And blammo. Interrogation starto.
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He clicked his tongue.
Otis hated stubborn fools. Especially ones that possessed Ethos.
With empty threats breaking down, the Strigidae sprang away from the acidic arrows, their scattershot nature making it easy enough to avoid if he kept moving. The beast’s focus was on Hildegunde, undoubtedly due to what she and Chloe knew, and while Chloe had been secured, the riflewoman had a clearer head. Who knew what blood loss and fatigue could do to one’s memories? He loaded his gun with phantasmal ammunition once more, the beginnings of a spell upon his lips.
Then, quite on time, Iraleth and Ciara arrived with the brilliance of a sunburst followed by the arcing of shadow.
“That’s my cue then,” the Strigidae said. “Don’t be too invested in winning, if the three of you can’t handle it.”
And with that, he backstepped into the void within his Door, allowing the structure itself to fade into nothingness upon his exit.
Ciara, however, would receive a mental message before he disappeared completely: this is as good an opportunity as any to secure an advantage.
And thus, he was within that false heaven once more, a micro-universe craft from a creator-god who had yet to live past two decades. Within the space, Chloe floated, whatever blood she shed becoming sanguine globules that hovered around her in the weird physics of the World Between the Doors.
"Are you conscious?"
There was no particular concern, nor perhaps even any urgency in his voice as he posed the question.
"If you are, explain what happened. And explain how you are in the center of it."
Chunji, after all, had defined the roles.
Hildegunde had followed, and Chloe had lead.
All he could do was backpedal, sandals slip-sliding against the muck and grime of the slums as he ducked and bobbed, the thin blade of his assailant carving graceful lines through the air. In the corner of his vision, the High Elf could see others nearby simply shuffle away. Doors to shacks closing and being braced. People disappearing down other routes. He understood them. If someone was being attacked on the subway platform, he’d step inside a train and pop in his earbuds. If a kid was crying on the sidewalk with no adult in sight, he’d just walk around the tyke and trust that someone else would deal with it.
This was a threat towards him, after all. Not to anyone else.
He pivoted to the side, right as a thrust drove the point of the sword into the space he had been moments ago. Pain bloomed bright and hot over his arm; the blade had grazed the forearm that cradled the package against his chest, and just like that, Cassius felt his legs weaken. Death had been conceptual, then potential, and now very, very real.
Dread caused his knees to buckle. He fell backwards, his heartbeat turning into a continuous roar within his eardrums. No words could be exchanged. Didn’t even have time to surrender. One step in, lunge.
Blood coated the blade properly, the sword piercing through…
…the package he raised up, and the arm that held it.
Adrenaline suppressed agony, time dilating as a flood of chemicals drenched his brain. The world was so bright in that moment, as discordant intuition took over. A primitive intuition, from that savage era that humanity had yet to evolve away from, as he pushed himself upwards, package and hand slamming into the sword’s crossguard while the rest of his body followed suit, against the cloaked assailant’s body.
The distance closed, enough for him to bury the throwing knife into their gut. He heard the breath escape from them, an exhalation of pain and surprise, but Cassius didn’t stop, not when he didn’t have any thought of stopping. In and out, in and out, like the sewing machine his mother owned, like the keys of his laptop during the final weeks, repetition that drove a sharp point into the soft belly and the organs beneath, until he was forced to stop from loss of breath.
Viscera coated both hands, and the blood that splattered against his robes caused them to cling against his skin. The mask of his assailant had fallen ajar, revealing the face of a youth who couldn’t have been over twenty. The poison that coated the sword was making its way into his system, the veins in his injured arm darkening, his sensations numbing even as his nerves burned. That strange, unnatural feeling intensified from the package, now that a hole was punched into it, now that elven blood had fed it.
Distantly, Cassius could see Meira. He couldn’t tell if she was running or walking or standing or watching.
All that was in his head, up to the moment he passed out, was a simple realization: this was how victims of knife attacks end up with dozens of stabbing wounds, when just a few would have done the trick.
And thar we go.
The UNO reverse card is late, but it do be there. ;3
The UNO reverse card is late, but it do be there. ;3
//A7 - Encounter at the Crossroads
It didn’t take much waiting for Sister Laina to emerge, dressed in common clothing rather than the vestments of the acolytes. A brimmed hat sat firmly upon her head, while her drab-colored tunic and pants, when combined with her already-bony frame, gave the woman a boyish look. She nodded towards Cantor, then set off, expecting him to follow her.
