Sigil

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

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Kyra, Cremwise, Sona, Corpses

The first thing Keystone went for was the pair of Orcy Spiked Gloves. It would be an interesting addition to his more pugilistic equipment and attire; besides that, he didn't own anything Orc-Craft. The intimidation factor alone would be worth it. Even if he were more effective bareknuckle. Unfortunately, the pragmatic Beater of Wholesale Arse ran into a difficulty that, quite frankly, he really hadn't before: The gloves were too large. He quietly marveled over it in a manner that was decidedly his own.

"Well, ain't that a spoonfulla damnit..."

No matter. They would just be put in the pile, sold off as soon as they could. He continued looting the corpses, taking whatever he thought may make a silver or two. Weapons, mostly. He motioned for others to help, but did not pause his quick and dirty roll of the dead Orcs.

It wasn't until Kyra began questioning the Orc pinned under his horse that Keystone began to pay serious attention. The bastard spoke the language of Men perfectly! Well, if not perfectly, then well enough to hold an in-depth conversation about the Whys and Wherefores of the situation. The answer to the Ranger's second question definitely got his rapt attention:

"We did not! Your kind sent the undead to attack us!"

And there it was. Keystone felt the hair on the back of his next stand up, and a chill pass over his extremities. Of course it was the Undead, and if some bastard sent them, then it was likely the lower end, mindless sort. Meaning there were a LOT more tricks to come. Meaning that every death would provide reinforcements to whoever did this, if they so desired.

Keystone had fought against the Undead before. Several times. It was practically a career for him, to the point that he actually traveled out this way to take a vacation from it all. His thoughts drifted back, over months and years of time. Things he had done to stay alive. Friends he had lost. And the sudden mental break needed to wade into an army of corpses, plying his trade against an untiring assault of once living flesh. Or even more dangerously, the tête-à-tête with the Undead that retained their spark of intelligence and power. He still wasn't sure how he emerged victorious - parts of his memory were blurry as it came to that, but the fact remained that he had clocked more hours fighting back hordes of dead things than most people had in military service, period. If there was a situation starting up here, it needed to be dealt with swiftly or they needed to get far, far away.

Deep down inside, Keystone knew he wasn't going to choose the latter. But he really wanted to.

His memory tarried a little too long with these thoughts. He had questions for the Orc that spoke the Common tongue, questions that would not be answered this hour. He voiced his counsel way too late, as Kyra's arrow was fully pulled back and her fingers were loose on the string as he began, "Wai..." He sighed, figuring that his protest would be as respected and regarded as his advice concerning travel times from last night, anyway. Even if he were quick enough just then for it to matter.

It wasn't just the need for answers, either. Killing an incapacitated opponent did not suit his sense of morality, such as it was. Maybe he was being naive about the whole thing. He was an enemy that attacked him directly, he and his buddies approaching en masse, hoping to kill them all and possibly defile the corpses. Or defile them and make them corpses. Either way, there were elements of both corpses and defiling involved in the hypothetical plan. It was likely the smarter choice to end them.

Still, if this really was shaping up to be an Undead Horde thing, they would need all the help they could get. Humans and Orcs, both.

"Cremmy, we're as good as we're gonna be, just now. Let's get the fonging 'ell out of 'ere."

Keystone's day got a bit darker. Right at the break of dawn, too. If the freshly dead Orc was to be believed, it was as if the Powers That Be had put him exactly in a position he was trying to avoid, but couldn't walk away from. Yeah, it was time to go. It was also time to keep friends, or at least working acquaintances, close.

AND TO HELL WITH THAT FLUTE MUSIC. It seemed to occur just prior to someone running off or an imminent attack.

"Sona. Explain." Maybe she was awake yet. Eh.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

"Órale, Órale!" The sound of an angel disguised as a rampaging, murderous killing machine screamed at them, Meg turning to look at Caesar with a mix of relief and surprise. 'How the fuck did h-- never mind, probably flung himself out of some window and badassly killed a couple of guys while at it.'

@Aewin

Brilliant. Wordsmithery. Something to put in Caesar's bio, and/or online dating profile for the seriously unhinged.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@SgtEasy

I concur with my learned colleague on this matter. When Interpol (I believe you mentioned that it was Interpol that had the case?) is involved, it is of paramount importance that we see to the safety of our RPers and their personal information, lest the same evil that plagued you and your family also be visited on anyone else here.

Perhaps our fears could be assuaged with the case number and/or public record accounting of the incident.

