STATUS:
@SaltSight Game was Astlibra: Revision. Found it on sale bundled with another game I've been wanting so I gave it a shot and got like, straight indie JRPG of the early 2000s injected into my veins.
6 mos ago
Current
@SaltSight Game was Astlibra: Revision. Found it on sale bundled with another game I've been wanting so I gave it a shot and got like, straight indie JRPG of the early 2000s injected into my veins.
3
likes
6 mos ago
Hate that strange ennui that hits after 100%'ing a really, really good game. Good time was had, but man am I glad it can't mess my sleep schedule up anymore.
6
likes
2 yrs ago
Rich people blood sports is how the Oscar's should always have gone. As a hot blooded american man I cant sleep at night without witnessing violence of some kind.
3
likes
3 yrs ago
So true. Anyways, play Lancer!
3 yrs ago
Final Fantasy: Stranger in Paradise is the funniest shit I've ever seen while also not being a bad game. Just crack open some cold ones with the boys, blare Limp Bizket, and Kill Chaos.
@Enkryption,@Guess Who,@Suku Nimoa would nod, smiling as she came to know Tristan's name, saying: "Okay! Let's go find a cartographer then, Tristan! Valkira!" She would practically skip along as she walked, smile carrying her all the way to the local Cartographers' Guild-
Or, all the way into literally being roped back into danger. Confusion swept through her mind as she was yanked back at an incredible speed. Nearly throwing up her lunch from the whiplash, Nimoa would see herself literally sailing past Trist and Valkira. Feabily, she attempted to reach out, arm restrained by the rope. The more she struggled, the weaker she felt. Whatever that rope was, it shone with the brilliance of the sun, and weakened her just as much. Thankfully, her parasol was poised above her head, locked in place by the lasso. Less thankfully though, Nimoa found herself cycling through each of her racial skills that might be able to help her out of this pinch, only to find that the rope completely nullified her vampire powers. As she realized that she was well and truly trapped, tears began to pour from her eyes, sailing back as she was dragged. A single word choked out from her throat as she bounced against the ground, doing her best to not just get dragged along the ground.
A single word that stung at the heart-strings of hero and demon alike:
"Hiya! I'm Suzuka, but my IGN is Ryuga Gotoku! hit me up sometime if you want to raid. Lvl 90 Monk Main, JP Server, just look for the big guy with scraggly hair."
To say that Suzuka was more than a bit fanatic about martial arts would be kind of an understatement. Born relatively weak physically, she's never actually been able to engage in many physical activities, but from the first movie she saw at age 6, she's been obsessed with martial arts. Even if she can't practice, she still dutifully studies old movies and lives out her fantasies of being a master of punches and kicks as her burly male Monk in Elder Tale.
Ryuga Gotoku
Age
22
Gender
Female
Race
Human
Tale
...Or at least, he was burly. And a "he" at some point. Admittedly, Suzuka was just fine just playing AS a man in an MMO, but being stuck as one...wasn't for her. As soon as possible, she scrounged up enough gold for an Appearance Change potion to at least look a little closer to herself. Well, she exaggerated a few things admittedly...
Regardless, Ryuga's legend was that of a random martial arts murderhobo that would go around and challenge other Monks around his level. Relatively focused on the style and flair of Wuxia martial arts as well as having a style centered around being a dodge-tank, Ryuga was useful in raids and even made a few friends...though, now explaining that he'd been a high school girl was going to be awkward.
Classes and Abilities
Phantom Step
A movement skill that allows the user to weave in and out of battle. This skill also leaves behind images of the user that can be used to confuse the enemy.
Dragon Step
An alternate form of Phantom Step gained by the user's high level Wuxia subclass. The range becomes much shorter, and the after-image is lost, but the speed at which the user moves can be considered as instantaneous. In addition, evasion rate is boosted, encouraging it to be used as a last-minute escape for large attacks.
Stationary Dragon
A Hate generation skill that centers on the user centering their body right where they stand. So long as the user does not manually move, they will continue to generate Hate at a rapid rate, while also receiving the [Immovable] buff. This skill plays off the Monk's nature as an evasive tank, but still heavily relies on luck, and the user's own confidence in being able to dodge while not moving their feet. It has a fairly lengthy cooldown to prevent "parrying" with it.
Indomitable
A recovery skill that has a chance to trigger upon the user reaching 0 HP. If it activates, it will restore roughly 10% of the user's Maximum HP, enveloping them in a golden light that is impossible to ignore on the battlefield. The cooldown is an extremely long 24 hours.
Shadowless Kick
A counterattacking technique centered around evasion. After use, it grants the [Shadow Counter] buff, which has a 25% chance to activate after evading an enemy's attack, and will instantly launch a kick from the user without moving them. The attack is nearly impossible to dodge, and has a chance of inflicting Instant Death to targets that are significantly lower level than the user. The greater the divide in strength, the more likely it is that the target will be killed in an instant. Typically, the chance of this happening at the current level cap is almost 0%.
Controlled Breathing
A self-healing skill that instantly heals a low amount of HP. When used, it generates a noticeable aura around the user. Useful for soloing content.
Crane Sweep
A low-flying blow that aims to completely knock an enemy off balance. While heavier enemies will simply take damage, lighter enemies relative to the user's strength will be sent flying. In addition, using this skill increases the user's movement speed temporarily.
Lightning Straight
A straight forward punching technique that channels one's energy into their fist, before delivering a Magic-Damage electric punch to an enemy.
10mm Lightning
A wuxia-styled variant of Lightning Straight, which causes a delay at the end of the animation. While the enemy can technically dodge it easier, the blow comes so close that one would swear they were struck. The difference however is in the fraction of a second used to accurately jab one's extended fingers into the chest of their opponent, focusing electricity into their heart and veins, causing blood vessels to burst and cause the [Bleeding] Debuff to occur.
Mountain Shock
A powerful stomp launched against the ground, causing a massive shockwave with the user as the epicenter. This move is capable of knocking multiple enemies off balance, lowering their evasion rate. As such, it is incredibly useful in conjunction with area of effect moves.
Riot Shock
A channeled technique that gathers energy in the user's hands, before it is released at the ground directly below them. The energy disperses in a huge ring around the user, dealing area of effect damage.
