Slowpokie

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Steam rolled off the Ironbelle's exterior like morning mist, its combative measures reverting back into its metal shell. The machine indeed had been built to withstand, and yet, there would always be room for improvement.
It hummed in delight at their victory.
Within the mecha, Curly sighed deeply. For such a small creature, it took the combined force of multiple attackers just to take it down.
Even as it melted away into oblivion, the lingering smell of rotting meat still lingered within the ice and snow.

For a moment, there is respite. But it is quickly snuffed when Curly catches the sight of arisen corpses from the corner of his eyes.
With a bland expression of disgust, he watches as the undead tear away at flesh and bone while attacking the giant beast. A hard watch indeed, but one that was difficult to look away from. Grimacing, the head of the Mecha tilted away–even machinery found necromancy barbaric. But his silent judgement faded at Rachel’s question, reminding him of the mission at hand. “Yeah, all fine ‘ere. I'll be right once this is done though.” Curly replied, followed by positive humming from the Ironbelle.
He doesn’t respond to Axol’s question regarding the reanimation of the dead, but the head of the Ironbelle does turn in Andrea’s direction, curious more than anything, not too dissimilar from its co-creator.

As the team moved as one unit, they reached the outpost. But any hopes of finding life seemed slim to none now.
Signs of a struggle littered the area–not from a fight between man and beast, but between man and man. Corpses of fallen humankind are scattered about, death now becoming a familiar presence in this mission.
But there is no time for grief, as Axol sprints with surprising haste to grab old liquor from one of the corpses and chugs it down like a man dying of thirst. Again, there are no words from the pilot or his mech, but the air of judgement surrounding him spoke louder than any words could.

“...Let’s just... get this over with.” Curly spoke flatly, the bell of his mecha pushing through the snow and uneven terrain.
Despite the bodies around them, the broken and discarded tools and defences here and there, the one thing that felt truly oppressive to him was the barracks itself. The door slightly opened, revealing only the darkness… who knew what gruelling scene was hidden in there, maybe something was still inside. waiting.
It felt like insects were crawling beneath the skin of his left arm, making the veins bulge and throb. And yet, this reaction did not deter him.
It spurred him on.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Watching as the elk-like monster tried–and failed–to break through the Ironbelle’s clad defences, as the sound of its bones and ribs cracked and popped, as vomit-like rime frothed from its bony jaw… it all made his stomach churn. “Guhh…” He groaned to himself, feeling that bile threatening to rise up.
Relief only came once Axol’s sword threw the creature across the field and into a ruined barricade. But its cries were haunting.

It was a gruelling sight, an impressive feat given this creature’s appalling existence already. Black smoke and ungodly heat erupting from where its face was, like a bad engine.
Although its bones cracked and broke against each other, it moved at breakneck speed. Like a demon, or a monster only a nightmare could conjure up.
By now, it really did look like some taxidermied puppet having its strings pulled despite its broken conditions.

“This thing just won’t quit!” Curly growled in frustration.

It wasn’t an entirely brainless creature either, Curly quickly deduced, as it attempted to get at his side once realizing a frontward attack wouldn’t work.
The Ironbelle tried to twist itself in time with the creature’s impending attack, one of its fan shields to try and defend itself.
He watched as Axol tried to close the gap between him and the smaller beast, and attempted to take that opportunity to work in tandem with his sword sweep, raising the Ironbelle’s other hand to try and attack the creature at the right moment.

Actions:
1. Ironbelle attempts to defend itself from the smaller creature’s flanking with one fan shield
2. Ironbelle attempts a basic heavy attack when the smaller creature is in close range

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Curly Butterfly

The Ironbelle stood its ground against the smaller creature’s weight, its fans held up like dual shields the beast’s maw bit on fine steel.
Curly pushed the creature back, the sound of gears turning within the machine faintly biting against the icy winds.

Within the Ironbelle, Curly gritted his teeth, watching the creature work its way against his defences. Up close, it was even more ghastly; rotting skin and flesh, exposed bone and teeth, empty sockets where eyes should’ve been. And the smell, gods…
It looked like bad taxidermy, or a mad scientist’s attempt at reanimating lost life. Even the smallest wind felt like it could pull this beast apart at the seams.
Yet it attacked with a fierce ferocity, moving against the Ironbelle with great brunt.

While Curly had his sympathies for these beasts, he thought them beyond saving.
Knowing that his defences would eventually fail if he remained a sitting duck in the cold, Curly pushed forward to meet it, ice parting easily beneath the bell of his mecha. It moved with a smooth grace utterly foreign to its bulky design.
He noticed an arrow lodged into the dry, withered skin of the creature, belonging to Bromann. Wary of another attack, Curly raised his shields once more, having faith they’ll hold out until he could retaliate.

Actions:
1. Moves closer to the smaller creature
2. Ability: Ironclad (defensive)(Hardening F - Fighting Style [Tessenjutsu] [Fans] F)
3. Prepare for another incoming attack

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Prepared

As they left the bastion behind, Curly rode within the ironbelle ahead of the rest.
The icy winds and snowy grounds left no blemishes or hindrance in its path as heating agents pumped throughout its metal shell.
As they journeyed towards the west, their path growing narrow and hefty with the frozen elements, the mecha hummed pleasantly to block out the cries of winter. If no others had a thing to say, itself would fill in the deafening silence with mechanical music.