Immediately outside the Ordo Benevolence were buildings abandoned or under reconstruction, planks and boards sealing up what once would have been doors or windows. It was a quiet place though, tucked away against the wall of the Royal Road and distant enough from the open squares or the rowdy taverns that only adventurers who wanted to try a stint at squatting would be. You didn’t approach the Ordo Benevolence without a specific purpose, but looking at the white plumes of smoke that rose in the distance, perhaps it was because of the respectful solitude the Church found itself ensconced in that few cared about the place.
Quietude faded though, as distance was made, and soon enough, others strode upon paths of cobbled stone. It was morning still, too early for outer city merchants to have arrived, too early for anyone but the breadmakers to have stock out, too early for most adventurers to bother shaking off their hangover and roll out of their bed. But it was morning already, and the faithful rose as the Perishing Star fell.
Lethe, indeed, strode towards those grand walls that hid the scar left by the godslayer, and in doing so, felt the presence of kin. It was no particular pull, no significant compulsion, only a split recognition that the taller of the two beardless men who walked upon the same road he did was…
If there were indeed one thousand faces upon the Deity they worshiped, then the two may yet be similar in form.
@Thayr@Shovel
//A3 - The Plaza at Morning
It had been a bounty, but the bounty was now just a burden, a bloody burden that left a trail of blood in her wake, as assuredly as the blood and viscera that had soaked her own clothes. Elys’s dark clothes had been a practical choice, but that only redeemed her in the eyes of others, not in their noses; her Divine Protection could not make out the details upon the masses that she sensed, but she had heard the sniff of disgust from one of the guards as she stepped out of the cage, carrying her spoils.
It was understandable, of course. She had been a monster slayer, but the monsters she had slain in the past were limited in number. Perhaps it was clearing out a den of goblins. Perhaps it was dealing with a troll by a river. Perhaps it was cutting down a carrot with furry legs. The hunt, the anticipation, had taken time. The draw of the blade, the intensity of combat though? Elys had trained for the intensity of fighting off hordes and waves, but she had never been tested.
Not until last night.
But she survived the night, and now, she could smell the bread that was being baked too, could hear the rasping of coals rousing the forge. Elys, indeed, would now have an opportunity to reap her reward.
There too, was the possibility of reaping what she sowed.
Theo smelled the blood that clung to her, but it was easier to simply spot her due to the flies that her grisly bounty had attracted. From a distance beyond what her own senses, worn down from sleep deprivation and combat fatigue, could alert her to, the Ichor-Blessed of Blood could spy that paradoxical, bipolar woman trudging along.
She had headed into the Abyss through the same entrance he had. He had stayed in the same district afterwards. And now, both of them looked to obtain better armaments for the purposes of challenging the Abyss and their fellow godlings.
Destiny entwined them.
But it was his choice whether to follow it, oppose it, or sever it.
@SilverPaw@Estylwen
//A6 - The Stables of an Unknown Inn
When day broke, Sebi found herself in an empty stall of an inn’s stables, the place smelling of animal musk and manure. Certainly, the sleep had been rough, but her exhaustion when it came to sheer number of monsters that descended upon her within the Abyss had made the sleep deep and heavy. Even now, gravity itself seemed to be pulling her to sit, perhaps, or to lay down once more. And that had just been one night on the First Layer of the Abyss.
Whatever her future plans were, actively participating in adventuring would prove to be problematic.
Her companions though, a good twenty years younger than her, still had the energy of youth to keep them perky in the morning. Stepping outside of the stables, Sebi found Allen, the foxboy, seated on a stump as Millie pulled and brushed the straw out of his hair and tail.
“Good morning Miss Sebi,” Allen said, smiling brightly before letting out a wide yawn.
“Gam’s out to buy bread.” Millie considered the state of her companion’s tail, then smacked the cheap brush clean of straw before offering it to Sebi. “You’ve got a bunch too.”
The Ichor-Blessed of Light, of course, brought whatever pleasant chitchat to a halt with her relatively straightforward maneuvering of the conversation, causing both of the young adventurers to give pause.
“Does that mean, uh, that you’d rather not adventure with us? What about Miss Sumiye? Did she already leave?” Allen’s expression was already souring, prompting the porter to smack him on the head.