Behemoth Horn
A penetrating attack that involves a two-handed palm thrust centered on the opponent's abdomen. After the animation finishes, the user is actually required to let loose a fearsome roar, generating an aura around them that lowers enemy defense for a limited time.
Silent Palm
A technique for dealing with bothersome spell casters, as well as enemy healers. Upon a successful hit, it will inflict [Silence] on an enemy, as well as siphon some of their MP to the user. The cooldown is decently lengthy to prevent it from being spammed on single-casters.
Phoenix Stance
A passive toggle ability that sheathes the user's fists in a torrent of fire. While the damage bonus is significant, it also burns through a tremendous amount of the user's MP as they keep it channeled. As such, toggling it between vital hits and conserving one's MP become vital.
Tailor-Made Rank 1
Allows the creation of all basic cloth-based recipes, from bolts of cloth to sewing buttons onto fabric, to patching up damaged cloth gear.
Tailor-Made Rank 2
Allows the creation of Cloth-based armor that offers little in the way of defense, but offers high evasion and magic resistance.
Tailor-Made Rank 3
Allows for the refinement of cloth into much higher quality end products, with some earlier armor recipes now having the option to create higher level variants with the new, improved materials.
Tailor-Made Rank 4
The pinnacle of worksmanship has been reached, allowing for one to weave the highest level of cloth armor, which rivals gear that can be obtained from Raids.
Dismantle Ranks 1-4
Allows for the user to unweave cloth armor in their inventory, to reduce it back to about half of the materials used in its creation.
Wuxia Style Martial Arts
Overall, the Wuxia subclass does not offer many unique abilities that only it can have; rather, it is more focused on animation changes, and offering variations of already existing moves, particularly for Swashbucklers and Monks.
Mano-a-Mano
A skill that increases the amount of damage dealt to a single target, so long as the terms of the fight are "fair". What constitutes as "fair" are somewhat vague, but the clearly fair conditions include:
Must be one individual versus another single individual of equal or equivalent strength. If an ally attacks the enemy, or heals the Duelist, the benefits of the subclass immediately disappear.
The enemy must be aware of their opponent before the battle begins (no sneak attacks on either part).
The Duelist must start without any buffs. However, if the enemy starts with a buff, the Duelist will still receive the benefits of this subclass.
Sublime Opponent
A skill centered on the user's consecutive win bonus. Put simply, the more "honorable" duels one engages in without dying or losing one, it grants a stacking accuracy buff.
"Lo, behold the hand of your God. Its palm is inescapable, its grasp is ever-present, and a single finger can crush a mountain."
A powerful Artifact gauntlet dropped from a high level raid. The weapon takes the form of a single clawed gauntlet on the user's left hand, with a unique particle effect present, adding a red light that traces the user's fingers.
Rarity
Production
Classification
Chest Armor
Durability
High
Factors
[Max HP++] [Mag.DEF +] [Phys.DEF ++]
Details
A custom-tailored, self-made fighting dress that covers the user's torso without restricting movement to their limbs.
Rarity
Production
Classification
Gloves
Durability
Medium
Factors
[ATK.SPD +] [MP Regen ++]
Details
Tailor made bandages that wrap around frequently used muscles in the arms and wrists to keep them from being damaged via a monk's punching attacks.
Rarity
Artifact
Classification
Waist Armor
Durability
High
Factors
[Max MP +++] [Max HP +] [AGI +++]
Details
"Control yourself, let others do what they will. This does not mean you are weak. Control your heart, obey the principles of life. This does not mean others are strong"
A waistcoat that offers high levels of agility and MP. Acquired through a PvP tournament.
Rarity
Magical
Classification
Boots
Durability
Low
Factors
[Evasion +] [Movement Speed +]
Details
An unremarkable drop from a standard dungeon enemy, though they do serve their purpose well.
Rarity
Magical
Classification
Accessory
Durability
N/A
Factors
[Movement Speed -] [Knockback Res +] [HP Regen ++]
Details
An accessory that restricts one's maximum movement speed, while offering one a large amount of passive HP Regen and knockback resistance.
Not even a distant land, we're stuck on a whole different planet~
I'd definitely be down if more interest pops in. How would Divisions be handled if they're included? I can imagine working stuff in for the Interceptors/Harriers is pretty straight forward, but the Outfitters, Curators, and Mediators sound difficult to manage for an overarching narrative.
Falling deep into the hole created by C-3’s blast, Charlotte clung to her slimy companion for dear life. Once they landed in water, Charlotte would light up the area around them with a flame extending from her finger, revealing them to have been dunked right into the aqueducts running through the underside of the town. "Ohh thank goodness...I thought we were going to land in the sewer..." the demoness said, leaning against C-3. "I’d have died if we just landed in...human filth. You even more, since you’d probably taste it just by touching it."
"I have told you before, it doesn't, and will never, work like that," C-3 sighed, "Blessed be I, for that, as I would probably die of sodium intoxication from how much you sweat in your sleep."
Charlotte pouted, poking C-3’s cheek with her un-lit finger. "I only sweat in my sleep because you’re always insisting on sleeping in my bed! Where do you think these tunnels lead, anyways?" Charlotte asked, tossing a bit of fire further down to see what was there, the scurry of rats audible to their ears. "Ew..."
"Maybe, if you didn't beg me to, like I'm some kind of toy to cuddle," C-3 sniped back. "Huh, rats. I wonder, if there are any Dire Rats..."
"There better not be any!" Charlotte said, skin already crawling from the presence of regular rats. "Guh...you’d think the humans would do something about this. Rats in their water? Really?" Charlotte would say before a figure significantly larger than a rat darted around a corner, only visible from the shadow they cast.
"Hrm..." C-3's eyes were too sharp to be eluded, even on the poor lighting. Her cheeks puffed up, as she was seemingly chewing on what sounded like glass. Across her body, her flint and flash powder horns and spines glowed; explosions lighting underneath her skin. "Mhm..."
Charlotte hurriedly extinguished the fire present on her finger, not wanting to blow C-3 up as her flint and flash became active. "What’s wrong? Did you see something?" Charlotte would ask as the pitter patter of bare feet against wet ground grew more distant.
C-3 opened her mouth; an ornate vial that contained a thick syrup, and second one, though larger. "Drink 'em," she says, before reaching into herself, and retrieving a slimy shortbow. "Hurry! Drink! Shoot! I want that Dire Rat!"
