icicle

Just My Luck[Icicle and HiddenBeauty13

After a bit of tending, Flake got a tinder fire going and added larger pieces of wood, hoping the logs would catch fire soon enough. Once he figured that the fire was large enough, Flake grabbed his spear and the padlock for the door. He rose from his place in front of the fire and walked over to the door with the two items in hand. He calmly locked and bolted the door, then returned to the fire, sitting on a chair a few feet from the fire. As Raine started to speak, Flake rested the spear against the back of the chair and adjusted his robe to a more comfortable arrangement. His only response to the assassin’s initial statement was a slight nod, even though she was not looking.

As the assassin continued, the bounty hunter closed his eyes and attempted to reenact the scenes which she described. After she was finished talking, ending her brief monologue by searching her figure for unusual objects, Flake opened his eyes once again and looked over to her, reaching into a pocket in his robe. “I found this map and this key on the ground between our beds when I woke up,” he answered, holding out the map and key for his ally’s inspection, “the map was edited by my ‘friend,’ but it seems to be from the prison medic, originally.”

After the two items left his hands, Flake continued, “there are enough supplies inside the house to last us a week, but there is a river West of here and plenty of deer.” After waiting for a brief comment by the assassin, Flake proposed, “I’d wager that two days are enough for us to sneak through the prison and recollect our belongings, but we should scout out the castle and prepare ourselves before assaulting your uncle. The poison will only take a day or two to wear off, but we will not be primed for extended combat until next week.”

The bounty hunter paused, then rose from his seat and placed another log into the fire. He determined that the wood in the fireplace would last well into the evening, so he organized the tinder on top of the extra lumber, then returned to his seat once more, listening to the assassin all the while. Once he was seated again, he closed his eyes and relaxed, a hint of impatience on his expression. I said that we should rest, but I am going to need to keep myself occupied if I am going to put up with staying in this building for more than a day, he thought, balancing the prospect of scout detection and the benefits of training.

Escape from Syrae (Irell Starling)

Done

Escape from Syrae (Irell Starling)

Done

Just My Luck[Icicle and HiddenBeauty13

(Current Date)-2, 0530 hours

As the last grain of sand fell from an hourglass in the corner of his desk, the Captain of the City guard shot to his feet, grabbing his sheathed, over-sized falchion sword from rest against the wall with one hand and fitting his helmet onto his head with his other hand. The man’s armor had been maintained and repaired well since his last encounter with ruffians in the city, a rather bloody riot which resulted from a group of nobles with hidden agendas for terrorism. Drake groaned at the pain in his right shoulder and stretched his arm quickly as he reminisced the dastardly rebels’ faces as a pillar of gunsmoke flew towards him.

Today is the day, Drake thought, briefly unsheathing his giant blade to witness its edge. The warrior received his blade as a gift from his father before he himself became a guard. Upon its hilt, under the extra wraps Drake needed to apply to fit his hands, was an inscription in a foreign language, roughly translating to, “a heavy enough sword for judgment requires a strong enough wielder to stay it.” The edge of the weapon was sharper than an axe, but dull enough so as to maintain its edge under the stresses of prolonged combat. The edge was irrelevant anyways, as Drake’s body size clearly showed.

The giant of a man clambered over to the door of his office, extinguishing a candle next to the door as he went. He was greeted by two semi-awake guards posted at the door to his office, but he hastened to the end of the garrison without a word. As he reached the exit to the garrison, he saluted the guards posted at the entrance and quickly commanded, “open the doors.”

The guards quickly obeyed his orders, reaching for the door handle before the captain even managed to open his mouth, and opened the door for him with a quick, “yes, sir!” They closed the door behind Drake as he left the garrison, then re-fitted the deadbolt so that they could relax for awhile. Drake attempted to soften his footsteps as he rushed through town, but the metal clamored against the cobbled road all the same, attracting the attention of night-time wanderers. Drake fitted the sheath of his falchion over one of his shoulders so that he did not need to carry it with his hands, then sped up his pace, the dark, starless skies above quickening his heart.

The guard Captain rushed to the jail and totally ignored the guards posted at the entrance, immediately rushing into the building without a second thought. He greeted the medic casually as the man passed him by, offering a mere, “mornin’,” as he opened the door to the inquisitor’s station. The Captain then floated over to the inquisitor, who slept at his desk quite lazily, and cleared his throat with a booming cough.

