Work is kicking my ass, if I don't post by tonight just presume his lorship is in shock and drag the bastard along with. Sorry for holding you guys up.
No worries, seems like we're all busy atm.
Virgil
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No worries, seems like we're all busy atm.
Searing, bubbling pain enveloped his arms, as if Golde hadn't so much applied a healing agent as she'd dunked the unfortunate things in a couple vats of boiling water. Such was the shock of the medicine's sudden intensity that the man entered a state of pseudo-petrification - tightening up into a figure devoid of all sound or movement.
A stray wind drifted in from across the idle seas, rustling up Ifor's mossy goatee and bringing with it a startlingly frigid touch to an otherwise passively cool night. Even the moon sought a fleecy retreat, draping herself in cloud-cover as darkness cast its all-encompassing visage upon the narrow strip. A hint of movement caught the attention of Ifor's pained gaze, and he squinted after the exit of a particularly quiet shadow from their midst. Yet from a few paces back, Chapt'n Thomus cut through the gelid air with reasonably tranquil declaration:
"We don't know if more of those things are going to come back, and we don't know if driving that one off was just a fluke. The beach is unsafe. If anyone can't walk, they need to be helped by the people who can. We'll catch up with the crazy naked lady, we'll find a defensible location, make a fire, dry off..."
The moon ended her brief reprieve, and once more the beach was lit up in a pale blue splendor. Just a ways down the dunes, one could make out the temperamental body-language of the vixen as she laid into the quiet stranger; no mercy from that woman, it seemed. And how badly would it suck to be that man, then - getting slapped about by a harpy several hands smaller than you from the moment you woke up? Ifor knew he'd never take that kind of abuse willingly...
...
...But there were all sorts of types in this world - and who was he to judge the lack of another's virility?
He twitched - the presence of an unexpected teardrop poking his flesh in a sudden moment of remembrance. In this state, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against even the smallest of creatures...not with his fists, anyway.
"...Not ghunna get far wh'out weaponry, Chapt'n..." Ifor stated acutely, releasing a dreary head from its stone-like contraction and nodding it up and down the coastline. "...Ehvun uh rhock's keen in the hand whith the phrop'r 'mount of force." His eyes stopped, fixated upon the glowing ball hanging ever-so-distantly in the midnight sky.
"...As for shel'tr...where ther's lhight, there's fiher."
A stray wind drifted in from across the idle seas, rustling up Ifor's mossy goatee and bringing with it a startlingly frigid touch to an otherwise passively cool night. Even the moon sought a fleecy retreat, draping herself in cloud-cover as darkness cast its all-encompassing visage upon the narrow strip. A hint of movement caught the attention of Ifor's pained gaze, and he squinted after the exit of a particularly quiet shadow from their midst. Yet from a few paces back, Chapt'n Thomus cut through the gelid air with reasonably tranquil declaration:
"We don't know if more of those things are going to come back, and we don't know if driving that one off was just a fluke. The beach is unsafe. If anyone can't walk, they need to be helped by the people who can. We'll catch up with the crazy naked lady, we'll find a defensible location, make a fire, dry off..."
The moon ended her brief reprieve, and once more the beach was lit up in a pale blue splendor. Just a ways down the dunes, one could make out the temperamental body-language of the vixen as she laid into the quiet stranger; no mercy from that woman, it seemed. And how badly would it suck to be that man, then - getting slapped about by a harpy several hands smaller than you from the moment you woke up? Ifor knew he'd never take that kind of abuse willingly...
...
...But there were all sorts of types in this world - and who was he to judge the lack of another's virility?
He twitched - the presence of an unexpected teardrop poking his flesh in a sudden moment of remembrance. In this state, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against even the smallest of creatures...not with his fists, anyway.
"...Not ghunna get far wh'out weaponry, Chapt'n..." Ifor stated acutely, releasing a dreary head from its stone-like contraction and nodding it up and down the coastline. "...Ehvun uh rhock's keen in the hand whith the phrop'r 'mount of force." His eyes stopped, fixated upon the glowing ball hanging ever-so-distantly in the midnight sky.
"...As for shel'tr...where ther's lhight, there's fiher."
Even if there hadn't just been a brawl, I'd still be invested in these characters; top marks to all so far!
He blinked thrice, and that was that; like magic the beast had recoiled back into its secluded hearth, spurning the pallid illumination of defeat in favor of darkness's safe haven. No one sought to chase after it; after all, it wasn't wise to chase snakes through thickets - and even if they'd had the will to, who would guard the wounded still scattered about the sugary dunes? The now even further mutilated circus attraction took the time to observe his surroundings - taking special notice of the downed aristocrat. He passed by the captain on his way over -still tightly gripping his blade in a battle-position, as if in disbelief at the events which had just transpired- and rested a weary, lacerated hand on the boy's shoulder:
"Hone this..."
Ifor swatted the blade aside by its flat, then lightly tapped the lad's chin with the back of his hairy mitt; afterwards, it resumed its dreary position at his side -along with the rest of his lengthy appendage- as his usual lax posture returned to him.
"...'Fore you khep wahggin' that."
Within a few more heavy steps, he was presiding over the agonizing 'gentleman', and his eyes bore down upon the ill-minded ballroom brat mercilessly. He maintained this silent chiding for a few moments longer even though he doubted its effectiveness - then, seeking to retain some measure of diplomacy, raised a closed fist just overhead of the ragged suzerain...and opened it. A freshly painted stone cast itself aside Varric's head with a solid, condemnatory thud - sinking guiltily into the mellow sands.
"...You dhropped this."