Charlotte was confused, but, trusting C-3, she would down the syrups with gusto, tossing the bottles over her shoulder as she took the shortbow. "You know I can’t shoot a bow to save my life, right? I hit things, I don’t shoot them," Charlotte complained, wondering just what those vials were full of anyways.
Charlotte's suddenly filled with a Novice's talent at archery, as the Syrup of the Archer took hold, and bestowed five temporary levels of Archer; at the same time, she found her Monk levels drop by five, and her Archer Class increased to 10 -- thanks to a Nip of Level Exchange. Suddenly, the shot wasn't in the realm of impossible.
Charlotte felt her head swim a bit, feeling like now maybe, just maybe, she could hit the broad side of a barn. Taking aim, Charlotte stuck her tongue out in concentration, before loosing an arrow and nailing the target. "Y’know, you should really tell me what those do...I kind of like staying good at punching things."
C-3 took off, as her spines drew back in, and her slime solidified; hands to her sides, she fashioned twin flint stone dagger that dripped with slime, and were edged with flash powder. "Symphonic Dance: Fortissimo!" she says, as she danced around the rat, fluid and musical, in her slashes that didn't cut, but ingrained slime were they landed. "[Crescendo]!" she says, clapping the sticky blades overhead in an "X" -- setting off the earlier made cuts.
C-3 would come to notice several things. One was that there was in fact no rat, it was in fact a skeleton that was extremely alarmed at all the hacking, slashing, fluid flopping and powder popping. Second was that Charlotte from all that swishing around and spinning had been dunked into the water, and was now clinging to the edge of the stone border of the waterway. And third, the skeleton was completely unharmed. "What the hey, you scared the skin off of me!" the skeleton would complain, pointing an accusing finger at C-3. "Who just barges into an aqueduct and starts getting slash happy at anything they see? A-Are you some kind of murderer? Or pervert? Or a perverted murderer?"
C-3 looked back at Charlotte. She'd be fine. After all, there was an Alchemist's dream standing before her: clearly magicked bones. "I am a dragon of science, murder is beneath me. I am no pervert, either; that is a station all to my drowning treasure," she says, flipping her blades forward. "In the fair interest of all sciences, I, humbly, request you allow yourself to be dissected and studied in excruciating details forthwith."
The skeleton’s lifeless hollowed out eye holes would stare unblinkingly at C-3. "...No." He would say simply before picking up the rucksack he was carrying and walking away.
C-3 spit [Firecrackers] at his feet; science was hella unimpressed.
The skeleton would tapdance to avoid the firecrackers popping, leaping back and pointing at her once again. "I knew it! You are just a pervert! A weird pervert that likes taking apart skeletons!" he said, lifting up a piece of driftwood as if it were a weapon. "Well, I won’t suffer this disgrace any longer! If you intend to cross bones, then know that the mighty DEAN stands before you!"
"...Who?" Charlotte asked, fire-drying herself.
C-3 walked over, grabbed the driftwood, and started eating it. It didn’t prove a point, really, but, it was filling; fiber tended to be.
The Skeleton would flap his driftwood around, trying to shake C-3 off as he screamed: "H-Hey, don’t go eating other people’s weapons! Have you no honor, you custardy cur!?" he asked, pointing accusingly at C-3 as he tried to shove her off.
There was a bone-chilling CRUNCH, as C-3 bit through the wood -- far more force put to task than necessary, when you’re primary method of eating was liquification of material. C-3 didn’t say anything, however, as she chewed -- she was a ladylike dragon, if anything.
"...You know what, you can have that." Dean would say, dropping the driftwood, picking up his rucksack, and going while the getting to get gone was good.
“Charlotte, if you get that for me, I’ll do “that” for you,” C-3 offered. In spite of her combat levels, capabilities, and prowess at on-the-fly adaptability... at the end of the day, she was a Alchemist, an elixir-based Caster. Her usage was best done in calculated and well-timed bursts of efficacy, not extended combat situations.
Charlotte looked completely confused, tilting her head as she dried her hair, using her flaming hand as a blow dryer. "Do what?" she asked, unsure of what C-3 was talking about.
C-3 face-faulted into a puddle of herself. Charlotte was so stupid. How did anyone misunderstand a blank check when offered?
Given that Charlotte didn’t really ask all that much of C-3, she was still waiting for an answer, confused on why C-3 just fell over. "A-Are you alright?" she asked, going to help her friend up, before slipping and falling into C-3’s puddle as well.
C-3 grumbled, and decided to take matters into her own hands; purging her flint and flash power, leaving only her torch oil, the Obsidian Slime left herself without attack power, but allowed herself the ability to press against Charlotte’s skin, and prick the hell out of her. ‘Get him! I want!’ she ordered, pins and needling Charlotte all over.
"OW! OUCH! STOP!" Charlotte yelped as she was pricked, sprinting after Dean as tears welled in her eyes. "Why do you have to pinch EVERYWHERE?" she asked, gaining on the aqueduct’s skeleton, who had thought to have lost the terrifying twosome.
C-3 was just pushing her forward. She was single-minded in her desire for magical bones. That was, like, a must in better potions.
Charlotte shivered as she kept being pushed and pricked, before grumbling and grabbing C-3, balling her up, and fastballing her at Dean. "STOP POKING ME!" she yelled, clearly irate as she threw C-3 with enough force to send her and Dean hurtling into the water.
C-3 yelped, as her slime seperated in the water. “Gaaahh!” she shouted, as she floated apart. Obsidian Slimes were water-soluble, as they were based around fire and earth magicks.
Charlotte was confused on why C-3 wasn’t moving, before the slime would suddenly find herself being scooped up into a rucksack, the skeleton jumping free of the water with her safely held inside before he dumped her out, along with a good portion of his belongings. "You okay?" he’d ask, seeming intimately knowledgable on monster types, looking down at the half-melted slime. She’d enough mass from his dumped out underwear and clubs to pull herself back together, at least.
“Wh’ w’uld y’u thr’ me in th’ wa’er!?” C-3 raged, missing bits and pieces of her words, and tongue. “Y’u kn’ ’m w’ak t’ wa’er, y’u ‘erk!”