The inquisitor’s eyes flew open and instantly fell on the gargantuan knightly figure towering before him. The inquisitor managed to get to his feet after a struggle, then saluted and asked, “how may I help you at this time of night, sir?” Drake’s hand shot out before the man managed to finish his sentence, but he only spoke after the man had finished, “I would like to see the transfer and aid status of your prisoners.”

The inquisitor saluted and affirmed the captain’s request, then rummaged through the drawer of scrolls which he kept in his desk and pulled out an unsealed scroll. “Here you are sir, last written in an hour ago.” Drake cast a doubting glance at the inquisitor from under his helmet, then opened the scroll and gritted his teeth. To his extreme dismay, the words “deceased from arson,” were inscribed under the status of the two prisoners whom Drake was concerned with. Drake returned the scroll to the inquisitor and declared, “dismissed,” as he speedily walked out of the room.

Immediately after leaving the dungeon, finally dismissing the soldiers stationed at the front, who had been saluting since he entered the dungeon, having not been dismissed or re-saluted, and raced over to the mercenary hall. Drake flung open the large doors with a soft grunt, doing so unusually quickly, and raced over to the bounty boards. After checking the boards, he left the hall, leaving the doors open behind him, and raced over to the High Church of the Nobleman district.

At the church, he was cheerfully greeted by a great multitude of clergymen, enough that he had to carefully weave his way through them in order to get to the priest at the back, who was praying fervently. Drake approached the priest and silently knelt in the middle of the aisle leading up to the altar, bowing his head in prayer as well.

The priest soon recognized the man’s presence and, signing as he ended his prayer, the elderly priest rose from the altar and walked over to the guard. “Rise, ye defender of the faith,” the priest declared, gently tapping Drake’s shoulder to get his attention. Drake rose quickly upon being beckoned, and responded, “Father Simon, I have urgent matters to ask of you regarding the death of two notorious figures in our society,” the man began, looking the priest in the eye as he spoke, his gaze unperceptible behind his helmet.

The priest nodded at his request, once again beckoning for the man to move, this time to follow him. The man of God then sat on one of the pews and gestured for Drake to do the same, which the armored man did, careful not to scratch the wooden pew with his heavy armor. “I understand that these are the same two whom you have referred to when last we met?” the Priest commented, his tone more sharp than curious, with a serious undertone.

Drake nodded and responded with an affirmative statement, to which the Priest sighed and rose, walking over to the altar. He knelt, bowed his head, and prayed briefly, then rose and walked back over to Drake, his face grim. “I was told by the medic of the Gawain cells that two of similar description were buried in a mass grave south of the city. They were poisoned, from what he said, as a result of the acrimony they stirred for themselves. The king, no doubt, will hold a feast day in celebration of their deaths.”

The captain stood up, bowed to the priest, and retorted, “the man and lady of whom I spoke are not so easily killed. They may appear dead and buried, but do not be tricked: their strength lay in deception and falsity. Such are the enemies of the state.” The pastor agreed and blessed Drake before setting him off and returning to his prayer.

The captain shot out of the chapel at an alarming speed, heading for the thieves’ guild. The alleyways to the guild were wrought with foul-smelling torches and piles of waste as he made his way deeper into the impoverished section of the city. The guard stopped at the hidden entrance of the guild to look around, ensuring that none of the dastardly bandits pointed weapons at him as he entered, then he pulled a switch hidden in a wooden barrel against a seemingly purposeless cobbled wall, and a loud click sounded within the wall.

Drake then pushed the wall back, and walked into a large room filled with odds and ends. The entrance to the thieves’ guild always held vast quantities of stolen goods, but Drake’s interest in the area was not in the seizure of the goods, but in the cleverness of the guild hall’s location. The Captain of the guard shot through the building’s hallway, moving towards the wall of the city which happened to be set up against the building, and casually hopped down into the tunnel out of the city.

The stone tunnel was covered in dirt and blood, from past failures to successfully leave or enter the city. The tunnel was usually guarded by armed bandits or thieves, those of which wanted to outsmart other bandits or thieves in a futile attempt to become rich and leave the cycle of crime they were stuck within. Drake took a moment to pity the previous owner of the blood on the walls, then ascended the ladder, fought his way through a few bushes, and quickly ran across the open plain, over to the nearby forest.

