Sigil

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Hammy enough?

The Legend of Zelda: Decedents of the Hero (OPEN)

One humble player's suggestion, but, maybe it would be a forgivable course of action to trim the party back to the actives and throw the rest into stasis. Or guard duty. Or have them take up an NPC role wherein they darn our socks and make meals.

Cricket could use a blade caddy. Sir Oryx might could use a squire that can go to town for armor polish without being chased by townsfolk with torches. Perhaps they could make up "Team B" and given an assignment far, far away until necessary to the storyline that one or so reappear.

Then again, it's late and I'm rambling. Grain of salt, and all that.

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

@Double
Haven't had the pleasure of exposure to Ace Attorney. Curious as hell now, though.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern: Private Rooms (2F)

Interacting With: Everyone, whether he knows it or not.

The distress had moved to his lower abdomen now, a beast fighting for egress. It had become pain, actual pain, far from being merely uncomfortable as earlier this evening. This seemed to always happen when he moved to another area. He had suspected that it was the change of location; new food and methods of preparation seemed to throw his intestinal balance off, despite the fact that it was one of the very things that drew him ever onward to new locales.

Oddly enough, when he personally used new techniques, it didn't seem to bother him quite as much.

Postulating on the root cause of his disturbance did nothing to ease the present situation, however. He knew what was to occur next. All he could do was brace for it, and put his mind in a happy place. Perhaps it for the best that Brighid tactfully withdrew from his clumsy attempt at first-meeting coitus. He had no desire to kill her.

Keystone held his hands out in front of him, still seated in the warm water of the brass bathtub. He closed his eyes and let out a massive exhale, centering himself for the fight to come. The pugilist bulwarked his nerve and tried to offload the pressure in a light, sustained release.

He failed.

By the second of the first breach, Keystone knew that he was doomed to failure. The constant shoving against his colon wall, equal in ferocity in all directions, lay contained in too small a space for too long to go gentle. What began as a nonosecond of barely noticable squeaking exploded from him into something monstrous. Something worthy of poetry, dark and terrible. A battlecry of the sadistically faithful against the onslaught of the righteous. His ass shouted.

The rectal roar deepened in intensity, displacing the warm water under which it struggled. the mere shock of the first moment of this constant, unabated arseblast moved the once cleansing liquid away from Keystone, simultaneously slamming his back flat against the tub wall. The blow knocked the wind from the battle-hardened fighter and forced him to grab the rim on either side of himself, his iron grip the only thing preventing him from being propelled from the 20 gallons of ass soup he steadily and involuntarily brought into being.

Keystone gulped and horked for air, giving frantic prayer to gods he didn't fully support to allow him the regained use of his lungs. Slowing his mind, he opened his airway seemingly by way of pure willpower, and took in a chestful of sweet, blessed air.

Except that it wasn't.

His dietary choices, and the methane based horror of their escape, had turned the atmosphere of his bathing room toxic. If not deadly in their own right, the noxious Thunder From Below coupled with the warm, wet environs mingled together in ways perilous for sustained human activity. This tainted, but life-sustaining air was the only thing keeping Keystone conscious, though it threatened to take said consciousness away at any moment.

He knew then the awful truth of this - Keystone, Slayer of Undead, Warrior of Slums and Badlands, Protector of Innocent(ish) Barmaidens, Weilder of Righteous Fury and Master of Unarmed Combat, must fight. Fight for his very survival. Fight for the lives of those who he would one day save. He must fight, lest the darkness take him, and claim any who approached Room 2F unawares.

"I made you, you bloody Arse Demon!" he shouted over the ongoing underwater hamflappery, determination and rage building within him, "You're my task now, me old beauty! RAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Below, in the common room of the Tavern Proper, one could plainly hear the Battle of 2F taking place, but no one thought much of it at first, let alone understood the nature of the noise upstairs. Keystone's roar, and what followed, brought conversations and music to a sour halt.

Drawing from his experience studying under Shou and Xiang Masters, Keystone steeled his resolve, flexed and released his sculpted abdominals in such a way as to center and steady his physicality. A lesson about force and direction crept into his thoughts, as taught by Grandmaster Feng, martial artist and philosopher of great renoun:

"When traveling down angry water, one will lose control fighting against the current. Instead, endeavor to move faster than the river. Only then will you be able to steer your boat away from the rocks."

A moment of clarity hit. He knew what he must do. The Juggerfart continued, but instead of attempting to contain, Keystone redoubled his roar into a cry of defiance and bore down, forcing his angry ass air from his body with the control of a trained aesthetic. It was then that the Pillars of Heaven shook. As did the Crossed Swords.

A concussive wave, part flatulence and part harnessed Chi, radiated outward from Keystone, knocking unsecured knick-knacks from their resting places inside the room. The roars, both his and his ass's, grew to kaiju-esque proportions and took on demonic undertones. Keystone paused for breath. The fart did not.

The sound was the trumpet of a screaming elephant, held underwater and thrashing in its death throes. A deafening, bubbly, bass staccato, scream-murmuring through cloudy oil. The constant, unabated horror reserved for an afterlife of judgement, a sound which drives the sane to madness and the fractured to perfect alignment. A noise that sent all non-sentients scurrying for dear life for miles around, invoking a fear so primal as to not have a proper name in any of the languages of Men or Elves. Horses neighed fearfully, bucking against their handlers. Trees cried blood. The First Seal of Armageddon started to hairline.

