It doesn't seem that dark to Vrelenor, perks of elven senses.

"Yeah, this is screaming trap, probably something nasty in those indentations just waiting for us to get closer, either that or something triggered by the opening the chest. My new eyes seem to be seeing pretty well in this light and I don't see anything, but the triggers could easily be inside the chest itself, or even some magical sensor. Our best bet is probably to have whoever's toughest walk carefully inside while the rest of us watch their back, if that doesn't trigger anything we can take a closer look at the chest. Before we try anything though, what are we working with if something does ambush us? My skill is Ice Magic, sounds like it could get interesting eventually, but for now it's basically just shooting sharp icicles and jets of frost which could slow something down."

@Crusader Lord @Expendable @Crimson Paladin

Is this it?

Is this really it?

Fire. Pain. The nightmarish sounds of screaming and twisted metal. This is really it, isn't it? This hell is how it all ends, isn't it?

It just figures how unfair it is. How cruel and painful it is. How completely pointless it is. It's not right. This wasn't supposed to happen. After all, I never...

I never got the chance to...

---

"...Ow."

Compared to that nightmare, the pain that woke her up was completely insignificant. She opened her eyes slowly, initially only able to make out a bunch of blurry green blobs around her, her eyes taking their time to adjust to the light as she raised a stubby little hand to rub the sleep out of them.

...Stubby? Little? Were they always like... Yes, yes of course they were, it would be silly if her hands weren't her hands after all, so they must have.

Minor existential quandaries about limb size aside, her eyes were finally getting used to the light, and the green blobs were focusing into more coherent shapes, like trees, and grass, and bo-

...Uh.

Was that a goblin poking her?

Of... Of course it was. She could trust her own eyes, and if a shortstacked green girl was poking her cheek, then it only made sense they were a goblin. Why should she overreact to this? Goblins couldn't be anything weird if one of them was trying to wake her up. Groggily, she sat up and rubbed her temple.

"Uuugh... My head hurts..."

@Rune_Alchemist
@Pyromania99

“Pointless question to ask,” the elf replied, taking the youth’s hand in a business-like shake. “I died before the election was over.”

C proved himself to be the talkative sort, in the way that people who don’t get to talk too much are. Information flowed like a broken faucet outwards, based off of consumed media. LoTR was recognizable, at least, but he had the sense that he himself was not something akin to Tolkein’s elves, despite his heightened awareness of his surroundings, despite the curious intuition that told him that he and C both were aware of the dangling board hanging off the shack.

“And yes, I can see that.”

The status report was reasonable enough, though his physical limits felt vague at the moment. He clenched and unclenched his fists, wondering what the numbers translated into, but no matter what, they seemed on the small side of things. And Luck? His surroundings did not appear to be that of a ‘fortunate’ one, unless it was for the better they were not immediately presented before the royalty of this world. Unless? No. It was definitely for the better.

He stroked his chin still, a thumb grazing far-too smooth skin. Then, he stated the obvious.

“So we need to leave after all. And trust that the ‘NPCs’ aren’t hostile when we ask things of them. Ok.” A shallow nod, then a turn towards slime that was once-more bound to the ground. “And ‘add contact slime, C’.”

Without any further delay, he headed out the shelter, to, as C spoke before ‘get their bearings’.

Though the thumping against the doorway had grown steady since the group had first noticed it, there seemed to be no immediate sign that whatever was trying to force it's way in would be able to do so...

At least, not immediately.

Upon reaching the first floor, it would become rather clear that yes, the things that were trying to break through into their fleeting sanctuaries were indeed zombies, as far as the colloquial definition of the monsters went. A few had begun to gather by the windows, though without any immediate "sight" of the ones who descended none of them seemed to react. Given their clothing and faces caught in a state of half-decay, though, it wouldn't have been too much of a stretch to assume that the zombies were (former) residents of the town.

Sora's choice to lob a window outside, though, did prove to be rather effective at pulling the attention of the undead away from them, though, as it seemed like almost all of those that had gathered near the front of the inn slowly began to turn around and shamble towards the cobblestone where the glass had shattered.

Hopefully, that would give the group ample time to reinforce themselves and prepare for those still knocking at the back entrance. On the upside, there didn't seem to be any windows there, so exploring that area would be more than possible.

The first floor of the inn seemed to be in less-than-stellar shape compared to the second, though; there were signs of battle here, and off near where a reception desk lay toppled over was the desiccated corpse of a woman in armor. Given how it hadn't stirred when the scream had alerted those outside, it would have been safe to assume that this person was well and truly dead.

Otherwise, though, the floor seemed to be cleared of any threats. The benches and tables upon which guests must have eaten upon in the past had surely seen better days, though, and a majority of them seemed to be broken. and no more usable than simple scrap wood. The larger pieces would likely serve well enough as levers to stop things from getting inside, though.

The kitchen nearer the back of the building was in better shape, at least; though the items within seemed to have been thrown around, a lot of the utensils inside seemed to have been preserved from the elements. Dust buildup was still an issue—as was the issue of a majority of the ingredients having long since passed their expiration date—but it was likely that they would be usable enough for daily life if cleaned... And, if used as weapons, even that wasn't really necessary.

That only left the entrance to the cellar. While it would have been a simple matter to open it and simply walk inside, the sound of scratching coming from inside was not something that would instill confidence in any wishing to explore further. Whether that meant whatever was waiting for them inside was any less troublesome than the zombies knocking at their doors was a different question all it's own, though.

