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Literary Hatchetman
STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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The one girl seemed to be very familiar with the speakers in the Guild Hall, and their newest introduction, Kyogen. She must be very outgoing and have arrived to the party early, or she was already a long-term member of this Guild. Interesting to note, many of these people, like himself, were very new. Almost as if this was a second wave of recruiting. The possibilities as to why there was an abrupt second wave swirled about in Cricket's forebrain, some benign and some horrifying. It was perhaps this preoccupation of thought that took his direct awareness away from the immediate surroundings, allowing this extroverted Hylian girl to run into him.
Unsure as to what would happen next, a tiny light with gossamer wings flitted from the youthful Sheikah's shoulder, blinking out of sight a half second later.
It seemed deliberate. His own Clan has an unspoken game among its younger members; the game had no name, but consisted mainly of various attempts to relieve each other of the items on their person or in their pockets. Most of the time these items were returned after a while, but sometimes kids got greedy.
It was accepted law that Sheikah don't steal from one another. There must be trust within their ranks as they depended upon each other to survive daily. Still, they found little ways to entertain themselves and practice their sleight-of-hand skills without actually stealing. One of the techniques often implemented was the classic "bump". Oldest trick in the Book, one could say, but it worked. Otherwise, it wouldn't be in the Book.
It could be that he was wrong, however. Far be it for him to leap to premature conclusions, his face assumed a vaguely amused look as he waved away the slight upon his personal space. Cricket beamed his usual warm smile for a second, before holding up a single finger. With a thoughtful look, he poked about in his pockets and patted his coat down, until an expression of minor victory asserted itself on his features.
Cricket drew a single, small, mottled green apple from an exterior coat pocket, and held it out to Mari. It was unlikely that anyone could deduce the origin of this diminutive fruit, as unlikely as any of these people visiting the Kokiri Forest and sticking around for a meal. Seemed as good an olive branch as anything, and with his limited communication it was probably best to start making connections early.
Purely coincidentally, this action also allowed Cricket to ascertain if the young girl had, in fact, lifted something from him.
@Ryuzaki
Unsure as to what would happen next, a tiny light with gossamer wings flitted from the youthful Sheikah's shoulder, blinking out of sight a half second later.
It seemed deliberate. His own Clan has an unspoken game among its younger members; the game had no name, but consisted mainly of various attempts to relieve each other of the items on their person or in their pockets. Most of the time these items were returned after a while, but sometimes kids got greedy.
It was accepted law that Sheikah don't steal from one another. There must be trust within their ranks as they depended upon each other to survive daily. Still, they found little ways to entertain themselves and practice their sleight-of-hand skills without actually stealing. One of the techniques often implemented was the classic "bump". Oldest trick in the Book, one could say, but it worked. Otherwise, it wouldn't be in the Book.
It could be that he was wrong, however. Far be it for him to leap to premature conclusions, his face assumed a vaguely amused look as he waved away the slight upon his personal space. Cricket beamed his usual warm smile for a second, before holding up a single finger. With a thoughtful look, he poked about in his pockets and patted his coat down, until an expression of minor victory asserted itself on his features.
Cricket drew a single, small, mottled green apple from an exterior coat pocket, and held it out to Mari. It was unlikely that anyone could deduce the origin of this diminutive fruit, as unlikely as any of these people visiting the Kokiri Forest and sticking around for a meal. Seemed as good an olive branch as anything, and with his limited communication it was probably best to start making connections early.
Purely coincidentally, this action also allowed Cricket to ascertain if the young girl had, in fact, lifted something from him.
@Ryuzaki
@Ryuzaki
Double posting is a touch more forgivable in the OOC, I find. But just to be safe, I put this one up in case you tried to triple post. That's when I demand pistols at ten paces.
Principle of the thing.
Double posting is a touch more forgivable in the OOC, I find. But just to be safe, I put this one up in case you tried to triple post. That's when I demand pistols at ten paces.
Principle of the thing.
Interesting work so far. What program are you using for these images?
