To confirm,this is the OOC or something?
ERode Member
A Spiny Ant
- Last Seen: 1 hr ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 6113 (1.54 / day)
- VMs: 5
-
Username history
- ERode 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Affili,
mickilennial,
Feyblue,
Kronshi,
Sky Blue,
Majoraa,
High Moon,
Emberdawn2,
VirgoDrago,
ppppppppp
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Most Recent Posts
A wind blade was nothing special, not when one simply considered that magic had a habit of overturning any understanding of the natural world. But that didn't make it any less deadly, and Otis, for all his perceptiveness and speed, didn't have time to dodge.
He didn't need to either, not when Utsumi blocked it for him, leaving Otis alive and once again, pissed.
Fucking egghead dipshit should've come up with some counter to wind magic overall. He already knew Shinzou had that sort of power, and it wasn't like there was a difference between an arrow and a wind blast anyways. If this was a proper deathmatch, Otis would've been dead again. 2-0 for the yokai supremacist goon with delusions of grandeur, who even managed to escape after that. A kurobozu was what Kuuto had called the shadow. Something else to consider for the future, another thing to design a counter for. Ah fuck, he was definitely gonna kill that shadow next time. If Shinzou took this as a sign to just hide away for the rest of his life, Otis was going to make it his own mission to hunt the bastard down and turn him into meat.
Before he could do that though, he had to plan. Strategize. Think. Create.
Regeneration, teleportation, wind magic, superior physical capabilities, and partial resistance to anti-youkai techniques owing to his heritage. There was that glowing energy as well that had to be analyzed and studied. Many notes to take, but how many more days did they even have left before the teachers could conveniently whisk them out of Kyoto and leave the 'professionals' to handle this? Otis narrowed his eyes, then took in a deep breath. He felt the air enter his blood vessels, seeping into every corner of his body, and then he pressed his fingers against his forehead until his furrowed brow relaxed. He'll use his anger when he needs that extra volatile energy. Before then, however, he needed to remain calm and rational.
By the time Otis returned to the inn, Shinzou was no longer living rent-free in his head.
And when Utsumi asked, it became a good opportunity to organize and clarify his thoughts. "You are aware of the first incident, Utsumi. We met Seirin, were attacked by an assassin associated with the Sennen-no-Matsuri, fought them off, and then parted ways. A short, but amicable encounter that ingrained the idea, one way or the other, that Seirin was a decent person who deserved better. After our conversation about the whereabouts of Koyuki and the others, I began my personal investigations, culminating in an encounter with Shinzou and a Yatagarasu ninja at the Convention Center. Afterwards, I created a device meant to detect the spiritual energy that yokai and certain Arcanis races exude, for the purpose of finding a way into that other side of Kyoto."
This would be a good chance to take a breath, so Otis did, and in that moment, recalled the intonation and pitch of Shinzou's voice as well. "The detector lead me to Nijo Castle, where I watched and observed until something happened that was significant enough for me to wish to investigate in person. My classmates had similar ideas. We came across the dead, and the dead lead us to Shinzou, overseeing the Egg. After questioning him, this is how he responded."
And then, the Strigidae pinched his vocal cords and mimicked that half-blooded archer bastard. “The Divine Egg is unique to Amaterasu, and those who have been blessed by her power. Her radiant fire is the fire of life and creation, and from the egg she can spring forth life. Why Seirin and why Tamamo you ask? Why it’s simple, they are both among Amaterasu’s Blessed chosen ones. Using a Sekko-Seki, a fragment of Tamamo, and forcibly combining it with a more complete vessel, we can revive Tamamo by using the life force of that person. Because Tamamo no Mae is the only yokai to still exist in this world, she is the only one who can still be revived of the Three Great Evils. While the other two Otakemaru and Shuten Douji have descendants, those descendants are too diluted in power, and it would take yet another thousand years for them be able to compare. Our leader of the Sennen no Matsuri is one of those descendants, and he too knows this keenly.”
His voice returned to normal.