Once he had reached the cover of the trees, Drake hastily made his way around the castle, going from the South-West side to the South side, searching for large holes full of dead bodies all the while. Drake desired to wipe the sweat off of his brow from underneath his helmet, as he always did, but such an option was not available to him. Drake carried on, out of the sight of the archers posted in the turrets of the castle wall.

When at last he reached the burial site, he began to visually search the different holes, searching for the two familiar faces. After analyzing hundreds of people, Drake finally noticed a familiar patch of hair and jumped down into a pit to find the two slumbering figures lying together with expressions of peace covering their faces. They can’t stay here, or they’ll rot, Drake said, frowning. It took him a few efforts, but he eventually managed to climb out of the pit with both of his comrades on his shoulders.

He then retreated deeper into the forest and searched around, looking for a building. It’s around here somewhere, the Captain of the guard thought, re-adjusting Flake over his right shoulder so as to not catch the man’s gut on the edge of the pauldron on his suit of armor. He finally noticed the log cabin after an hour of searching, and noticed the glint of the first rays of sunlight barely weaving through the vast collection of trees. The officer walked closer to the cabin, and was pleasantly surprised to see it in the same condition as he had left it.

Drake unlocked the padlock on the door and made his way into the cabin, then re-locked the door behind himself. He took the two to a downstairs section, so that the possibility of being burned alive was not optional, and set them down on straw mats in the corner. Drake then washed both of them off by disrobing them as much as his shame permitted him and using a pale of warm water and a clean rag to anoint their skin. He then clothed the two with fresh linens from a wardrobe which was located upstairs, but noticed a slip of paper as it fell out of the assassin’s shoe.

The guard noticed that it was a map which had directions from the mass graves to the dungeon holding area, where the prisoner’s gear was kept. Drake frowned at the map, then searched the cabin for a writing utensil and, luckily, found a plume and ink well. He edited the map to present the current location of the two by drawing a correctly-oriented cabin, and wrote on the map the words, “honor fulfilled.”

Drake then left the cabin by locking the padlock from the inside, leaving the key next to Flake, and climbing out of the building through the chimney. It was tough, but the chimney hadn’t been used yet, so Drake was able to carry his massive bulk up the chimney without worrying about being blinded by dust. Upon leaving the cottage, Drake scanned the foliage for any signs of foul-minded men and, finding nothing, continued on his way back to the city, where he would remain, care-free, for the next two days.

---

Present Day, 0900 hours

With a loud yawn, Flake rose from his bedding, feeling as if he had not eaten in days. He had an odd sensation across his body, as if he had gotten beaten up, but had not sustained any wounds. After opening his eyes, shock covered his complexion, and he realized that the room was rather cold. He looked around to see a fanciful, stone enclosure without windows. He shot to his feet and looked around to see Raine sleeping peacefully in a surprisingly expensive red sleeping gown, and looked down to see himself in a similar red robe.

He also noticed a rack of weapons against a wall near a ladder in the corner of the room far away from him, and an array of snacks presented beside his bedding. He was able to remain standing for only a few more seconds before his vision faded out, so he lay down on his hay bedding once more, waiting for his vision to return. The bounty hunter pieced together a group of possibilities as to his whereabouts, but chose to leave his guesses in the back of his mind to avoid careless mistakes.

After a minute, his light-headedness was gone, and he sat up, looking around once more. He noticed the wall texture this time, a dusty cobbled stone, and he also managed to make out a clean area around his bedding, as if the dust had been washed away. The food was cold, but still good enough to eat, and the light in the room came from a dull source of light from above the ladder in the corner of the room. There were no torches or pieces of furniture in the room beside the arms rack, the two trays of food, and the two beds, the other of which housed the assassin.

Flake could tell by his light-headedness that he needed to eat food, even though he could not feel the hunger which secretly ailed him. Using his better judgment, he silently began to eat his food, keeping himself quiet more as a precaution against intruders than as a courtesy for his companion, whom of which breathed softly enough that an ant would remain unperturbed by it. Flake finished the vast quantity of food over the course of a few minutes, each experience steadily sharpening his consciousness and awakening his senses.

