1) Are characters allowed to pick up weapons from npcs they kill? (ie can I have Branna pick up an axe)
2) If Branna's a flier and has experience in riding, does she start off at 0 level lance or level 3 like others who use weapons? And riding has no levels, right? So how exactly does learning/improving that work?
Route 5 || Day 3: Night || @PlatinumSkink “Thanks!” Eryn shouted back at Lin, the latter half of the word pitching up as Cutiecruel rapidly picked up her speed. A grin quickly found its way onto her face, though, and she managed to look down at the shaking egg as the water and Carvanah were knocked out of their path. This was really happening, it seemed, and she couldn’t be happier about it.
“Thanks Cutiecruel!” she yelled, launching herself off the Tentacruel as soon as land was within jumping distance. Landing in a run, Eryn rushed further inland to stop a short distance before the trees of the forest up ahead. Then, setting the egg down, she pulled out her Pokedex and took a few steps back, then a few more when the egg hatched, a glow enveloping it to grow into the long, majestic shape she’d seen earlier that day in the caverns. Though smaller, it was none less intimidating, but within two seconds of the glow disappearing Eryn was running back towards the Onix, wrapping her arms around the cool stone exterior of her new Pokemon.
“Peri!” Eryn said, then stepped back to look up at the Onix, who looked curiously down at her. “Happy birthday! Nice to finally meet you! I’m Eryn, your new trainer. Your parents want me to raise you to be the biggest, baddest Onix out there, so that’s just what I’m going to do, alright?”
Eryn grinned up at the Onix, who continued looking at her with a somewhat blank look until suddenly the rock that formed her head fell open. A loud grating sound emerged, and Eryn narrowly dodged the Onix as she fell to the ground. Despite having decently good reflexes, however, Eryn was unable to dodge the Onix’s next move, and she found herself scooped up onto the Onix’s head, her eyes stretched painfully wide until the moment her surprise morphed into delight.
She cheered, pumping one hand as she gripped the other around Peri’s horn. Below her, the Onix rose again to her full height, raising Eryn up along with her.
“This is awesome!” she shouted, waving at the boat she’d left on the lake. “Eri! Kylie! Yoohoo!”
In the middle of her waving, though, Eryn stopped abruptly. Though it was dark, she could just make out the familiar figure of a cap-wearing girl waving her hands, then pointing up at the sky.
“Eri,” Eryn breathed, shooting her gaze up into the starry darkness above. While she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, moonlight or not, she trusted her Pokemon’s senses, and she cupped her hands over her mouth.
“Laurel! There’s something up there! I see something!” she shouted, pointing up at the sky. Then, bending over, she patted Peri’s cheek. “Sorry Per-per, I’m going to have to get you in your Pokeball for now. We’ll do intros later, alright?”
Again came the grinding sound from within the Onix as she lowered Eryn down, and Eryn gave her one last pat before pulling out a Pokeball and returning her.
As soon as Peri was safely hooked onto her belt, Eryn made for where the Tentacruel was waiting at the lakeshore. “Cutiecruel! Can you get me back to the boat? I think there’s about to be an attack, from the sky!”
A glance towards the boat showed that Eri was still pointing up at the sky and waving his hands, and Eryn bit her lip, pulling out her Pokedex and pointing it up at the sky. Since she had no flying-types, now was the time for crazy tactics, which was just was Eryn was racking her brain for as she climbed back onto Cutiecruel’s hard carapace, her Pokedex held up at the sky.
Actions: Pointed out the unknown shape in the sky, pointed a Pokedex at it, and told Cutiecruel to take her back to the boat.
@Pezz570@HokumPocus When Malkev, the man who’d so clearly signaled his distaste for Ferris, said he’d put aside his biases for extra help, Ferris relaxed, nodding. He’d expected this at some point, yes, but he’d equally expected to be ambushed at that point, considering everything that had been said and done. With their hosts’ opinions voiced, Ferris figured the threat was now reduced to near zero since those who had individualized sets of morals had to operate on trust more than anyone. After all, they needed some sort of basis on which they could request help from others.
