Spoopy Scary

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Everyone: Killing at least one centaur or something, Gaela set one on fire.
Finch: "I'm J4, I'm helping!"
Berich: Probably hiding in an inconspicuous bag of money

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Useless! Finch?! There's a centaur around here complaining about a bolt, I tell you, and I reckon he won't be coming back! Blasted elves!

Really nice post, Walrus.

I'll have a reply on Friday night or Saturday. If Spoopy, Lumi, or you want to collab with me, either some or all of us. I'm down for it.

@idlehands

As it happens, I'll be transitioning into my midnight-8AM shift Friday night-Saturday morning. Oops.

Knights of Melarus

It's your turn mf

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

So @Dervish, how are second characters handled? I had this idea for a Bosmer that I felt was really compelling, but I already have Finch - that's fine and dandy, I'm not gonna take up extra slots. If something were to happen to Finch and I was on a low priority list for a backup characters, that's fine too. I'm not too concerned about it and would likely save her for another roleplay.

(Very) rough idea: a priestess of Kynareth, and she sought to go on an expedition to the Eldergleam. Back-stabbed and betrayed by her escorts, she was left for dead, and prayed until she was on the brink of death. Only Molag Bal answers, she becomes enslaved to him, shit happens, and now she's trying her hardest to rebel against the Lord of Domination and go on a pilgrimage for the Nine Divines and finally be rid of him.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Faruq’s words were ones of wisdom, but his addition of “sneak-thief”, again, it hurt Finch still. As though admission of what he is was a great shame to him. He nodded to him in acknowledgement but said nothing more; but as he began walking again, a pang of guilt and frustration overcame Finch as Fiona said her piece. It dug into him like a knife. He wanted so badly to yell back – she didn’t know him or what he had to go through, Finch did what he had to do to stay alive and suddenly his life was the payment of the job given to them! As impressive as Fiona was when she punched Nolan out in the first place, she should have left well enough alone. Those ladies weren’t in any danger, and they should’ve fended for themselves anyway and watch their own back! That’s the way life worked!

But as the young man whipped around, no sound came out – nothing that could carry through the sudden appearance and exuberance of the guard. They had them all surrounded, swords raised, and one woman had their crossbow trained on one of them. This was not the first time he found himself in this situation – the first was Meir Thorvale.

‘I feel like I’m losing my touch.’

As the guards circled them, Finch looked at the bottle of Firebrand wine in hand and back at the guardsmen, mustering as innocent a look as he could.

“Now, before you get the wrong idea, I bought and payed for this.” Finch lied. The vagabond looked himself up and down, covered in rags. “Alcoholism. Oblivion take me, right?”

“Shut up.” Said the woman with the crossbow.

“Aye, ma’am.”

It seemed though, as quickly as the guard had them numbered, another fiasco was taking place elsewhere. A scout came to report to the captain indoors of arrows and lit guard towers, hooves – centaurs. Finch muttered a swear under his breath. Their luck couldn’t get any worse, could it? Promised an opportunity out of one disaster and into another, they would pit this ragtag band of failures against a barbaric band of wild not-men where battle is ingrained into their very culture. Finch groaned as he tried to find a place to hide.

The centaurs were running straight towards them. The first came to strike Fiona, who blocked the first blow, and as it came around, dealt the death blow into its abdomen – she might’ve been a killer, but at least that was helping them out now. It was easier to digest considering that these weren’t men. The second came, and the mage set it ablaze with a simple fireball, causing it to flee in panic. The third came with a bow – aimed at one of the barmaids. He feared it was the end for the poor woman – but in the knick of time, Fiona took the shot for her. Finch’s eyes widened in shock as one of their own took what may have been a mortal wound – the placement of the arrow... it was either in her stomach, where the leakage would digest the rest of her insides, or she’d be unable to breathe.

Gaela was at her side, though. Thank the Nine for Gaela.

