Lemons

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

She's fine. Thank Sol.

Yes, she would have some explaining to do regarding the Inquisitor uniform. But Clara would be okay. Etoile's eyes narrowed, and she nodded once to the injured woman. She would leave the densus ventus to help shield the Clara as she recovered. But the Thlecian was right: Zestasia wasn't looking so hot. Right, the sun. There must be no ignis for him to use here. And, also, he seemed...not thrilled at her presence anymore, what with the whole Inquisitor thing. Well, that's inconvenient, isn't it? As skeptical as Etoile was regarding Zestasia's intellect, he was a good enough kid. And she would be damned if she let him die, even if he probably wished she would die at this point. She sucked in a ragged breath and resolved to ignore the pain in her throat, nodded once to Clara, and then stood. She murmured a word under her breath and a gap parted in the densus ventus just large enough for her to slip out. And as she did, and the vines rushed to her, she barked out with the voice of one sick of this:

"Gladius ventus!"

Eyes locked on Zestasia as the vines closed in, she grit her teeth, slicing like a hurricane through the rampaging foliage. There was a lull--though not a break--in the vines as the Malum mage and Sparky managed to scratch two treeants out of the fight, and Etoile took the opportunity, breaking through the writhing plants and taking a position above Zestasia. "Kill me later. Get up now." She looked up. Sun, right? She motioned jerkily with her unoccupied hand at some of the branches above: "Acer ventus!"

A blade of slicing wind sheared through the foliage, raining leaves down on the two of them. She grit her teeth, barely holding back a scream, as a bolt of hot pain stabbed down her forehead. She was using a whole lot of magic at the same time when she'd already been drained a fair bit. But still, she continued, each slash of her magic driving another burning nail into her skull. I am going to regret this later.

"I swear to Sol, Zestasia," she hissed as she clumsily batted at an oncoming vine, only barely glancing it and letting it clip in the shoulder, "this had better be worth it."

As she finished the sentence, she made a final cut of air and went down on one knee with a moan of pain. But it was enough, as a lance of sunlight burned through the gashes she'd made in the trees above, blazing through the gloom. She rattled out a ghastly laugh, then pitched forward, only barely catching herself, resting her weight on the tip of her sword and her metal arm. The auras of wind around Clara and her sword went dead, and the vines rushed back in.

It was an acceptable risk to take: Zestasia would be more use in this fight than she would. And she would be just fine in a few minutes, if he managed to fend them off.

If.

Onto a Sea of Stars | [Full]

Dope. I'll get on her soon.

Onto a Sea of Stars | [Full]

@Kuro

Right, what would you say about a sixteen year old adrenaline-junkie pilot with janky, mostly homemade cybernetic arms and legs that sometimes (often) break down?

Space RP

<Snipped quote by Lemons>

The general concept I'm running with here is "kids up to no good actually end up doing good", so I don't know if a veteran character would work here. I could amend it to allow people in their early 20s (no further than like, 22 or so), however.

@Kuro

Nah, no worries; if she doesn't fit, she doesn't fit, and I don't want to shoehorn her in weirdly. I'll come up with a kid instead, no shortage of ideas there.

Space RP

Oooooh some old classic sci-fi space stuff???

Yeah! Hell yeah!

General character concept that immediately runs on up to me, though it doesn't work if "teenage crew, stolen ship" is a proper thing to run with, or if this is the tone you want to go with at all: veteran of an intergalactic war who doesn't talk much, has some PTSD, tends to have some flashbacks. The only thing that gets her to relax is a small hydroponic garden of orchids and bonsai trees she takes care of. She keeps her military-grade exosuit in a high-security locker in her cabin on whatever ship she's on. Never takes it out, it's mostly there as a reminder.

The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP

---

Auonar was truly a breed apart from any city that Entyrea had seen in her life. She'd been around occasionally after she'd resolved to study wizardry, it was true. But most of it had been near where she'd been born and raised. There was plenty of questionable adventures to have in the southron kingdoms, and there was certainly no shortage of rare books to find throughout. So the great dwarven gate held her gaze as they passed through, the vague interest she'd felt outside the city turning to a deep fascination.

When the carriage finally stopped in the stables, she shivered at the cold air once more before wrappping her cloak around herself. "If you want me to do the talking, Chip, then that's perfectly fine by me." The more people she could talk to, the more she could familiarize herself with this new and exciting domain she'd found herself in.

"Well," she responded to...oh, what was her name? Lodah? Ludus? She couldn't quite remember, the books she'd been reading on the journey had distracted her enough that only a catchy name like Chip could stick. She grimaced; she'd need to make more of an effort to remember. Then she stretched, cracking her neck to the side as she stood. "If you're talking about normal people on the street, they might not. It really depends on the caravan, doesn't it?"