Curly, for his part, quietly kept to himself.
He had nothing much to say to the others–he hardly knew anyone here, and he doubted anything he said would've boosted morale or bonds as they headed towards danger. So he did what he thought would be best for everyone; moving ahead, serving as their shield. Time in his father’s mecha circus did have him occasionally fighting the other performers on a wide spectacle, and while the Ironbelle hadn’t been tested in combat yet, he felt confident in its capabilities.
He helped make it, after all.

Every thought, every movement, and even the pleasant humming from the mecha stalled when a creature–no… a monster, broke from beneath the snow. Features of a bear were there, but it was so warped and twisted by bone, rotten meat, and ice, you couldn’t even call it an animal. But it was the smell that truly shook him, so foul it made his eyes water “gahdamn!”.
Yet as he looked at the creature, he couldn’t help but be both disgusted by it, and almost pitiful for it. Big, slow, crying… he didn’t know why he felt such sympathy for it, even for a moment.

Curly’s arm flared, knocking him back into the moment. Gripping onto his controls, his voice rang out to the others with a boom.
“I don’t know what the hell that thing is, but if it makes any moves, y'all get behind me!”.
As he stepped in front of the group, the metal fans concealed on the wrists of the mecha fold into large, solid disks, serving as their shields.

Actions:
1. Ability: Ironclad (defensive)(Hardening F - Fighting Style [Tessenjutsu] [Fans] F).
2. Wait for an on-coming attack.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Awkward, then serious

“Oh, ya’ know… stuff…” Curly replied stiffly to Bromann, his eyes darting between him and the girl at his side.
Talking to people had never been a strong point of his, even when he worked for his family's circus. He tried most times to keep things short and to the point. He was better within his suit, where his piloting skills and alchemical concoctions could flourish better.

The Ironbelle beeped lowly, nudging their pilot to them. His arm twitched, the purple veins pulsing beneath the even purpler skin, clawed fingers clenching and opening. “Uh, so… ya’ like jaz-”

The conversation was brought to a sudden standstill when they were ushered by the booming might of a horn. They were gathered up by soldiers of the fort–men clearly sharpened by years of experience. As they parted, the view of what they were going up against was realized. Hulking beasts made of ice, snow and meat emerged from the snow like creatures riding through the sea.
They resembled land animals almost, yet key details were missing, making a creature that was uncannily unsettling.
But it was the little ones that unnerved Curly, making his arm throbbed achingly. He never was fond of insectoids.

Lord Roderic appeared on his steed, informing the newcomers of the approaching horde, the need for eyes and arms, and–most importantly–the missing scouts and road status.
Frankly, Curly didn’t mean to extend his help this far. He was here to secure medicines and ingredients, clean around the fortress a little in return, done. But he made his promise to help in any way, a decision he’d soon see if he'd regret or not.
Feeling the ground beneath them shake even this far, Curly swallows his nerves and nods. “Well, I'm fixing to get this over an’ done with asap, if y’all are.”
@Moonberry@Nachogod@Starleaper@Others

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Awkward

The Ironbelle moved through the icy kingdom with ease, appearing to almost glide across the footpath. The heating chemicals pumping throughout its black metal shell kept snow and rime at bay, leaving only the presence of a gentle warmth.
The eyes on its smooth metal dome immediately noticed the girl and man in the distance, who stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to the rest in the fortress. Vagrants? Drifters? It didn't know, and that pulled its curiosity.

With a few beeps, the mecha made its way towards them, swaying its bell from side to side. Within the mecha, Curly cursed under his breath. “The hell ya’ doing?!” he spat out, trying to control the mecha to no avail “I don't wanna talk ta’ nobody unless I gotta-”

The Ironbelle stopped in front of the two, letting off a few more beeps. Eyes pulled up in an effort to express something like a smile, it waved at them, before opening its chest to pull Curly out and force him to engage. She nudged her short pilot at them, who in turn looked at them puzzled. “Aw hell…” he muttered under his breath, turning to face the two stiffly. “Uh… Howdy".

@Nachogod@Starleaper

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Been sick but alive for 25 years

Leaving the comforts of his family's traveling mecha circus was both scary and exhilarating, even if he couldn't express it beyond his perpetual look of annoyance.
Excitement for the prospects of a world that wouldn't treat him like a baby, something needing constant care around the clock for his sickness. Fear of being on his own for the first time–save for the womanly mecha of dubious awareness trailing close behind. But if even the wealth and influence his family had couldn't buy him a cure, then he'd fix one his damn self!

So Curly travelled far and wide, cultivating his knowledge in medical alchemy and collecting ingredients he thought may help him–often through very ‘unconventional’ means.
In that short time away from home, he had already seen more of the world than he ever had in the circus. And for a moment, his mission became an adventure. But then, his arm would remind him why he was here– the skin, so many shades of purple; his veins bulging and pulsing angrily, his hand so mutated it resembled a beastly claw, and the pain that would flare unpredictably.
Though he did find it funny–and crude– that the only thing stopping his disease from spreading further was his pants belt so tight around his arm, it could've snapped anyone else's.

Through the north, where ice and snow were more plentiful than air to him, Curly stumbled upon Fort Bael. Though old and crumbling here and there, it endured.
Convincing the guards to let him in had been easy–though he quickly realized why when whispers of missing supplies and teams caught his ear. They needed help, much of it. And he would rather endure some labour then be left to the frost. Even if he didn't want to deep down.