Charlotte stamped her foot on the ground, clearly irate herself. "I was trying to throw you at HIM! And why are we wasting time down here hunting for stupid rats and stupider skeletons!?" she questioned, while Dean just kind of watched, slowly backing away. "How am I the idiot here?" he questioned in his hollowed out head, taking his leave.
“You blockhead! You never care about my alchemy needs!” C-3 says. “All you care about is what you can punch and burn! I have needs to!” she says. “I hate you!
Charlotte faltered at C-3 saying that she hated her, before the scarlet haired demoness said: "And all you care about is alchemy, eating, and calling me dumb! I’ve had it!" she said, before storming off...only to find herself at a dead end, walk back, and say: "I’M STILL MAD" as she went the correct way.
C-3, put together, snarled back, and stormed off in the direction of the dead end; pausing only to scream back, “DON’T CARE!”
Dean awkwardly scratched the back of his head before he slowly approached C-3, saying: "Hey, um, I know its none of my business, especially since you’re trying to kill me and all, but...you and her shouldn’t fight. You both seemed close."
“HA!” C-3 laughed, as she was eating the dead end into a path of travel; it was her race’s speciality, after all. “She doesn’t care about anything but showing up her stupid father,” she huffed out in-between mouthfuls, “I’m a proud dragon! I shouldn’t be ignored when I want something!”
"...C’mon, you know that much isn’t true," Dean would say as he walked over, patting her on the shoulder. This was incredibly awkward, but...he’d parted with someone once on similar terms. Turning C-3 around, he would pull her into a hug and softly stroke the back of her head. His bones were uncomfortable and cold, but C-3 could tell that his soul was warm, one full of compassion. "Friends fight. It happens. But don’t let it make you not friends."
C-3 whined. But, Dean wasn’t being eaten into material, so that meant he must has done... something... right, at least. “...I desire to make decisions and have my way, too...” she murmured, sadly.
Dean chuckled softly, reassuring C-3 with gentle strokes of her “hair”. "There’s nothing wrong with that. But you and her need to communicate better. Be kind to each other, even when you both make mistakes, you know?" he said, looking up at the ceiling, an air of nostalgia to his gaze. "...Don’t let go of friends. No matter what. After all, even dragons value friendship, right? There’s nothing more precious than a true friend."
"Of course, they do! They are treasures, and dragons love treasure!" C-3 says.
"Attagirl." Dean would say, gently clapping her on the back. "Don’t give up. I bet she’s torn up inside about all that too. She looked like she was about to cry." he said, releasing the slime from his hug as he pointed to the way she went. "I can hear her footsteps still. She’s probably pacing the entrance, worried that you got lost. She seems the type to worry."
"That's all she does," C-3 says, "I should go to her. Thanks!" she says, running off. "Seeya~!!!"
Dean smiled as well as a skeleton could, running a thin bony finger across the hole where his nose would go, a sign that he was proud of doing that. "No problem. See you around, Little Miss Dragon!" he’d say as a farewell, before gathering his belongings and chuckling to himself. "...Reminds me of the good old days." he said, before heading deeper into the aqueduct, a newfound piece of wood in his hands as he reached the deepest, darkest crevices present, the maddeningly long corridors growing longer still as he descended deep below the town, a shambling amalgamation of flesh given form writhing, and screaming as he approached. His hollow eyes glowed with the faintest of white light as he said: "A hero’s work is never done, huh?"
At the same time, Charlotte was nervously pacing by the entrance, gripping her arm as she wondered whether she should go after C-3, wait for her to come back, or just...try and pretend nothing happened. Maybe get Mr. hero to work things out between them. As she heard shuffling steps approach though, her back snapped straight, completely unprepared to get yelled at again.
"It would take some effort to put a knife through that tension," C-3 says. "Relax, you dork."
Charlotte awkwardly scratched the back of her head. "I um...I-I’m sorry…" she said, hanging her head.
“Forget it,” C-3 says. "I'm hungry, and I don't have a source of free food, anymore. Wanna blow this broke town, and find some place to eat? Just me and you. Like always."
"Y’know...that sounds great right about now. But we still have to come back for Mr. Hero." Charlotte said, before leading C-3 off to find some place to eat.
Tamara spoke confidently, but, she was missing her armaments and armor; as thick as her half-demon hide was, it was still half-human, so a good hit could end it all. Still, she was a Dark Paladin, and that made her armed without fail; as such, she drove her spiked heel through the leg of the chair, and snatched the wooden leg out the air. "I don't like this skill, but... [Berserker Influence: Night of Owning]..." she chanted, along the intonation, "Set the sun, on saniest day, until it rises, from maddest night. Known now all weapons, string and strike; owning unstoppable, berserker might..."
Tamara sighed, before, suddenly, explosively, charging forward, and bringing down the leg of the chair with the finesse of a short sword and the weight of a maul.
The captain of the guard didn’t flinch. Rather than attempting to parry her strike, he stamped his foot upon the ground, one of the loosened floorboards from the explosion springing up and throwing off Tamara’s balance before his gauntlet-covered hand crashed down on the back of her neck, sending her flying into the table. He wasn’t someone to be triffled with. ”Are parlor tricks and long incantations all you adventurers good for?” he would ask, unsheathing a dirk on his belt and throwing it on the ground before Tamara. ”Die with steel in hand, cur.” he said, in a way respecting her bravery by giving her a weapon rather than a chair leg to use.
Tamara growled; her once melodic voice tearing in her own throat, as she slammed her arm into the table. From the point of contact, magic scripture spread out, and the wood crackled to wind around her arm, as she yanked it up like a tower shield. Her tail lash out, and she snatched a nearby lampstand into her hands; in her grip, the same scripture twisted along it, and drew the legs into a spearhead formation -- turning the whole of it into a lance.
Stabbing forward, the Cambion aimed straight at the nameless guard without hesitation to skewer him.
Unflinching, the Guard would spit to the side, his sword squarely poised betwixt the legs of the makeshift lance as he twisted, bending the metal from sheer force before his palm slammed into Tamara’s stomach. ”You can’t beat me like that.” he said, casting his gaze down at her as he forced the air to flush from her lungs, throwing her once more.
Unphased, Tamara bounced off the ground, and let her weapons of no import lie as they were, as she dove at him; beyond him; hands lying squarely around jail bars. As the spell took other their being, Tamara was unchallenged to wrench them free of their caging, and held them like twinned longswords.
