SonofJET

Post-apocalypse Pokemon, now with tetanus

"I bet you'd feel pretty at peace if you had a gun and nobody else did." Harland said with a chuckle as he swiped the pencil and scribbled away at the paper for a few moments. When he was satisfied, he beamed at Professor Charcoal and stepped away from the table so everyone else could get a chance.

"What would happen back in your day, Professor? Gran says I should respect wisdom when I come by it - cool or crazy stories too. I figure this'll probably be one of those."

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

Blackwall

Taking a deep drag on his cigar before letting loose a tremendous cloud of smoke (his lungs, much like the rest of his body, were tremendous in size), Blackwall rose to his feet and swaggered between tables to stand before the guardsman.

"You folks got your shit back together, I see." He said in his deep tones. "Let me know if the one responsible for the mix-up needs a bit of corporal punishment."

With a lazy flourish, Blackwall produced his summons and offered it to the guardsman. If someone wanted to steal it off him, he wouldn't have minded all that much - especially since they were offering free alcohol to get at it.

"Name's Blackwall. Who am I drinking with today?" He added, holding up and shaking his flask at the barman as he looked over the guards - idly wondering which one he could take down first.

The Five Senses

Álmos Air-Swimmer

---

It was slow going for Álmos. He'd somehow managed to get some manner of detritus caught in his robes, and it was driving him positively mad.

With his senses dulled by his outerwear, it had slipped in through the crease of his hood - a bit of dry leaf that felt to his skin like a shard of glass - and had worked it's way down to the collar of his undershirt. From there, it had tumbled beneath the collar, and was currently resting against his breast - pressed into his skin by the tension in the fabric.

Currently, the man was standing stock still by the entrance of The Dockside View, pressing a hand against the wall for support as he leaned forward and plucked at the fabrics that covered him. Garments meant to protect him from undue distraction brought on by his abilities, which now served as the source of prolonged, intense discomfort.

Finally, he found a bit of relief. Dipping his head down, to the point that his ears were nearly level with his knees, the dry bit of plant matter came tumbling back up from his shirt. He pulled his face wrapping away to ease it's passage, and the leaf fell free of him - quickly to be caught in a light breeze and carried onward.

Thank the gods! Álmos thought, with nearly enough relief to bring tears to his eyes. He breathed deeply, overjoyed that he had managed to find some reprieve from the discomfort, basked in that feeling for a moment, and then turned to finish his journey.

---

As he stepped over the threshold and into the inn, Álmos froze.

It was fairly busy - something he didn't necessarily mind, but certainly had his reservations about. With more people came the increased risk that he might be forced to come into contact with them. Nonetheless, he had business to tend to. So, he began making his way towards the bar.

Approaching the counter, he lowered his hood and unfastened his face-coverings. After a moment of closed-eyed contemplation, he opened his eyes and turned them towards the bartender. Once the worker met his gaze, the robed man spoke.

"Greetings." Álmos said with a placid grin. "Might I trouble you for a cup of wine and some soft cheese?"

Post-apocalypse Pokemon, now with tetanus

HARLAND'S GOTTA FIND ALL THEM DANK GRASS-TYPE POKEMON!

Post-apocalypse Pokemon, now with tetanus

Bleary eyed and confused, Harland Akris gradually regained consciousness, facedown and basking in the amplified warmth of the day, which was seemingly ever-present in his grandmother's rooftop greenhouse. Knowing this, he had moved his mattress about two years prior, and had taken to letting the strong smell of Granny's herbs and spices lull him to sleep.

A gentle rapping against the nearby greenish-black tinted glass caught his attention, and Harland looked up to see Granny snoozing in her rickety old rocking chair. She had clearly meant to bring him some breakfast. She had also clearly been struck by a case of the munchies, as there was hardly a crumb on the tray that sat across her lap.

Standing up and stretching with a groan, the young man staggered through the rows of planters and, swiping a small handful of dried semilanceata from a drying rack as he passed by, made his way towards the door.

Popping the small mushrooms into his mouth he rounded the outside of the greenhouse and bent down to wake up his grandmother - pausing as he noticed the envelope that sat on her breakfast tray, slightly splattered with old juice and flecked with stale breadcrumbs. It was addressed to him.