Upon swallowing his last bite of food, he examined his clothing. The red robe he wore was of a noble origin, one of the types an officer or a wealthy merchant would wear to bed. It was a thick material, but remained quite comfortable to touch, unlike the scratchy, woolen undergarments he was used to. Nonetheless, it was warm, and covered his entire body, albeit loosely. Flake despised the garb, picturing himself as a target as opposed to a hunter, so he steadily rose from his bedding to take a look around.

Upon rising, he realized precisely how loose his garment was. He adjusted the annoyingly unusual garment as best he could, so as to prevent it from slipping off, and tightened the luxurious waistband, made of the same material, so that he would not need to worry about looking modest as considerably whilst walking around. As he started walking to the weapon rack, his foot softly landed on an odd surface, causing him to hesitate. He looked down and, after moving back, noticed that a key and a map lay on the ground.

After reading the words on the map, Flake understood precisely where he was and how he got there. He stored the key and the map in one of the pockets of the robe, and thought briefly. It was not long before he deduced why his garment was so loose, and why the assassin was with him. Did that idiot really give us his own garments? Flake wondered, looking over to Raine briefly. After a moment, his train of thought led to, I wonder how he did it, but he turned back to the weapons rack with a slight blush, leaving the topic at that.

He quickly turned his attention to the selection of guardsman weapons at his disposal, analyzing the array of weapons. His selection was limited to heavy or light swords, none of the medium weaponry he was proficient with. Among the weapons were axes, throwing knives, short swords, polearms, spears of two lengths, rapiers, bastard swords, axes, hammers, maces, crossbows, a single shortbow, a bunch of oddly-shaped shields, and a quiver with both bolts and arrows. The weapons rack itself extended up to the ceiling and across the entire wall, but some of the weapons, especially the shields, rested against the wall instead of being hung in order to save space.

Raine would enjoy the short swords, but my best bet would be the pole, Flake determined, grabbing a rather short polearm with a cross-shaped head, bladed towards the front, with metal bands and a long, double-pronged tang reinforcing the end of the weapon. It was quite bulky in comparison to Flake’s favorite sword. Nonetheless, it was much more wieldy than he had imagined. The pole itself was thin, but well balanced towards the back as the result of a metal core below the well-sanded wood. It was a quality weapon as Flake had never before touched, and he was eager to test it out.

As he held the weapon with one arm and attempted a thrust, he frowned at the exertion. He managed to thrust quickly, but it required much more energy than he expected. I will not be able to prolong fights with this, especially not without armor, he thought, resting the weapon against the ground as he looked to the stairs.

After a few seconds of patient waiting, Flake ascended the stairs and looked around the ground floor. He noticed a few pieces of furniture, including a mattress, a table with four chairs, a water basin filled with clean water, an overhead drying rack for spices and meats, a few cabinets holding medical and edible supplies, and a fireplace with dry wood, ready to be lit. The room had a musky smell to it, which Flake only now noticed, despite its possible presence in the basement. As he attempted to locate the source of the smell, he noticed the padlocked door on the other side of the room.

The bounty hunter walked around and explored the room for a minute, opened the wardrobe which hid in plain sight next to the mattress, and frowned in misery. The only armor in the drawer was sized for Drake, and would only restrict his movement by a thousandfold. On the other hand, Flake did manage to find three pairs of trousers and a few belts, one of which fit him to a moderate degree, and dressed himself with them under his robe for an extra degree of modesty. He then took the smallest of the other two pairs of pants and a belt, and carried them with him as he climbed back down the ladder.

He greeted Raine with a lengthy explanation as he walked over to her, a half-smile across his face, “it’s a pleasant morning to not be dead. We were taken to a cottage in the woods by a friend of mine a few days ago, probably because the guards thought we died. In any case, you might want to wear these under your gown.” As he paused momentarily in his monologue, he tossed the trousers and belt beside her, then pointed to the weapon rack with his polearm and continued, “I suppose we should stay here until we get our energy back, or until we need to leave. In case we are ambushed, on the other hand, I suggest you arm yourself.”

He then dropped his weapon and, after allowing her to speak for a brief moment, commented, “there is more food upstairs, from what I saw. You can meet me up there. I will be starting a fire.” With this said, Flake hastily left the basement by climbing up the ladder and made his way over to the fireplace. He was annoyed to see that the coals had all chilled, and no tinder was in sight. With a groan, he reached into his pocket and called out, “on second thought, I’ll be looking for tinder outside.”