”All of it is just gimmicks with you, isn’t it?” the guard would ask, before stooping over to retrieve his dirk, holding it in the opposite hand in a reverse grip. Lowering his stance, Tamara would see how...posed he was. As if this was how her normally fought, with a sword and a dagger in hand.Stepping forward, he would keep his eyes trained upon her, smirking. ”How long do you expect to try and use trash to fight me? Or are you really that desperate to trick me into cutting through a way to your swords?” he would ask.
Tamara didn't reply, as she launched a testing thrust with her left bar; the metal fashioned by some kind of magic into a bladed weapon. It was as sharp as any sword in the area, undoubtedly, and her movement allowed no margin of error. It was a easy to read feint, and anyone without practiced knowledge wouldn't know to read her eyes to see where she was intending to led him... the only problem:
The sun was set behind Tamara's eyes, and her entire eye was a pitch of black without means to determine where she was looking. It was a battle of skill, speed, and luck to determine if the feint was a fake as intended or a reality masked to skewer him truly.
The guard would keep his eyes trained upon Tamara’s blade, his gaze one of a veteran of combat as his moved to block the feint, before he would cry out: [“Warrior’s Art: Iron Fortress”] before he would simply let the blade slip through, his own dagger and sword instead going for her other hand, twinned fangs gnashing against the singular blade as it snapped in twain, while her makeshift sword did find purchase, she found a supernatural force was preventing it from going beyond skin deep. His defense was bolstered to the point that it was as if his whole body was made of iron, his gaze falling to Tamara as his knee slammed into her stomach, lifting her a good foot off the ground before he would take a step back, plucking the blade from his abdomen. ”You’re relying so much on me just being some rank and file soldier that you didn’t think about whether I’d have tricks up my sleeve too.” he said, casting his disappointed gaze down on Tamara. ”...You know, you might make a half decent guard. Why don’t we call this off, before you really get hurt?” he asked, giving her a way out.
Tamara groaned, as her sun was made to rise. It wasn't quite the time, however, she'd made enough progress. "I hate this..." she groaned, as she stood, "I hate this...I hate it..." Her horns started to grow, curl, fork, and fan out like demons antlers with a longhorn's base. "I don't like it... I don't like this..." Her tail grew and fell with weight, as her musculature thickened and expanded. "Imprisonment... Belittlement... Judgement..." Her eyes opened, filled with hatreds unspoken. "I hate myself. I hate..."
"[Emotional Inversion.]"
Brimming with self-destructive, self-defeatist, and self-loathing, Tamara tapped into the emotional attachment that all Succubus had by nature of being such a sexually persuasive species that fed off the lusts and vitality of men and women; she'd done the same to Charlotte, until her stupid kicked in, and the demoness washed out her emotions. However, the guard was going to show none at all, so she'd have to create her own that she could trust not to be washed out.
That meant, her own...
"Don't judge me!" Tamara shouted, lunging at the guard.
”Believe it or not, I don’t have all day to play around with moody brats.” the guardsman would say, throwing his dirk away to grab Tamara by her hair and slam her into the ground head-first. His strength was beyond monstrous as he kept her pressed down against the ground, glowering at her with that same steely glare. His arms visibly swelled as he said: [“Adrenaline Overdrive”]. All of a sudden though, the sound of the entrance door rang, the little bell atop it signaling someone had entered.
”Papa? I brought lunch!” a little girl called out. The guardsman visibly froze for a moment, before sighing, letting go of Tamara. ”Get out of here.” he said, taking a step away from her. ”I guess I’ll clear your charges, since that slime wasn’t a little girl anyways. Hell of a brawl.” he said, sheathing his sword.
Tamara growled, "Hate... Hate... HATE... HATE..." before she set up to continue, and her eyes landed on fresh meat. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The Guard would look back at Tamara as she stood up, before he walked over and patted her on the back, steadying her with his other hand. ”You did good Kid. Not many people make me use a Martial Art.” he said, complimenting her. Another person would enter the guard house, the sound of bones clacking audible. ”Oh! Hello Mister Dean!” the little girl would say, before a hearty chuckle escaped the skeletal warrior, awash in monster bits and absolutely soaked. "Oho, your papa’s one lucky man Dalia. Your lunches always smell good." he said, complimenting her.
Harumphing, the girl turned away. ”You’re just saying that, you don’t even have a nose.” she said, to which the skeleton chuckled. "Got me there."
Tamara zeroed in on the skeleton, and threw herself forward at him. There was no technique, no spell, no art -- just raw strength of emotion made power and rage.
Raw strength that wouldn’t budge the skeleton as he just turned his attention her, grabbing her by the shoulders and saying: "Oh wow, I didn’t expect to see a Cambrion here. Aww...she’s mad." Dean would say, gently scratching behind Tamara’s horns, as if she weighed nothing and her blows weighed even less than nothing.
Being in a place with overleveled people was no fun.
Tamara growled, as her fists were making impact and yet no impact... eyes welling with tears and she was pissily pouting at Dean. This was supposed to be working!
Dean would gently pat her head. "Aww...poor thing. Is nobody giving you attention?" he would ask, before giving her a big old hug, rubbing her back. "Its okay. Sometimes, everybody feels like rampaging, purging all emotions, and causing a ruckus. But that doesn’t make you a bad person."
...It was then that Dean would once again use his rapidly leveling [Therapist] Class to help Tamara feel better.
"Nyah....~!" Tamara whined, pounding his back, until she slumped in lame defeat, and her emotions purged into the air in a swirl of dark reds and darker purples; screaming profanities and curses into the void. Her form shrank back into her perfectly smoking hot self.
Dean sighed, softly patting her back as he set her down onto a nearby chair, getting her a glass of water. "Feel better?" he would ask, trying his best not to be distracted by the half-succubus’ half-succubus bits.
Tamara was still pouting, as her smallclothes shrank back to their normal, and nodded. She was loath to admit it, but, she did.
Dean smiled as best a skeleton could, before stretching his arms up, bones crackling as he did so. "Funny, you’re the second demon with issues that I’ve seen today. Met another one, down in the aqueducts with firey hair and a little slime companion. Don’t know when I went from being a Town Guard to a councilor, but it feels good to help." he said, before asking: "So, what are you going to do now? I can ask Morgaf to give you back your weapons." he said, suspiciously already aware of what kind of weapons she used.