"Oh?" He wondered aloud, picking up the envelope and scanning the message within. "Oh... Oh!"

Quickly running back to his mattress, Harland grabbed a few things, jumped into his walking around clothes, stuffed a few more things into the pockets of said clothes, and then brought his blanket out and draped it over Granny.

"Off to expand the business Gran!" He called, once he was halfway down the stairs.

---

Panting and trying to get his pupils just a tad less dilated, Harland jogged up to Charcoal's place. There was someone official-looking there already (as his letter had suggested there might be) and Harland took a moment to compose himself before approaching further.

Breathing under control? Check.

Hair neat-ish? Check.

Post-mushroom giddiness in check? Not check. Ah, whatever.

"Hey there!" Harland called, his voice sounding a bit more excited than was necessarily cool. Fortunately, it served to make him seem invested in the looming task itself, rather than just high.

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

Blackwall

Waving curtly at Ava as she was dragged off, the beastly man called Blackwall reached into his jacket pocket for a thick cigar. After a productive snort, he bit a small amount of wrapping from the end, spat on the ground, struck a match, and began puffing idly on his vice. Within a few short moments, he was grinning as the smoke flooded his lungs, then began flowing from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

After being requested (demanded, more like) to assemble with some of the other oddballs, Blackwall had figured that there might be something interesting happening to occupy his mind for a few hours. However, it seemed that someone had dropped the ball somewhere, and he immediately felt the urge to voice his displeasure. But that would mean potentially losing out on a payoff, and he wasn't quite secure in his savings at present.

"Hey. When your people get their shit together, let me know." He rumbled at the nearest guardsman - jabbing the smaller man in the center of the chest with his thick, calloused finger. The guard stumbled back a bit at the unexpected strength behind the poke.

It was only through sheer force of will that Blackwall avoided slapping the man across the face for a laugh. He was not an adherent to the adage "Don't kill the messenger" on the best of days, and this inconvenience had him wanting to blow off some steam.

Biting the end of his cigar and savoring the flavor and warmth as he turned and walked away, he wondered whether or not he could get away with a scuffle under such interest from the powers that be.

Maybe I'll go do a job real quick. Or maybe I'll snag a drink." He thought, making his way towards the nearest bar.

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

But who knows when that could be? D:

The Fireflies Settlement

”None in particular.” Astor said, his cheer having grown somewhat with the advice. He had nodded his understanding at Michelle’s descriptions, thinking back to the butchering and realizing that he certainly hadn’t seen any sign of parasites throughout the process, but he would still need to keep an eye on the cooking process.

”Wolves have been getting bold lately, so there’s a bounty on them now. I just hate waste, and figured it’d be better to try a new meat rather than just letting it all rot. Besides, It would be a shame to get someone excited over a hot meal, only for the taste to be terrible or for them to get sick from it.”

Shrugging as he considered it, Astor smiled again. ”Tell you what - if you want to swing by the pub tonight, I’ll save you a serving, and a few complimentary drinks if it ends up being disgusting anyway. But if it works out, we can call it a celebration for finding a new source of food.”

The Fireflies Settlement

”Hi Fay!” Astor had time to call out before the woman disappeared around the corner. He smirked at the brief flash of leg, but decided not to tease her about it later. Maybe.

He wasn’t kept waiting at the door for long. Michelle quickly appeared, and he smiled and returned her embrace.

”Bonjour, Michelle. I’m feeling adventurous today, actually. I took a pair of wolves this morning, and I was hoping to get your professional opinion on something.”

Astor was fairly soft-spoken outside of the pub, but he still wore his usual friendly smile as he spoke.

”Are there any diseases that I should worry about if I were to eat wolf meat? I’m marinating it in some strong alcohol, and it’ll be thoroughly cooked. I’ve read about different cultures that used to eat it, but it seems like the smell turned most other people off of the idea.”

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

<Snipped quote by Rebirth>

While it does sound fun, I’m...afraid that sort of magic might be too powerful for the setting. If you have any other ideas I’d be glad to hear them, however.

@Superboy

Bad memories of celerity spell abuse in 3e?