"As previously established, our connection with Seirin prevents us from just watching and enjoying this monumental display, so we fought. And now, after the fight, I've a question for you, Utsumi. How will Seirin be saved?"
Vasserasa’s handshake…well, this was certainly a culture clash indeed. Isidore held her hand firmly though, shaking thrice before releasing. More interesting was the evasiveness of her language around topics that seemed self-evident to Isidore. Of course it wasn’t a simple raiding party, if there was someone of importance in Dirithen society involved, if the gates to the Dirithen city were sealed off. It would have been wonderful, really, if the queen offered any time for questions, but if the discussion was to be tabled until tomorrow, then there was something to be considered.
What preparation needs to be made by Vasserasa before this discussion was had?
He remained silent as the rest of the conversation closed out, picking out what information was important to remember. Cultural exchange largely for the purpose of homogenizing history and exchanging military information? Or, in other words, not cultural exchange at all. Rullphana was a name that popped up as well. An advisor or a professor, perhaps, paid for by royalty. And finally, Nersherit was at least willing to talk when asked, establishing that there was a library in the palace. A place worth visiting later on, doubly so if his position as part of the Sirithen delegation afford him more access than a mere guest.
The rooms were nice though, and after days spent out in the wilderness without even a proper bed, Isidore’s body positively ached for the soft mattress. The cracks in the walls from which vegetation sprouted was a nice touch as well, reminiscent of that Japanese crafts concept that one of his associates had told him about before, and the lighting managed to strike a balance between ‘bright enough to read’ and ‘dark enough to sleep’. It was good, then. Better that he had his own room too.
As Sorcha brought everyone into her shared room and spoke, Isidore swung his pack down and retrieved his map. Laying it down on the table, he spoke, “This map may be helpful. There’s a sizable Dirithen population in Gloomhaven. I will ask around. As for Firebeard…you believe he’s only part of a faction, not the leader? He was addressed as a Lord by the ones that attacked us.”
Two translucent shells formed around Amulak, but against the sheer force of the infernal chopper, they were as effective as glass, shattering into a thousand pieces. Mana Shield, however, was a spell designed for damage reduction, not damage mitigation, and that, combined with Amulak’s END and the passive effect of his Bulwark Boneplate, was enough to reduce the damage taken all the way down to 43, the wicked blade slicing into his right thigh but stopping before it could crack the bone.
“C’mon man! Where’s your footwork?”
There was, of course, no way that the mud-drenched warrior would just retreat after that. In close-quarters, the necromancer simply didn’t have the tools to handle a chopper-swinging maniac. Ames and Klein, in the face of such barbaric violence, was a step too slow to intervene, while Raime, even as the world slowed further with the invocation of his Scout abilities, quickly realized this: he was still fast, but in these desecrated lands, his speed was no longer exceptional. Six slashes scored red lines through the muck, eliciting a holler of excited aggression from the warrior, but did little to stop them from grabbing Amulak by the throat and smashing him against the tunnel wall. It was only common sense, after all, to target the caster, and with all three tanks preoccupied in one fashion or the other, nothing could stop them from doing it two more times for good measure.
By the time the dust settled, there was an Amulak-shaped imprint in the wall, the mage himself having received another 334 damage from the three-hit ‘combo’. Still keeping a hand on Amulak’s throat, the mud-drenched warrior turned to the others, a bright red tongue flicking out to lick away the blood that splattered onto their face.
“And yes, I can fucking talk,” they laughed, sneering at Raime, before addressing the party more broadly. “Now, here I was, thinking y’all were gonna jump me, but now I see only two of you actually tried? Got some drama going on here? Some ‘oh shit, we fucked with the wrong guy’ vibes? What’s the plan, fellas? We gonna keep going til I turn y’all into zombs?”
There was a crash, as Magpie launched herself through the air and…into another wall, narrowly missing Klein and Ames. Self-inflicted damage lowered her HP by a shameful 54 damage, a tragic consequence of having more strength than she knew how to handle.
“And what’s her deal?”