Gods, why? Why, why why! Fiona, so selfless, so stupid! Why was there this consistent pattern of putting herself in harm’s way? Was it a delusion of heroism? Because that’s what got his father, and every hero before and after him. Heroes don’t get happy endings. Period! But even with all of that stupid redhead’s flaws – you know, murder notwithstanding – she was something admirable, had a way of inspiring, even without words. Finch growled to himself in frustration, fighting that urge to act upon the opportunity Fiona had given them.

Finch slung his crossbow over his shoulder and drove the head end into the ground as he pumped the crank on the side of the crossbow, driving the string back and loading a bolt onto the rail. Panic was flooding his mind and he picked it back up and tried to aim at the retreating centaur bowman. His hands felt shaky. ‘Why am I doing this?’

A pull of the trigger, and the bolt whizzed through the air. While originally aimed at the base of the centaur’s back, it veered way off course as a result from Finch’s “expertise” and instead dug deep into the back of the centaur’s right shoulder.

“Blasted...” Finch muttered as he hurriedly started cranking the next round, anticipating another centaur to start coming through again. Well, there was one bright side: hopefully that centaur wouldn’t come back with a bow again. He desperately hoped that bolt hit some kind of nerve cluster or ligament or tendon – something – that would keep that thing’s arm from moving ever again. He looked over at the scene where Fiona was injured, and where Gaela would begin mending her newest wound. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He would probably regret this, but whatever. That girl looked like she needed a really strong drink.

While, hopefully, Faruq could cover their collective asses - if his stories held any credence.

Picking up the bottle he had set down just before firing the shot, he hurried over to the pair before the next centaur could get a drop on them. He was entirely expecting another dirty look from the warrior woman, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He’d survive a couple scorns. The look in his eyes, on the other hand, was a mix of something dry and annoyed – a hint of panic, as again, all that had resembled normalcy was falling apart around them, as though some agent of Mehrunes Dagon was following their every step. After a brief pause, between looking at the warrior and the healer beside him - whom he greeted with a curt and awkward smile, he stuck the strong wine forward to Fiona as an offer.

“I took this bottle so that when we got to Camlorn, I could use it as a way to get into the castle, or as an offering to the king.” Finch admitted to her. He hoped she would at least catch the subtext of it not being done in greed. He didn’t want to talk to her too much, lest she got tired of his excuses. He shook the bottle in front of her, hoping that at least the novelty of the drink and the idea of numbing the pain and whatever phantom pain that came after the healing - or, damn it all, dealing with the fact that there was an arrow buried in her gut - would entice her. “...Have it. We're probably dead anyway.”

Knights of Melarus

Good post boys, when's the next one?

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

My mistake, thought she might have gotten up between then and now. It's a very minor detail anyhow, easy fix.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Finally got around to making a post during the brawl, sorry if I forgot to add anything in. Tight schedule!

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

---

”Why is it...” Finch muttered to himself as he immediately dropped to the floor and rolled underneath his table, “We can’t take one, simple, bloody spot to rest...”

A mug exploded against the back of one man’s head, sending glass flying in every which direction

“...Without bringing the whole damn town on our heads?”

If worst came to worst, and they were about to either be put up in stocks with even more new friends or once again put in a dungeon, Finch was going to give them all the slip and spring that noble from Camlorn all by his lonesome self if he had to. He had to hand it to them though – they knew how to fight. Not that it would help them get into the castle unnoticed. A curious thing, this bar-brawl though – Finch has never been in one before. He thought it was all punching, chairs, and mug and bottle fighting. There was significantly more blood being shed here than he had expected. Hopefully they were non-fatal.

Finch peered from his hiding place, trying to find a path to slip through the chaos – to see the spaces between their legs and see if he can find something of use he can take with him through this chaos... hopefully he wouldn’t get grabbed. He took a wooden bowl of salt of the table with him, and weaved his way through the thrashing. Sort of crouched, trying to stay out of everyone’s line of sight. He felt he almost made it where he wanted to go until a large meaty hand grabbed him by the scruff of his clothing and lifted Finch into the air. The young beggar clutched his wooden bowl of salt, his fingernails digging into them. He came face to face with a real brute of a nord! The man could probably give the Hand of Mauloch a run for his money, and he was angrily digging his eyes into this little runt of an imperial – the possible result of the lingering racism from the civil war ten years ago, Finch didn’t know. He just grabbed a fistful of salt in his hand and smeared it across the nord’s face, getting chunks in his eyes and whatever cuts and scrapes he had on his face.