He then walked over to the door and unlocked it with the key, throwing the lock towards the fireplace soon afterwards. The door opened quietly, and Flake closed it firmly behind himself. He looked around and was happy to note that the cabin was located under the canopy of the forest instead of in a clearing, thus the smoke from a fire would not rise high enough to signal bandits or guards. Flake was also happy to note that the cabin had no windows, so he would not need to worry about broken glass or quiet invasions in the night.

The bounty hunter wandered around in the forest for a few minutes, collecting dry twigs and tinder as he went, and was surprised to note that not even a single animal was within sight nor hearing distance. Flake returned with a satisfied expression and an armload of tinder, opening the door and quickly shutting it behind himself with a single arm. He then dropped the tinder next to the pile of chopped firewood next to the fireplace and sat in front of the burning area with a handful of tinder. He placed his polearm down and formed a small grouping of twigs and leaves below the logs.

Then, Flake began the painstaking process of forming an ember by taking a straight twig and spinning it around in a notch of a flat piece of wood. He continued to do so, silently, and watched his progress as he went along, focusing on it as a hunter would a deer.

The Land Of Odesh (A fantasy Dice/Stat based rp) REBOOT

Looks like only Nyan and Lore are awake now. Soon, we will start adventuring. :D

The Potter St. Theater

After finding the ringleader, who was casually, but lazily dressed, Vandal patiently allowed his sister to convince the man. He noticed Simon glance over at him a few times while contemplating Vi’s pleadings, but remained calm overall, awaiting the ringleader’s response. He could not help but chuckle in embarrassment, remembering the last time they wandered around in a city, as Simon brought up the furniture store, but quickly wiped the embarrassment from his face as his sister grabbed his shoulder.

“Okay! Okay! Sheesh!” he exclaimed, matching his sister’s excited pace. He adopted a smug smile and, after opening the door to the city outside, commented, “I think I know where the school is this time.” He pointed to the right and said, “gramps already showed us the way to the school this morning on the way here, remember?” He then walked over to the street corner and paused, watching cars pass by. He waited for a minute and asked his sister, “what do you think the school will look like on the inside?” He continued waiting as he spoke to her, but the cars would not stop passing by. Before his ego could object, Vandal asked, “uhh, I forgot, how do we get those people to stop for us?” as he looked over at Vi.

After she responded, his face flushed red slightly and he turned away, quickly interrupting her as he realized what the answer was, ashamed by its obviousness. He pressed the little button on the pole which held up the nearby signal lights and, after the white walking person appeared on the black box above the other side of the street, he noticed that the cars stopped. He also noticed an odd chirping sound, and looked around to find the source of it, but failed.

After realizing that Vi started crossing the street without him, he quickly caught up and stood beside her, commenting, “oh, sorry,” as he continued moving along. He could not help but look around as the two continued walking along the concrete path. The walls had interesting posters on them, the glass had amazing displays behind it, and the signs were all clean and nice-looking, although Vandal could only recognize a few of the signs. He pointed to the most familiar one and said, “that’s a food place which makes food really fast and cheap. We can probably get lunch there so that Simon doesn’t have to work as hard for us.”

After passing the second street light, Vandal turned left, because there was no way to continue straight along the road. He shepherded his sister back to his side as he did so, standing between her and a long line of rugged-looking men walking along the street-side of the sidewalk. After one more street light, they walked along the side of the road and noticed a park-like area with buildings within it to their right. “This has to be it,” Vandal declared, grinning excitedly at Vi, “it’s a bigger place than I thought.”

The Potter St. Theater

A week is fine, just tell me if you'll be gone for more than a week or two.

Thanks! Feel free to make your own background stories, if you feel inspired.

Edit: I responded to the IC. Vi can ask Vandal a question during the time I left out, between intersections or what not. I'll just edit my post so that Vandal's answers are included. The same goes for any reactions he has to what she does, like make a comment, point out graffitti, get bumped into by a passer-by, ect.

The Land Of Odesh (A fantasy Dice/Stat based rp) REBOOT

Well, I suppose Bam gets eaten by a Grue then. I also suppose Sola'll be posting the IC soon...