I, for one, would feel much better knowing that the lawful authorities have put this matter to bed, and that your continued presence on roleplayerguild.com after you informed us of the dire importance of your absence did not compromise their good work.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

Cricket

Location: Oasis: Resistance HQ, Streets, Rooftops

Interacting With: Gerik, Oblivious Merchant

The realization dawned on Cricket that the contingent of very mismatched professionals meant to leave immediately. As in, last person enters, everyone has briefing, they leave on mission. He glanced about at those assembled, silently counting. Unless the people present were very elite warriors, the few of them would not be attacking two dozen Moblins and a Lizalfos.

He reasoned that this number of his Clansmen could pull it off, given cover of darkness or a well staged trap; probably something involving range or bombs, but there was only Sheikah (himself), moreover no darkness nor opportunity to stage a trap. If he was going, he had to go prepared for battle. In the open, obvious battle allied with persons he had never worked with previously and varying in combat experience.

Cricket was going to need more knives.

A sudden, urgent look crossed his face, reflecting his thoughts on the numbers at play. He raised his hand, pausing it in front of himself, and motioned again to the water clock on the wall. The unspeaking Sheikah raised three fingers, then brought his thumb and forefinger close together, the way someone might when describing something very small. Apparently, he didn't mean to be very long, whatever he planned on doing.

Turning gracefully toward the door, he shed his long, brown coat, tossing it up into the air. The moment eyes began to follow the motion of the neutral garment, Cricket bolted for the exit. By the time it landed lightly on the back of the chair he intended to occupy, he was already out the door, running full tilt toward a destination unknown to all save himself.

The sky was lit a myriad of colors; chiefly reds and soft purples in the steadily growing morning light, streaking out into the more common yellow and blue colors of the daytime. It was a truly lovely sight that Cricket ignored as he placed one foot in front of the other, quietly and swiftly covering more distance than one might assume a man of his slighter dimensions capable. The concept of breaking stride didn't seem to enter his thought process as he came upon a gaggle of stray Cuccos. He leapt bodily, kicking off of the wall nearby and landing softly behind them, nary a feather ruffled nor unplucked reinforcements summoned at the behest of their clucking brethren.

Quickly, he turned down the next alleyway, out of sight of the rising sun. A merchant was unloading a cart full of date bread into the back of his storefront, packaged neatly in large reed baskets. Cricket was able to time his uninterrupted passage between the cart and the baker while the bulbous man's back was turned, arms laden with sweet and heavy edibles.

The alley terminated with a dead end, rising one story. Cricket flung two kunai ahead of himself, both striking horizontally into the wallface and sinking deeply, approximately five and eight feet from the ground, respectively. The ring pommels quivered slightly from the sudden stop, but they remained otherwise stable in their purpose as an ersatz ladder, which the agile Sheikah hurled himself skyward upon. It was a short few steps before a determined leap took him across a narrow alley on the opposite side of the structure he'd just scaled, and a second leap, this one vertical, to grasp the bottom of a windowsill.

Cricket's hands held solidly, lifting the slender young man's torso just enough to get one foot in the corner of the window. Peering inside for a moment confirmed his selection of buildings - this was indeed the warehouse upon which his residence was constructed.

Both feet firmly in the window, Cricket gave a Leap of Faith, kicking off hard and rotating halfway; just enough to catch the solid, square overhang of the roof while providing momentum sufficient to propel him from a hang below to a handstand above. He came to settle on the flat, mostly open roof, and took a single deep breath. He was home.

The "home" was really more of a solid shack of wood and stone, built atop a large structure that saw little in the way of foot traffic. It was quiet and afforded him both privacy and an excellent view of Oasis, including lands around. The entire roof of the warehouse served as his yard and training area, dotted every now and again with potted plants of various applications and featuring a low, external hearth suitable for cooking or warmth at night. The interior, while not spartan, was rather basic. Mostly it was a place for storage and sleeping, but it had a few personal amenities established over the months Cricket had lived in it. Lived part-time, anyway.

But he was not here for creature comforts. There was a slim, fitting backpack that he maintained from his days in the Kokiri Forest he meant to retrieve. It was always packed for a mission, be it long or short term. The pack held a deceptive amount of goods, was easy to access, and looked exactly like tree bark. Cricket liked it because it was balanced and didn't throw off his more delicate movement. Also, it was a memento of his home, back at the Outpost. He also grabbed a few more knives, a strong and flexible Deku Staff, and his Bomb Bag, then turned to leave.