@VitaVitaAR@RolePlayerRoxas@Aku the Samurai@SilverPaw

---

Unstable and rickety as the shack was, it seemed to support the sole door through which people were more or less free to enter and exit from. It wasn't as if any sort of locks would matter in a place like this; it would only take a little bit of force for someone to muscle their way inside, with or without a door.

The smell of poverty and destitution would become all the more pronounced the second that Cassius left the shack. The poor, the infirm, and the desperate—all were equal here, barely making ends meet as they lived and died outside the city walls. For what reason they all moved about, though, none but they could say.

What would stand out to those emerging, though, was how those nearest them seemed to be deliberately avoiding their gaze. Maybe it was the shouts from earlier, but it didn't seem like anyone really wanted to associate with the madmen who had just taken residence among them.

Or, well, so it seemed to be at a glance.

"...Huh. I expected a little less dignity out of someone screaming nonsense in the middle of the day," came a voice from above the group—one whose owner would soon be made clear as a shadow briefly passed overhead before landing on the dirt nearby. "Or maybe it's the other one still holed away I should be worried about?"

The girl that had made herself known simply glanced through the cracks between the planks of the shack before shrugging her shoulders.

"Either way, it's probably not a good idea to raise such a fuss like that. You'd be surprised at how many enemies you make just by being loud."

@ERode@Zeroth@TheMushroomLord

---

---

“Ad̵d… con̴t̸act… ̸a̶dd… D̸ow̸n̵, U̷p̶… ad̸d…”

Connor glanced back at the slime as it spoke up once more. All it had done so far after he'd set it down was open its Status--although weirdly, Connor noted he couldn't see the image even though he'd heard the slime slap out the words. The elf, however, had been able to see Connor's own--was it because he'd presented it, directly? If they were all otherworlders, and recognized as such, then what if that "contacts" tab in the window...

Is that like some kind of Telepathy? Or would it literally work like a phone call...or a text message? Did it only work between otherworlders or could they add anyone they wanted?

Also, of slightly less relevance to the current predicament, the elf claimed he had died before the election was over. Either he was dodging the question entirely--was the term "president" something a medieval world would be familiar with?--or they had died, and been reincarnated, at different points in their own native timelines. Which opened up another barrel of worms if it was possible to go back to their original worlds, especially if they would be redeposited at their original time of death in some fashion to secure a new lease on life. That meant, if the elf went back to an earlier point than he did or vice versa, and they had learned something from each other they couldn't have known otherwise...

Connor hated time travel stories. He was going to assume that, if there were multiple otherworlders in one place, there had probably been more than one otherworlder in this particular world before the three of them. And if that was the case, he was going to assume that if the multiverse hadn't paradoxx'd itself before now, it wasn't going to do so. And if it did, well...

The total cessation of all existence would at least bring some peace and quiet.

“So we need to leave after all. And trust that the ‘NPCs’ aren’t hostile when we ask things of them. Ok.” A shallow nod, then a turn towards slime that was once-more bound to the ground. “And ‘add contact slime, C’.”

"N-no, w-wait, I meant--" But the elf was already stepping through the door! Dammit, he couldn't at least wait until nightfall?! Connor started to follow, but then looked back at the slime. Then he looked back at the swishing, raggedy curtain.

"...Um...Contacts...add Slime and...elf man?"

In the inner place where he usually heard his ears ring, he heard two bloops like a notification on an app. Once more, he glanced at the doorway--and now he heard another voice. Softer, feminine. He moved back, kneeling down next to the tarp and the slime, and kept his eyes on the window while his fingers adjusted the Status Window's position in the corner of his vision.

That's--that's a catgirl! And she's wearing a two handed sword with a blade that's too wide, on her back instead of at her waist! Connor felt his heart beating faster again. However, his brain could work even faster than that--as a wannabe writer, he was quite proud of both his typing and reading speeds, and he'd gotten to a point where he often watched videos on 2x speed so he could cram more dopamine into his doomscrolling.

Contact: "Slime"
Guy who picked u up stepped out. Don't worry, won't leave u alone.
Vision, smell, sound, taste, feel, uh...kinesthetics? Y/N to any?

She acts like this is a bad part of town--which is obvious--but she's not wearing what I'd call a "conservative" outfit or armor. With a build like hers there's no way she could use that sword realistically--so either upping STR doesn't affect your musculature, or physics just play out different here. It wasn't clear if she was genuinely just warning the elf man, or making some kind of veiled threat. Connor quickly looked all around the shack again, just in case some bandit backup might be climbing through another window somewhere while the neko kept the most combat-capable-looking person in their party occupied.

Contact: "Elf man"
Ask smth like "what kind of enemies," keep her talkin. Don't tell her any of what I told you, or anythin bout us, plz

He went ahead and started to slowly, quietly prize that board out of the wall.

---

Jase smiled thinly, then pointed at the chest.

"So shoot an icicle at it," he said with a shrug at Vrelenor. "Something with some heft to it. If it's boobytrapped, we can see what it does."

If it was boobytrapped, setting it off from here might disarm it. If it didn't work, they'd have to take a chance.

And if it destroyed itself, that would tell them something, too.

He paused to stare at the other two. The knight Nyana, were they still human? Perhaps they stayed armored up simply because it was easier to move around. But why did Javal stay human while he became one of Santa's helpers? And what was the idea with the status panels?

