Dusty

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

@Terminal I was away over the weekend, but now that I have returned would you be up to start that collab?

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

A small army of player-controlled NPCs is always confusing still. But it points to potentially epic battles!

Also, how did Corbric miss the mass of mounted warriors charging through the Decayed in front of him?

@Torack

He didn't, its mentioned at the end of my post and referred to by the NPC Nimson.

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

Smoke and ash clogged the hazed air, intermingling with the stench of burning flesh and pine, enough to cast even the hardiest of men coughing and spluttering. Despite this, and their waning shield of flame the two men raised their swords in salute, recognizing the selflessness of their salvation and the courage required for one to act in such decisive haste. They knew not the Quester, nor her companion and yet she rushed to provide aid, increasing their chances tenfold and decreasing their foes’ count by the same. Her bold words spoken in familiar tongue gave fresh life to their weary limbs and reinvigorated their mettle. Setting their torches alight the cohorts made good their advantage afforded to them by the feminine knight. Leaping clear of the encircling fire, they fell upon the remains of the decayed, setting to with sword and axe to clear a path. Corbric led their desperate advance, his powerful bardiche laying waste to all opposition while his burning torch warded away the swarms advance. Nimson to his credit fought with all the ferocity of his ancestors, his sword cleaving down those who sought to flank the Seeker, and his torch condemning his many victims to a fiery existence.

Bespattered in the gore of their adversaries the two men broke through the enemy lines, finding themselves alive and in awe at being so. Though their shattered opponents did not fear the bite of steel, they found to their detriment that when they lacked high numbers the scout and seeker could batter them aside as the plow would soft earth. Denied their kill they hissed and moaned, unwilling to progress alone towards the torches the living men held aloft. Yet, in defiance of total defeat the decayed rallied, their unshod feet cracking the bones of their fallen as they hemmed in upon the battle worn duo.

Enjoying their brief respite Corbric and Nimson moved at a swift pace, withdrawing deeper into the forest. Corbric kept alert, and he watched as the brilliant glow of the Quester’s weapon shone through the trees, brighter even then the noon day’s sun but dimming all the while. Their flight meant nothing without a destination, and Corbric began to realize this as they drew further from the Questor. The enemy would soon overcome them by sheer numbers, and Corbric knew not the path to take. His decision was made for him when the gathered enemy attacked once more in quantity, forcing them to reengage in melee. “Hear me and take heart,” Corbric called to Nimson over the clatter of arms. Changing course he proceeded in the direction of their rescuer’s light, bidding Nimson follow. “I saw upon her chest, there inscribed the emblem of the seekers. Perhaps she too hath been called to the monastery and by good fortune stumbled upon us in our time of need. Might we wander these thorny wastes for eternity and never find our way? In prevention we must trail her light, and plead by the Herald’s Blessing she saves us twice this fateful day.”

Whether Nimson wished to debate this strategy or not remained unknown, for the lad could barely think for himself let alone formulate a rational response or solution. Receiving no protest from the scout Corbric marched onward in stoic resolve, refusing to be bettered by the frenzied throng that sought his demise. Perforating the chest of a person decayed he brought down his torch upon its head, engulfing it in fire. Wrenching free his weapon the guardsman moved on to his next antagonist, hewing clean its head from its shoulder’s. No crimson blood spouted from these fallen, for it had drained into their lower extremities. Nevertheless specks of putrefied gore clung to Corbric’s blade and armor leaving him soiled by the unmistakable signs of war. Their efforts proved valiant, and their weariness not in vain for upon the twelfth decayed he struck low Corbric stumbled upon the Questor and her squire, still leading the ever growing decomposing mass like a warlord at the head of a vast, undead army.

“Hail fair knight, tis those who owe thee a great favor and debt. For our lives may well have been naught without thy brave deeds.” He called, signaling their presence lest the knight skewer them with a thrown javelin. Expending the last of their energy the two men cut down the few decayed that barred their passage from their angle of approach, joining the Questor beneath her beacon of dazzling illuminance. Their own spluttering torches seemed dull in comparison but they held them high all the same. “Might we join thee fellow Seeker, to combine our forces and improve upon our chances in surviving this bitter twilight? Dare I presume to know thy destination? We hath sought in vain to find the Vicar and her monastery, and I ask doth thy presence here also be by her summons?”

“Better the reign in Hell.” Nimson provided, envisaging the Questor might deem them untruthful. Their next words however were cut short by the thunder of hooves as riders broke from the darkness and charged full tilt, smashing into the enemy like tidal waves upon the shore. “Massulvier herr Sucher,” Nimson cried, grasping Corbric by the shoulder. “Thy fire hath brought man, women, and horse from every corner of this decadent forest. Might we see an Arabian sultan, or gilded elves arrive next?”

