied with avoiding being swatted and danced about between his shoulderblades, unable to make any progress without risking instant death. Two Ashhoppers far in front of him closed their wing covers and dropped to the ground, where they regrouped with their fallen brothers and scurried towards him, lifting the front ends of their bodies up and lowering their rear ends. L'ilisht would, despite the distractions, notice that the entire swarm had changed feeling. They were no longer trying to understand him and had all together taken a more... Aggressive stance.

L'ilisht grunted as he felt the Ashhopper buckle in his grip, his hand now covered in some disgusting fluid. Wonderful. Not willing to get his weapons dirty, he now had to be tricky. His revolver and shotgun moved with practiced fluidity, shotgun moving upwards into his primary hand, revolver moving sideways, and then each moving once more as he grabbed his shotgun by the pump, transferring it into his lower-left hand as his upper-right right pulled the revolver up, both guns now being held properly: revolver in the top-right, shotgun in the lowers.

Taking aim at the swarm, L'ilisht let loose with both firearms, taking two more shots with the revolver as he fired his shotgun once, a trio of projectiles flying towards the swarm.

L'ilisht's practiced aim did the swarm no favors here. While they were agile, they weren't agile enough to avoid bullets, and four were struck, sending the flying swarm scattering off into the darkness to avoid the bits of insect flesh and fluid sent flying in every direction by the shotgun slug. A buzzing sound directly above L'ilisht stopped, and an Ashhopper fell out of the air from above to land on top of the shotgun, where it crammed the end of the barrel into its gaping maw and clamped down hard. The shotgun vibrated in L'ilisht's hand, and the four Ashhoppers on the ground launched themselves straight at his chest in sequence, each leaping with the sound of a small caliber round going off. One of them collided with another in midair, leading to a bundle of two squabbling insects hurtling towards him on top of the two more practiced Hoppers.

Pumping the shotgun while his free hand reached over his back to once again deal with the Ashhopper still scrambling on his back, L'ilisht aimed his shotgun at the group of Ashhoppers jumping towards him and pulled the trigger.

The Ashhopper on his back finally met its maker as it tried to dash between his right arms and found itself caught. Meanwhile, the shotgun blast went off, tearing the Ashhopper off of its barrel in a mist of brown and a haul of chitin fragments, and a puff of dust in the ground behind the Ashhoppers leaping towards his chest. The end of the shotgun barrel was mangled by several circles of ground-away metal and had thrown off the slug, though one of the leapers lost all of its legs and bounced harmlessly off of his chest, quite dead. The two that had collided also bounced off of his chest and hit the ground, furiously swiping at eachother with all six legs, sending pieces of eyestalk and wing flying across the mossy dirt. The last found its mark, landing and taking hold of his clothing, and moved towards the hanging filter canister hanging just barely out of its reach.

Sighing in frustration at the bugs' unrelenting nature, L'ilisht swung his now-useless shotgun at the Ashhopper that landed on his chest, trusting his armor to ensure that he didn't accidentally bruise himself with the wild swing. Even knowing he wouldn't die if they got his filter, he did not want to lose to bunch of monster-bugs.

At the same time, his revolver pointed downwards and fired, while his remaining hand flung the bug he'd caught irreverently into the air, not caring much about where it went.

The bug on his chest had managed to get to the filter by the time the shotgun's barrel came down on its back, splattering it flat against the armor plate and almost gluing it to his body. The filter was intact, though a series of tiny dents in a ring around the bottom of it had appeared and it was slightly bent out of shape. Only a breath or two were missed when it had closed its mouth over the bottom of the filter, but the fresh air came back the instant it died. The pair of squabbling bugs were oblivious to the danger they were in and both split wide open as a .357 round crashed through them and into the ground. It wasn't a square shot, but there was no way either would be getting back up from that. A stream of fluid trailed along behind the crushed bug thrown into the air, spiraling outwards and leaving a wet gleam everywhere, and one of its legs caught a hanging vine, obscuring a small amount of light and casting a dripping, broken shadow across L'ilisht. The others were now in hiding, and the buzzing sound had stopped completely.