@Crusader Lord@Thunder999999@Crimson Paladin

Colleen
Forest Shrine
@Pyromania99@Rin

---

"Aahaha, wow," A small twitch of one of her eyebrows as a one of the corners of her mouth turned up in an annoyed grin. "Aren't you a rude little green thing? After I went outta my way to make sure you're okay." Colleen reached down, grabbing the Goblin just under her arms and proceeded to lift Rita up, much like one would a teddy bear. "Listen here, my hair is not made of snakes, my beautiful red locks are amazing, kay? You better-eh?"

The corner of her vision, something wiggled.

Collen looked in that direction.

Nothing.

"Weh!?" Something moved again in her left this time.

It was...a little black, red and gold little snake dopily staring back at her. Her eyes followed it up to where it was laying. Logically, it would have to be her head.

A cold sweat.

"Gyeh!" Colleen shrieked. This caused a minor chain reaction of her losing the grip on Rita, causing her to be dropped right on top of Anya. "My haaaair! My beautiful red hair! Mirror, I need a mirror...Nngh, of course there's not a mirror anywhere! We're in the middle of a damn ruin!" Entirely losing focus on the other two small people near her, Colleen reached up and started rubbing her head. "Of all the things...why snakes?! Weird...wiggly...noodley...creatures...mnngh...how do I even work with these? Can I move them? I can't style them...oh god they move on their own..."

The eight of the nine snakes, turned their attentions to the two others and wiggled their bodies, seemingly happy to greet the other two while Colleen herself was busy having her own minor existential crises now. The last was patting Colleen's forehead with its body in a seeming sympathetic manner while Collen was having an existential crises over her hair, since that was the most objectionable thing that has happened since the plain crash.

---

It was perhaps fortunate, at least at first glance, that the medusa, the goblin, and the halfling had awakened in such a peaceful-seeming spot. Sunlight filtered through the ruined, collapsed ceiling and the trees surrounding the long-abandoned site of religious worship, and the ever-present background noise of birdsong continually serenaded their ears.

To put it simply, given the situation they were already experiencing, they could have awakened in a worse spot.

The ruined shrine was overgrown, vines and ivy twisting over the stone, even small shrub and trees finding their way up through gaps in the concrete.

Above them, high atop one of the broken remnants of the roof, a large black bird alighted. It was a raven, no doubt, tilting its head in seeming curiosity for a few moments as it regarded the strange assortment of individuals below. It was an odd group, no doubt, who expected these three to just show up out of no-where?

It'd have to let her know.

Even if they didn't survive.

The raven spread its wings and took flight, cawing once, sharply, as if to try and get their attention.

It was at that moment, perhaps, that it would become clear the birdsong had suddenly ceased.

The forest was dead quiet, in fact. Moments ago it had been flush with life. Even if they hadn't seen any of the animals aside from the raven, there'd clearly been plenty present.

But now all that could be heard was the subtle sound of the wind blowing.

But no.

That wasn't it, was it?

There was something else.

It started faint, but was started to grow in volume.

A scraping sound, as if something was grinding together. Along with it, a rattling sound, and the rustling of foliage.

The thud of footsteps.

Something was getting closer.

@Rune_Alchemist@Rin@Pyromania99

It's tempting, Vrelenor's been wanting to see how much damage a basic understanding of ice magic can do since he wokeup, and even just making frost gather on his staff felt cool, manipulating mana is different to anything back on earth, and he's very glad he chose a magic skill because there's not much chance he'd have figured out how to do any naturally, makes him wonder how the locals must do it, unless they get given free skills to, but that would imply he and his fellow Isekai protagonists didn't get any cool advantages, which is absurd.
Vrelenor shakes his head, loot destruction for opening chests wrong is a classic trick after all.

"I'd rather not do that unless we don't have any other option, if I can hit hard enough to smash the chest, then I'd probably also ruin anything inside it, an it might well be those indentations that we need to worry about anyway."

@Crusader Lord @Expendable @Crimson Paladin

Rita couldn't help but laugh at the little halfling's comment about her head hurting. "Really? You sound like me after a long night. Well, usually. Never felt clearer." She mentioned with a smirk. It was then that she was hoisted into the air by the medusa woman like some plush toy. "H-hey! Hands off the goods toots! Just cause I'm all sobered up don't mean you can put your hands on me all willy-nilly you hick!" The goblin woman complained, struggling a bit to get freed. "And your hair is red alright! And black and gold!" It was then that the snake woman made the discover on her own somehow and released the goblin.

Straight down to the ground! "Waa-oof." Rita started to exclaimed as she felt her body unable to resist the ever-present forces of gravity as her body squished onto the halfling halfling. Her forehead met the halfling's as they conked together lightly enough to hurt a small bit but really have no lasting effect other than knocking the both of them flat to the ground. "Ooooow..." The goblin complained, pushing herself up and off the of halfling. She quickly stood, rubbing her forehead where she had an unfortunate meeting with the halfling's own.

She offered a hand. "Alright girly, let me help you up before that dumbass decides to do something else stupid and freak out over her hair having a mind of it's own again somehow. By the by, name's Rita." It was then that there was the caw of a crow and then absolute silence. Rita didn't think too much of it. At first. Then as the silence continued, she thought it was a little odd. Then was the scrapping noise. Something getting closer. Footsteps.

Her eyes went wide as she stared right at the halfling. "H-h-ey. Does that noise freak you out as much as it does me.... Whatever your name is...." The green-skinned woman was shaking a small amount, clearly visible.