El Sasquatcho heard the various musings of his teammates, but was far too into his personal exothermic joy to respond with anything intelligible. One question did snap him out of it, at least temporarily; the postulate that the creature was once human, and should not be hurt too badly.
The Luchador's mood became grave for a half a moment, just long enough to speak aloud, "Señor Ratboy, we are not killers. Put it out of your mind."
The energy of the moment, angry at being suppressed for any reason (even the reassurance of a teammate), exploded from El Sasquatcho like an evening of corn liquor and bad clams. He leaned his head in close to Nightlife riding shotgun, close enough for him to clearly see the sparkle of near-insanity in his expressive brown eyes. A rictus cheshire formed, dominating the view of his passenger, as El Sasquatcho locked gaze with the team's newest addition.
Still looking at Nightlife, the eccentric wrestler applied even pressure on the El Camino's gas pedal. The engine flared and growled impressively, coupled with the squealing of rubber-on-blacktop as the tires fought to grip the pavement. When finally they did, the team parted ways with their previous location, leaving behind impressive tire striping and a small cloud of acrid smoke.
Just before the car hit the main road, El Sasquatcho shifted gears and fishtail-drifted noisily into traffic. They were off at a gallop, dragging justice with them. "Ey! One of you pretend to be a siren! El Sasquatcho does not want to stop at the redlights!"
After the team separated, the enigmatic Luchador addressed everyone through their earbud commlinks, "First time we have done this together, my friends. El Sasquatcho attacks better close and head on. Play to your strengths, give each other room to move. If nothing else, El Sasquatcho can help keep it busy."
Giving a moment for planning, a possibly unsound idea occurred to the furry Lucha Livre. "Miss Argonaut! If that thing takes to the air, El Sasquatcho wants you to use El Sasquatcho as a missile! SQUATCH TOSSING! AH HA HA!"
The Luchador's mood became grave for a half a moment, just long enough to speak aloud, "Señor Ratboy, we are not killers. Put it out of your mind."
The energy of the moment, angry at being suppressed for any reason (even the reassurance of a teammate), exploded from El Sasquatcho like an evening of corn liquor and bad clams. He leaned his head in close to Nightlife riding shotgun, close enough for him to clearly see the sparkle of near-insanity in his expressive brown eyes. A rictus cheshire formed, dominating the view of his passenger, as El Sasquatcho locked gaze with the team's newest addition.
Still looking at Nightlife, the eccentric wrestler applied even pressure on the El Camino's gas pedal. The engine flared and growled impressively, coupled with the squealing of rubber-on-blacktop as the tires fought to grip the pavement. When finally they did, the team parted ways with their previous location, leaving behind impressive tire striping and a small cloud of acrid smoke.
Just before the car hit the main road, El Sasquatcho shifted gears and fishtail-drifted noisily into traffic. They were off at a gallop, dragging justice with them. "Ey! One of you pretend to be a siren! El Sasquatcho does not want to stop at the redlights!"
After the team separated, the enigmatic Luchador addressed everyone through their earbud commlinks, "First time we have done this together, my friends. El Sasquatcho attacks better close and head on. Play to your strengths, give each other room to move. If nothing else, El Sasquatcho can help keep it busy."
Giving a moment for planning, a possibly unsound idea occurred to the furry Lucha Livre. "Miss Argonaut! If that thing takes to the air, El Sasquatcho wants you to use El Sasquatcho as a missile! SQUATCH TOSSING! AH HA HA!"
The as yet silent Sheikah gave a warm, friendly smile upon meeting this latest person in their troupe. As it came to his opportunity for introduction, he locked eyes with Kyogen and extended his hand. Generally, a gesture such as this is initiated by one who wants to clasp hands; a sign of trust. This was not precisely what was in mind.
The white haired traveler turned his palm up, displaying a tiny black cricket. The little bug chirped twice, then turned about to face the young man in whose hand it rested. Still smiling, the slender Sheikah pointed his free hand at the cricket, and poked his chest with his thumb.