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
“Sweet. Let’s see…” Bortz made some finger motions, as if interacting with an invisible screen, and a ‘ping’ sounded in Ari’s head. A new window popped up, a friend request from Bortz. "...there we go!"
Droko raised a brow. “Vator’s not gonna like this.”
But Vator, tragically, wasn’t here.
…
Time passed on.
The sun arced closer to the horizon, dying the sky orange and magenta. Despite the lack of any healer, the trio of frontline combatants made quick work of the few monsters they encountered on the road, while Ari’s support helped patch the gaps that existed due to their lack of ranged attacks and magic as well. Against a giant vulture, the party had to resort to extreme tactics like throwing rocks at it, but other than that particular instance, it was smooth sailing. Long stretches of gently rolling roads, good weather, occasional chatter, and the song of nature made travelling more pleasurable than it seemed. The bodies of the Immortals fatigued at a much slower rate than reality, and the late lunch they had of steamed buns and pickled plums was surprisingly delicious.
It was strange, how even ordinary landscapes, the type that one could’ve seen with just a quick Google search, became something just a little bit special.
By the time the afternoon heat died and the nighttime chills were seeping into the hills, they had arrived at Shin-Jia. Man-Joji, ever willing to dispense knowledge, had spoken of the village as a rustic place, and it was certainly…rustic. Perhaps only fifty people lived in this community of old-timers and children, and the state of the wooden huts that made up most of the homes reflected that. Raised one foot up on wooden platforms, they looked to be a combination of lightweight and easy to repair, though consequently humble in appearance. There was a well that the village was centered around, as well as a river and a couple of gangly livestock that afford Shin-Jia some self-sufficiency, but going by what Man-Joji said, the majority of young adults had simply moved to Nyu-Taro or larger villages to work, occasionally sending money and goods back to their parents and children.
“To conclude,” Man-Joji said, hopping off his carriage and tying the reins to a withered husk of a tree, “Shin-Jia doesn’t have a proper inn, so I’ll be going off to negotiate with the village head for our accommodations. Feel free to take a look around while you wait; I’m sure the children would love to hear some stories.” The merchant paused, then winked. “Just don’t go running off with my wares, ok?”
@GreenGoat
“C’mon man! Where’s your footwork?”
There was, of course, no way that the mud-drenched warrior would just retreat after that. In close-quarters, the necromancer simply didn’t have the tools to handle a chopper-swinging maniac. Ames and Klein, in the face of such barbaric violence, was a step too slow to intervene, while Raime, even as the world slowed further with the invocation of his Scout abilities, quickly realized this: he was still fast, but in these desecrated lands, his speed was no longer exceptional. Six slashes scored red lines through the muck, eliciting a holler of excited aggression from the warrior, but did little to stop them from grabbing Amulak by the throat and smashing him against the tunnel wall. It was only common sense, after all, to target the caster, and with all three tanks preoccupied in one fashion or the other, nothing could stop them from doing it two more times for good measure.
By the time the dust settled, there was an Amulak-shaped imprint in the wall, the mage himself having received another 334 damage from the three-hit ‘combo’. Still keeping a hand on Amulak’s throat, the mud-drenched warrior turned to the others, a bright red tongue flicking out to lick away the blood that splattered onto their face.
“And yes, I can fucking talk,” they laughed, sneering at Raime, before addressing the party more broadly. “Now, here I was, thinking y’all were gonna jump me, but now I see only two of you actually tried? Got some drama going on here? Some ‘oh shit, we fucked with the wrong guy’ vibes? What’s the plan, fellas? We gonna keep going til I turn y’all into zombs?”
There was a crash, as Magpie launched herself through the air and…into another wall, narrowly missing Klein and Ames. Self-inflicted damage lowered her HP by a shameful 54 damage, a tragic consequence of having more strength than she knew how to handle.
“And what’s her deal?”
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
“Sweet. Let’s see…” Bortz made some finger motions, as if interacting with an invisible screen, and a ‘ping’ sounded in Ari’s head. A new window popped up, a friend request from Bortz. "...there we go!"
