Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

“Take that, you intruders! Let’s see how you do against the –(pause for dramatic effect)UNDEAD! Run away now while you still have a chance.” He whipped his short squatty body around, nearly smacking the globe with his obtrusive tail as he headed back towards the window to watch the battle. Crystal balls could only go so far towards realism. To feel the battle, he needed to look out an actual window. The trouble was, the only window in his musty alcove was high up, almost touching the ceiling; it was only a narrow slit running the length of the room, letting in precious rays of sunlight once a day. He had to climb on top of a table stacked with magazines and action figures, then up onto a stone ledge, and finally onto a shelf containing a mortar and pestle, various dusty tomes about spell casting (Sprunkles were still in denial of their magical ineptitude, thinking that with enough hard work and reading, one day one of their offspring would unlock the nifty ability), and a sketch of his brother shaking hands with a less-than-lively witch of this very same castle. He crouched on the shelf, grabbing the windowsill for support. Disappointingly, the trespassers didn’t look much bigger than the wooden toys that were scattered about his table; the undead frequently passed his window as well, blocking intriguing scenes with their knobby ankles and scrambling hands that searched to find their now-severed bodies. He heaved a great sigh as a woman conjured vines from the ground to attack the withered echoes of past lives. These invaders would not be so easily defeated, it seemed.

The wood began to bend under Glarunk’s weight, shaking and creaking as he stared back down the way he had come in mute horror. Though they feared rain, Sprunkles had not yet learned to fear heights, explaining why he would climb to such a precarious altitude to witness something he could already see while planted on solid ground. Much like a deer in the headlights, he waited for the inevitable fall. The shelf hit the stone ledge, ricocheted of it and managed to clip the edge of the table where magazines were piled high before hitting the ground with a dull thud. The fallen magazines did little to soften Glarunk’s collision with the cold, unforgiving floor. He shook his head to clear the spots appearing before his eyes and wobbled back to the protective embrace of his plush chair, nursing a sore spot on the side of his head that was sure to turn into a welt, a rug burn on the palm of his hand from scraping against the rough rock wall on his way down, and a paper cut he had received on a finger of the other hand. The sight of blood made him woozy, suddenly unconcerned with his other injuries; he was grateful he was already steadied in his chair. One thing was gained from the endeavor, however: he knew the situation outside called for another spell.

Glarunk grabbed the closest vial to him, not wanting to exert more energy than was necessary after his emotionally-scarring fall. “Plague of toads; 2000 strong” it read; it had a mosaic ring to it. If he was lucky, they may even cause worts… He would have to send a letter to the Sprunkle authorities when he was through with this whole invasion mess and request for height to be added to the List of Logical Fears for All Sprunkles. This fear, along with his personal testimony, was something that should not go unnoticed. Getting through this invasion ordeal would give him a chance to collect his thoughts as well – he was not emotionally able to recall the horrific event at the present time. He shuddered once and then quickly doused the orb in green slime. Now he could sit back and nurse his wounds in peace, or so he thought.

Frogs began popping up out of the ground, one by one, and hopping towards the intruders. Undead feet squished several hundred, depleting their number and causing the undead to jump around them in alarm; this was certainly unprecedented – even enchanted beings had dislikes. Eyes bulged and oozed under their feet and minute guts spattered about in the fading light. It appeared much like a water balloon fight, though lower to the ground. How the invaders would take it, however, remained to be seen. Glarunk chuckled in delight, clapping his meaty hands at the onslaught, unconcerned that one spell seemed to be counteracting the other. Then he winced. His paper cut did not appreciate being smacked in that manner. He placed both hands delicately upon his lap, palms up, in surrender. Pain first, pleasure later.

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Took the "What Element are You?" quiz and got 75% Earth and 58% Holiness.
It's pretty accurate - take it to find out what you are!

Phineas continued to stare straight ahead as he regarded the high-strung and short fused sorceress out of the corner of his eye. "Yes. Well. I don't imagine you do pander to the common ilk. I was merely illustrating a point, that being that it is wise to illustrate your points. Words can be so cold and antiseptic. Banter is dandy, but a picture is quicker."