To reinforce the assigning of his name, he repeated the action slowly and with determination, a serious look on his face. Once the concept of his name had been accepted, he immediately returned a look of benevolent warmth to his features, despite the oft misunderstood markings around his eye.
In the attempt at a little joke, Cricket nodded his head toward their walking caravan's leader, the enigmatic masked Warden, and pantomimed a fearful shiver. His bubbly exterior quickly returned, and he moved to return to his position on the rear flank of the procession, nodding respectfully at those he passed.
The white haired traveler turned his palm up, displaying a tiny black cricket. The little bug chirped twice, then turned about to face the young man in whose hand it rested. Still smiling, the slender Sheikah pointed his free hand at the cricket, and poked his chest with his thumb.
To reinforce the assigning of his name, he repeated the action slowly and with determination, a serious look on his face. Once the concept of his name had been accepted, he immediately returned a look of benevolent warmth to his features, despite the oft misunderstood markings around his eye.
In the attempt at a little joke, Cricket nodded his head toward their walking caravan's leader, the enigmatic masked Warden, and pantomimed a fearful shiver. His bubbly exterior quickly returned, and he moved to return to his position on the rear flank of the procession, nodding respectfully at those he passed.
@The Kid Lantern
Thanks! Have at it. The guys at work keep asking me when the El Sasquatcho comic book is coming out, but I'm no graphic artist. A third party visualization would be an excellent item to show them.
Thanks! Have at it. The guys at work keep asking me when the El Sasquatcho comic book is coming out, but I'm no graphic artist. A third party visualization would be an excellent item to show them.
@Crimson Raven
Yeah, you do you. Send out the Cricket Signal whenever, I'll come a'running.
Note to Self: Get Cricket Signal
Yeah, you do you. Send out the Cricket Signal whenever, I'll come a'running.
Note to Self: Get Cricket Signal
An incredible look of nigh spastic glee fixed itself onto the face of El Sasquatcho; a look which would have frightened small children and the elderly, and driven many a grown man to divert their eyes were his visage not covered by the always present brown and black sugar skull Luchador mask.
It was time.
In a flash of hair and agility, El Sasquatcho flew out of his street clothes and into his armor; his uniform, the symbol of his Hero-ness. It was official. His first mission. His first mission, and he was driving. Life, dearest readers, was sweet.
The bounding steps and leaps of joyous impatience brought our fuzzy protagonist out to the main doors to what he sometimes referred as his Fortress of Squatchitude. The vocal scrambler in his mask boomed in garbled fury as he intoned in a clear and proud roar, "HERO TIME, TEAM! BEAT FEET TO THE VATO TRUCK! AH HA HA HA!!!
The eager Luchador sprang to the El Camino, firing up four hundred and fifty horses of barely contained fuel injected power. The vehicle roared to life, seemingly as ready and anxious as its driver to be underway. Feeding the frenzy of his adrenaline and joy, from deep, deep within his music selections sprang into the light the song most appropriate to the situation, as if by instinct - The full, updated theme of The Lone Ranger.
It was time.
In a flash of hair and agility, El Sasquatcho flew out of his street clothes and into his armor; his uniform, the symbol of his Hero-ness. It was official. His first mission. His first mission, and he was driving. Life, dearest readers, was sweet.
The bounding steps and leaps of joyous impatience brought our fuzzy protagonist out to the main doors to what he sometimes referred as his Fortress of Squatchitude. The vocal scrambler in his mask boomed in garbled fury as he intoned in a clear and proud roar, "HERO TIME, TEAM! BEAT FEET TO THE VATO TRUCK! AH HA HA HA!!!
The eager Luchador sprang to the El Camino, firing up four hundred and fifty horses of barely contained fuel injected power. The vehicle roared to life, seemingly as ready and anxious as its driver to be underway. Feeding the frenzy of his adrenaline and joy, from deep, deep within his music selections sprang into the light the song most appropriate to the situation, as if by instinct - The full, updated theme of The Lone Ranger.