Droko raised a brow. “Vator’s not gonna like this.”
But Vator, tragically, wasn’t here.
…
Time passed on.
The sun arced closer to the horizon, dying the sky orange and magenta. Despite the lack of any healer, the trio of frontline combatants made quick work of the few monsters they encountered on the road, while Ari’s support helped patch the gaps that existed due to their lack of ranged attacks and magic as well. Against a giant vulture, the party had to resort to extreme tactics like throwing rocks at it, but other than that particular instance, it was smooth sailing. Long stretches of gently rolling roads, good weather, occasional chatter, and the song of nature made travelling more pleasurable than it seemed. The bodies of the Immortals fatigued at a much slower rate than reality, and the late lunch they had of steamed buns and pickled plums was surprisingly delicious.
It was strange, how even ordinary landscapes, the type that one could’ve seen with just a quick Google search, became something just a little bit special.
By the time the afternoon heat died and the nighttime chills were seeping into the hills, they had arrived at Shin-Jia. Man-Joji, ever willing to dispense knowledge, had spoken of the village as a rustic place, and it was certainly…rustic. Perhaps only fifty people lived in this community of old-timers and children, and the state of the wooden huts that made up most of the homes reflected that. Raised one foot up on wooden platforms, they looked to be a combination of lightweight and easy to repair, though consequently humble in appearance. There was a well that the village was centered around, as well as a river and a couple of gangly livestock that afford Shin-Jia some self-sufficiency, but going by what Man-Joji said, the majority of young adults had simply moved to Nyu-Taro or larger villages to work, occasionally sending money and goods back to their parents and children.
“To conclude,” Man-Joji said, hopping off his carriage and tying the reins to a withered husk of a tree, “Shin-Jia doesn’t have a proper inn, so I’ll be going off to negotiate with the village head for our accommodations. Feel free to take a look around while you wait; I’m sure the children would love to hear some stories.” The merchant paused, then winked. “Just don’t go running off with my wares, ok?”
@GreenGoat
Gonna keep an eye on this. Still reading through it, but it seems interesting.
Right, and how much of the stat/RPG-shenanigans were you planning on inserting into this? Also, seeing how normally it takes a hell lot of time to go from one level to the next, are you going to employ timeskips, or are we all going to be starting at a higher level than 1?
So this is Danmachi but based more of Japanese mythos than Euro?
Think we're waiting on ya again, Ink.
It was like a police siren went off in his skull. The moment [Detect] was invoked, warning signs surged into Raime’s mind, alerting the scout not only to the countless ghosts surging within the darkness beyond Ames’s firelight, but also to the general areas where pools of tar, fathomless in depth, must be present. In the farthest edges of his Detect’s range as well, he could sense greater evils, monstrosities that would certainly present a greater challenge to the party than whatever they’ve faced before. But there was no sign of those spiritual atrocities moving; Amulak was the one that shot first.
Words of power so profane that it could only be alluded to indirectly seeped through the lips of the necromancer, his arcane veins surging with more power than he had ever unleashed before. Magic coalesced unseen within the cavern, dripping downwards like stalactites until, with the ringing screech of a blade drawn from a scabbard, they shot for their target.
But the mud-drenched warrior was fast as well. Letting out a deep breath, it somersaulted backwards, the arcane constructs sinking silently into the tar while the warrior landed into a crouch instead, their brutish chopper resting on their shoulder. Whatever response they had for Amulak’s attack was paused by Magpie’s flying bodyslam though. With the mid-air activation of [The Bulldozer], the brawler’s joints and limbs locked in midair, her defenses surging rapidly as momentum carried her towards her target. It hissed in another breath and rolled out the way, allowing the surprisingly fast, disgustingly strong, yet basically paralyzed brawler to fly out of Ames’s range and into the ghost-infested darkness.
The animist’s soul-split shield could only fly twenty meters away from him, after all, and the light cast by the phantasmal flame reached that same amount. It was a good trick for exploration, but for superhuman combat? For the rest of the party, including the hesitant Klein, it was as if Magpie was sucked into the darkness.