Grunting in satisfaction, L'ilisht took a moment to stow his shotgun and revolver, again drawing his sword while he used his lower hands to inspect the filter. It looked to be another bite away from total defeat, but now that he'd put his firearms away, L'ilisht actually felt better about his chances. While his upper arms focused on offense, his lower arms could handle defense, pushing aside any of the remaining Ashhoppers that came remotely close to his chest.

Looking around, L'ilisht frowned when he realized the remaining bugs had scattered. That was bad. He wasn't one for dealing with ambushes- he preferred a very straightforward method of combat.

Slowly breathing for a moment, L'ilisht approached one of the fruitlike pods attached to the vines and grabbed it with his gunked-up hand, pulling lightly (for him) on the pod.

The pod didn't come off of the vine. Instead, the entire vine came off of the tree and ceiling, leaving him with a thirty foot length of plant matter, with its glowing pods very slowly losing light from the sudden lack of mushroom tree nutrients. The plants seemingly had absolutely no nutrient storage capacity, and they would be completely dark in ten minutes - more than enough time to make use of them, but still bothersome.

The falling vine brought with it exactly one Ashhopper though, which had been hiding on top of it beneath the umbrellalike cap of the mushroom tree. It tried to get out of the way and fell into a tuft of razor grass at the base of the giant fungus, where it was impaled. The light cast by the falling vine did its job even before he could use a pod as an impromptu flare, though, and a brief glint of purple on waxy brown carapace could be seen beyond a patch of the crystalline grasses on his left, and a third Ashhopper lunged towards him with the sound of a small cannon from the concrete wall on the opposite end of the room, its lampreylike mouth aimed directly at his face. This one didn't seem hungry anymore.

L'ilisht let out a sadistic chuckle as the Ashhopper fell and impaled itself on the razor grass, his short burst of confusion at the vine falling instead of the pod forgotten.

Turning at the sound of the Ashhopper leaping towards him, L'ilisht instinctively put his gunky hand out, while his claymore moved to point at the spot he'd seen the other bug.

Instinct vs. instinct was an unfair battle at this point, with victory almost guaranteed to L'ilisht. But instinct had failed him this time, and the Ashhopper hurtling through the air found its mark when its mouth fell onto his fingers. Immediately, the mouth slammed shut with more force than would be expected, and it was immediately clear why the creatures were so delicate: Their shells were under immense strain from their musculature and could only barely keep them intact. The vibrating grinding of the rows of blunt toothlike projections in its mouth prompted severe pain, and the Ashhopper hiding behind the crystaline razor grass dashed away into the darkness and hid behind a sporeflower, which wheezed and spewed its yellowish cloud into the air once more upon its rest being disturbed.

Anger flooded through L'ilisht as the Ashhopper bit down onto his hand, and instinctively, magic flooded through his body, hardening his bones as the massive chimera screamed in fury, his lower arms each moving to grip a part of the monster and tear it apart like a wad of tissue paper, his sword arm coming closer to his body in an effort to provide a barrier between himself and the other monsters.

The Ashhopper on his hand desperately clung to his fingers as his other hands tore it to shreds, sending a spray of dark brown insectoid fluid and a stream of internal organs everywhere. It was like ripping open a ball of rubber bands. When the Ashhopper was removed, much of its mouth remained, with a ring of tight black fibers running around his fingers. From the pain, it was obvious that it had struck bone in a matter of moments. A second crack sounded out from the sporetree's cap above him, with the Ashhopper hurtling down towards the filter cartridge before he could even process its presence. It collided with the filter hose, bounced off of his chest, and embedded itself in the dirt beneath him several inches in a puff of dust, but otherwise was unharmed.

L'ilisht didn't even consciously process the Ashhopper crashing into him, his foot flashing out to crush the monster-bug before it could move again, while his lower arms carefully went about freeing his upper hand from what was left of the other Ashhopper. His sword arm, meanwhile, moved about in small circles, his blade gently twisting and turning in the air.