Miraculous America

Shocked by Eddie’s sudden intensity Tonya stopped dead in her tracks, staring down at the sidewalk as if to find the answer inscribed there. Worried others might begin whispering about the confrontation Tonya slapped Eddie’s hand from her shoulder and tried to walk away only to find the boy standing in front of her, interrogating her over the hero Talon. Embarrassed and angry the girl placed her hands on her hips, glaring up at Eddie, her face flushing crimson and red. “No I don’t, I mean he didn’t, he’s not, well… Why are you acting like this all of a sudden, and what’s it to you? Talon might’ve called me whatever he wanted, but you can be sure that he was nicer and more tactful than you!” People were definitely listening now, their fellow classmates had stopped all around them and were curiously watching the spat going on in front of the school doors.

Huffing in short temper Tonya dodged around Eddie stalking away from her classmate, feeling ashamed at her outburst while simultaneously irritated by Eddie’s questions. “Just leave me alone alright Eddie, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Storming away in high dudgeon she failed to notice Beek, however Ossar peering out from the base of her neck hidden beneath her brown hair blinked once in recognition of the eagle kwami before vanishing back into his hiding place.

Intergalactic Space Adventurers- [ISA]

“They’re a clever crew of scallywags, ya gotta admit.” Jean paced onto the bridge to stand beside Ursa and all the others. “Caught us with our pants down out in open space, an’ used some sort o’ dinghiddy contraption to keep us from jumping away. Same thing that ripped us out more’n like-“ The cowboy found himself cut off as Ursa pulled him in close, her yellow eyes so close to his brown. Jean felt his breath catch in his throat and he shook her proffered hand without hesitation. “I - I c’n set with that Miz Cooper.” Jean murmured, acknowledging Ursa’s sincerity with a slight nod. He respected the amount of trust she was showing him by returning his prize firearm. Reverently he accepted his pistol back from Ursa, spinning the cylinder to ensure it was clear and undamaged. The weapon’s weight felt familiar in his hand, and fit comfortably back into its holster as if it’d never left his side. “M’sorry gel, I had too. I promise daddy won’t give ya away so easy ne’er again.” Jean reassured the inanimate object, patting the wooden pistol grip as if to comfort a child.

Returning his focus to the situation at hand Jean stepped up behind Takashi, observing the multiple view screens displaying their current situation. Tiny crimson blips flashed on a field of blue on one, while green circles crisscrossed and realigned in constant motion on another. The damage and artificial gravity reports most likely. The cowboy pretended to remain fixated on these displays, sensing Emmett’s presence behind him but not wanting to turn around and show his burning scarlet cheeks. “Listen slickheels,” Jean chuckled, referencing to his new favorite nickname for the assassin. “I ain’t gonna hurt no one on this ship, not yet anyways. An’ I rightly wouldn’t wanna even if I felt I could get away wit’ it. It’d be like pegging my own hoss. Them space pirates are just as likely to string me up an’ leave me to freeze out in th’ vacuum as look at me. We ain’t on first name basis if ya know what I mean. So for jus’ this once don’ be a biddy n’ trust me to shoot center wit’ y’all.” Jean rotated on Emmett his face having cleared somewhat to an acceptable level. “Cause when it comes down to it, tromping outlaws an’ spacewaymen is my specialty. Now, where’s the nearest gunner seat?”

~*~*~*~

The flaming engines mounted haphazardly upon the Gorefill’s up armored flanks burned brighter than a blue star as the pirate cruiser pursued the retreating Ranger across the empty expanse of space. Occasionally a yellow turbolaser blast would rocket from the cruiser’s main guns, arcing a plasma bolt towards the freighter which then exploded against the smaller ship’s armor or shielding. From inside the cruisers flag deck a large congregation of all manner of creatures had assembled. Nearly two score in number and wielding a wide array of malicious looking arms and armor. Every one of them were battle scarred, garbed in ridiculous finery, and tougher then nails, each looking fit to curdle milk with a single glower of their hideous faces. The worst of the lot however, sat on a durasteel throne on raised precipice in the center of the bridge. He was nearly seven feet tall with shriveled brown flesh, a triangular head, and outfitted with cybernetic replacement limbs, enhancements and weaponry like a walking breathing arsenal. The top of his head was ordained with braided dreadlocks and he wore a full kit of barbaric body armor to boot. He was the one and only dread pirate, Kapitan Nafaerio-Vad, the badest humanoid to ever set foot on a star ship’s bridge in many eons. When he spoke the testosterone practically reverberated through the air and his cheering crew grew silent and attentive.