And as for the mud-covered warrior?
Rising up from their dodge roll, it raised its left hand up and wiped the cursed tar from its eyes, revealing a set of sanguine irises, redder than even Ames’s flames. “Ok, alright,” it spoke, tone light and conversational. “So we fightin’ fighting, hanh? Bring it on then, ya fuckers!”
Without a pause, the warrior swung its chopper into its own arm, cutting into the bone and drawing out blood that ignited instantly into a purple blaze.
“Let’s fucking GOOOOO!”
And with an earth-cracking kick, it leapt for Amulak, the infernal axe swinging for the hooded mage’s legs.
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
“Indianna Jones?” Bortz furrowed his brows. “What?”
Droko shared the same look of confusion, but didn’t decide to marginalize Ari’s hobbies and changed the subject instead. “Tournament brackets are usually divided by level, actually. I mean, Horogi’s a bit of a special case because they have individual arenas for each major clan except for the Gakui-Re, but you could always dip your feet into it by checking out the one at Nyu-Taro.”
“Oh yeah,” the hammer man butted in, glad to be in the loop again. “Go there all the time. Making a name for myself in the Silver Sub-100 tier, even! Great for working out the kinks of your build; after all, it’s only in an itemless 1v1 where your skills really shine!”
“Fucking Smash goon,” Droko muttered under her breath.
Bortz continued unabated. “Could give you a tour of Nyu-Taro’s arena after this, Ari. Hook you up with some of my seniors. They'll teach ya the ropes pretty quick, 'specially if you're already a manual gamer."
@GreenGoat
Words of power so profane that it could only be alluded to indirectly seeped through the lips of the necromancer, his arcane veins surging with more power than he had ever unleashed before. Magic coalesced unseen within the cavern, dripping downwards like stalactites until, with the ringing screech of a blade drawn from a scabbard, they shot for their target.
But the mud-drenched warrior was fast as well. Letting out a deep breath, it somersaulted backwards, the arcane constructs sinking silently into the tar while the warrior landed into a crouch instead, their brutish chopper resting on their shoulder. Whatever response they had for Amulak’s attack was paused by Magpie’s flying bodyslam though. With the mid-air activation of [The Bulldozer], the brawler’s joints and limbs locked in midair, her defenses surging rapidly as momentum carried her towards her target. It hissed in another breath and rolled out the way, allowing the surprisingly fast, disgustingly strong, yet basically paralyzed brawler to fly out of Ames’s range and into the ghost-infested darkness.
The animist’s soul-split shield could only fly twenty meters away from him, after all, and the light cast by the phantasmal flame reached that same amount. It was a good trick for exploration, but for superhuman combat? For the rest of the party, including the hesitant Klein, it was as if Magpie was sucked into the darkness.
And as for the mud-covered warrior?
Rising up from their dodge roll, it raised its left hand up and wiped the cursed tar from its eyes, revealing a set of sanguine irises, redder than even Ames’s flames. “Ok, alright,” it spoke, tone light and conversational. “So we fightin’ fighting, hanh? Bring it on then, ya fuckers!”
Without a pause, the warrior swung its chopper into its own arm, cutting into the bone and drawing out blood that ignited instantly into a purple blaze.
“Let’s fucking GOOOOO!”
And with an earth-cracking kick, it leapt for Amulak, the infernal axe swinging for the hooded mage’s legs.
@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee
“Indianna Jones?” Bortz furrowed his brows. “What?”
Droko shared the same look of confusion, but didn’t decide to marginalize Ari’s hobbies and changed the subject instead. “Tournament brackets are usually divided by level, actually. I mean, Horogi’s a bit of a special case because they have individual arenas for each major clan except for the Gakui-Re, but you could always dip your feet into it by checking out the one at Nyu-Taro.”