The Land Of Odesh (A fantasy Dice/Stat based rp) REBOOT

Nyan, Joe hasn't posted yet, as I have pointed out in my own post. Sola probably already started an IC, but he still needs to wait for Joe before posting it.

Nyan

Just to amuse you, I have written this message specifically to you, and set it in a hider. It is not addressed to the rest of the group, although you all are welcome to read it if you want to waste your time. I hope you rejoice at the .3 seconds of saved time when next you scroll down this page to hit "reply."

A writing tip

Also, as a writing tip, you should never waste a reader's time by saying, "no offence," because no matter what you say after those words, if it is offensive(which your message was not in the least), they will take offence regardless. The same goes for "in my opinion," because the only situation when you are using opinions which are not your own is when you cite a person or source.

As far as these "walls of text" are concerned, they are written for the benefit of everyone. If one person raises a question about what I have said, it is very likely that it needs further explanation. If I hid those explanations, it would make any future attempts to clarify what I meant much more complicated, because instead of using control+f to find it, I would need to search through all the hiders on a page first.

In the case of arguments, such as the one you just commented on, I have no interest in prolonging them. It was clear that you missed a great deal of what I said in my previous four posts based on how you are phrasing your comment, thus I shall summarize it for you quickly: Lore was confused about something I said, then assumed that I was mistaken in my understanding. He then tried to correct me in the form of logical debate. I quickly re-phrased what I originally said and ended the argument. Both posts were important in clearing up what I meant, thus both are relevant enough to the roleplay to merit being left outside of hiders.

Now, if you are actually worried about "losing information" amidst our ooc conversations, there is a very easy solution. You open a notepad document and write what pages have the important information on them. Save the document and: boom! Done. No more complaining. After all, it's your own issue if you can't find information here, there are only 10/20 posts per page and you have the control+f function(unless you're on mac, in which case I have no idea).

Lastly, this is a roleplay website. You are quite literally on this site for the sole purpose of reading countless walls of text for your amusement(aside from technicalities, of course). If you are not willing to listen to criticism about your posts or comments, you are limiting the amusement other people will find from your walls of text in the future.

It is not merely that I "think" that certain aspects of certain people's posts are inadequate. It is that they are objectively flawed in a significant enough manner that I can waste my incredibly valuable(in my opinion) time writing out criticism instead of doing something more productive, like making scholarship essays for the BAR association, volunteering at a local hospital for CS hours, or completing school work. I leave these comments outside of hiders because I spent a great deal of time to write and edit these responses, because I believe that they are worth my time to write, and I want them to be read.

Now I can hear the counter-arguments flying around in my head, "what if your post is too long?" "what if it's irrelevant?" "what if I don't have time to read through your criticism?" Well, if those come to mind, you need to re-read this message, because I answered all of them. And I would like to point out that your hider is totally unwarranted. Your message to me was neither long enough, nor irrelevant enough to merit being hidden.

The Potter St. Theater

As his sister claimed the right to speak, [but waited before using it] Vandal grinned mischievously for a moment and watched her silently, trying to read her expression. He felt a pit form in his chest as the silence dragged on for a few seconds, but he resisted the urge to speak, compelled to reserve her right to continue speaking. The dusty atmosphere only made the pause feel more lengthy as particles of dust danced around the two, dully illuminated by the distant lights which Vandal left untouched.

The pause ended, relieving the pit in Vandal’s chest, as Vi continued with a proposition. To his surprise, he didn’t have any immediate objection to her idea. All he knew about school was based off the ringmaster’s description. It’s not that I don’t trust him, he thought, shaking a few dark thoughts from his mind as he inhaled, preparing to speak. “You’re right about the air,” he started, fanning the space in front of his face with his hand, resulting in a flurry of dust, “but we better ask the ringmaster before wandering off. We don’t want to get lost again,” he said, another sly smile spreading across his face as he walked towards the stage entrance door and recounted the farcical episode he alluded to.

Without Puppeteering

[If you don’t agree with or like this story, I’ll trash it. The following events take place about nine years prior, when they are around 8 years old]
Vandal and Vi waved goodbye to the muscleman as they speed walked down the street. “I don’t think they’ve ever let us roam free in a city before,” Vandal pointed out, excitement exuding from his every word. Vi agreed and followed along as they made their way down the sidewalk, looking around in search for the grocery store.