As Malkev continued, however, giving away his real position in respect to Kharu-Natjer’s, Ferris’ eyes darted to the center man, his ease slipping away. That Malkev wasn’t the most important person to impress meant that there was still a chance of things going south, but thankfully this too passed as the conversation progressed. As Kharu-Natjer divulged some information, Chres answering his questions with choice words Ferris barely resisted raising a brow at, the center man seemed to grow happier and happier until he finally clapped his hands together, uttering a name it took Ferris a moment to place. As soon as he did, though, he tensed, glancing between all the faces present. If Kharu-Natjer knew that much, Ferris wasn’t too keen on finding out how much more he knew. Still, he forced himself to relax again. Though the here and now wasn’t where and how he imagined giving away more information about himself, there was no ideal time he was hoping for either. Besides, it might not come to that anyway.
Ferris adjusted his flasks under his coat restlessly as the crew regrouped outside. The unease he now felt was precisely why he preferred working alone. When he was on his own, he didn’t have to worry about politics and power plays, didn’t have to scrutinize every action, word, and minute flicker in expression for some vague takeaway. There was no one close trying to sabotage him, no ally who could devise plots and to squander and get the upper hand.
The high-pitched voice of Chres’ familiar interrupted his thoughts, and he looked over, drawing a blank. What was he to feel about her complete lack of care?
Chres’ question about impressions brought Ferris back to his drawing board, and he listened closely to Octavio’s words, nodding as he brought up the woman. When the man suggested ‘meddling with her,’ Ferris furrowed his brows, a frown crossing his face when he realized that he found himself agreeing more with the man’s familiar than with the man himself.
“The woman seems to have some amount of respect or loyalty to Kharu-Natjer so as long as we keep him content I think we can see her as a non-threat. That said, I do agree that she seems dangerous. Her lack of care for veiled comments, of discretion one who negotiates would usually have is nonexistent, so she strikes me as someone who favors the battlefield over the discussion table. If we ever come to blows, she’s the one to watch out for.”
He paused, thinking over the next figure in the conversation. ‘The Being of Many Names’—what an inconvenient and utterly ridiculous name. As much as he was now in the debt or sway of said being, Ferris had no love for him. The Being had proven the magnitude of his powers, his weight in the playing board of the land, and though it was clear he had influence, Ferris didn’t like how close to home he’d hit.
That, though, wasn’t what Chres had asked, so Ferris took another moment to wrap up his thoughts before speaking.
“The Being—he seems to hold a lot of sway with a lot of people,” Ferris said carefully. “For all the power Kharu-Natjer seemed to hold, the Being seems to hold even more, or at least be out of Kharu’s grasp. It seems that one thing he’s getting from us is information on the Being, so perhaps we should continue holding that close. Who knows how valuable that is,” he said, glancing up to scan the city heights. Flying familiars did wonders for paranoia.
Branna pulled her spear back just as Mors tugged on the archer, his jaws crunching down on his new toy. The spear came out with a wet ‘shik’ as the archer screamed, but the sound was swiftly silenced as Mors adjusted his bite.
Movement at the corner, though, snapped over attention from both rider and wyvern, and Branna watched with a smile as the swordsman maneuvered around the axe-wielder’s swing. Glancing down the street showed what quick work the imperial guards had made of the rough rabble, and Branna's smile stretched into a grin when she made out the lordling’s sword embedded in one of the bandits.
“What fun,” she croaked, her giggles scratchy over Mors’ crunches.
When the children emerged from the rubble, their injured father in tow, Branna narrowed her eyes. Though the swordsman looked more than capable of besting the axe-wielder, it seemed he’d reached a stalemate in his attempt to play hero. Whether he'd be able to turn the situation around now, though, didn't matter; the only thing Branna hated more than waiting was watching.
A pat sent Mors in the right direction, Branna timing her stab with the momentum of his swoop. Her grin fixed itself on her face as her spearhead aligned with the axe-wielder’s ribcage.
From the back of her wyvern, Branna watched the scene pan out below her. Having effectively given away her position, she was the target until a new one appeared, and appear it did. At the head of the street, the city guard joined the fray, the imperial red-and-white cape of the lordling from earlier that day standing out amongst the steel and leather.
“Hm,” Branna hummed, directing her gaze to the bandits closest to her: a pair of archers, alone for now until their axe-wielding comrades arrived from further down the street. With the front liners accounted for, the archers were the obvious target for her, and she grinned when she spotted a swordsman skirting through the streets towards the archers.
Branna giggled, hefting her spear. “Archers,” she croaked, and Mors dove.
With the wind whipping past the smile on her face, she adjusted her spear to her wyvern’s diagonal trajectory so that the tip was aimed straight at the back of the unassuming archer. Their attention was focused on the other way, of course, because when it came to striking from the correct direction, Mors knew best.