“Oh yeah,” the hammer man butted in, glad to be in the loop again. “Go there all the time. Making a name for myself in the Silver Sub-100 tier, even! Great for working out the kinks of your build; after all, it’s only in an itemless 1v1 where your skills really shine!”
“Fucking Smash goon,” Droko muttered under her breath.
Bortz continued unabated. “Could give you a tour of Nyu-Taro’s arena after this, Ari. Hook you up with some of my seniors. They'll teach ya the ropes pretty quick, 'specially if you're already a manual gamer."
@GreenGoat
By the time Sorcha came to view, Isidore found himself settled, his emotions in check and a stalwart purpose behind every movement again. Was this just experience, or had part of his 'peak human' status helped with the processing of toxins that his liver was currently handling? Regardless, he tilted his head slightly to the side at the swordswoman's reaction and said, "I'm perfectly lucid, Sorcha. And it's no problem. Considering circumstances, Leuca most likely needed some fun anyhow."
Still too many words. His tongue was still loosened by that ale, and Isidore still found himself speaking before contemplating. He frowned slightly, but whatever concerns he had, whatever thoughts, were chased away by Augusta's arrival.
Though the tower certainly hadn't done her any favors in terms of hygiene, with three days of travel bearing heavily on her otherwise alabaster complexion, the difference a well-made dress alone turned Augusta from merely being merely beautiful to being on the cusp of breath-taking. The mixture of colors was reminiscent of the night sky, golden embellishments a mimicry of the moon's splendor. It was curious, that the Urutha, a subterranean race, drew such inspiration from the night sky. Portions of it looked padded though, at least from what he recalled of the woman's silhouette before, serving to accentuate Augusta's natural curves in a tasteful fashion. Useless as protection, but aesthetically pleasing. Isidore kept his mouth from falling open like a punk in the throes of hormonally-driven attraction, however, and nodded at her.
"You look good," he said, unbuckling the rapier from his belt and offering it to her. "This will complete the look."
Retrospectively, Isidore may have done well to save some of his dinner for Octavia to enjoy as well, but surely if Augusta could afford a dress, she could've afforded a meal for their pet as well. He gave the demonic dog a scratch behind the ears instead, before following in Sorcha's footsteps, settling into the posture he always used when in a meeting with professionals: back straight, eyes forward, shoulders back, and movements deliberate. The Queen of the Urutha, no matter how influential, was not his queen.
Her palace room still gave him pause though.
A waterfall that created a pseudo-moat around the room, and a throne cut from a massive mushroom that exuded enough of a ghostly radiance to light up the room all by itself? In a past life, this would have been childishly gaudy, the fantasy of an immature dreamer, but here, it only reflected the otherworldly prestige of the palace's owner, Queen Vasserasa No-Last-Name. An Urutha different from the others he'd seen, affected perhaps by the demon that served as Gloomhaven's guardian so many years back. Her dress was understated and elegant, her arms slim but solid. Her countenance was a mask, the same mask that so many other people of influence had learned to perfect, yet worn so naturally that Isidore wouldn't have been surprised if it was simply her natural face. And her crown...
Her crown was silver.
Isidore narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly, but relaxed just as swiftly. Sorcha being constantly referred to as the Storm Bearer was something worth keeping in mind. Not so different from being referred to as the Undertaker or the Midnight Man, really. A title, manifested from a reputation potent enough to reach across nations, in a world without global media. Impressive.
Perhaps he'll make an impression as well.
"Call me Isidore," the dark-haired man spoke, striding purposefully across the room towards Vasserasa. His gaze flickered briefly towards the male beside her, whether attendant, guard, or husband, lingering just long enough to show that he was seen, before settling back upon the queen's eyes. "Of those gathered here, I'm the least remarkable, but I thank you yet for the hospitality you extend. After such long travels, it is soothing to see such a pleasant city, no matter the gazes of its occupants."
He stopped at the stairs leading up to the throne, allowing the queen to keep her high ground, and extended one hand forward for a shake.
"And it's wonderful too, to have affirmed once more that this world full of great horrors will balance itself out with greater beauty."
© 2007-2024