Vandal spotted an interesting-looking sign and waved for Vi to follow him inside. “This doesn’t look like a grocery store,” she commented, looking through the window. Inside, she saw plenty of books and colorful boxes lined up along shelves, with a single person standing behind a desk near the door. “That’s because it isn’t a grocery store – it’s a book store!” Vandal then rushed into the store, dragging Vi along behind him.

“We should just get the food and go back, we don’t want to be out on our own for too long,” Vi whispered, looking around the shop nervously. Vandal pridefully smacked his chest, then quickly responded, “you need not fear, Vandal the brave is here!” He then chuckled and pulled a book off the shelf, saying, “besides, I already found the book I want.”

Vi looked at the book for a moment and instantly frowned, unamused. She grabbed the book out of his hand and placing it back on the shelf with a sigh, saying, “we don’t have a chess board, and you’re just going to use that book as leverage to get him to buy you one.” Vandal growled in disappointment, more so that she saw through his scheme than her disapproval, then looked out of the corner of his eye to see the most glorious of words.

Instantly, Vandal jumped over to the shelf, climbing two rows upwards to grab a thick book from the top row, and hopped back down. Vi stared at him in shock and asked what he found, then he showed her. “This is the best book ever conceived by man! It’s Arglonaught’s 500, the best anthology of combat and warfare strategies ever produced! He uses chess and martial arts to explain how…” Vandal was then interrupted by Vi as she asked, “that’s cool, but how much is it?”

Vandal paused, then looked at her in confusion, unable to shift his train of thought fast enough to translate her words. “What did you say?” he asked, to which she replied, “how much does it cost?” Vandal took the book over to the guy at the front counter and asked, and he replied, “Two hundred bucks, sonny. That one’s from my grandpa’s prized collection. Good eye, though.” With a disheartened frown, Vandal walked towards the exit of the shop, and Vi followed.

After a half hour of walking, Vi asked, “hey, Vandal, shouldn’t we have found the grocery store by now? Mr. Muscles said that we would find it in no time if we kept looking left.” Vandal looked around, alarmed by her concern and nodded in agreement, saying, “you’re right, we should turn back and look around. Maybe he meant to turn left, then we’d see it.”

The two then turned around a corner, walking through an alleyway and onto the sidewalk of another street, and continued walking for another ten minutes. After this, Vandal started to get worried. “Alright, we took a wrong turn somewhere,” he said, looking back at Vi, “do you remember where we came from?” As he said this, a few men turned the corner in front of him and one of them bumped into him. The gargantuan fellow angrily exclaimed, “watch where yer goin’ kid!” and continued on his way as the two nearly jumped out of their skin.

Vandal then quickly grabbed Vi’s arm and turned around the corner, saying, “never mind, we can find our way back. We took more lefts than rights, so if we head this way we should be on the right track.” Vi nodded, trusting her brother’s intuition due to the looming possibility of what could happen if he was wrong. She quickly took her arm back, however, and followed him at a brisk pace, keeping up with him as he turned corners.

Five more minutes later, the two were even more lost than before. Giant buildings loomed overhead, and the only two ways they could see was up and down the street they were on. Vandal gritted his teeth in frustration and stopped for a moment, looking around to get his bearings. “I think I saw that street sign before, but I don’t know which way we were going when we got here,” he said, trying to keep a calm expression. Vi took a deep breath and declared that they were obviously lost.

About two hours after they first set off in the city, a few of the carnies set off into the city to look for the two, suspecting something was wrong. Vandal used his book smarts and convinced Vi that they needed to stay put instead of moving around so that it would be easier for the others to find them. Unfortunately, when two police officers walked by and started asking them questions, Vandal interpreted it as a bad sign and the two ran off.

The carnies didn’t manage to find the two until the next day, in supermarket on the opposite side of the city, sleeping on couches in the furniture section. The employees called the police, who happened to be talking to the ringleader at the time of the call. After a few interesting conversations, the two safely made it back to the carnival and were strictly reprimanded through chores and performance practice. Needless to say, neither of them were eager to wander around in any city for some time after.

After reaching the door he held it open for his sister with a more sincere smile, then followed her over to the ringleader. [who I don’t know how to name or describe]