It was intense, the type of poverty present, but it was clean too, if he had to describe it in a way that differentiated such things from the poverty he had seen before. Their bodies were skeletal or their stomachs distended, but they weren’t perpetually hunched over, and their bones were still strong enough to support their flesh. Some nursed wounds, others nursed hunger, but they didn’t push around shopping carts filled with garbage, and they still had sense enough to keep quiet in their own misery, to minimize the space their bodies took in these ghettos.

In the distance, he could see city walls, proper walls to keep out those who could not afford to live within them. If there was any organization that C would be willing to trust, it’d be there. However...

A voice, a shadow, and a girl, dressed a way that seemed to intentionally highlight her stomach, which certainly wasn’t so concave as the other destitute individuals present. He glanced back up at the shack behind him. Unstable and rickety, yet capable of supporting a cat-eared human’s weight. His golden eyes stayed longer on the weapon strapped to her back. And in the other corner of his vision? Artificial notifications popping up already; C or the slime must be coaching him about the situation, not that he would be able to read those messages now.

“No, I wouldn’t be too surprised,” the High Elf replied, stepping sideways away from the doorway in case C had any interest in leaving. Though where he came from, the loudest ones were usually just ignored and quietly disdained. “The other one’s just happy to be alive though; he settled down quickly enough, as you can hear.”

He motioned towards her with one hand. At her healthy complexion, her colorful, clean clothing, at the sword that could make plenty of meals if sold or used.

“You appear mismatched with our surroundings in the same way though. Are you part…” His eyes narrowed in thought. She didn’t have the look of police, but approached loud shacks regardless. “…of some sort of community safety patrol?”

"Safety patrol... You could call it that, I guess," the catgirl responded simply, shrugging her shoulders with a bit of nonchalance before she took a more relaxed stance in front of the elf. "But it's not my actual job or anything of the sort. Does pay well enough when I'm too tired to go hunting monsters or something, even if being in this place makes me wish I didn't have a nose."

The fact that the man had chosen to assess her before anything else did at least mark him as somewhat different from the others who lived here in the slums—a point which she did choose to note in her mind—but what seemed more immediately concerning was how the other person still insider the shack seemed to be attempting to...

Pry a plank off the wall?

Even if she couldn't see clear inside, the haphazard construction and wide-open doorway made it quite obvious what the other person was doing. The catgirl stared briefly, blinking a few times as she wondered what could have possibly possessed him to do such a thing before turning her attention back towards the elf.

"...Right. Well, we've all got our own circumstances, I guess. So long as your friend over there doesn't lose his mind entirely and try to crack someone's skull in half with that thing while he's here, I think we're probably all clear," she said, letting out a sigh tinged with a bit of pity before starting to walk away. "Oh, but do try and call for help if something does arise, though. I'm stuck in this area for the day, so I'll probably be the first to respond."

The option to accost her as she left was entirely possible—the catgirl didn't seem too adverse to conversation, at the very least—but otherwise the trio would be left to move around at their leisure.

@ERode@Zeroth@TheMushroomLord

---

---

As absorbed as he was in his self-assigned work, and distracted by the very real danger of being eaten (or worse, infected) by zombies, Sora barely registered the little elf’s protest that she wasn’t a child. “Huh?” he glanced at her. He paused mid-step, and where he might have usually sort of flailed at being caught unaware and thrown off balance, the inborn athleticism of his body led him to performing a needlessly graceful half-spin. “Oh.” He looked her up and down. “Yeah, sorry, you look about 12 to me,” he shrugged.

What a fate, though, to be put into a child’s body – or into one that appeared very much prepubescent. “I guess…” he put a finger to his chin. “Your face is kinda adult-ish. Tough to tell with elves. I know I look younger too.” He twitched his shoulders again. “You sound adult enough, so you really must be one. Sorry,” he smiled at her, slightly embarrassed at having acted so parental – or brotherly – towards an adult woman.

Once the zombies were successfully distracted by his mirror-throwing feat, Sora continued the conversation with the others. “Really, you were on the plane too? Maybe we all were…” He frowned as she immediately termed their experience an isekai. “It’s another world for sure, but I don’t know about reborn. There wasn’t really any birthing involved, we were just put here. These bodies don’t look like they were dead – thank god – so it’s possible they were just,” he waved both hands, “created.”

He sighed. “Maybe it’s an isekai, or the afterlife, or the spirit world, or a super-secret military experiment on immersive virtual reality back on our world, I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter.” It’s not as if he didn’t want to know, but finding out the hows and whys of where they found themselves was so far down the list of priorities, it might as well not even be an afterthought.

He just shrugged at the hammer-lady’s question. “Who knows? But I don’t want to be bitten, that’s for sure.”

He watched as the not-child went on to explore her room, and emerged with an honest-to-goodness mage staff. “Lucky,” he whistled. Rather than jealousy, there was pure and simple excitement. They’d been placed in a dangerous situation, sure, but there were ways for them to deal with it. Rather than search the remaining rooms on the second floor, he descended downstairs.

On the first floor, the situation was much dire. “Urgh.” Sora grimaced as he caught sight of the numerous undead lingering outside. Thankfully, even though he could see them through the windows, it was clear they operated based on sound rather than sight. There wasn’t any logic to it, honestly, but then, there wasn’t much sense to this situation in the first place.

There was only one other person inside, and they were dead. Sora approached cautiously, and knelt down. The body wasn’t moving. That was a plus. It was lying down there, but since it was the only one, the question was; how did this person die?