“We don’t have more than a week’s worth of experience,” Millie said. “And this one here’s just there to be a hero. For me though, heard that you can start making real money once you get to the Second Layer. A lot more and a lot faster than if you apprenticed and all.”
She paused, briefly.
“Needless to say, you could probably fetch yourself a better party, going by how yesterday went.”
@Asuras
//O11 - Communal Wel
Life, after all, couldn’t exist without drinkable water, and the slums were congested with the destitute living, not the decaying dead. Stepping out from the slumlord’s property, it didn’t take too much effort for the Backstreet Queen to locate a communal well in the Outer Layer. It was a shoddy thing, the frame that allowed the bucket to be pulled definitely having seen better days, but it was nevertheless an oasis, a meeting place for the flint-eyed residents of the surrounding quarters to trade gossip, complain about those who weren’t present, and do their laundry. Drinking such well water would probably be fatal, but there was a trough close by where buckets were upended and the clearer surface water could be skimmed to wash one’s face or hands.
Adventurers, of course, were present too. There were plenty of parties who generated less income in the Outer Layer, those who made enough to worry too much about nighttime robberies if they slept in the stables but who didn’t make enough to afford an inn proper in the Adventurer’s District. A strapping young orc lad was hauling up buckets of water for the women of the district, getting calls of appreciation and the occasional slap on the ass as he did so, while his companions huddled about trying to scrub the blood off their clothes. Prostitutes from nearby brothels were in full force as well, cleaning out the crustiness of their bedsheets and sharing slivers of soap with others in the well-community that they recognized. Bare-faced though they were, there were still hints of who they once were before the wear-and-tear of the business got to them.
There was a well, and there were people.
If she had nothing else, Talia could wash up with relative ease. But perhaps there was opportunity here for some ‘missionary’ work?
@OwO
Just get a car, 5head.
"I mean, we're not exactly looking for a fight either, right?"
Estelle peered through the windows, not really bothering to count out just how many people were inside that packed monsters' den. She wasn't exactly comfortable with walking in while untransformed, but on the other hand, they had practically been ordered to come in untransformed too. Dr Moller wouldn't toss them into a suicide mission like this, and the GEMINI weren't in a position of strength within the city when it came to the ability to really put pressure on people. It came with being vastly outnumbered and outgunned. If Binky was here, it'd have been different, but since she wasn't here...
"I say we just walk in through the front. If the rear entrance was locked, it'd be a worse look if we broke in." She turned towards Finn. The brown-haired boy was literally just that, a boy. Pax Septimus was all sorts of crazy, but Espers did skew younger, at least in their starts. "What're your thoughts though? You know Dante, don't you?"
Strange stars with yet-undiscovered constellations.
But when was the last time she had been able to look up at them without her neck or back protesting from the effort?
Esfir sat at the entrance of her shelter, watching the sky darken, then brighten, as summer stars sparkled and the moon rose. When she felt her body slide back, when the fatigue and silence brought with it an alluring sleep, she let herself fall back into her shelter.
Sleep was not comfortable, but it was deep and it was dreamless.
The runt rose before daybreak, rubbing the crusts out of her eyes. The ground had left strange indentations and points of soreness on her back, but everything was as she had left it the night before. She sat there cross-legged for a moment, going over her inventory once more, thinking about the day ahead.
She wanted a proper pot, so she’d have to go up to the mountains to mine for Bowbh. She wanted proper water too, so she’d have to take a look at what was blocking the flow. There was training to be done, and there would be cooking to be done too. She wanted the meat of bigger beasts, and right now, the only way to do that would be to trade with the Adult Orcs. A better bag would be good too. And better clothes. There was the hunter, perhaps, who she could trade with there.
Her Jackalope Spear was still there, the lashings having not frayed. She had replacement points for them. The hatchet and the pickaxe were both going to be useful, and her bracers, while they itched against her forearms, could maybe withstand a Slash or two before breaking. As for the ore she currently had? Esfir dug a hole beneath her shelter and buried the Bufonite and Chalopyrite in it. The less she needed to carry, the better.
Was that all?
It was hardly a shelter. She wanted at least a bed by tonight too. Maybe a blanket, because she swore that her joints ached in the cold of night, even when her body couldn’t have been more than a month old. A chair with back support. A sharp knife to work wood with.
Esfir closed her eyes.
There were plenty of wants, weren’t there?
For now, though, there was only one need.