Getting back was much easier. A broad leap from the side of the building ended in a shoulder roll onto the next one. He segued his parkour-worthy descent into another controlled fall, back into the alley with the merchant, reclaiming his knives in the process. A silent sprint toward the cart bearing date-bread turned into a low slide underneath it; he rose on the other side two large loaves richer and one rupee poorer, the latter left in the basket from which he purloined the former.

Cricket smiled broadly under his half mask. These were the moments that made life worthwhile.

Seconds later, the doors to Resistance HQ pushed open. The campaign-ready Sheikah stepped through, leaning on his Kokiri weapon with two large loaves tucked under an arm. He tossed the sweet, dense bread onto the table and motioned for others to help themselves. With a hand free, finally, he thumbed down his mask and leaned his staff against his coat on the back of the chair he had claimed just prior to his dramatic egress. In the absence of formality, he cut a formidable chunk for himself and awaited both the words of the Resistance officer in charge of the operation, and the arrival of the rest of his contingent.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

Ashton Holloway & Dexter

&

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Lorna, Meg, Dexter

---

The portion of Ash that overcomes stress and pushes forward had almost completely taken the driver's seat, so to speak. He was in full Soldier mode, with zero fucks available for public distribution. People had died today, seemingly in rapid succession. If he had anything to say about it, no one else would.

As Meg knelt to equip herself from their ally's broken body, a snarl from ahead drew Ash's attention. He strode forward and planted the butt of his rifle into the forehead of the approaching corpse. Sadly, it didn't go down immediately. Repeated smashes were necessary for the rotting bastard to fall earthward, its final snarl coming nanoseconds prior to a government issue bootheel cracking skull open like a rancid Cadbury Creme Egg.

"On the doubletime. That means you too, Dexter. Now."

In a rush, the frustrated and perplexed Dexter began to imitate something of a salute, completely forgetting that he still had his massive carpenter's hammer in hand. The head of the sturdy tool caught him across the temple, prompting an immediate split of skin and flash of quite unexpected pain. The resulting dizziness and change of blood pressure prompted an instant bout of irredeemable nausea, his protein bar and canned milk from much earlier in the day returning to the light of day in a fashion only described as projectile. Dexter looked about in confusion, wondering how he abruptly fucked up taking a single step forward and wiping the blood away from his eye with his sleeve.

Unfortunately, he forgot yet again that he was holding a hammer. The blunt head of his implement raked across the bridge of his nose. Not only did he manage to actually wipe blood into his eye, but his other watered from trauma and the strain of vomiting on the quick. He stumbled forward, boots stopping short on Lorna's unmoving leg.

Boots stopped, but torso tried to continue.

Dexter found himself falling forward, blinded by blood and tears, holding his hands in front of his chest to brace for the impact upon the blacktop of downtown Newnan streets. The nail-driving device met the ground before him with a solid clink, claw end facing up, followed shortly by his head. Blunted edge steel penetrated his ocular cavity and dug into what lay beyond, putting the period on the final sentence of his autobiography.

He lay on the road, facedown, hand still holding the tool which ended his life. His legs were spasming.

Ashton didn't see how the fall happened, but did catch the end result. He turned to more squarely size up the scene which lay before him, a growing look of pure, unadulterated incredulity twisting his face, like he had just seen a puppy spontaneously combust, or a prom queen fart the alphabet intelligibly. In Greek.

"THE FUCK?"

Were this any other time, Ash might have been impressed. "No time. Armory."

No-nonsense mindset fully in place, Captain Ashton Holloway, Combat Engineer, led his group toward the refitted bank that served as their weapons storage, pausing only to club out or hack to pieces anything that got in their way.

---

Black James!

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Maria, Ash, Dead People

---

Zoie was where she needed to be, now it was time to help clear a path for the group on the street. He had witnessed the passing of Lorna, who in his estimation thusfar seemed like an okay gal, but was unprepared for Maria's reaction to her sudden and involuntary removal from the living.

"Baby girl, baby girl..." he started, addressing his sniping partner with as sympathetic and reassuring a voice as he could, "We gotta do this. C'mon, Maria, bad guys are still out there, our people are on the ground."

James was pretty sure that his words were lost in the wash of Maria's emotions, as they shifted from sudden grief to profound rage. Maybe it was best for him to keep his mouth shut and make with the shooting. His prodigious gluteus was just fine the way it was, with the original hole it came with and zero arrows protruding from. Yeah. Doing that. Taking the lighter caliber weapon in hand, his Hog Hunter's muscle memory took over, placing the "in" in front of "animate" for a trio of Dead Ones between his people and their destination.