“It appears we’ve hooked ourselves a fish boys, a smuggler craft, well-armed too. Our associate will be pleased.” He observed, shifting aside a mechanical farglass to peer at the Ranger with his naked eye. “Gunners, aim to damage their engines and ready the tractor beam to lock them in place, the fools are coming straight for us. So even you hopeless lot can’t foul it up. The rest of you scab-riddled ingrates prepare to board. I get the feeling these shark chums might ‘ave some fire in their bellies we need to quell. Oh, and weapons aren’t free this time, I want their captain alive. That means you Bosdamand!”

A scraggly blob of a creature grumbled something incoherent, switching the settings on his gun from ‘overkill’ to ‘hideously maim.’

“When I give the signal every one of you gunners fire a volley straight for their engines, and don’t you dare miss and destroy my lovely little fish.” Nafaerio raised his mechanical arm, tiny blue pulses from his neuron signals lighting the cybernetics’ inner workings to create an ominous glow. “NOW!” Nafaerio dropped his arm and the gunners squeezed the triggers or pressed the red buttons on their firing stations, sending a heavy volley of yellow plasma streaking towards the oncoming Ranger

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

Damn it... now that I could post the weather turns bad so rapidly that my head breaks down. Hope to let my freight train character make his appearance as soon as possible though :/

@Fetzen

Your head broke down...?

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

Alright now I'm afraid, max I've done is like 900 or so? Because shit that's a lot to read.

@MegaOscarPwn

Its all good, quality over quantity.

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

Nice post @Terminal

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

---

Thick fog gripped the dead forest in unrelenting shrouds of mist. Concealing the stumbling roots and sinking mud from the eyes of men. Entering such a fateful, gloomy woodland would be considered suicide by most, and harrowing by all others. The desolate forest conceded no exceptions to the duo that traversed it abandoned paths and forgotten trails even now. These two clutched drawn swords, their eyes never once remaining still, their ears never once failing to listen to even the slightest of sounds, and their breaths coming ragged and restrained, betraying their desperate fear. The first man was a scout and guide who took the name Nimson. He held bundled under his free arm a collection of unlit torches, held up safe and dry from the mud that clung to their boots, armor, and trousers. Strapped to his back was a large mason jar, plugged by a cork and filled with some liquid that sloshed and slushed with his every step. It resembled a giant furry tumor suspended and wrapped in animal skins as it was. He stood bent under its immense weight, and sank deeper into the mud because of it. Trailing him was the seeker he’d been charged with. A tall man by the name of Corbric. He too carried a full mason jug upon his back, but he bore the burden with diligence, standing straight and tall and using the haft of his bardiche as a walking staff.

Exhaustion weighed heavy upon them and the birds of carrion, the only living things that still resided in the darkened woodlands, circled overhead, as if knowing their weakness and awaiting their eventual collapse, so they might feast upon their flesh. Corbric looked upon these fowl as ominous omens, cursing their presence in his mind. Anyone, or anything could see the deathbirds from a distance and know weakened, dying fools crept on beneath their beady black eyes. He had noticed their presence a day before, the same day he noticed his armor and weaponry rusting in the dampness. Nimson and Corbric had been tracing the realm of decay for the better part of three days, creeping like thieves through the ceaseless miles of extinct wilderness. They had rendezvoused on the outskirts of Umbred Town, of the Scarred Lands and spoke of messages and hope and light. Alas now, starved of rations and water and hopelessly lost Corbric found himself forced to entrust his life to Nimson, and luck. Nimson was a young man, no older than seventeen years and admittedly new to scouting. Even now as they trudged on in silence Corbric began to suspect he wasn’t the only one lost.

“Just another mile onward Sucher, and we shall find the path once more.” The youth insisted, his eyes puffy and red from lack of sleep. Corbric remained unconvinced, having lost trust in Nimson’s predictions after the tenth time they proved untrue. They spoke together in Latin, a language they found interceded their cultural differences, Nimson being Nordic born, and Corbric hailing from Switzerland. There had been difficulty at first in understanding each other, however due to the importance of near total silence the two companions kept their chatter to a minimum, and with this mutual understanding a raw simplicity formed in their conversations. That being, they were few and far between.