She climbed carefully down from the carriage so as not to catch her dress or cloak, inhaling a deep breath of the cold, sharp air.

"Fortunately for us, we don't need to rely on the memories of normal people in the streets. If Auonar is anything like the cities down south--and I don't see a reason for it to be different in this particular manner--there's a person, or an office, or a group, that manages all the commercial goods that leave the city." She stroked her chin with her hand and looked briefly up at the roof as she pulled her staff and heavy, book-laden backpack from the carriage. "There's always the chance, of course, that Ordrin kept it secret from whoever manages that here, in which case we will need to rely on street memory. Still, we'll cross that bridge if we must, yes?"

She turned to their driver, cocking her head. "Gudrik, do you know if there's any office like that in Auonar? You seem well-travelled, and I'm afraid I'm a bit lost here." She laughed lightly.

Lem's Stash

-

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

Honestly 110% same, yeah. I love everything here.

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

"Gladius ventus!"

Etoile whirled Vent de Trancheuse around her in huge, sweeping arcs, the invisible aura of wind around the blade shearing through the vines with minimal resistance. All frustration with Pythia was gone now, blown out like a candle flame in a typhoon. She couldn't afford to let even a single strand of her attention stray, or else she'd miss something important and get chokeslammed by treeants until her her spine broke. Face stone, she continued her deadly dance.

"Etoile, watch your–!"

–back, she finished grimly as a vine managed to tangle itself into her heavy cloak, pulling her sharply backwards and nearly knocking her off her feet before it steadily began to pull tight against her throat. She fiddled gamely with the toggle with her metal hand, even pulling hard on it in an attempt to break the stitching, but one hand just wasn't dextrous or strong enough to free it. As stars began to dance in front of her eyes--still cutting through encroaching vines as she struggled--she realized that she was going to die if this kept up.

Sol damn it.

She lashed backwards with her saber, shearing through the heavy wool and sending her into a forward stumble. She hit the ground hard, swearing as she did so. As she desperately struggled to regain her feet--a struggle she was steadily losing, as vines swarmed her again and she lacked the footwork that she desperately needed--she saw Clara fall to the ground, smacked down and shattered by a huge, menacing vine. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself into a little ball, cradling Vent de Trancheuse protectively, and spat out, "Densus ventus."

A bubble of steel-hard air formed around her, and she took a moment to stand and collect herself as vines flailed wildly at the invisible barrier. Clara wasn't moving.

Taking a deep breath--the pain in her throat refusing to go away--she dropped the barrier.

Moving more freely now that her cloak was battered and muddy on the ground, only a foot or so left sticking comically out from her back and the remainder of her Inquisitor's uniform now openly displayed, she smacked a vine away with her crest-emblazoned prosthetic, struggling as best she could over to the downed Clara and neatly severing the vine that stood above her. Wheezing from her painful throat and from the adrenaline pumping through her, she crouched down over Clara's prone form. Curse it all, I need a second to think!

Dropping the aura from her sword, she heaved out one more rattling breath into a pained invocation of densus ventus, giving the two of them a momentary reprieve from the assault. Gripping Clara by the shoulders, she pulled her upright, gasping lamely. "You'd better be alright, Clara. Otherwise I don't know what I'm going to do."

The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP

---

There was a thump as Bechina Hallehaukar's Fugue Dance, a seminal work on the historical applications of mental curses, was gently closed. With a sigh and a regretful look, Entyrea Imbryss slid an elaborately-embroidered bookmark between the pages and carefully wrapped it in oilskin before sliding it back into her knapsack. Shivering a bit in the cold, she sat up straighter, shaking her red silk dress and creamy white cloak out to settle them more comfortably over her narrow frame.

She peered past Gudrik, craning her neck to scan the grand stronghold of Auonar. A small smile played over her face as she watched it draw closer. She'd never been to the far north; and while yes, it was a bit unpleasant out--she shivered briefly again--this was a rare opportunity to study the writings of a totally different culture. Besides, she smiled to herself, the cold had never been able to stick to her anyway. If things went really sideways, she could probably conjure enough fire to keep them warm.

"I must agree with--" she paused for a moment, searching her mind for the name that she'd learned in their very brief introductions some time ago, "--Chip, yes?" When she spoke, it carried not only the accent, but also the refined diction of a member of the nobility. As she spoke, she grasped the wood-and-opal staff that leaned on the seat against her, leaning thoughtfully against it as she spoke again. "If this was just a simple matter of the caravan never leaving Auonar somehow, then I get the feeling--perhaps the sinking feeling, in particular--that Enthys wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of contacting us."

"Still," she continued, "at the very least, we may be able to find some kind of clue as to what direction the caravan went if we ask around. Knowledge is power, yes?"