rabidbacon

Shadows of the Forgotten Realm

It was a faint spark, at first, flickering in the distance. Bane did not trust his eyes, then, head lolling this way and that as he ambled his way through the woods, numb from drink. The night had found him in bad company - a woman with sweet eyes, swift hands and a venomous smile had made off with his last coin as he slumbered with her beneath a tree. Perhaps, the only reason his armor and sword remained was that it was difficult to run off with them, without making too much noise.

Eventually, as he drew closer, his nose told him that the light was fire, and with this fire came sustenance. The half-elf licked his lips in anticipation and pulled his hat down closer over his ears. Then, he made sure to approach loudly, to show that he was not approaching with ill intent. As the smell of food filled the air, Bane felt his stomach flip, still sour from liquor.

"Won't be here long," he began, his lips slow and cumbersome. "Just here to catch my breath." Not wishing to appear a worthless vagrant, Bane rooted about his pack and grimaced when he realized he had naught to offer. Even in his fatigue, he refrained from sitting upon the grass, and chose instead, to stand. Something about the old man reminded him about his father, and Bane despised how that made his chest tighten. He would have been about the same age, now. "I'll keep watch. You have... some nerve. Cooking up a storm, alone... when the wolves are howling for dinner."

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Oh, he so enjoyed it when the humans did the work for him. Soon enough, there were bodies on the ground. Unfortunately, it came at a cost, and that cost was being shot at. The forces that struck at his skin, even when hardened, was nothing like the useless things most carried on their shoulders. It hurt; molten ichor fell, starting embers as it dripped from the freshly formed wounds on the Wild's body. He was far from dead, though. And most of all, he was still ravenous.

Ignoring the danger - for what more could he do at this distance - Mercy hardened his hide and went in for the felled body, his maw darting in and out with a speed that one would hardly associate with his heft. The torso snapped and crackled between chitinous fangs, blood and guts dripping every which way as Mercy shook his head in dissatisfaction. One wasn't enough.

Through the dust, he searched for the one whose darkness teemed with promise. The one who had unintentionally fed him. His feet stalked the earth like a predator, but Mercy could hear his heart crackle with hate and goodness in equal measure. The Wild knew that such a man would be capable of just as much hurt as he was of aid.

"You will feed me," he whispered into Val's thoughts, in as much as a roar could be softened into a croon. "In exchange, you will have my strength." It was not an offering, but a demand. "So you can feed me more."

As Mercy called out to Val, so did he rake his claws against the forces that fired at him, sending up more dust in his wake. Such fragile orbs did the humans have, for eyes, full of fluids, and always leaking, whether in joy or in pain.

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

243

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Will post in a day or two!

Blades of the West (Rabidbacon and Knight 7)

As the one-eyed soldier gave them a fierce appraisal, Bartek flashed him an easy-going grin. Zosia's expression was hidden behind the cloth that covered her face, while Tytus's lips and eyes were like unmoving stone. Together, they followed the fierce Shirian deeper into the camp, and with each step, like the grains of sand seeping into their boots, they could feel the irritation of some of those there. The Casimirians were not at all surprised; hiring outside help meant that they weren't satisfactory, and what capable being liked being told they weren't enough for the job?

Eventually, they entered the grand tent, where a show of hospitality was prepared for them to partake in. Bartek and his companions smiled at the familiar -though accented words- and at the sight of such a sumptuous meal, not at all shy about expressing their enthusiasm. All three of them barked out their thanks in quick succession, before finding their seats in quick order. However, they did not eat, nor did they drink.

"Hm. Right," began Bartek, his eyes of roving hungrily over the honeyed toast and the cool cups of water. Zosia had been quick to make sure the wineskin was far, far away from the mercenary captain. "Now, Marzban... how may we provide our assistance?" He licked his lips as he spoke, the skin of it dry and chapped. "As you already know, I am Bartek. All my life, I have been fighting, and it is all I know to do." Then, he gestured to his companions, placing a hand on each one's shoulder in turn. "This is Zosia, my best archer, and Tytus, the strongest man in my employ. There are many others outside, all with their own skills..."

Then, he stood, bowing to the Marzban, then to the scribe, and finally, at the one-eyed captain.

"But together, we all ride... and eat, as one. Until those outside are also fed and watered the same luxuries, I'm afraid we cannot partake in this feast. We may continue to discuss the matter of your proposal, however." Finally, he sat back down and turned his body towards the Marzban. "I have heard talk of rebels, but I did not imagine it was this serious. Or perhaps, you are being proactive?"

While clearly craving for the foods before them, neither Zosia nor Tytus raised complaint about the man's words. Instead, they, too, focused on the Marzban, curious to hear what he had to say. There was an admiring glance towards the bird, particularly by the archer, while Tytus seemed to view it as an oddity.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Can Mercy eat the bodies Val cut up? :D @Estylwen

Mobile View Turning into Desktop View on Phone when Logged In

@LegendBegins Thank you!! It was not checked, now it is.

Mobile View Turning into Desktop View on Phone when Logged In

As the title says, just wondering if this is a universal experience.

Is there a toggle to lock it in mobile view that I'm unaware of / not seeing?
When I'm on the site as a guest, it appears properly in mobile mode, but when I log in, the site display reverts to desktop sizes.

I'm on mobile a lot, and the desktop mode textbox width makes it difficult to format and type on the phone.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Brother?