The tight bands of black muscle fiber proved difficult to remove quickly, instead tearing away from what remained of the mouth and leaving a loose sock of skin and chitinous tooth hanging around his mangled fingers. A few strips of red fell out of the rear of the tube, along with a tiny tickle of L'ilisht's own blood. When it was completely off, the extent of the damage was exposed: He may as well not have fingers anymore, as the flesh had been almost completely torn free, with a few tiny chips in the exposed bone from the split second before he had hardened himself. It would have taken them off completely had he not reacted so quickly. Meanwhile, the motions of the sword cast soft reflections of the vine-light across the room. It wasn't enough to see, but it was enough to prompt a reaction from the final Ashhopper, which had in its haste gotten itself caught in a very awkward position. A rustling in some of the razor grass ensued as it struggled to free itself from its spiky prison, and the sporeflower just a few meters from L'ilisht coughed again.

L'ilisht drew his revolver in reaction to the rustling and shot the last bullet, turning afterwards to the sporeflower he remembered the final Ashhopper going to. The adrenaline might last a little while longer, but he wanted to be done with this miserable exam already.

With his final gunshot, the trapped Ashhopper didn't take a fatal hit, but the other effects of the shot did the trick. Literal blades of grass shattered when they were struck by the round, covering the creature in shards and dust, which worked their way into the hairline gaps in its shell and the hole carved through its upper body. It stopped moving after a few moments of violent, pained thrashing. The sporeflower coughed as though the one remaining Ashhopper knew its time had come, and it jiggled slightly as the creature moved to hide directly on the other side of the bulbous head of the plant.

Slowly stowing his revolver, L'ilisht took a moment to look at the sporeflower. His eyes went down a bit, looking at the contratpion on his head. Figuring it would be enough to protect him from whatever this thing was spewing, L'ilisht swung his sword downwards, through the plant with the intent to cut both it and the Ashhopper in one fell swing.

What happened next felt like it took an eternity. The instant the blade touched the top of the sporeflower, there was a loud blast, and everything went dark. L'ilisht was still quite conscious, and was definitely upright, but the hood's lenses had been completely covered in thick dust, along with the entire rest of his body. The plant matter burned his injured fingers badly, and a hail of wetness struck him as the force of the sword strike and the plant's explosion didn't simply kill the Ashhopper, but completely vaporized it. He may as well have detonated a stun grenade in his face. But he was completely fine in the end either way.

Though the dust covering his face blocked any sight at all, he could still hear, and he heard the hiss of the ventilation fans spinning into action. A few moments later, the blast door rolled open, and the sound of clapping came to him from the exit. In a flash, the dust covering him disappeared, along with the remains of every single Ashhopper that had been strewn about the room, and the pain in what remained of his fingers disappeared. Later, he would find that his shotgun had taken no damage whatsoever.

"That was a hell of a show. You'll fit in with the expedition leaders. Now, get out of there, get rid of that hood, and do whatever you'd like - you've got the day off, and you'll be getting your test results tomorrow morning. Barat, please retrieve a mask and check your equipment."

Slowly transferring his grip on the sword to the blade of the weapon, so as to carry it more easily, L'ilisht walked out of the room, staring at his hand. It was fine, as if nothing had happened. "That fucking hurt." That said, he walked past Brovak and left, after removing the dust-covered mask and depositing it on the table with little regard for anything.

"It happens in the field more often than you'd think. Good luck, and I'll see you in a few days."

L'ilisht went back to his room, after dropping off his two remaining slugs at the armory, now familiar with what the inside of his fingers looked like, and the pain that came with having half your hand degloved. Wasn't fun.

Mordhaben's Institute for Aspiring Mages [Gaslamp Fantasy] [Completely Dead]

L'ilisht

L'ilisht decided that it would be best to escape the insanity that was going on in front of him. He was growing to truly dislike his current classmates, moreso than even the general population. They were loud, noisy, and worse than regular people, they seemed to be rude specifically for the purpose of annoying other people. In the end, he'd been assigned a roommate. Somebody he didn't know, obviously, and somebody he didn't meet. For the entire first day, his roommate never showed. This would become a pattern, in fact.