James raised his head from the scope slightly to get a wider angle on his killing field, and noticed Dexter take the Nestea Plunge onto something hard and sharp, never to take a lungful of air again. He thumbed the walkie, "Yo Ash, ya'lls friend need a Band-Aid?"

---

Caesar Gonzalez

---

Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Edenite, painfully.

---

The son-of-a-bitch didn't see him, didn't expect anyone to jump out of a second-story window. One of those fuckers from Eden that shot Leann and Vivian. One of those fuckers that must pay.

The invader ran right past him, such was his desire to get to the Armory, to get weapons to kill more of his people. Admitting it deep within himself, yes, Newnan was his home. These were his people. He expected loss of his daughter to make him detach from ...all this... but his last moments of brooding sorrow, coupled with the danger everyone was in, exposed feelings in him he wasn't sure he possessed.

If nothing else, it was Alicia's job to see to the security of this place. Damnit, he would take up her responsibility and get the job done regardless, just as he taught her to do, many years ago. And so, the stabbing began.

Caesar's haste to get to the man worked in his disfavor. He had accidentally kicked a bit of window frame in his pursuit, drawing the balding stranger's attention. He swung around with a hunting rifle, intending a quick "point and click" interaction. He did not intend for the leathery Latino to hurl a machete across the street and into his stomach. The Edenite could see the blade approach in slow motion, tumbling end over end; point then handle, point then handle. He was aware of every nuance of the weapon, light reflecting from it in the pattern of its approach, even a strange choppy whooshing sound as it got closer. It seemed to move so, so slowly. The instant broke down into a very long time, to his perception. In its slowness, however, there was nothing he could do to move out of the way.

The ponderous-seeming movement caught back up with the reality's speed with sickening clarity, just as the blade parted the flesh of his gut. One hand loosed from his rifle as he stared in shock at his newest faux extremity. The half-second was just enough time for Caesar to be upon him.

His remaining machete hacked off his hand with deft accuracy, dropping it and his weapon to the ground. Caesar was already in a spin when his free hand found the grip of his stomach-sheathed blade, wrenching it free and hamstringing the Edenite in a flowing, circular maneuver. There were no attempts to quiet nor kill the man, no. El Jefe had plans.

Unable to stand on his own power, gutshanked, and missing a hand, the would-be interloper wailed. Casear grabbed him by the belt and drug the blood pouring fucknut out into the open, just up from the group of his people making for the Armory. The Mexican banged the flat of his blade onto a nearby stop sign, alerting any Dead in the area to a free and easy meal.

"Órale, Órale!" he shouted, making sure he had the attention of any wandering corpses, before stabbing a blade between two of the Edenbastard's ribs and giving a steady twist. Not far enough in to puncture a lung; just enough to provide leverage to move bones away from each other in a manner painful enough to override the survival instinct necessary to keep from crying out. Caesar swiftly dispatched an additional Walker, a straggler that for whatever reason found him slightly more interesting, with a rolling parry-block and a machete to the skull. He moved to the middle of the road, waving his friends closer.

And just like that, a clearer path began to open. The tearing and screaming sounds were incidental.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

@Kafka Komedy
Whelp, final word goes to our benevolent GM. But it sounds kosher to me.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

@Kafka Komedy

So, your Deku lady knows Aikido. I would sign off for it. Probably call it something different, but a list of basic Aikido techniques can be easily found online and adapted to the setting. One man's opinion.

How proficient would Yuri be with her Dekukido?

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

Cricket

Location: Oasis, Resistance HQ

Interacting With: Yuri, Etzo, Resistance Officer

Much like a determined little brother, Cricket followed the Sheikah assigned to Oasis into the main doors of the Resistance Headquarters. The fact that he was shorter than the Shadow Folk soldier didn't help this image much. He had pulled on his long, brown coat, but hadn't quite affixed his swords back in their usual place among his armament, carrying them both in his left hand by their minimalist scabbards. He continued to follow his clansman into a back room where the message was delivered to the Officer of the Day, a Hylian of middling rank who happened to fit into the schedule that day.

Cricket took a moment to wonder exactly what his place in all of this was concerned; since revealing to Resistance Leads that he possessed a Shard, he was basically given free run of Oasis and allied outposts. His personal needs were met so far as food and shelter was concerned, and he was left to his own devices for the most part. It was understood that when appointed a task, either singly or with a group, he was expected to see it to completion. Even if that completion was failure. Mostly, it had been tasks that leaned toward his strengths; information gathering, scouting, the occasional knife-in-the-dark. Acts of theft were not beneath his orders, either.