As Sora investigated, the answer became clear. The visor was lowered, specks of rust gathered on the floor, the area of the neck…the body’s hand, and the blade next to it. “Oh, no.” He fiddled with the helmet, removing it from the person’s head. The throat was slit. They must have done it themselves. “You poor thing…” He wished he knew who they were. He felt great empathy for this person, even though they were a stranger. “Were you the last one? Or just left all alone?” he whispered. His fingers gently touched the face; by now, it was bits of dried skin clinging to a skull. “I’ll take care of you, alright? Just…wait a bit longer.”

He picked up the weapon, then. It was a dagger, and all the blood on it almost made it seem rusted. “I’ll put this to good use,” he promised. “Is that ok?” There was no answer, of course not.

Oh, well.

Sora figured it’d be fine. He wanted to give her – he wasn’t sure why, but he got the sense it was a woman – a proper burial. Maybe that’d make up for the stealing.

It wasn’t just the dagger he took; tied around her waist was a belt with a sheath to go with it. It took some work, but he pried it loose. He wanted to clean it before using, which led him to the kitchen. There were many knives here, even cleavers, but…It was sentimentality that drove him to hold onto the dead woman’s things. He’d never known her, but he wanted something to remember her by. To ensure that the brave, lonely, desperate soul who’d secured this area wouldn’t be forgotten.

There weren’t any signs of modern plumbing; no water faucets in sight. However, there were several barrels. At least two he found bore water. He ladled some of it into a small basin, found a washcloth, a scrubbing brush, and got to work. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. Once done, Sora put on the belt, and sheathed the dagger.

“Now, then…” There were so many thoughts racing around his mind, it was difficult to focus. The meditative cleaning procedure had helped some, but Sora still felt overwhelmed. “Ok, zombies, zombies…” he turned around, eyes flitting here and there. The kitchen was too chaotic to help him organize his mind.

What did people fight zombies with in the movies? Guns. Chainsaws. Bombs?

Fire.

“Fire,” he repeated out loud, marvelling at his own idea. “That’s right, maybe we can burn them, or…” Or find more things to throw at them.

“Molotovs!!” he suddenly exclaimed, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Obviously, they’d have to be hella careful not to burn down the city or themselves, but Sora thought it could work. So, he started gathering whatever could be useful for starting a fire. Candles, broken lamps, and lamp oil. Jars of cooking oil. Pieces of cloth. Small, dried pieces of wood. He set the items on a relatively clear countertop in the kitchen. Problem was, he’d tried fiddling with the lamps, but either they were too broken to function, or he just didn’t know how to use them right. There were also no matches he could find. If there were any anywhere, they’d probably be too small to find easily.

So, Sora wandered back to the main area. “Does anyone know how to start a fire?” he asked casually. Even if they couldn’t do that right away, they could still reinforce the doors. Thus, the elf started gathering up larger pieces of wood, and smaller pieces of broken furniture to barricade the doors with. There was a persistent scratching noise coming from the cellar, but he chose to ignore it. Whatever was in there, he didn't think it could come out by itself. They would need access to the cellar, but first, he wanted to make sure nothing else would be joining them inside.

---

---

@VitaVitaAR @RolePlayerRoxas @Aku the Samurai @PKMNB0Y

Fighting? That was... no, no, these two gentlemen had woken dressed as warriors, it was only expected that the world they found themselves in was violent enough to warrant travellers remaining individually armed. Not that this improved Hikari's situation, digging blindly about in her dress only provided a single rather dainty knife, which she duly inspected before slipping back into its hiding place. A weapon of last resort, rather than one primarily intended for combat.

"Yes, I think it would be better if the fighting was left to the both of you. If I had a sword then maybe my old kendo knowledge might be useful but instead I must rely upon yourselves. I apologise for the inconvenience," the fox said, slipping behind Steven and... well, keeping an eye out for ambushes was probably the right idea? It wasn't like a maid would contribute much to a battle.

If they survived, those first aid courses might be useful, though.

Guy who picked u up stepped out. Don't worry, won't leave u alone.
Vision, smell, sound, taste, feel, uh...kinesthetics? Y/N to any?

Oh! A message! Her plan to add contacts had worked… or at least it ended up working after the others had verbally added her to their lists – did it require a verbal command to work? It would be annoying if it did, but considering her slap-speak worked just fine for opening her status sheet, that didn’t seem quite right. Perhaps it required mutual agreement then? Whatever the case, she had a proper method of communicating now; not quite as good as the call function she’d been hoping for, but even so, texting beat slap-speak by a long shot.

Contacts: "Down"

All novel senses.

Can’t see or hear, but I have something like proprioception that seems to cover my senses of touch, hearing and kinesthetics. It isn’t very good, though. It’s hard to interpret and I can barely hear through it.

Is magic translation common for this kind of thing? I don’t see anything like that on my status sheet but I don’t think I should be able to understand you with my current senses.

Oh, and I’ve also got something that functions similarly to smell and taste, but with my whole body. Probably not useful for the time being.

Hmm, she had been asked to give a yes no answer, so maybe she should have made her answers a little more concise? Whatever, it wasn’t like she could have answered properly with a Y/N anyway, details were important.

Petra could feel her companion thumping around with something as she messed them, but couldn’t really tell what exactly it was? Were they thumping on the wall for some reason? Well, whatever the reason, they seemed to know what they were doing for the most part, so it was probably fine. Curious as she was, there were other questions that needed to be asked first.

Contacts: "Down"

You said the other guy stepped out? Does that mean we’re in a building or something? Anything I should be aware of? You seem to have a much better idea of how this all works than I do, so let me know if there’s anything I need to know. Okay?

That out of the way, Petra thought about the situation for a moment longer before firing off another message.