His face soured as he contemplated his own poor use of...well...alright it didn't even rhyme. He ignored the continued advance of the walking dead, quite content with standing near his rather diffident mate in fate, sidling a little closer to her, not at all content as some of the crawling limbs still approaching them. "er, perhaps you could do something about the spell work that keeps these antediluvian devils less dead than they should be. He kicked at a flailing limb with his pointed boot, succeeding only in shifting it a few inches and having it punch him in the shin.

He scowled at the graveyard. It was not at all a pleasant place to be, the beauty quickly draining as its residents came out to see what all the fuss was about. So very much like the slums, delightfully derelict if not for all the human refuse that wormed through it.

He was about to comment upon his concurrence with her opinion of the mob when they were greeted by the most lively corpse he'd seen yet. He made his bold and brazen challenge, reminding Phineas for all the world of the Wissenheims 11th, a theater troupe that's best review comments on having the staying power of 'a sickly eunuch.'

Clapping his hands he grinned. "How deliciously pedestrian. Ulric! Be so kind and kill him would you."

He looked around, hearing no response, and having lost sight of the hulking brute. "...Ulric." He said slightly less cavalier. Still no response. The smile faded from his made up continence.

"...shit."

*****

Ulric meanwhile had long since lost track of his erstwhile allies, plowing this way and that through clusters of undead, having turned a corner to some distant corner, most of the dead here really were dead, mostly to his half-hearted efforts. He was bored now. But he had heard the overlord make the arrogant assumption that he was better at killing than Ulric. As the smile had fallen from his employers face, one crept slowly to his. It was an ugly, lopsided smile.

He had learned to regret ever following the ridiculous and slightly effete Earl soon after leaving his mountainous homeland. He had been playing bulldog for the man for what seemed like ages, and rarely got a good fight for his troubles. But now maybe he had a chance at a real scrape. He banged his axes together and howled his battlecry, charging off in the direction he hoped would lead him to more messy deaths, and certainly not his own.

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((Watch as a Carol plot device gets stolen directly from DBZ. XD The next poster can bring the party into the tower. Carol will probably follow.))

Carol: There was something Carol was really really good at: jumping. The gravity on his planet was incredibly high so he always found himself bouncing along wherever he went. In fact, that was how he had conquered the one planet he had: the planet had a record low gravity, so he been a hare among turtles, so to speak. A baby from his planet could probably conquer that planet. (Of course, it took him a decade to conquer that planet, because every time he took a step he spent a half-day in the sky.)

As the giant came roaring towards him, Carol utilized this strength. He jumped up, over the giant - he wanted to slash the giant as he passed but went too high for that - and he came down with a superior "Aha!", but unfortunately his feet slammed into some slippery toads. Stuck with the momentum from the jump, he went careening into a nearby gravestone.

As he attempted to pick up his sore stomach, he cursed the witch for summoning toads. He'd already told her how much he hated toads. Frogs were one thing, toads another.

Char: She wanted to continue the debate with Phineas, but also thought that this might not be the best location, especially now that an opponent other than an undead had shown up.

She watched Jaer with some concern. "You appear to be accumulating injuries. Perhaps later you should drink my special potion." It had only turned someone into a toad once. Ironically, it was at that moment that toads began to come out of the ground. She grabbed one and set it, still croaking, in her pocket. "It will be convenient, because I have already found my first ingredient."

She eyed the overlord bent over the gravestone. "It seems we can continue on without much delay. Let us head now into the tower."

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Love the hue.

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Jaer watched the newcomer, some overlord, leap up into the air, then land on toads - toads? He looked down as they started leaping and hopping at him and the others. He groaned and sheathed all of his weapons, turning to Char. He shook his head from under his hood as an undead swung at him.

"No thanks, ma'am, but I want to keep my soul within my chest," he said, dodging the blow from the halberd, turning and kicking it in the torso, crushing its ribcage, sending it careening into the one behind it. "I suggest getting out of here, though," he remarked, black spots appearing in front of his eyes.

Jaer blinked once, shaking the spots from his eyes; he had been hit by far worse, unless... he looked at the wound again. Oh... he thought, staring at it. "Poison!" he hissed as he stuck his left index finger in it, trying to wipe some out. In return his finger was cut off in the middle, the undead's empty stare not showing any victory or defeat. Jaer had had enough; he was done playing around, not thinking highly of these... things. He pulled out his dagger, blood pouring freely from the stump.