Hearing Kaylee’s impassioned disapproval of his plan and departing from his forethoughts, Keystone slammed the palm of his hand into his face and slowly dragged downward. The initial slapping sound was massive. The large man voiced his frustration at having another idea stymied by issuing a low grunt that, upon further reflection of his situation, turned into a full-throated growl. Were there a suitably dense barrier nearby that needed a large aperture, he would have gladly slammed his head through it.
After giving himself time to think on the matter, Keystone realized that this new revelation still didn’t change Step One in his ever evolving master plan to free Kaylee and potentially turn a profit. He had to look for answers anyway – going to the experts at the Thayan Enclave was right out. A defined lack of trust and personal funds would make that a difficult and risky proposition at best. The plan must continue, for his sake as well as Kaylee’s.
Then again, that was another issue. If she required an actual, living body to inhabit, that would deny someone else their life. While it wasn’t putting someone to the knife, it would be equivalent to the deliberate murder of an innocent. There was the line he wasn’t willing to cross. Step Two of his master plan would have to be an idea on how to circumvent this. But how does one create an empty vessel for a spirit to inhabit? It made his head hurt. Keystone was trained to hit people. It’s what he did, better than anything else. Fabrication of a living body was a little outside of his Zone of Competence.
Okay, Step One, first: Find out what the dead mages recorded about Kaylee, if anything, and salvage any useful goods or materials from their hideouts. Reverin’s tiny tower still held equipment and scrolls; Raa and Keystone did not have time to give a thorough inventory of the place before all hell broke loose. There was profit to be made there, if not so much expected in the way of relevant information. Erepar’s dwelling would most likely yield information, as he had time to study the sword that held Kaylee when Keystone first arrived.
A thought struck Keystone – The sword, what purpose did it serve? Was it another piece of this puzzle? Would it be another unwieldly hunk of metal he’d have to carry around but never use? Gods knew he didn’t want to end up like Erepar’s Naked Manservant (and what happened to that thing, anyway?).
These were all questions for a later time. Right now, he had to prepare the Telflamm Rocksteady Clan’s meals for the day.
Preparation of food was made less of a chore (not that he minded in the least) with Saran’s help. Her answers, while evasive, served to brighten his mood a bit since the intracranial discussion he had earlier with Kaylee. Again, she managed to avoid answering his questions while still giving him conversation. Upon hearing her list of possibilities and hypotheticals, Keystone tilted his head to the side, not unlike a confused mastiff, and gave her a piercing gaze. Slowly, a smile formed, accompanied by an affirming bob of his head.
“Yeah, mental intrusions do suck it, Miss Saran. You… …are going to confuse me for quite some time. Looking forward to puzzling you out though, I am. C’mon then, let’s roast some ducks.”
Suppertime conversation seemed to put Keystone on the defensive. At least a bit. He addressed Saran first:
“Really? That’s a right befuddling piece of news, then. Unless the couriers’re ensorcelled somehow, anyway, but I know nothin’ of magic nor the people what practice it. Alright, if the town’s still in good order, then the structures I’m talking ‘bout still stand solid, and with no rightful owners alive. Also, should be a proper Inn to rest up in. If it’s true, I’m glad the survivors aren’t sleeping under the weather, as it were.”
On Avar’s concerns, Keystone responded flatly, “Can’t speak for all magefolk, Master Rocksteady. Me an’ the Paladin I was traveling with exchanged notes after the fact. The man hired us to rob someone. He made regular use of undead creatures, what killed one of the people in their, ah, ‘job interview’, and tried to drag the corpse away for reasons unknown. That, and Good Sir Knight mentioned he detected lots of nastiness from the Earth Elemental the bugger used as an attack dog. I’m fairly positive that Elementals aren’t generally aligned, and that raises some questions for me.”
“Now, I only knew the man for an evening, but he left an unfavorable impression. That other pointy-hat, Erepar? He seemed ok. Even concerned for our safety when the Big Nasty rolled into town. But I knew him for even less time. Bloody ‘ell, Avar, for all I know, Rev’s secretly the hero here and I’m all villainous, but don’t know the half of it.”