In agony, the nord man dropped him to the ground and grabbed his face, getting what salt he could from his eyes. Now in a panic, Finch turned around just in time to see a Breton man swing a punch at him. The young, fleet-footed imperial was able to avoid the swing in time, just for it to come into contact with the nord that had taken Finch just before. The punch did little to harm the nord, but it did make him that much angrier.

“You filthy elf-lover!” The nord shouted, before taking his two meaty paws and grabbing both sides of the breton’s head and threw him halfway across the tavern (who let out a fretful cry of distress) into a number of people, knocking them over like pins. Finch, on the other hand, had long since escaped the rumble.

In the back of the tavern, there seemed to be nobody in here. Everyone was fighting out front, some were spilling into the streets, and anyone with half a mind left high-tailed it out of here; which meant Finch had the opportunity to cherry-pick whatever swill he wanted out of here. Hopefully Cedric, Brynn, or the orc wouldn’t feel so obligated to relieve him the burden of carrying whatever vintage Finch had on him then. Unlike the others, Finch’s mind was still on the job they were tasked with. After all, his own life was on the line!

Now, what was a choice pick? Finch didn’t know much about alcohol, but he figured that the older it was, the finer it was... or he could just look at whatever price they were labeled with. That worked too. There was a little bit of searching, and Finch found himself wandering to the far back side of innkeeper’s stock. A small compartment. Finch sighed as he broke out one of the lockpicks he had on his person, in one of the many little pockets he had from whatever patches of cloth he stitched onto his clothes, and he began fiddling.

‘No resistance there... no, resistance there. There... no, not there...’

Click!

‘Oh... there? Huh. Lucky.’

As he opened up the little chest, it held a couple bottles of wine. Finch didn’t stare at them as if they were some miraculous, miracle elixirs – he didn’t get the whole hype over this stuff. A quick read on the label read, “Firebrand Wine”. Huh. Whatever. Finch grabbed a bottle of that, shut the chest and started to turn around, but...

The innkeeper was standing in the door way, staring in disbelief at Finch as he held a very expensive drink in his hands.

“You...!” The man spat, starting to take angry steps toward the thief.

Finch started stammering, again in a panic. He was cornered! There was a window in here, but he couldn’t possibly...

Without thinking, the young imperial grabbed a wine rack carrying dozens and dozens of drinks, and pushed on it with all of his might (though that’s not saying much). It was enough, however, that the shelf began to tip and bottles were spilling over. The whole setup crashed into the ground between Finch and the innkeeper, glass and drink spilling everywhere. In the innkeeper’s moment of disbelief as half the stock that he had left was destroyed, Finch took the opportunity to unlatch the window and climb up the wall to make his great escape outside. There, he sprinted around the building with belongings (and stolen belonging) in hand, hoping to lose him in all of the confusion. The ice cold air licked the skin his blood rushed through, tingling as the speckles of cold sweat touched it.

As he came around, he came upon a grisly scene. Beside a few of the others, like the two mages, the elf, the merchant, there was one of his own party: Fiona was kneeled over Nolan, victorious over his motionless body before her - wounded, but victorious. Finch’s run slowed down to a jog, then to a pace. This time, there was no awe. The savage orc was one thing, this human girl barely older than him was another. He just looked at her in diluted anger and disbelief.

“I'm so glad something could come out of this brawl of ours.” Finch commented bitterly. Then he stopped, appearing to be in thought. “Oh, wait a second! There wasn’t! Someone, please... just get the other three or so idiots out of there before we spend another night in a dungeon.”