He ignored the pain, focusing on killing his enemies. He stabbed a toad that was to close to him in the back, cutting through it and coming out of it's stomach. He pulled his dagger up and yanked the toad off, throwing it with all of his might at the nearest undead; his right hand was weak, him being left handed, but it struck true, cracking the skeleton's skull from the throw. He thrusted into another living dead's spine, severing the head from the body.

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Phineas frowned at his surroundings, now it was just getting stupid. Some great destiny was this.

"Ulric...kill the braggart and then come inside, less you catch ill from all the farsity." He followed the sorceress up the stairs towards the foreboding entrance.

The brute just grunted in affirmation and spun his axes in anticipation, great gorilla arms swinging.

"What was it with people in the past and their damned gothic taste." He shook his head, flicking a gargoyle in the nose. "No sense of style at all."

Shaking his head he frowned as the ancient doors swung inwards of their own accord, accompanied by a slow groan as if they themselves were sick with their own stereotypical perfection. He stepped into a large room. The floor made of perfectly polished marble, so well maintained he could see a double of the room reflected, completely at odd with the moth eaten curtains, pealing painted furniture, and layers of dust that seemed to cover everything but the floor. Two curving staircases framed the circular designs on the floor leading up to a second level and a doorway. Counting the two on the left and right walls, and the two at on the back wall there were five ways to go...well, six with the one they came in on but mentioning that one would kind of ruin the sense of tension that one would try to build. In any case, that way just led to frogs, bones, and boulderdash.

"Sssssoooo...which door?" He shrugged at the sorceress. "You seem to command the loyalty of the rest of these ruffians, they seem to have no other sense of decorum than pack mentality." He gestured idly to soldier-types they'd brought to pave the way to his...their glorious destiny.

Bowing with mock difference. "So lead the way Alpha."

*****

Outside Ulric blocked the stairway, leaning on one long-hafted axe idly taking a long pull from his sheepskin canteen. Gulping down the hard spirits, their toxic stench could be smelt all the way by the overlord. "I'm not nearly ripped enough to really get going. You want?" He offered the canteen to the overlord.

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The mace struck the skeleton full in the face, cracking it's decayed bones given life again by the foulest magic, he had heard some of his friends say that a weapon sang when it drew blood and ended lives on the fields of battle, Vanrius realized it was more his imagination, on his many travels outside the jade cities of the dragons he had seen many a thing, but one that shouldn't have stood out, did, it was a simple performance from a traveling circus, what little Vanrius remembered other than his favorite part were some tricks that he found mildly amusing but not dreadfully spectacular, handstands, dances, knife-throwing, he had seen it in many other shows that competed with the one he was seeing. But what he remembered was her, a fine woman, young and tawny-haired, she had sang in an ethereal voice, something that seemed so inhuman, and yet it mourned with the voice of an angel in despair, Vanrius had mourned all of his comrades fallen and lost that night, what he had once surpressed came to the surface, he burned one of his 5 sticks of golden incense in their names, the golden incense two reserved for the death of a parent, one for a prayer on the deathbed, and the last two were for anybody, Vanrius had four more sticks, but it was said that even one could honor the memory of many if they meant much to the one giving tribute. He had given the woman a golden coin that night, and she had smiled, Vanrius remembered that smile until the day of his death.

The battle was over, and save for a few frogs, the adventurers were alone, Vanrius proceeded up the forboding gate, blade and mace in his hands, he walked into the odd place, a balance of decript decorations and the floor, perfectly polished so as to reflect people, but then Vanrius noticed something, there wasn't an old pilgrim with a tattered gray robe and a gaunt countenance staring back at Vanrius, instead there was a giant red dragon-man staring back at him, the yellow reptilian eyes were fixed upon his mirror image, the true Vanrius was clad in a kilt of iron-studded leather, a similar sleveless breastplate was adorned upon him as well, he wore no shoes and his clawed feet were showing with well-groomed ivory claws extending menacingly from the end. Vanrius exclaimed silently, he had a feeling the others would be able to see him as well, he was sure that they wouldn't entirely mind, but then again, maybe they would.