Contacts: "Down", "Up"

You mentioned something about special abilities before. My status sheet has a skill called Biomancy on it, so I’m guessing that’s what you were talking about. I suppose in game terms that might make me a healer or something? Do either of you have abilities that might be useful?

Was she actually a healer? Petra wasn’t quite sure.

On the one hand, fantasy worlds, and especially games, loved to box things into neat little archetypes, right? Fighter, healer, tank, and whatnot. So by that logic, she should probably fall into the healer category. And everything she’d done with [Biomancy] thus far matched up with that assessment provided she viewed it through the right lens – her ability to see her anatomy was just a magical diagnostic tool, and the modifications she’d made to her nervous system could be thought of as rehabilitation if she stretched the definitions a little.

But at the same time, it didn’t quite seem to fit. Even if [Biomancy] was a healing ability, was it really that common for fantasy settings to have magic systems that explicitly interacted with a modern scientific understanding of biology? Wasn’t healing magic, usually more along the lines of, ‘holy light closes your wounds, don’t think too hard about how’? Not to mention that the description on Petra’s status sheet, didn’t seem to indicate she’d be limited to healing people. If she tried, would she be able to trigger organ failure or give people cancer with a thought?

In other words, Petra needed to figure out what kind of logic ‘magic’ ran off and what its limits were, not just because [Biomancy] was currently her best bet at resolving her current limitations, but because living in a world that operated purely off fantasy tropes would require a very different approach to living in one that somehow combined ‘real’ and fantasy logic.

---

The battle wasn't going well for the defenders.

While those who remained were holding their own, it was clear that the initial ambush had claimed the lives of many of the carriage guard. Several men armored in half-plate lay injured or dead on the dirt road or collapsed into the grass.

Of the remaining defenders, however---

The dark-haired, sword-wielding maid drove her blade through the chest of one of the attackers, a spurt of crimson erupting from the wounds of the green-robed man as he collapsed with a gurgle. But the moment she'd stepped back, she was already being set upon by another attacker, putting up a hasty guard as swiftly as she could as the sound of steel meeting steel rang out across the road.

A shorter maid with a more petite build, with contrastingly white hair, wielding a smaller blade soaked with blood already and a shield was sticking closer to the carriage door, panting heavily.

It was clear she'd been injured, a slash through the leather at her waist, and yet she was still standing ready to fight off any attackers.

Out of the defenders, she was the first to notice the others.

"Ah? Sh-Sheila!"

The zweihander-wielding maid forced her assailant back, a swift slash across his front killing the man and giving her a moment to see what the shield-bearing maid was trying to point out.

"What? Who---"

Before she could comment further, she was already under attack once again.

"Reinforcements?!" snarled one of the green-cloaked men, "There wasn't supposed to be anyone else!"

Still, the green-cloaked attackers by far outnumbered both the newcomers and the carriage's defenders, some of their number breaking off in order to try and halt any attempts to provide assistance.

However, even this took pressure of off the carriage's defense.

@Raineh Daze@PKMNB0Y@Sir Lurksalot

Javal

The elf was right, this arrangement looked an awful lot like a trap. Arrows, spears, darts, something would probably emerge from those indentations on the wall if they approached the chest. There could be tripwires, or there could be pressure plates, or perhaps opening the chest might trigger it.

Even if they got to the chest, there was no guarantee that there'd be anything inside of it.

The elves were discussing possible ways to try and trip it. One was suggesting firing ice at it, the other believed that it might damage the chest.

"Would it be possible for you to shoot ice with less force?" Javal asked the ice mage. "If need be, I could prod for triggers from a distance with my weapon. And if I am interpreting my skill correctly, I might be able to jump over the traps, but that wouldn't help if the chest has a trigger or a trap of its own."

A cave might not be the best place to put his skill to the test for the first time- he might bump his head on the celling or a stalactite.

"What about you?" he asked the knight. "Do you have a skill or ability that might help us here?"

@Thunder999999@Expendable@Crusader Lord

---

---

"Remember what I said." Duncan noted with a resigned sigh, eyeballing the group of men who'd broken off from the main fight and were now rushing towards them and clanging his sword on his shield a few times to make sure he'd have those men's attention. And began to advance. "Keep backing up. Keep the sword up. And if you have to, run."

Those steps became a jog. Then a run. And then a full on counter-charge.

Sure, the old man didn't know a damned thing about proper swordsmanship; the footwork, the techniques or really anything you'd find in an actual medieval treatise... but he did know how to kill. How to harness his aggression. How to feel the rhythm of a fight, how to move his body, how to read an adversary and, most importantly:

How to improvise.

Hugging his large, circular shield tight to his body, Duncan rammed himself right down the centre of the fast-approaching approaching attackers. Ducking under a falchion that came at his neck from the man to his right and responding in kind with a chop to the bandit's knee that he didn't need to see to know it found it's mark with the jerk of the hilt in his hand and immediate blood-curdling shriek that followed. Not that he could anyway; his mind somewhat occupied by the scraping of the man to his left's axe against his shield— said bandit having tried and failed to hook his axe beneath it's lip— and the revelation of the existence of the man who'd been running behind those two, bill-hook held at the high-port so as not to stab his buddies if they stopped, the realization that with their combined momentum along with all the steel Duncan was wearing meant that they were about to have a very intimate encounter and the look on the guy's eyes as he realized it too.