“My mission is to exterminate the Sunstalker,” Tamara says, deciding that was a cooler villain name that her prior exclamation in the town square.
"Well, that’s a fancy name. Is it some kind of monster?" he would ask, netting his bony fingers together. "Believe it or not, I’m a pretty good Monster Hunter. I could help you out."
"I see..." Dean said, before standing up. "Well, I’ve had to fight more than my share of vampires. In my lifetime, and a couple others. But, if you need a bag of bones to help you out, I’d be happy too." he said, offering her his hand. "Name’s Dean. What’s your’s?"
“Most call me Tamara Gozolla,” she says, “Very few can properly pronounce the name I was given,” she says, “And, I must do this alone. This is the mission I was given. That is the Samurai Code of Honor.”
"I see. Well, good luck then! Morgaf, give her her gear back." Dean would say, before the gruff guardsman from before brought out Tamara’s swords, as well as the armor confiscated form her. ”Don’t cause any trouble. Got it?” he would say, before resuming lunch with his daughter.
“I will just go and kill the Sunstalker,” Tamara says, “no, Sunstaver,” she frowned, “Man, hmmm...” she donned her mask, “Whatever. Let's go, Regalia, a vampire doesn't slay itself."
Sleepily, the chimeral infant made a strangled series of child noises, as she stretched out, and on Tamara's masked head; somehow, she'd never fall off.
And so, Tamara would find herself cleared of criminal charges of pedophilia and property destruction...well, at least for the guard house. That was mostly falling on Morgaf to pay for. The fountain funds had been deducted from her coin pouch, leaving its jingles fewer and less decadent to the ears. And so she would once again resume her quest of great import and honor:
Nimoa was surprised at the encouragement she recieved, sniffling as she choked down sadness to wipe her tears away. She would pump her arms up and down to psyche herself up, looking raring to go once more as Mr. Hero asked what her new plan was. With renewed confidence, Nimoa wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, proudly declaring: "If we can't kill the sun, then the only answer is that we make vampires able to survive in sunlight!" she would say, proudly nodding at her newfound plan, which, was admittedly significantly more feasible than fighting the sun with a pail of water. But only a little bit.
The little vampire would beam, spirits completely rekindled. "That's right! This should have been my Plan A to start with! After all, even if I kill the sun and plant peppercorns, humans still sleep at night, and vampires during the day. But if Vampires can go to the beach, tan, and enjoy a picnic, then we'll be liked just like humans are!" she said, clearly exuberant at the idea of being able to stay up during the day. "It took me months of training just to stay awake. I missed so many midnight breakfasts...but if I can do it, anyone can!" she said, crouching down and then jumping up, tiny bat wings flapping as she hovered for a moment. "Let's go let's go! Let's go find an alchemist! And a bad guy for Mr. Hero to punch!" she said, before floating back down.
"...Erm...let's see...what's an alchemisty place for an Alchemist to be..." Nimoa would say, sitting back down on the fountain and rummaging through her batpack. Finding a rather aged worn map, she would furrow her brow as she looked it over. "Um...I don't think this town is named this anymore...a-and I could have sworn this forest was a city on the way here..." she said, nervously glancing over the clearly aged and weathered map. She was getting nowhere with that antique that was clearly older than her. In fact, it looked older than the brickwork on some of the houses. Folding it up in frustration, she would say: "W-Well, its fine! We can ask around. I promise that we'll find you someone to punch, Mister Hero! Oh, um, its a little weird if I keep calling you Mister Hero...do you mind if I ask your name?" she said, going from very excited to timid and dignified as she bowed in asking for Tristan's name. She didn't want a real hero to think she was a country batkin, after all.
It would take maybe an hour or so of their imprisonment before the two girls soon began to understand the true hell of incarceration: It was boring. Tremendously boring. Dull gray cobblestone walls and cold metal bars, and two simple piles of hay were all they had, aside from their hatred of one another’s guts. Charlotte wouldn’t stop running her mug against the bars, pouting as she held her knees against her chest with her free hand. "Just so you know, this is all YOUR fault."
“My fault, Pettanko Princess!?” Tamara pretty much screeched, as if struck by a sword. Standing, in merely her smallclothes, Tamara took up a loose stance; her tail unfurled from her hips, as her horns set flame, and her nails sharpened. “I'll take whatever barb you can dream to hurl, but, I won't take the blame for this!”
"You’re the one that was going around suspiciously hugging little girls! And I heard from one of the guards you broke a fountain out there too. I was just trying to defend myself, because you’re a slash happy maniac!" Charlotte fired back, standing and pointing at Tamara as she walked towards her. Her free fist was balled with the mug in hand, crushing the handle.
“Heh,” the Cambion grinned; of all Demon-kind, they stood as the most insufferable, for they'd the unbridled confidence and drive of the Human race, mixed seamlessly with the untamed power and thirst of the Demon race. They were insatiable as a demon, “Are you just jealous, your cutie pie left you? Pretended not to even know you? Are you mad, latched right on to me,” and cruel as a human, “Told me, her so-called friend burned down her forest garden; ruining her favorite greens.”
Charlotte clenched her teeth, visibly infuriated by that statement. "That wasn’t...C-3 Isn’t like that! You were just a meal ticket to her, you Sag Hag!" Charlotte said as she poked her finger right into Tamara’s bosom, before rapid-fire poking it with both her hands. "Stop acting all high and mighty just because you’re more developed! Breasts are overrated!"
“Meal ticket? According to her, you don't even feed her; just yourself,” Tamara smirked, “A vegetarian, and you offer her chimeral meal? No wonder, she pretended to be a stranger,” she looked down, and grinned with shark's teeth, “She's just a slave around you.”
"Take that back. Now." Charlotte said, eyes narrowing as her pupils turned to slits. "Take it back now, or I’m painting this cell in your mudded blood," she said, probably serious for the first time since Tamara had seen her. She was radiating animosity, and her hands were now engulfed in fire.
Tamara's tongue extended from her mouth, the end actually splitting into a fork, as her horns grew larger and curled thicker, and her tail grew plumper. “Delicious,” she hissed, “The taste of hypocrisy, denial, and delusion. All blending together...” Tamara stood taller, “Feel more for me, Pettanko Slave Master. Try.”