She crawled out of her shelter, checked that all her tools and weapons were in place, and beelined for the Training Circle.
@Zeroth
But when was the last time she had been able to look up at them without her neck or back protesting from the effort?
Esfir sat at the entrance of her shelter, watching the sky darken, then brighten, as summer stars sparkled and the moon rose. When she felt her body slide back, when the fatigue and silence brought with it an alluring sleep, she let herself fall back into her shelter.
Sleep was not comfortable, but it was deep and it was dreamless.
The runt rose before daybreak, rubbing the crusts out of her eyes. The ground had left strange indentations and points of soreness on her back, but everything was as she had left it the night before. She sat there cross-legged for a moment, going over her inventory once more, thinking about the day ahead.
She wanted a proper pot, so she’d have to go up to the mountains to mine for Bowbh. She wanted proper water too, so she’d have to take a look at what was blocking the flow. There was training to be done, and there would be cooking to be done too. She wanted the meat of bigger beasts, and right now, the only way to do that would be to trade with the Adult Orcs. A better bag would be good too. And better clothes. There was the hunter, perhaps, who she could trade with there.
Her Jackalope Spear was still there, the lashings having not frayed. She had replacement points for them. The hatchet and the pickaxe were both going to be useful, and her bracers, while they itched against her forearms, could maybe withstand a Slash or two before breaking. As for the ore she currently had? Esfir dug a hole beneath her shelter and buried the Bufonite and Chalopyrite in it. The less she needed to carry, the better.
Was that all?
It was hardly a shelter. She wanted at least a bed by tonight too. Maybe a blanket, because she swore that her joints ached in the cold of night, even when her body couldn’t have been more than a month old. A chair with back support. A sharp knife to work wood with.
Esfir closed her eyes.
There were plenty of wants, weren’t there?
For now, though, there was only one need.
She crawled out of her shelter, checked that all her tools and weapons were in place, and beelined for the Training Circle.
@Zeroth
Giving y'all a heads up that Otis will 100% be going
now that everyone else that matters had arrived. As such, I'll post after Est + Psyker + Sifr have.
now that everyone else that matters had arrived. As such, I'll post after Est + Psyker + Sifr have.
It had been a blink-or-miss-it moment, but his ears had caught the whistling wind, even if his instincts didn’t allow him to react in any way. One moment, the two were focused on the package, and the next, a dagger had stuck itself firmly into a rotten wooden board, while a line of blood traced itself upon Meira’s cheek.
Danger. Palpable, real danger. Sharper than just a crazy bastard shouting at ghosts in the subway. Sharper than a bunch of drunk teens mucking about by the gas station past midnight. Perhaps he should have ignored that sensation, let it pass over. He’d done that plenty of times before, where it’d make more sense to walk away and ignore strange things rather than risk getting stuck beneath months of legal bullshit and fees.
Now though?
He watched the earth-carving swings, the mud and refuse that trailed upwards in the wake of Meira’s strikes. He watched the cloaked man retreat immediately, springing further back down the path, to where C and the slime laid. This was a world of brute violence, wasn’t it? A world of brute violence and…
The High Elf picked up the package. It was heavier than expected, and the weight of the object was off despite its uniform shape. He grasped the handle of the thrown dagger as well, wiggling it out of the wood, examining the blade itself. It glistened in the daylight, a clear fluid clinging to the metallic surface. What was that substance? And, why wou-
This time, his ears caught the whistling wind and he responded properly, Cassius dropping head-first into dirt as a second set of blades flew past where his back had been a blink ago. It pieced itself together too easily now. One for a decoy, to pull the armed adventurer away. Perhaps the knife throw was meant to miss purposefully, knowing that if it had caused actual injury, Meira’s decision-making would have leaned towards rapid escape instead. Perhaps she was known well enough around those parts that they accounted for her berserker behavior.
It didn’t matter much though.
A second individual stepped out, their countenance covered by a mask as they drew a longer blade that glistened with the same poison.
Cassius scrambled to his feet, holding the package to his chest and feeling his heart hammer against it.
Would they leave if he gave up the package? Would they kill him either way, for having been the one to discover it? Should he run, and fundamentally end up running away from the one person who could protect him? Or should he try to fend this assailant off, with nothing more than a knife the length of his hand?
The blood rushing to his head was making him dizzy. The stress compounding, the possibilities twisting.
And just like that, the initiative was given to the masked assassin.
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