The Kraken had been released, and it was angry.

---

Slowly, laboriously, painfully, Keystone recovered himself. He noted with amazement that his tub, while emptier, had not been befouled. The surviving pugilist climbed unsteadily from his place of battle, changed into fresh clothes, and clasped on his bracers. His drink had somehow survived the brouhaha, a fact for which he was particularly grateful.

Keystone sat on his bed and poured a glass with an unsteady hand. One drink down, he opened the shutters to his window, hoping the night air would carry the brunt of this remaining nightmare away.

Satisfied that no one would die, the Errant Monk donned his layered leather coat and trudged back downstairs, hoping there was still an opportunity to enjoy the evening before the inevitable happened - the same inevitable thing that always happens when he graced an unstable situation with his company.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

My mistake, of course. For clarification, please direct your attention to my signature.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

So, the three of us with different shades of BROWN for our dialogue must never do a collaborative post, I'm thinking.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

@Symphoni
Keystone is decidedly male, and has been on the road for quite a while. His table manners alone prevent his ready acquisition of "booty" under most circumstances.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Johnathon Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern: Private Rooms (2F)

Interacting With: Bathtub, Barmaid

Ignoring the snowballing abdominal rumble, Keystone set to the daunting task of his personal hygiene. He passed the coarse rag over his powerful form, unconcealed by the civilized trappings of "clothing". For the first time in a long while, he took stock of the disturbing coverage of bodily scarring he had acquired over his lifetime.

He could recall every injury that led to the Roadmap of Ouch upon his body; a broken bottle here, knife wound there. It was his way of marking the passing of time. Like tree rings, he had said once. As his memory of each scar resurfaced from the shadows of his psyche, the faintest echo of the pain of their creation played in his flesh.

The highest concentrations of imperfectly healed skin marked his childhood and the beginnings of his career fighting. He had learned much since his younger days - many lessons those he broke and destroyed did not. The scars gradually became fewer and lighter.

Until the past few years, anyway.

His present state, something of an Errant, put him out into a wider and more dangerous world. For the longest time, he existed in a realm thick with magic as a wanderer, utilizing neither arms nor arcane knowledge, learning more of his craft and quite inadvertently involving himself with one epic story or another. Almost without exception, they involved battling hordes of the Undead.

Lucky for him, this was merely a territorial dispute with Orcs.

A knock at the door snapped Keystone from his thoughts. "Bintfisting 'ell you want?" he snapped at whomever was on the other side. Thought-interrupting bastard. A woman's voice, sweet but impatient answered from the hallway.

"You wanted a bottle of something 'local, floral, and goat-stink-peeling?', sir? Do you want me to leave it out here?"

"Yeah, um... sorry love, door's open. Bring it in, wouldja?" Keystone called back, anxious to sample the local flavor via flammable liquid but unwilling to exit the hot water of his bath to do so. The brawler in repose leaned just over the rim, grabbing for the his coinpurse. Though an unsociable bastard, Keystone tipped when comfortably able. It ensured vigorous attention in a way that his own misunderstood people skills could not. As it turned out, his last venture was profitable; he could share a little of the spoils with the working class - a state that, long ago, he aspired upward towards.

The barmaid entered with the solid proficiency of a woman who had done this hundreds of times. Her mood and action was impersonal yet polite, professional yet open. She was a few years older than Keystone, light of hair and pretty, if hardened of feature. She carried a small metal tray, upon which rested a ceramic bottle and a single glass tumbler. Without hesitation, the woman delivered it tubside, and introduced herself as Brighid.

Keystone nodded and handed her a silver coin. Brighid poured him a healthy dram of the liquid. The smell of the home-brewed liqour cut through the damp, steamy air, heavy and sour-sweet with whatever was used in its distillation and flavoring. The veteran service lady took the opportunity to give her guest a long look, allowing her eyes to go wide at the thought of a man who would let himself go through so much punishment, to allow his body to become thusly marked permanently by other people's aggression.

Totally mistaking the intent of her gaze, Keystone prompted, "Care to join, y'ladyship? Got plenty for two, if you get me..."

Brighid smiled, took up the glass she had just pored and leaned in close to Keystone's ear. She tilted her head back and drained its contents, allowing the soaking pugilist to catch a peripheral look at her respectable cleavage. With a breathy whisper, she intoned,

"It will take more than a shot and a silver for that, boy."

She tapped the glass flatly back onto the tray, rose, and strode confidently toward the door. "If there's anything else you need, m'lord, don't hesitate to ask."

As the door closed behind her, Keystone took a pull straight from the bottle, wondering precisely why he felt like a jackass at that moment. "Ey! I said floral, not fruity! Aw, bloody 'ell... n'mind."

Brighid was an interesting woman. He might have to meditate on her later.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

@lostdreamer
I've been playing Keystone for quite some time now. Even have a .rtf of oddball quotes from RP's Past and a short list of his own slang (obstinately, to develop the colloquialisms of his fictional homeland) that I'm waiting for the most opportune moment to utilize/develop further.

Always on the lookout for as new piece of crude but descriptive slang, if any comes to mind.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Then she got an idea. An awful idea. The GM got a wonderful, awful idea!