The second day...was worse. So much worse. Waking early wasn't exactly foreign to L'ilisht, but this Guavl stuff certainly was. It was like drinking a cup of coffee that was supercharged on some kind of coffee steroids. Except that it didn't taste exactly like death. No, it tasted like the good whiskey he got once or twice a year when he had some money to spare from a particularly good hunt. It was a nice feeling, actually, even if it wasn't the most appetizing thing.

The written exam, though.

The written exam. It was more like mental torture. More like cruel and unusual punishment for some imagined crime. L'ilisht was harshly reminded of one of the reasons he wasn't exactly keen on coming to Mordhaben's: he couldn't read very well. Lack of formal education would do that to a kid, really. Most of the phrases, idioms, and words larger than a single syllable went completely over the blue chimera's head.

His annoyance was evidence by the second test. "Do I have to do this?" His voice was...grating. It was harsh, and sounded totally synthetic, owing to his heritage. The sound matched the appearance, to be perfectly frank: fitting the "human" mold, but only just barely so.

Going through the tests not knowing what most of what anything meant (including the entirety of the magical knowledge section, unsurprisingly), L'ilisht finished only when the time ended. He was here for a reason, and if they were testing him, he'd at least try. Even if almost every single response section was totally blank or simply included a question of his own.

The physical exam, though. That was where he shone. For each of the different sections of the exam, L'ilisht took a moment before starting to let the familiar warmth spread through his bones, magic flooding his body and enhancing his natural abilities even further beyond their naturally extreme levels. The results were perhaps most noticeable on the wagon run: L'ilisht seemed to barely be slowed down by the wagon at all, helped by both his second pair of arms and his magical enhancement.

To anybody bothering to use Vision, he would be extremely obviously utilizing magic, but it would also be obvious that his magic was completely self-contained, affecting only him.

Mordhaben's Institute for Aspiring Mages [Gaslamp Fantasy] [Completely Dead]

L'ilisht

It was probably hard to miss the seven-foot chimera that seemed to ignore the presence of every other living thing in the Institute so far.

Every other living thing, except Professor Malovroch. L'ilisht's heart nearly broke when he saw the Monster professor, mostly because he had no clue that she was actually a Monster. Must be horrible, to live looking like that. I'm no looker myself, but she...it's...hideous. The cookie was nice though. Bit small for somebody of his size, really, but that was to be expected from food made for humans.

Humans. His mind wandered back to the fight earlier in the cafeteria, where everybody decided to play the hero or something. That dumb human girl trying to teach a self-hater a lesson on the worth of life by insulting the worth of his life? Was she expecting him to miss the irony of a chimera insulting another chimera? Did she simply not understand the frequency of self-hatred in their kind?

It didn't matter in the end, really. The fight was broken up with a few more (pointless and likely unenforceable) threats, some people got in trouble, and everybody else went on their way. The tour was as informative as a quick tour could be, though L'ilisht was certainly interested in Malovroch's blacksmithing class. His armor and sword were rather standard, and if there was a way he could possibly combine his strengthening magic and the smithing process to create armor that permanently maintained its enhanced state, she...it...they?...Malovroch would likely be the one to know.

It was the last bit that annoyed him. Roommates. Would he really have to suffer living with somebody else for his entire tenure here? There wasn't a chance in the Deadlands that he'd be able to find some other form of accommodation, as that would cost money he didn't have. He highly doubted he'd be able to convince anybody he had any situation that required him to live alone. An existential hatred for social interaction probably wouldn't cut it with the professors.

As it was, he just...stood there. A displeased look on his face, papers in his hand, as he mentally prepared himself for whoever would be dumb or masochistic enough to try to approach him.

If he couldn't get into the large dorms, he'd prefer to at least have an idea of what he was getting himself into.