So Duncan threw the whole of his weight behind his shield and planted the edge of it directly into the poor bastard's face. Crushing through his nose with a sickeningly wet 'Crunch!' and stopping just shy of his ears. Not that it granted him any room to breathe mind you; as the weight of his armour still made stopping a stumbling, awkward affair. With the added bonus of having a full person basically welded to his handy-dandy big ol' maybe-not-die dinner plate.

...Oh yeah, and Axe-Guy was still coming at him. Weapon up high.

'Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..!'

Shuffling and twisting his hips in a way that might've actually killed him a week ago, the old man spun and braced his shield up with his swordarm, putting it into the path of the axe and it's meaty essentially into the face of the man wielding it. Hissing at the rattle that went up the bones in his arm at the force of the impact and quickly planting his boot into the stowaway corpse and shoving it off onto the man, keen on not feeling that particular sensation again anytime soon. Which also didn't grant him any real respite, seeing as how he was immediately afterward grabbed from behind and caught captive view of a knife that was clearly aimed for the eye-slit of his helmet careening into it's cheek. Prompting Duncan to drop his sword entirely and grab a hold of the offending wrist to stop it from finding it's mark on the next thrust because damn that.

"HEY! C'MON! HELP ME WITH THIS!" His would-be killer shouted, drawing the attention of another of his friends and prompting Axe-Guy to struggle even harder to get out from under the remains of his rather rotund comrade.

All as the knife inched it's way into his visor and ever-so-slooooowly began to dig into the flesh above his eyebrow.

'...Not good.' Our Canuck snarled internally, letting out a pained hiss before raising his left foot and slamming it down as hard as he could. Feeling metatarsals snapping beneath his heel and having that confirmed by the scream that soon followed.

Sure got buddy to stop focusing on his knife, however. Which allowed Duncan to yank that thing out of his face and slam the back of his helmet into his attacker's. Hearing an audible, wet 'Crunch!' that he suspected and honestly kinda hoped was the man's nose becoming a two-dimensional object, before batting away the mace of the man charging him with his shield and throwing his entire weight behind an armour-clad haymaker directly to his face. Eliciting yet another bloody crunch and making the man tumble over in an awkward heap, and then not move at all.

That got him a reprieve... for all about three seconds before Axe-Guy was on him again. Charging in out of the old man's peripheral vision and barely giving him enough time to raise his shield that came hard enough that it snapped the haft of his attacker's axe, sending another decidedly unpleasant shockwave up Duncan's arm. And, completely unfettered by the seeming loss of his weapon, latched onto the top of Duncan's shield for dear life while screaming to his buddy with broken foot and broken nose to, and we quote;

"GET OFF YOUR ASS AND KILL THIS FUCKING GUY!"

Which was a bit of a problem, seeing as how Duncan was kind of very literally strapped to that shield.

...Though a problem that was soon solved as the armour-clad and blood-soaked knight quickly looked at where the bandit previously known as Axe-Guy's hands were, down to the ground, grabbed his own wrist, looked the man square in the eye and stated flatly:

"I really don't like you."

Before bringing the sum total of his weight, that of his armour and that of his shield directly down upon the man's foot. Shearing it right in half with the brim of the latter. Eliciting a piercing scream that carried on all the way through Duncan shoving him to the ground but was very quickly silenced as the old man brought the defensive equipment down a second time upon the man's throat. With a hand up top for extra leverage.

And then did it again just to be sure.

Picking up his sword again, Duncan turned and fixed the man with the flattened foot and flatter nose— who had managed to get back to his feet and had been limping towards him to finish the job with Stumpy's discarded falchion— with an absolutely murderous glare through the slit of his visor.

"Don't."

He did. Bucking himself up and charging forward in a awkward, limping gait. Sword held above his head and screaming (also slightly whistling) at the top of his lungs. For which the old swore a little under his breath, reeled back and cracked him in the nose again with his shield, dropping him to the ground like a bag of hammers.

Now Duncan had earned an actual reprieve, bending over slightly to catch his breath and analyze what he'd just done. Fundamentally, this wasn't all that different to some of the things he got up to over seventy years ago. In practice, however... while his suit of full plate didn't really hinder his movement too much, the added weight meant that every swing, step had a whole lot more momentum behind it. Which was actually useful in some ways, but extremely disorientating in others; causing him to nearly nearly slip and fall a few times there which would've likely ended with him doing his best ground-beef impression on the edge of one guy in particular's axe. Nevermind the sweat he was working up doing this.

...Also, it didn't help that he was very clearly a little rusty.

The old man's head turned towards where he last saw the other two crash survivors; Were they alright? Did they manage to get the hell out of here?

@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze@PKMNB0Y

Steven quietly nodded his head as Duncan instructed them—rather firmly—on how to proceed as the three of them approached the ongoing battle. There was a moment of silence as the young man took a deep breath before he moved to slowly unsheathe his blade.

One hand on the hilt, one on the scabbard. A slow, steady motion drawing the blade free from it's place at his side. The actions felt equal parts foreign and familiar to the kitsune as he readied the katana in front of himself, both hands firmly grasping at it as he watched the older man charge into the fray once they were finally noticed.

It had been one thing to see the carnage after the battle was well underway, though, and another entirely to see it play out in front of him. The brutality of the scene was difficult to look away from, and the whole thing looking like a scene out of a fantasy film or show made it difficult to stop.

Well, difficult until one of the other apparent bandits broke away after Duncan was very visibly occupied by the melee in front of him to pursue them. It took a second for Steven to recognize the threat that was running towards them, and another still to ready himself for a fight.