With a canvas pouch slung over one shoulder and a half-eaten apple in her hand, Branna strolled through the town towards the wall, her eyes tracing the perimeter. She’d never understood the point of building walls. Be it from above or below, enemies would always find a way in, and getting over walls for her was as easy as getting on her wyvern, archers aside. Rather than staying in one place, it was far more efficient to go after enemies yourself, in Branna’s opinion. Blitz them, hit them so hard they reeled until the second attack came, then get out before retaliation was an option. The best defense was a good offense, after all, and a defense that stayed in one place was more of a limiter than an asset anyway.
Tossing the apple core to one side, Branna stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, the sound a pebble on the lake of the silent corner of the town she was in. Along the wall, guards on duty turned to look, relaxing when they saw that she wasn’t armed. In response, Branna grinned, raising an arm to wave at them as she walked towards the gates. She looked suspicious, yes, but harmless enough. Her clothes left nowhere to hide weapons, after all, and she was walking away from the castle, not towards it. However, if they wanted to hold her up despite all those tells, well, Branna wasn’t in the mood to play along.
A series of shouts was followed by a shadow overhead, and Branna’s smile grew into a grin just as her wyvern swooped to her side, wafting up a plume of dust on the dirt path. Another beat of his wings cleared the air, and Branna approached, cooing as she stroked his flank. Then, grasping one of the spines on his back, she hoisted herself onto his saddle, righting herself with a flip of her hair.
“Giddy up, Mors,” she croaked, as the wyvern sprung off the ground with a strong beat of his wings.
Clearing the low altitudes was always the slowest, but once that was over, the wyvern and rider were high enough to allow them an overhead vantage of the wall as they glided past. Below were the flickering torches of the town Branna had made a few circles around during the day, having found nothing much to occupy her time with. Instead, she’d stocked up on rations and such, leaving her coin pouch slightly lighter than before. Her financial situation had always been a bit precarious, but now that was different, wasn’t it? According to her new employer, she was now an ‘imperial soldier,’ a future hero, and heroes got paid well. Sure there was death to consider, but she didn’t plan on dying for a long while. No, she planned on getting paid.
That all, though, could wait until tomorrow. It’d take more than a sack of coins to get her interested enough to take refuge in a town. Rather, mountains and hilltops suited her just fine, and Mors always managed to find one or the other. She’d be back tomorrow before the sun rose to do whatever the little lordling required, and she’d be back before most people were up because, after all, the morning sun hit mountaintops first.
Branna was in the middle of securing the sack she’d procured onto Mors' saddle when the wyvern turned abruptly, hovering in midair with slow beats of his wings. Looking up, Branna was able to just make out the sliver-like arc of magic before it landed with a boom, the part of the town it hit exploding into a dark cloud of dust and debris.
Branna giggled, the noise scratchy. “Mors?”
Rearing up, the wyvern ascended another few meters before angling himself downwards, diving towards the town. The wind whipped through Branna’s hair as she grinned, the cold drying her teeth and cooling her hands, which were gripped tightly around the spine at the head of the saddle.
Clearing the walls, Mors bottomed out over the town, relaxing back into a drift as Branna glanced out over his side. The struck part of town was on fire, and the streets were a mess of noise as people rushed back and forth. It seemed the town was being evacuated, which was just as well. She'd need a larger prize pool to be encouraged to challenge a magic-user of that level.
From what she could see of the weapon-bearing individuals down below, it seemed the majority of the army had been utilized to help guide the townsfolk out, but Branna wasn’t too interested in doing that. The helpless could continue doing their thing, and she’d continue doing hers. Instead, her eyes scoured the town, looking for anything of interest until a smile crossed her face.
“Hey, Mors, how about some of those?”
She leaned forwards to point out what she’d seen to her wyvern: A few rough-looking individuals heading into buildings rather than out of, the axes on their backs glinting in the torchlight. Around them the crowd shied away, their screams melding with the din across the town.
“Tasty, hm?” Branna croaked, a few scratchy giggles escaping her as she patted Mors’ side, then reached for the spear strapped there.
With a beat of his wings, the wyvern boosted them over, relaxing into a hover above the buildings into which the figures had disappeared.
“Hm,” Branna hummed, the note cracking as she looked out at the innocuous structures below, then at the slew of guards and townsfolk on the main street. “Be a dear and do the thing, won't you?”
Rearing up with a strong beat of his wings, Mors roared.
Remram
Achronum