Today it seemed that Nimson was exceptionally chatty as he froze in place, turning to face the seeker. Except something wasn’t right. The young man shivered as if cold, and his face paled and his hands shook to the point where a few torches tumbled from the bundle thudding softly into the mud. “Sucher, Sucher.” He moaned, his brown eyes rolling upward as a horse’s might when it becomes spooked. “Sucher,” he repeated again, terror raising his voice an octave above where it should have been. He sobbed, unable to contain himself any longer. “I hath led us astray. The fog and trees block the stars and sun. And now I hear them approaching, we shall die.”

Planting his bardiche in the earth Corbric smothered Nimson’s mouth with gauntleted hand, stilling the boy’s cries. The lad’s fear was contagious, and it spread to Corbric whose heartbeat doubled in pace, sounding as loud as a drum in the still forest. He too could hear the crunching of dead branches, the squelch of mud, and the rustle of decadent clothing, all heralded by scent of death and rot that polluted the air.

“Swiftly, the oil son.” Sheathing their swords Corbric and Nimson pulled the jugs from their backs using their teeth and nails to remove the corks. Selecting the sturdiest tree the two men began emptying the jugs upon the mud and soil around it, forming a thick line that spanned six paces in diameter and encircled the entire tree. Placing their near empty jugs at the base of the tree the two men crouched low, taking unlit torches and flint and swords in hand, at the ready.

For what seemed an eternity they waited, remaining frozen to the best of their ability, shivering in the chill and counting the seconds on bated breaths. Every creek of the trees, whistle of the wind, and moan of the forest was a decayed, every movement a horde, and every shape in the fog a terror.

“Hath they gone?” Nimson breathed, large tears welling in his eyes, and yet he refused to move in order to wipe them away.

“Perhaps tis not our day to die.” Corbric mused, his breath rising in an encouraging plume. He still breathed, his heart still beat, and his feet still throbbed, indeed he still lived. “Shush and be still. Wait a moment more.” Then, like a black shadow a crow descended from the sky, alighting upon the ring of oil. For a moment it stared at them, twisting its head this way and that as if confused to whether their motionlessness was from death or choice. Corbric hissed at it, jerking his fingers ever so slightly to scare it away. Angrily the bird rose into the air cawing and croaking its displeasure. Then from the shadows of the trees, alerted by the bird rose a creature that might once have been human. Standing emaciated, scarred and clothed in shredded rags it stumbled towards them, its jaws rotted away leaving the boney teeth locked in a permanent, sinister grin. A single, soulless eye stared at them from its sunken position on the thing’s face, and it moaned something unintelligible to any known tongue as it stumbled towards Nimson. Arms outstretched it reached with fingers made of bone. Strips of muscle, and flesh hung by threads from its joints which creaked with every nerve shattering step. Nimson sat in abject horror, unable to move to save himself despite his terror. Rising in a rush of power fueled by fear of death and anger Corbric smote the person of decay a terrible blow with his sword, striking deep into the bloodless throat. Wrenching his blade free Corbric cast it to the ground and smashed its skull under his heavy boot, splattering the remains of its rotted brains across the ground.

Then they arose from everywhere. A score of them at the least, they came from all sides possible, moaning in their unspeakable language, enveloping the hapless persons in their trap. “NIMSON, LIGHT THE OIL!” Corbric screeched in German, slashing open the chest of the nearest decayed and kicking it back. Though the panic stricken words meant nothing to Nimson, the barest form of basic understanding broke through the language barrier. Prostrating himself in the mud before the black line of oil Nimson struck the edge of his blade with the flint, scattering sparks across the forest floor. In a flash a tall flame rose like a burning ghost, encircling the two men and several of the decayed. Many more were caught by the fire and flailed in agony while the remainder on the outside stalled their advance, some primal instinct keeping them from striding through the dangerous blaze.

Retrieving his bardiche Corbric used the heavy axe to fell what few remained inside the ring with them, pushing their corpses into the sphere of fire to add to its brilliance. His breaths coming in ragged gasps the forsworn guardsman pulled Nimson to his feet and set both their backs to the tree, watching the waiting decayed warily.

“More approach,” the shaking Nimson warned, pointing towards the gloom where his young eyes could make out the forms of many more wrathful decayed approaching the beacon of fire. “I warned thee this tactic was foolhardy. It calls them, and when the flames die they shall swarm us in countless numbers.”

“Silence fool!” Corbric screamed back, furious that the scout was right, and that death was fast approaching. No man wanted to die, not even again, and again, not like this. Torn apart at the hands of mindless creatures. “We will have died just as well without the fire, as with it. Unless thy useless tongue hath some brilliant plan to save us then still it, and let me think!”

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

@Poet How are you using the Cambria Math font? I've been analyzing your posts and the solution is evading me.