If Mercy could laugh, he would have. Instead, a low rumble of confusion and bemusement rippled through his throat. Why did that human know to speak those words? Tricks, they were full of them - where the Wilds had fangs, so did the humans have their ideas, and their scavenging, crawling, wanting little fingers. It was most fascinating; Mercy often lingered on the crunch of the hands as he crushed them up with his mouth.

The brewing tension and worry was a nice little whiff to feed on, at least. He chanced a step forward, then another, before stopping again, as soon as the weapons came into full view. A threat - Mercy had nearly been killed by those once, many, many moons ago. But he was a tiny thing, then. Now was a different story.

As he watched, he sensed a difference from the other humans, too. They may not have spoken the same way the woman had, but there was something familiar about their bodies. They were... tasteless. They could not be fed from. Mercy growled in frustration - though the growl eventually turned into a rather unsettling chirp as the situation devolved further. The humans were shouting. Shouting always meant blood would soon flow.

But then, the humans stopped shouting for a moment, and eventually, they watched him the same way he watched them.

Zat is limina unity rema speak emen? abandon se humans, demant phe-remlit sotan split se feud (What is this unity you speak of? Abandon the humans, and we can split the food together.)

So he said to the ones he understood to be subjugated by the hated order. Mercy could not fathom being bonded to one, willingly... though it has been harder to feed as of late. As he grew, so was he harder to kill, but feeding this way was becoming troublesome. In time, he would starve.

Perhaps he needed to keep one, for himself. His glowing eyes pored over the humans, a deep rumble of discontent as he saw those who had been bound to the feeble bags of flesh. It was appalling, but he hungered, and he sought out the darkness that lay in all their hearts. Of them all, both the one called Vinny and the one called Val appeared to leak out a tantalizing amount of pain. But Mercy saw how Vinny was quick to turn the cannons against him. All Val had was a long, shiny stick with useless things stuck onto it. And he had foolishly tried to make peace with a man who cared only for himself.

The Wild fixed its sights on the human and opened its mouth, as if to speak. Then, without warning, he rushed straight into the fray, intending to damage the building and force a rout so they would all scatter. There would be no food to be had if the humans kept on talking. Talking quietly meant peace, and peace was useless to Mercy. Tasted terrible, absolutely turbid.

Blades of the West (Rabidbacon and Knight 7)

The heat had Bartek and his band of unruly fighters grumble loudly at first, but eventually, they realized that this made it worse, and so, they went on in silence, tending to their horses in orderly intervals of rest, but not shirking the urgent pace. A new contract was on the line, and this time, it was no mere merchant or impoverished earls looking for hired hands to till their lands and tend to their livestock. This was the Marzban, a new one, if the information was to be believed, though Bartek had to wonder why such a decision was made. Either the post was dangerous and always in need of filling, or the man was one who could be counted upon.

Whatever the case, he could already hear the coins jingle into all their pouches. He wondered how much drink he could buy with it, and if the spirits there were any good. He patted his horse's neck as he rooted around the saddle for a well-worn flask. Unfortunately, Bartek would discover that it was already empty, and had been emptied, he realized, several miles back. All the sand and the relentless heat of the sun beating down on them had made him forget.

A laugh made him turn his head, and he grunted in reply.

"Zosia," he called out, his gaze meeting hers. "What do you know of this one? They spoke to you, did they not?"

She pulled down the cloth covering her face, revealing a scarred countenance. The remnants of a fearsome wound cut through her left cheek, twisting her mouth into a perpetual smirk.

"From what I understood, Captain... they say that the new Warden is a young man, forged by battle, sent to keep the peace," said the archer. "Effective in putting down rebellions. Good with the bow and horse, too. If he is an easy-going fellow, I shall like to challenge him once."

"In that case, I shall bet my winnings on you," he replied, with a laugh, not caring to keep his voice lowered, even as they neared the camp. "But why do they need outside help?" As they ambled through the field, Bartek's dark eyes studied the formations of the tents, as well as the activities of the Shirian warriors and personnel that hurried about. It gave him a strange yearning, a familiar feeling, even as the fabrics and the uniforms were all in colors and forms he had never seen. "It appears to me that they do not need such a thing."

"Are you going to persuade him to cancel the contract, Captain, because he does not need it?" A hoarse voice piped up from the rear, coming from a tall, dark-skinned warrior, his face contorted in a perpetual frown. "We cannot eat grass like our horses do. And even grass does not grow, here."

Bartek smiled at the man, unfazed by his apparent frustration.

"Oh, you can eat grass, Tytus," he said. "You can eat almost anything, if you are hungry enough."

Before long, they arrived at the gates and relinquished their mounts. While there were twenty horses and mercenaries all in all, only Bartek, Zosia and Tytus followed the uniformed personnel to present themselves to the Marzban. The trip was clearly a show of the company's capacity and capabilities, as well as a gesture of respect for the Warden's authority. Bartek did not want the man to think he was dealing with backwater horse thieves.

As he waited, he stood in a proud, stiff manner, betraying the training he had once received. However, in contrast to this, his apparel was drab and even in some measure of disarray, given that he and his companions were not used to the heat. Upon his chest was a worn leather chest plate, and upon his shoulders were old pauldrons - a mismatched collection of armor chosen more for effectiveness than appearance. All this fit comfortably upon the Captain's wiry frame. Beside the heft of Tytus, and the litheness of Zosia, Bartek looked quite unremarkable at first glance, though something about his stance suggested that he was ready to act at a moment's notice, always ready to fight, and never dropping his guard.