Keystone shook his head, completing his thought with a simple, profound sentence: “It’s hard to do the right thing when you don’t know what it is, Master Rocksteady.”
Keystone wasn’t absolutely certain what tone Tim used as the boy asked him if he would be returning to Two Stars. Maybe he’d been shaken by the abruptness of their first meal together, and the hard feelings stayed, if only in part. Maybe he just didn’t like the scarred brawler. It was as good a possibility as any; Keystone didn’t exactly inspire warm feelings of love and togetherness, generally. When he did, experience taught him to be guarded. It was possible that this boy, this guileless smithy’s apprentice, was more honest with him than most. Keystone regarded him thusly, and returned to the conversation with this in mind.
“Yeah, Tim. Giving thought to going back there for a short while, get some answers. Try to, at least. I intend on returning, y’see. Give you lot your share of the profits, if any. I’ll need some things before I set out, expedited by the reputations of Miss Saran and your Master Rocksteady. That’s why I’m insisting on splitting the profits.”
His attention turned to the others at the table, “I’ll make out a list, if you’re willing to go in with me on this little enterprise.”
“Avar, I am honored you’d let me into your home, and have allowed me to stay for this time. And I get it; I’m surely throwing off your house’s routine. Corrupting and whatnot. Hey, attracting the working girls, eh? Didn’t notice, rather caught in my routine. They buy anything? I can see crafting a line of stilettos and sash-knives, earring darts and the like, for the Professional Market Lady’s self-defense. If’n they like it, I might could teach them how to make with the fisticuffs an’ stabby-stabby, build customer loyalty. Maybe make the Market Square safer at night. …just thinking out loud, sir. (AHEM) Anyway, if I’m going to be back in town for a while, it’d be prudent t’get my own place, yeah.” Keystone glanced at Saran briefly before continuing, “But I’d be wantin’ to make it quite nearby.”
“So, that ring, Miss Saran. Any suggestions on what to do with it? I’d not dare try it on m’self.”
After supper, Keystone set to drafting his list before turning in. He left it sitting on the table, again with an appropriate stack of coins.
After giving himself time to think on the matter, Keystone realized that this new revelation still didn’t change Step One in his ever evolving master plan to free Kaylee and potentially turn a profit. He had to look for answers anyway – going to the experts at the Thayan Enclave was right out. A defined lack of trust and personal funds would make that a difficult and risky proposition at best. The plan must continue, for his sake as well as Kaylee’s.
Then again, that was another issue. If she required an actual, living body to inhabit, that would deny someone else their life. While it wasn’t putting someone to the knife, it would be equivalent to the deliberate murder of an innocent. There was the line he wasn’t willing to cross. Step Two of his master plan would have to be an idea on how to circumvent this. But how does one create an empty vessel for a spirit to inhabit? It made his head hurt. Keystone was trained to hit people. It’s what he did, better than anything else. Fabrication of a living body was a little outside of his Zone of Competence.
Okay, Step One, first: Find out what the dead mages recorded about Kaylee, if anything, and salvage any useful goods or materials from their hideouts. Reverin’s tiny tower still held equipment and scrolls; Raa and Keystone did not have time to give a thorough inventory of the place before all hell broke loose. There was profit to be made there, if not so much expected in the way of relevant information. Erepar’s dwelling would most likely yield information, as he had time to study the sword that held Kaylee when Keystone first arrived.
A thought struck Keystone – The sword, what purpose did it serve? Was it another piece of this puzzle? Would it be another unwieldly hunk of metal he’d have to carry around but never use? Gods knew he didn’t want to end up like Erepar’s Naked Manservant (and what happened to that thing, anyway?).
These were all questions for a later time. Right now, he had to prepare the Telflamm Rocksteady Clan’s meals for the day.