As serious as Charlotte was, Tamara didn't seem rightly phased. In fact, she was clearly getting off on this in multiple senses of the word.
Charlotte suddenly paused, blinking a few times as she looked to the cell door. "...Wait, why don’t I just..." she said, before letting Tamara go, cutting off her feed on her emotions as she simply went over and yanked a bar out of place with her bare hands. "....Y’know, I forgot human prisons were weaker than demon ones." she said, seeming to have lost any and all animosity. In other words…
Tamara just got her climax denied. Hard.
Tamara's eyes narrowed, as her form reverted to its suppressed “Human” state; all emotion suddenly quelled. It was pure denial, and her teeth grit tight; now, flat and human. “Move, or be moved,” she ordered, as she moved to the gated door.
"You’re not the boss of me." Charlotte said, plain and simple as she stuck her tongue out cheekily. "Good luck moving me though." she said, tauntingly. Now, she wanted to make Tamara mad.
Tamara inhaled, and suddenly threw her head back; screaming, shrieking, wailing, and purging all emotions. As she did, her body grew uncomfortably, uncontrollably, as her muscles grew and tore her skin and smallclothes, before suddenly compressing, and her head tipped forward; eyes black and white, empty and infinite. “[Compulsion of Nature: Emotional Reversion.]” she ushered the collapse of emotion into existence, “Move.”
Charlotte just kinda looked at her funny. "...Y’know, that’s kind of a dumb thing to do. That technique hurts your soul. I could have just taken all the bars out myself, y’know." Charlotte said, not budging an inch. "C’mon, you may be a weirdo halfblood, but killing your emotions isn’t a good way to bust out of here."
Tamara didn't care about that. She didn't like to be challenged. Dark Paladins were egotistical like that. However, that didn't matter, at the moment. Her honor was besmirched, and that needed fixing. Charlotte's indignant refusal to move was fuel to the fire that was her full-body tackle into Charlotte...
Which, Charlotte would recieve with open arms, wincing as she felt her body strain as she scarcely managed to stop the tackle, before flinging Tamara against the cell wall. "Phew...you’re really heavy when you don’t have emotions, y’know?" she said, catching her breath. "Anyways, just turn off that skill and I’ll get us out of here. Much as I think you’re a creep, you uh...you’re a demon too. We gotta look out for each other, I guess is all I’m saying."
Tamara kicked off the wall, and rocketed at Charlotte -- and, right by her. “Seeya, Pettanko Princess!” she caught herself against the opposite wall, and threw herself down the hall. Charlotte's might have just gotten tricked by the world's biggest Asshole for Justice and Softcore [Redacted] Material.
Charlotte was left staring as Tamara bounced down the hall, before grabbing an iron bar so hard that it crumpled. "SAG HAAAAAAAAAG!" she bellowed, before storming down the halls, summarily dropkicking every guard she saw as a way of venting.
Now, every guard in town was en route back to the prison...given that they weren’t very sneaky about it.
Tamara cackled to herself, as she skidded into a room. Looking up, C-3 looked at her, and waved lazily; resting on the table, in a sleepy curl, Regalia was napping. “There you are, cuties,” she says, gathering up the hybrid creature. “Time for your nappies with Mommy.” Momentarily, Regalia arose to consciousness, before snuggling into Tamara's hold, butting her breasts, and nodding back off.
C-3 yanked her view away, as her cheeks were light grey, “Cuter than me...”
Charlotte burst through the door too, looking around frantically before she tackled C-3 into a hug. "C-3!" she squealed in delight, rolling around on the ground with her slimy companion. "I was so worried! And also I was in jail, but its fine, I know you don’t have enough coin to pay bail and were just waiting for an opportunity to spring me and all-But now we can bust outta here!" she said, never once doubting that C-3 would come for her...even if she had no plan to.
“I wasn't. Didn't have a thought to do so. I was gunna eat, until they let you out,” C-3 says. “I figured, five years, public indecency, that's a few hundred restocked potions. Maybe, even a nice garden to replace the one you burned down.
She was really hung up on that.
Charlotte froze as C-3 spoke, before literally falling onto her side and openly weeping. She’d given C-3 a speech about how she’d do all those nice things for her, even find her a better place, but...was she still that upset about a town she’d lived in for a day? Regardless, Charlotte was just kind of crying, making the whole room’s mood really awkward...especially with the captain of the guard standing in the doorway.
“I was kidding!” C-3 sighed. Tamara snickered, tail wagging, “Oh, please, keep kidding. This taste delicious!”
Charlotte just kept on wailing, before the captain of the guard cleared his throat. "It seems you’ve all forgotten what being imprisoned means." he said, drawing his sword. "What luck. You’re both committing felonies. And I’m a guard. And I love my job." he would say.
C-3 sighed, and rubbed Charlotte's cheek with her left hand; a hand missing all her fingers, and more of a cartoon ball-hand. It would confuse anyone that didn't know how C-3 worked... “Cease your wailing, my treasure. Even you can't sabotage what we have,” she kissed Charlotte's ear, “That's my job.”
Suddenly, there was a massive explosion and a fair chunk of the jail was missing, followed by several others in the distance through the town. C-3 was no hero, nor villain, but a dragon, and a dragon hoarded their treasure with a violence.
Charlotte perked up a little bit, hugging C-3 as soon as the earth shattering kaboom rocked the jail. "C-3’s the best at Sabotaging!" she said, while the guard captain was left dazed. ”What in blazes...that’s no drow!” he said, feeling utterly betrayed by C-3. He thought she was just a normal, for some reason very gelatinous drow child. That was illegal! Gritting his teeth, the guard captain lowered his stance. ”I’ll not let you three make a mockery of this town’s justice system!” he bellowed.
Tamara could tell more than anybody how experienced he was, being a swordfighter herself. There was no doubt about why he was in charge; Wheras the average guard was only as strong as the average human, this man was far and beyond that. If anything, it was shocking to find that he WAS a town guard.
“I do apologize, sir, but, a dragon’s treasure is hers, and hers alone,” C-3 yanked Charlotte up, and a magic circle formed underneath them; the floor taken out with a controlled, shaped charge. Tamara looked back, as they dropped into the darkness below -- impressed by how fast the slime worked. All this in an hour. Regardless, she was more focused on the so-called Guard. “Rest upstairs, Regalia,” she says, placing Regalia on her horned head, “I didn’t think I would meet a swordsman with your obvious skill level,” she says, holding out her hands, “I’d be remiss not to challenge you for my honor and because you just seem like a hype fight.”