Mostly they came from Rath, but every so often another Resistance Lead asked for a Favor. What they called Favor oftentimes were strongly suggested guidelines of action, for which he received little or nothing in the way of compensation. But, Cricket wasn't here to get rich. He was there because he was needed. At least they kept him as well-equipped. A prepared Sheikah, as they found out, is a happy and dangerous Sheikah.

Personally, Cricket thought that these people just loved the novelty of having one of the Shadow Folk at their disposal. No one but the Hylian Royal Family had that kind of perk previously. Not for centuries.

When the Officer issued his orders to gather a group to assist with the trouble in front of the Gerudo Fortress, Cricket raised his index finger and pointed to himself. He had the occasion to volunteer for jobs before, but they rarely were open combat and never for siege duty. But from what the note said, it was unlikely to be a large scale, protracted affair. Some flash of intuition told Cricket that he was supposed to help with this.

The unspeaking Sheikah touched the message on the desk in front of him, looked expectantly at the Officer, and tapped his chest. When the Officer nodded to him, Cricket bowed his head, collected the paper, and exited back into the main room.

He was just in time to see a large, armored man hold up two other guests of the establishment by their wrists. Cricket had seen him around; Knightly type. Unsubtle. He hadn't worked with him before, though. Vastly different skill sets, most likely. It stood to reason that the only time they would have been paired would be for a specific mission, one which required both Quiet and Loud. Such a mission simply hadn't come up yet when he was available.

Cricket looked upon the scene with tacit disapproval. He sighed and shook his head. Such were not the actions of a properly functioning, harmonious unit. Still, he had to assume that the armored man was given the same message as he; the war was coming back to Gerudo territory. He supposed that this would be the day he worked alongside the Unsubtle. With a positive expression adorning his features, Cricket walked to the table the Knight had just left.

He flashed a smile and bowed his head slightly before his final approach, making sure the two of them noticed his presence. He had a nasty habit of being too quiet and irking the hell out of people. Interacting socially in the wider world had different rules than his own home. Being seen was one of them, usually. Not that it mattered when he got closer - his own Shard reacted, a soft glow emanating from the back of his hand in the shape of the Triforce, the lower left triangle slightly more pronounced than the others.

They were like him. Kinda.

Wordlessly, Cricket placed the message on the table near Etzo and Yuri, nodding to them with the implication to give it a read. His mildly illuminated hand outstretched a finger to the text, indicating the size and composition of the attacking force: Two Dozen Moblins, Lizalfos commander. Rumor had it that the Hylian man had a thing for collecting odd parts of obscure creatures. Moblins were common enough, but a Lizalfos? An assist in taking it down could be mutually profitable, to the cause and the Hylian's strange pantry of researchy bits and pieces.

Cricket smiled, grinned even, in anticipation of a job to come. His red eyes seemed to sparkle with something akin to glee; a positivity of some kind, with another, harder to place emotion mixed in somewhere. He pointed tilted his head twice to the door, pointed to a clock along the wall, and raised five fingers.

The odd Sheikah nodded expectantly, as if waiting for the answer to a question.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

Good point. Maybe that's how Cricket's magic will develop, if he ever gets around to developing it. Aside from talking to small, chirping insects, I mean.

The Legend of Zelda: Fragments of Hope

Also, I've got a bit of important inquiry for everyone. Who's keeping their Fragments a secret and who has revealed them to the Resistance? I need to know for my next posts to make any logical sense.

@Double

That sounds like a GM call, here. There are instances in Ocarina where the bearer of a Triforce piece gained a mark on the back of their dominant hand that glowed when in the presence of another Triforce piece. Or great magic. Or just because. Being as our characters have a portion of one of them (Wisdom or Courage), I would argue that it would react in some way. Well, at least at first or if brought close together.

It'd make a hell of a tandem nightlight.

Also, we're a little eclectic about how we're carrying the Triforce pieces. Some are carrying them as tiny crystals, others as larger ones, yet others like myself are insisting that the shards became one with the individual they chose. Are we good with keeping it different, or should we come together with a single school of thought on this? I would prefer the latter, personally, as it is most similar to the actions of the Triforce in Ocarina.

Of course, that begs the question: How big is the Triforce?

Either way, Cricket isn't keeping it a secret from the Resistance nor from Rath. It's not something he's going to bring up in conversation (mostly because he can't converse), but he believes that his shard of Wisdom was what gave him the idea to come to Oasis as soon as he got it. It would be necessary to show it to explain why a young Sheikah would trek all the way across Hyrule and into the desert by himself, to offer services to a guerilla army under the protection of a people that his clans have traditionally distrusted.