Mordhaben's Institute for Aspiring Mages [Gaslamp Fantasy] [Completely Dead]

L'ilisht

Name: L’ilisht (Actually Lil’ Shit but he was too young to realize it was an insult at the time, and L’ilisht just…kind of stuck)

Appearance: As a second-generation chimera, this guy is ugly. He still has four eyes (two of which are compound prey eyes, two of which are humanoid predatory eyes), his skin is somewhat chitinous (it has a slight sheen to it, it has less “give” or stretchiness than human skin, it feels somewhat hard, and has a very pale blue tint to it), and he has a secondary pair of smaller arms located about half a foot below his regular arms. To accommodate this, his shoulders are broader than average, resulting in his torso having the basic shape of an inverted triangle. His hair is short and black, though it is more akin to the spines on a hedgehog. He has no ears, just a foldable membrane designed to help keep his ear-holes from being plugged with debris. However, he can flare this membrane out to look somewhat like an ear. An eldritch, chitinous, tiny ear.

He’s about 7’3” tall, and weighs just over 400 pounds. Standing with his arms resting at his side, he’s around 3-feet wide across the shoulders. For reference, that’s nearly twice as wide at the shoulder as the average male. Part of this is absolutely owed to his altered body structure, but even at his lower arms, which are closer together, he’s quite a bit wider than your average person.

Age: 20

Species: 2nd-Generation Dragonfly chimera

Gender: Male

Occupation: 1st year student

Personality: Not. Friendly. Always alert. Doesn’t like being touched. Not many people bother to learn beyond that. He has little in the way of loyalty or desire for friends, and likely seems like a sociopath to those who don’t try to get to know him. He’s not a sociopath, he just hates people and interacting with people, to the point where he actively discourages it.

Openness to Experience: 15
Neuroticism: 65
Agreeableness: 5
Extroversion: 5
Conscientiousness: 90

Attributes:

Strength: 9
Endurance: 6
Constitution: 8
Agility: 3
Dexterity: 7
Intelligence: 2
Wisdom: 3
Charisma: 2

Magic Type Preference: Physical Enhancement

Innate Magic Talent: Alteration of physical attributes (primarily weakening and strengthening). He uses this mostly to augment his already-amazing fighting talent, moving faster than somebody with his body has any right to, and hitting better and harder than would be considered possible for anything other than a first-gen chimera or monster. While he can technically alter the existence of other beings, his poor affinity for Vision and Compromise make this somewhat difficult against anybody, or anything, with real training or discipline.

Interests: Training, Fighting, Exercising, Sparring
Skills: Fighting, Survivalism, some cooking, Hunting, Shooting, Swordsmanship

Biography: L’ilisht was born two a pair of 1st-generation chimeras. As one might imagine, those parents are no longer among the living, having been the targets of the hatred, pity, or disgust of most of the living things on this planet. Monsters killed his parents, along with quite a few other first-gens living in a small village West of Mordhaben’s. He was around 4 when this happened.

At 8 he killed his first monster with an old shotgun he’d found. 10-gauge slug to the head will put most things down, as it turns out. Now, the recoil damn near broke his arms, mind you, but the damn thing died.

Over time, he slowly headed East, taking shelter where he could with and traveling with the few survivors of the village who stuck together. They were the ones who gave him his name, as bringing a large, withdrawn, broody little child was a bit more of a hassle than they wanted, but they weren’t monsters, some might say ironically.

Eventually, they settled near Mordhaben’s, managing to get by while L’ilisht trained with magic and with martial equipment, eventually to the point where he decided that hunting monsters wasn’t what he wanted to do with all of his time. Even if he spent the rest of his life making up for those years on the run by fighting, hunting, and killing monsters, he’d prefer to be better at what he was doing.