Preparation of food was made less of a chore (not that he minded in the least) with Saran’s help. Her answers, while evasive, served to brighten his mood a bit since the intracranial discussion he had earlier with Kaylee. Again, she managed to avoid answering his questions while still giving him conversation. Upon hearing her list of possibilities and hypotheticals, Keystone tilted his head to the side, not unlike a confused mastiff, and gave her a piercing gaze. Slowly, a smile formed, accompanied by an affirming bob of his head.
“Yeah, mental intrusions do suck it, Miss Saran. You… …are going to confuse me for quite some time. Looking forward to puzzling you out though, I am. C’mon then, let’s roast some ducks.”
Suppertime conversation seemed to put Keystone on the defensive. At least a bit. He addressed Saran first:
“Really? That’s a right befuddling piece of news, then. Unless the couriers’re ensorcelled somehow, anyway, but I know nothin’ of magic nor the people what practice it. Alright, if the town’s still in good order, then the structures I’m talking ‘bout still stand solid, and with no rightful owners alive. Also, should be a proper Inn to rest up in. If it’s true, I’m glad the survivors aren’t sleeping under the weather, as it were.”
On Avar’s concerns, Keystone responded flatly, “Can’t speak for all magefolk, Master Rocksteady. Me an’ the Paladin I was traveling with exchanged notes after the fact. The man hired us to rob someone. He made regular use of undead creatures, what killed one of the people in their, ah, ‘job interview’, and tried to drag the corpse away for reasons unknown. That, and Good Sir Knight mentioned he detected lots of nastiness from the Earth Elemental the bugger used as an attack dog. I’m fairly positive that Elementals aren’t generally aligned, and that raises some questions for me.”
“Now, I only knew the man for an evening, but he left an unfavorable impression. That other pointy-hat, Erepar? He seemed ok. Even concerned for our safety when the Big Nasty rolled into town. But I knew him for even less time. Bloody ‘ell, Avar, for all I know, Rev’s secretly the hero here and I’m all villainous, but don’t know the half of it.”
Keystone shook his head, completing his thought with a simple, profound sentence: “It’s hard to do the right thing when you don’t know what it is, Master Rocksteady.”
Keystone wasn’t absolutely certain what tone Tim used as the boy asked him if he would be returning to Two Stars. Maybe he’d been shaken by the abruptness of their first meal together, and the hard feelings stayed, if only in part. Maybe he just didn’t like the scarred brawler. It was as good a possibility as any; Keystone didn’t exactly inspire warm feelings of love and togetherness, generally. When he did, experience taught him to be guarded. It was possible that this boy, this guileless smithy’s apprentice, was more honest with him than most. Keystone regarded him thusly, and returned to the conversation with this in mind.
“Yeah, Tim. Giving thought to going back there for a short while, get some answers. Try to, at least. I intend on returning, y’see. Give you lot your share of the profits, if any. I’ll need some things before I set out, expedited by the reputations of Miss Saran and your Master Rocksteady. That’s why I’m insisting on splitting the profits.”
His attention turned to the others at the table, “I’ll make out a list, if you’re willing to go in with me on this little enterprise.”
“Avar, I am honored you’d let me into your home, and have allowed me to stay for this time. And I get it; I’m surely throwing off your house’s routine. Corrupting and whatnot. Hey, attracting the working girls, eh? Didn’t notice, rather caught in my routine. They buy anything? I can see crafting a line of stilettos and sash-knives, earring darts and the like, for the Professional Market Lady’s self-defense. If’n they like it, I might could teach them how to make with the fisticuffs an’ stabby-stabby, build customer loyalty. Maybe make the Market Square safer at night. …just thinking out loud, sir. (AHEM) Anyway, if I’m going to be back in town for a while, it’d be prudent t’get my own place, yeah.” Keystone glanced at Saran briefly before continuing, “But I’d be wantin’ to make it quite nearby.”
“So, that ring, Miss Saran. Any suggestions on what to do with it? I’d not dare try it on m’self.”
After supper, Keystone set to drafting his list before turning in. He left it sitting on the table, again with an appropriate stack of coins.
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