"Damn, not even half a day and I've got to fight for my life. Would it have killed someone to drop us somewhere I could learn to swing a sword first?" he complained under his breath as the enemy—knife ready to stab him in the face—charged straight ahead.

If there was anything he had learned from his time playing fighting games, though, it was that distance was king in melee like then. Sure, it would be more than an issue if the enemy got in close enough to stab him, but his katana more than made up for that so long as he could keep the enemy from getting closer. In theory, at least.

Without any sort of formalized stance or training, though, the best that Steven could do was mimic the way that people fought in those games. It was by no means a practical way or fighting, but he would be damned either way if he didn't try to fight either way; that went double for flailing about with no sense on how to fight proper. If anything, that only meant that he'd be likely to die faster.

Though he had maintained his stance as the enemy approached, the bandit quickly found himself caught off-guard as Steven took a brief step forward and cleaved downwards with his blade. The speed at which he did so forced the man to parry with his dagger, and Steven's choice to follow through with the attack rather than pull back forced the bandit onto one knee before they successfully deflected the blow.

From one slash came another, though, and the young man wasted no time in rotating the blade around to allow for him to return with another slash. This one, the bandit attempted to simply dodge by ducking onto the ground.

Unfortunately for him, though, Steven had no intention of playing by any sort of "rules" of combat when there were lives on the line. Once the bandit found himself prone for a moment after dodging, the kitsune closed the distance ever so slightly and, with all the disrespect of a street brawler, kicked a bunch of dirt into the bandit's face.

Left bereft of sight, the bandit began to flail about, screaming profanities at Steven before the kitsune took a moment to circle around his opponent and raised his sword as he prepared to land a more decisive blow.

The thought of taking a life lingered a bit longer than he would have preferred, but ultimately the wish to survive took precedence over the desire for his hands to remain clean. After taking a deep breath, Steven drew back once again and before slashing clear through the body of the bandit, his sword leaving a gaping wound as it split flesh and bone in turn.

"...You okay back there?" he asked as he flicked the blood and entrails of the first life he had taken off of his sword. "By the looks of things, I don't think I need to jump in to help our knight errant over there, but..."

@Raineh Daze@Sir Lurksalot

---

---

"...some sort of community safety patrol?"

"Safety patrol...You could call it that, I guess--"

That bastard, if he asks her who she is she's gonna wanna know who WE are! It's a reciprocal type of-- Connor tried to calm himself and focus on what he was doing. Nobody seemed to be trying to sneak up on them at them at the moment, so maybe the catgirl was indeed alone. Nonetheless, having a weapon on hand seemed like a good idea. Why's this so hard when the building's falling apart?! Of course, with my luck, I got the ONE structurally soundly nailed plank--!

"--Does pay well enough when I'm too tired to go hunting monsters or something, even if being in this place makes me wish I didn't have a nose."

Connor looked up at hearing that--and found the catgirl staring right at him. He froze in place, awkwardly contorting his face. The exchange of gazes lingered for a moment longer than he was comfortable with--and of course, the damn nail chose that moment to come free all on its own. The young man fell backwards, hitting his ass with a thump as he clung to his newfound armament.

"...Right. Well, we've all got our own circumstances, I guess--"

As Connor hissed in pain, slowly rolling until he could climb back to one knee, he used his board as a crutch until he could focus properly.

Contact: "Elf man"
DO NOT ENGAGE! She's either Adventurer or Town Guard! 3 Lv1s prolly can't scratch her!

But, this was good! She was going to leave them alone! Once they had a few more things in order, she might even prove to be friendly. He'd been wrong about her reciprocating the elf's request for an introduction--No, not wrong. She just clearly knows she could kill us, so she's not worried. Wonder if she's got some kind of Scan or Appraisal ability?

Just then, another notification appeared in his vision. He had dismissed his Status window, so he jumped a bit with fright. The Slime was answering him...

And they had a lot to say, actually. Good, at least one other member of his party seemed of above average intelligence. As Connor mulled over the slime's responses, he looked for the most cobweb covered, bug-eaten corner of the shack. Upon finding it, he wedged one end of his weathered plank under the loosest floorboard he could find and started trying to lever it upward too--being VERY careful of the rusty nail sticking out of his makeshift lever.

Contact: "Slime"
Ye, typically "universal translation" is default thing, in most stories I've seen. Having it work w/o proper parts like u is new, but ya kno, gift horse, mouth, etc.

In a hut. Old, rotted. Whole place looks like shantytown. That's the plan so far--tryin to gather info myself.

I'll know if mine's useful if I can figure out how to activate it. It's a type of magic, too. Elf guy hasn't said anything about his. Biomancy? Healer's a good guess, but maybe more. In some stories Slimes can shapeshift, copy abilities from things they absorb, etc. If I uh... kill like, a bug, do you... wanna eat it and see what happens?

Regardless of whether the Slime wanted to eat a bug, Connor intended to try squashing something small first--an ant, a termite, a spider, whatever he figured he might reasonably find under the floorboards or in a pile of refuse--and see if it gave him any EXP. Even if it was only a single point, or even a decimal, whether or not killing other creatures was a path to power in this world would tell him more about how this "system" they had worked.

Find a piece of information. Extrapolate on it. Experiment, find a new piece of information or clarify what was already known. That was Connor's secondary goal right now, but it was immediately conducive to the first goal: Survive.

They had shelter, which meant they had a little leeway before they needed water. Once they found that, though, they would need fire immediately afterword--especially if this was really a medieval slum row. Last was food, although if the slime could eat what would normally be considered "garbage" this bug hunt might kill two birds with one 2x4...