Well, Tristan most certainly knew how to break a little girl's heart. Wheras she had once looked at him with eyes of adoration, the crimson saucers that were her eyes started to well up a bit as she wasn't just told, but was explained to why her dream could never happen. It was frustrating; Infuriating, even. But, even she could tell that here was what nobody had told her before. He was...honest. More honest than anybody had ever been to her. Clenching ehr fists as she held onto the hem of her dress, tears streaked down Nimoa's face. "O-Okay..." Nimoa said, having to do her best not to let her voice become a pained wail.
Wiping her tears on her arm, Nimoa ran back over to Valkira and her parasol, now thankfully not on fire as she said: "...But I'm not giving up," she would say as she turned back to Tristan, tears dripping to the floor. "E-Even if the sun's important, I have other ways to do what I really want." she said, before bowing to Tristan, trembling a little.
"T-Thank you for...for being honest!" she said, before grabbing Valkira's hand, and pointing up to the sky. "The sun gets to stay up there! B-But now, we move onto Plan D! W-W-We're gonna go and find an alchemist, and-and..." she said, before sitting on the bench and full on wailing.
Sure, she understood that the sun was needed...but she was still a child.
@Guess Who@Suku Nimoa would beam as Valkira handed the sword over to her, clearing her throat before she sat on one of the good edges of the fountain that weren't soaked or destroyed. The little girl was almost comically small compared to the sword in her lap, yet her crimson eyes studied it intensely before she nodded. "Easy peasy," she would say before taking out another blood packet and squeezing its contents out onto the sword's gouged part. Setting her parasol at an angle, Nimoa pulled a bright pinkish red hammer from her backpack and raised it high, eyes sparkling before she slammed it down onto the blade, the blood glowing a vibrant pink as it rose, clinging to the wound in Valkira's blade. "[Blood Forge!]" she would say, pounding again and again with her hammer as the sword grew white hot in her lap, oddly not burning her in any way. Within moments, Valkira's sword was repaired, the gash in it being replaced with a blood red line.
Presenting the sword to Valkira, Nimoa smiled. "Good as new!" the vampire girl said. Valkira would immediately notice how...pristine the weapon was now. It was if it was brand new, save for the blood that now forged part of the sword. Even the edge seemed sharper than ever. With that taken care of, Nimoa would turn to Tristan and once again gain that sparkle in her eyes, literally able to SMELL the blood of a legendary hero. "U-Um...if you don't mind Mr. Hero, c-could you um...m-maybe..." she said, putting her hands behind her back and tapping her right foot against the cobbled floor. "W-Would you mind if I asked you to help put out the sun?" she asked, incredibly embarrassed to actually meet a hero in person.
Tristan would notice many things. One being that the vampire girl had spilled a bit of blood onto her white dress, which was now definitely going to leave a stain. Second, that she was fairly tiny, and therefore likely very harmless. Third...she'd forgotten her parasol on the fountain. Which, now meant that she was currently, just a little tiny bit on fire. Just a little bit.
@Guess Who@Enkryption Faster than any turn order could allow her to be, Charlotte plowed her way through the woods into town, the ground itself marked by ashen footsteps that had carved out a new road. Maybe in the future it'd be a convenient trade route or something, but who cared about that when her best friend was in danger!? She stopped to let Tristan catch up, before she patted his shoulder. "Alright, you check around the town square, and I'll see if I can find anything that looks like it's been 'Ka-Pow'd' by C-3." she said before making another mad dash, this time lacking in fire on her feet.
She would spend quite a bit of time barging into taverns and restaurants, most of the time kicking in the door for dramatic effect, but Charlotte's antenna would eventually pick up on C-3's adorableness being fired off. You couldn't hide cheeks that pinchable...well, actually, all slimes were really pinchable, but C-3 was the best slime! Her eyes would lock on the slime disguised as a drow, but seeing that someone was buying her food, she didn't dropkick them and yell out a battelcry of anti-lolicon sentiment. Rather, she calmly approached and tapped C-3 on the shoulder.
"Charr~! Found you!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Care to introduce me to your new friend?" she asked, unconsciously cracking her knuckles. She meant, if she was cool, she was cool, but if a samurai bitch wanted to throw down over custody of HER bestie, then those knucks needed to be cracked.
@Suku@Guess Who "...What's a 'sodom eyes' Miss Valkira?" Nimoa would question, her pointed ears twitching up and down. She could hear EXTREMELY well with her ears it seemed, enough to hear Valkira's mutterings as she held tightly onto her hand. "Oh yeah! The peppercorns!" the vampiress would blurt out.
Nimoa took that as her queue to explain her plan, rummaging through her bat shaped backpack for a large piece of paper with various scribblings on it in remarkably tidy handwriting, little crayon sketches made beside them. "Well, you see, garlic is evil, and hates vampires. Mommy says that we can just substitute garlic with peppercorn for recipes, so I thought who NEEDS garlic anyways? So what I'll do is get a really big peppercorn plant to grow, and then put all the seeds into patches of garlic! It's foolproof!" she said, not at all knowing HOW garlic cloves actually grew.
Despite her plan seeming to take all of her attention, the wound on Valkira's sword didn't escape her attention. Starring at it, the small vampire would silently reach out to touch the gap in the metal, pressing her pale fingertips to it. "Your sword got hurt..." she muttered, looking sad for a moment, before going rummaging once again. This time, her hand emerged with a juice pouch that resembled a blood bag...probably because it was filled with blood. Bending the little white nozzle as a straw, Nimoa took a sip before saying: "Valkira! Um...I-I know we only just became friends, but...would you let me try to fix your sword?"
The hero would spot both Nimoa and Valkira from how much they stood out with the backdrop of a ruined fountain behind them, but as soon as he laid eyes on Nimoa, he'd feel a jolt creep up his spine as her head snapped around to look at him. Her lips curled into an excited grin as she looked at him. He looked so...fearless! And uh...Alive! That definitely made him a hero! Excitedly, she would lightly tug on Valkira's gauntlet, asking: "Miss Valkira...d-do you think that man's a hero? Maybe we can ask him for help!"
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