Equipment: 10-gauge shotgun (loaded with slugs), .357 revolver, claymore, monster-hunting armor (akin to half-plate from DnD)

Mordhaben's Institute for Aspiring Mages [Gaslamp Fantasy] [Completely Dead]

L'ilisht

Name: L’ilisht (Actually Lil’ Shit but he was too young to realize it was an insult at the time, and L’ilisht just…kind of stuck)

Appearance: As a second-generation chimera, this guy is ugly. He still has four eyes (two of which are compound prey eyes, two of which are humanoid predatory eyes), his skin is somewhat chitinous (it has a slight sheen to it, it has less “give” or stretchiness than human skin, it feels somewhat hard, and has a very pale blue tint to it), and he has a secondary pair of smaller arms located about half a foot below his regular arms. To accommodate this, his shoulders are broader than average, resulting in his torso having the basic shape of an inverted triangle. His hair is short and black, though it is more akin to the spines on a hedgehog. He has no ears, just a foldable membrane designed to help keep his ear-holes from being plugged with debris. However, he can flare this membrane out to look somewhat like an ear. An eldritch, chitinous, tiny ear.

He’s about 7’3” tall, and weighs just over 400 pounds. Standing with his arms resting at his side, he’s around 3-feet wide across the shoulders. For reference, that’s nearly twice as wide at the shoulder as the average male. Part of this is absolutely owed to his altered body structure, but even at his lower arms, which are closer together, he’s quite a bit wider than your average person.

Age: 20

Species: 2nd-Generation Dragonfly chimera

Gender: Male

Occupation: 1st year student

Personality: Not. Friendly. Always alert. Doesn’t like being touched. Not many people bother to learn beyond that. He has little in the way of loyalty or desire for friends, and likely seems like a sociopath to those who don’t try to get to know him. He’s not a sociopath, he just hates people and interacting with people, to the point where he actively discourages it.

Openness to Experience: 15
Neuroticism: 65
Agreeableness: 5
Extroversion: 5
Conscientiousness: 90

Attributes:

Strength: 9
Endurance: 6
Constitution: 8
Agility: 3
Dexterity: 7
Intelligence: 2
Wisdom: 3
Charisma: 2

Magic Type Preference: Physical Enhancement

Innate Magic Talent: Alteration of physical attributes (primarily weakening and strengthening). He uses this mostly to augment his already-amazing fighting talent, moving faster than somebody with his body has any right to, and hitting better and harder than would be considered possible for anything other than a first-gen chimera or monster. While he can technically alter the existence of other beings, his poor affinity for Vision and Compromise make this somewhat difficult against anybody, or anything, with real training or discipline.

Interests: Training, Fighting, Exercising, Sparring
Skills: Fighting, Survivalism, some cooking, Hunting, Shooting, Swordsmanship

Biography: L’ilisht was born two a pair of 1st-generation chimeras. As one might imagine, those parents are no longer among the living, having been the targets of the hatred, pity, or disgust of most of the living things on this planet. Monsters killed his parents, along with quite a few other first-gens living in a small village West of Mordhaben’s. He was around 4 when this happened.

At 8 he killed his first monster with an old shotgun he’d found. 10-gauge slug to the head will put most things down, as it turns out. Now, the recoil damn near broke his arms, mind you, but the damn thing died.

Over time, he slowly headed East, taking shelter where he could with and traveling with the few survivors of the village who stuck together. They were the ones who gave him his name, as bringing a large, withdrawn, broody little child was a bit more of a hassle than they wanted, but they weren’t monsters, some might say ironically.

Eventually, they settled near Mordhaben’s, managing to get by while L’ilisht trained with magic and with martial equipment, eventually to the point where he decided that hunting monsters wasn’t what he wanted to do with all of his time. Even if he spent the rest of his life making up for those years on the run by fighting, hunting, and killing monsters, he’d prefer to be better at what he was doing.

Equipment: 10-gauge shotgun (loaded with slugs), .357 revolver, claymore, monster-hunting armor (akin to half-plate from DnD)

Has been approved already by the Great and Powerful Aze!

The Grand Arcanium (An Isolated DnD wizard school rp, new roleplayers welcome)

I find it hard to disagree. I'd love to see the adventures of Garanin and his wondrous enchanting, but...it's no fun if nobody else is around

The Grand Arcanium (An Isolated DnD wizard school rp, new roleplayers welcome)

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