In a similar fashion to the stone, he sank, cocking his head at the seeping toothmarks embellishing the lichen's shoulder. He reached for his own, and with a singular, powerful stroke, ripped clean what little resistance the waterlogged fibers gave him. Also as with the stone, he let it clutter the space opposite Varric's hollow cranium.
"Whipe yur'selhf off...you're bleeding..."
"Hone this..."
Ifor swatted the blade aside by its flat, then lightly tapped the lad's chin with the back of his hairy mitt; afterwards, it resumed its dreary position at his side -along with the rest of his lengthy appendage- as his usual lax posture returned to him.
"...'Fore you khep wahggin' that."
Within a few more heavy steps, he was presiding over the agonizing 'gentleman', and his eyes bore down upon the ill-minded ballroom brat mercilessly. He maintained this silent chiding for a few moments longer even though he doubted its effectiveness - then, seeking to retain some measure of diplomacy, raised a closed fist just overhead of the ragged suzerain...and opened it. A freshly painted stone cast itself aside Varric's head with a solid, condemnatory thud - sinking guiltily into the mellow sands.
"...You dhropped this."
In a similar fashion to the stone, he sank, cocking his head at the seeping toothmarks embellishing the lichen's shoulder. He reached for his own, and with a singular, powerful stroke, ripped clean what little resistance the waterlogged fibers gave him. Also as with the stone, he let it clutter the space opposite Varric's hollow cranium.
"Whipe yur'selhf off...you're bleeding..."
10 minutes in and one of the survivors has already lost her mind...
...so I assume everything's going according to schedule?
Edit: +1,000,000 points for making use of the word "Ken".
...so I assume everything's going according to schedule?
Edit: +1,000,000 points for making use of the word "Ken".
Upperclass onion-blood is too much for night-beasties to handle, apparently; must be one of the side-effects of that all-meat diet.
Going to be a little while before I whip something up. I'm having a hard time focusing due to a very recent break-up. I'll see what I can have up by the end of the week.
No rush - take your time and: youtu.be/Re3VTMIlpbA?t=16s
Like lightning, the revenant was back on its feet - surprising even placid-faced Ifor with its apparent tolerance for pain. It lunged, STREAKING across the moonlit beach...before abruptly faceplanting itself onto......was that the 'Captain's' sword? Ifor blinked his eyes in confusion; though sputtering and scrambling at first entry into the fray, the boy recovered quickly, keeping his blade aimed true at the recoiling monstrosity as he shouted: "Get behind... get behind me!"
...Well, it was a nice moment while it lasted.
Plagued by the inexperience of youth, Chapt'n Thomus made the sudden mistake of taking his focus *off of the task at hand, and instead misplaced it on...something in the distance; Ifor didn't really know, and he didn't particularly care to know right now - instead planting his feet firmly apart and w i n d i n g up his left in preparation for the inevitable. Like clockwork, the beast lunged again, seeking the favor of opportunity...and once more, failed to find her: With a stout "BHOOM" Ifor's knuckles cannonballed face-first into their game, sending its momentum rippling off along the shifting white as it tumbled once...twice...before growling even more rancorously than before. Again it rose...- to the rhythm of fists as their host tagged the bloodied monster's eyesocket, nose and jaw with a quick 1-2-3 combo. It lurched forward blindly, but Ifor pressed his advantage; with a quick backstep he pulled himself out of its path and, following this up in time with its speed, yanked it by the arm into the humiliating embrace of the sands below. Even so, the man had to wince at his current victory - the slightest scrape of the beast's claws against his forearm bespeckled the arena floor with a hail of scintillating crimson...and with sudden realization, Ifor understood just how outmatched he was in going toe-to-toe against this slate-faced menace.
Wheezing and snarling, it spit grit and scrambled madly towards its now singular focus, gnashing shark's-teeth and clawing the shallow dunes under a brooding scowl; yet even now it found no success, hurling hoarse screams at its slippery prey.
...That was, unless "Success" could be defined as "An aggravating game of ring-around-the-rosie..."
......
"...pockett, full-uh-posies..."
...Well, it was a nice moment while it lasted.
Plagued by the inexperience of youth, Chapt'n Thomus made the sudden mistake of taking his focus *off of the task at hand, and instead misplaced it on...something in the distance; Ifor didn't really know, and he didn't particularly care to know right now - instead planting his feet firmly apart and w i n d i n g up his left in preparation for the inevitable. Like clockwork, the beast lunged again, seeking the favor of opportunity...and once more, failed to find her: With a stout "BHOOM" Ifor's knuckles cannonballed face-first into their game, sending its momentum rippling off along the shifting white as it tumbled once...twice...before growling even more rancorously than before. Again it rose...- to the rhythm of fists as their host tagged the bloodied monster's eyesocket, nose and jaw with a quick 1-2-3 combo. It lurched forward blindly, but Ifor pressed his advantage; with a quick backstep he pulled himself out of its path and, following this up in time with its speed, yanked it by the arm into the humiliating embrace of the sands below. Even so, the man had to wince at his current victory - the slightest scrape of the beast's claws against his forearm bespeckled the arena floor with a hail of scintillating crimson...and with sudden realization, Ifor understood just how outmatched he was in going toe-to-toe against this slate-faced menace.
Wheezing and snarling, it spit grit and scrambled madly towards its now singular focus, gnashing shark's-teeth and clawing the shallow dunes under a brooding scowl; yet even now it found no success, hurling hoarse screams at its slippery prey.
...That was, unless "Success" could be defined as "An aggravating game of ring-around-the-rosie..."
......
"...pockett, full-uh-posies..."
Looks like I'm off to bed - night all.
Didn't know to what extent we could interact (kick its teeth in) with the creature yet, so I just left it on a cliffhanger; Let's see how everyone else reacts to this sudden intrusion upon our "Moonlight Sonata".
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