Finch sighed. By the Nine, he felt so exhausted. Not just in the literal sense either. He just wanted to get this whole chapter in his life over and done with. His life was dangling in front of him on the end of a fishing line. The only way he could save himself was by biting, but this lot was keeping him from doing that. He felt tired and bitter and just wanted to be done. He walked past Nolan’s body as his blood leaked out into the snow. The man certainly deserved what he had coming to him, but... was it really worth it? One punch leading to so many deaths? Gods, what was it that Finch wanted to do? He felt directionless. The book he found presented him with a fork in the road, and he wasn’t sure which side to take. He turned his eyes from the bloody sight and looked back at Fiona.

“Well, I guess there are worse things I could be than a ‘burglar’.” He said with a shrug, quoting Fiona’s earlier words. He shook his head and started walking off toward the other side of this little town where the gates were, wanting to get as far away from the fighting and as close toward Camlorn as possible.

Knights of Melarus

_and

@Nosuchthing

---

Their trip back into Maceron had only just begun, and they already cut swathes through thick packs of skeletal abominations - usually, Anna or the gnome could keep a couple from approaching, but then it was down to the melee combatants that could beat them back and scatter their bones, so that their mages could have an easy target and incinerate their skulls with minimal effort. Their trip back into Maceron had only just begun, and Kane, despite his success in maintaining his professional demeanor, was hurting inside. Perhaps slivers of it could be seen in how his voice sounded soft on occasion, or destroy what wights he could with particular prejudice, but only those close to him would really be able to pick it out - people who knew him. He was not with those people now; now, he charged himself with the task of protecting the recovery party. They may have been volunteers, but they were not the guard. In his mind, they were still the people Kane felt obligated to serve and protect - even the hard-headed Pietro who sought to lead this expedition. As capable as they may be, their presence still weighed on his shoulders... and it would seem that there might be one more to stack upon that pile.

"Hey! Hey! Over here! Help!"

Kane's head turned immediately to see a woman on top of a building, one of the many wealthy-owned manors that dotted the city. The woman waving her arms didn't seem to be one of the rich folk that used to walk these streets, but a humbly dressed lady, the type Kane would see scrubbing King Victor's palace floors. He was concerned that the lady's racket in her bid to catch their attention would also catch the attention of wights.

"Halt, everyone!" Kane announced with a raise of his hand as he marched to the front of the building, looking up at the lass as he did so. He called out to her, "Are you hurt? Take your time and come down, we can keep you safe!"

Kane turned around and looked to Wizzlebee, sitting alone on his enchanted coach. As Kane issued his command, the coach mystically slowed down to a stop. He asked the gnome, "Can you hold her inside your carriage? She would be safest there."

Wizzlebee nervously shook his head no. He said, "O-oh, no, I'm afraid not! You see, it is full! With, uh, herbs and alchemical ingredients! With some nasties in there too, might I add!"

He was partially making subtle mention of his skeletal father, which Kane did not know about - something to help him feel better about lying, or successfully pass one, but indeed, there were some pretty nasty herbs and plants and whatnot in there as well! An incredibly itchy plant, causes welts all over! Some putrid animal parts, too, but his main concern was nobody finding out about Bartleby. Kane, in response, gave him a curious look - perhaps suspicious. Wizzlebee responded with an indignant look of his own.

"I had come to start up a second shop here in Maceron!" Wizzlebee claimed. "Don't give me those looks! I should be owed an apology for this skeletal brouhaha! She can sit up here right next to me, I say, it is as safe here as it is inside the coach! My word!"

Kane sighed, regretting challenging the elderly gnome's temper. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to get in an argument with an eighty year old wizard. It wouldn't serve their mission, nor would it serve his position as captain well. He conceded, "Very well. I'll be counting on you."

He turned back around and looked at the top of the manor where the woman was, expecting an answer or for her to hurry down the stairs and join their party - probably undoing whatever barricades she set up inside that place. Kane knew from experience that there was plenty of furnishings inside these sort of homes that there'd be more than enough to block a door with.