Turbowraith

Kill the Heroes! (Sorry, we're full for now)

Hider

SKELETON TIME



REJOICE

Let's get this shit rollin!

Kill the Heroes! (Sorry, we're full for now)

In the journey towards a still unknown destination, the Skeleton had remained, for the lack of a better word, oddly calm, the scraping of his fingertips being the only sign of steadily rising anger. With each wave of relaxing energy affecting the skeleton less and less, it was only a matter of time before he snapped again. And the descent to what seemed to be a moist, damp dungeon most certainly did not serve to delay his impending wrath. Oh, how the Skeleton hated dungeons. Filled with ghouls and all sorts of creepy crawlies that fling themselves at newcomers, not to mention serving as a potential hub for more mages and their temporo-spatial shitery.

As they descended further into the complex, the peculiar dancing midget with it's jumblies wiggling about made the troublesome ossuary glad he could no longer smell, and, well, furious as well. Crudely shaking his hand at the goblin, whatever coil of indifference had wrapped itself around him violently snapped, as he returned to his usual ways. "WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS THIS? WHY'S IT'S DICK HANGING OUT? WHAT THE FUCK IS IT-"

With the goblin getting murdered and Stride violently coming back to un-life, the skeleton's rage-filled voice gained a tad of confusion as well. He certainly did not expect some corpse they were carrying to spring up and reattach its' head, all while screaming something about some Lady-Death. He had signed up for a book retrieval, not high-powered wizard fuckery. Quickly pacing towards the newly reanimated elf, he attempted to grab it by its' shoulders and violently shake it, all while demanding an explanation for what just happened.

"OKAY, YOU HEADFUCKED PIECE OF GARBAGE. YOU'RE GOING TO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OR I'M GOING TO SHOVE YOUR LOOSE-HANGING NOGGIN WHERE THE SUN DON'T SHINE."

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

At the sight of his restraints loosening, the crazed Grog began to flail his arms wildly, shotguns still firmly gripped and all. Of course, a few stray shots landed here and there. As his trusty steed hoisted him over his head and explained what was about to happen, Grog reacted the only way he could. More rage-induced spasms and mouth frothing. That was not to say he didn't like the prospect of serving as a gun-totting human fucking cannonball, in fact, he welcomed the idea with open arms and... Mouth? Of all times, Grog just -had- to use the Pint now. With one gun held awkwardly under his shoulder, it seemed that the (un)masked hooligan had just downed an entire tankard of what seemed to be pure scotch.

And just like that, he was launched. Barely having enough time to secure his tankard, he felt his face being pulled back by the force of the throw as he flew ripped a hysterical path through the air. The crab-man had already began to launch what seemed to be a counterattack against Head Honcho, and Sir Badass had valiantly napalmed the fuck out of Nefas' legs, or something. Grog was too absorbed in his own high to properly notice. Though the whole scene was truly fun to behold, time was of the essence, especially now that the leather-clad bomber was momentarily airbourne.

Once again, due to the combination of his own peculiar mental functions and the drugs still going strong within his system, Grog began formulating a course of action that would guarantee maximum damage on the raging half-demon-thing. First, he'd empty his shotguns while there was still distance between himself and Nefas. His heightened awareness made it painfully easy to successfully aim for key points such as the throat, mouth and eyes. With that out of the way, the next thing to do was to somehow avoid being caught by the beast. Luckily, he had just the trick for that. One of his three nailbombs would do the job. He'd simply toss it with all of his (now somewhat formidable) strength towards the baddie. Even if he were to catch it before it hit his face, the force from the impact would still set it off, resulting in a high-powered, nail-filled burst that would certainly give him these precious few moments needed in order to slip by.

Though that seemed a tad hard to pull off.

Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]

And just like that, shit began to go down. The head honcho had already broken out his offensive maneuvers, first with stomping on the poor crab-man's arms and by... Throwing a chunk of concrete directly at his face. That was not good, not good at all. Even in this state of heightened awareness, Grog was far too immobile strapped on the Mayan's back to successfully avoid it, and judging from the latter's absolute negligence when it came to teammates, well, he was screwed. Or was he? Seems like 'Prave had actually started to move out of the way. Grog was pleasantly surprised. Leaning to the side, so as to have a grater chance to avoid the piece of rubble, he readied his guns, finally preparing to unleash his long awaited volley at the charging cambion. But alas, that was not meant to come to pass.

He had dodged, but only partially. Its' edge grazed against Grog's face, snapping his head to the side, and cracking his cheekbone. The opportunity was lost. Yet, as he violently twisted back, he found himself a breath away from the cambion. Deprave, you luchador from hell. You locked the cunt in place. Grog would be excited, if he weren't literally frothing with rage. Foamy saliva was violently escaping visibly clenched jaws, as his mask had been pulled down by the impact, and widened eyes shone from behind his safety goggles. The masked hoodlum remained deathly silent, and for an impossibly brief moment, gave Nefas a glare of drug-fueled insanity. An absolute barrage of well-placed shots followed, primarily aimed at the head.

Cuccoruler and Turbowraith

Just as soon as the first combat event starts, mid-way to be exact, which I assume will probably occur once Feon first steps out of town.

Cuccoruler and Turbowraith

As with most days in Asanthorne, the village was relatively quiet, its' occupants minding their own business and rarely lifting their eyes from the ground. And so, despite being the village's liveliest hour, Feon's comment could be heard from a good few feet away. Not many heads turned, with a trio of mearchants making inaudible comments while giving the girl fleeting looks, and another small group of five village-folk releasing ones a tad more audible, aimed at her outlandish appearance. The only one who had heard or seen the monk, and did not emanate negativity was an innkeeper, owner of Asanthorne's oldest tavern. He simply let loose a knowing grin, as if he agreed with the girl's statement, and walked inside the previously mentioned inn, the Red Raven. In this entire town, it seemed that this one was the friendliest.

Maybe exploring some more would pay off. Then again, who knows. It may be worth it following him and getting a feel for the situation.

A Good Old Dungeon Spelunk (Full currently, check back later!)

@Cuccoruler As it should. It is a product of sleeplesness and rage at the high heavens for the loss of my previous one.

So obviously it's about Kol throwing bread at people.

A Good Old Dungeon Spelunk (Full currently, check back later!)

Kol'Rakul gave an earnest smile smile at the Kenku. He was, to say the least, honored both by the owl-man's apparent respect towards the ways of the axe, as well as his firm greeting and humble nature. He could have sat and talked with that one for hours, both of the art of combat, and of their respective homelands. Oh the stories they could share. Yet, it seemed that the advisor had need of him, and thus, it would not be proper to further stall Bartimus. Unleashing a great guffaw at his (quite accurate) observation of the common axe-handler, he resumed his seating position and stuffed his mouth with a piece of meatbread. Just as he had swallowed the massive chunk, he heard the ringmaster's voice addressing him. Apparently, he had noticed his cheering, and had returned a kind word as well, stating that he remembers those who applaud. Truth be told, the Axeman had no intention of gaining the gnome's favor, and that made the latter's comment all the more pleasant to the barbarian's ears. Truly, bonds of companionship are better than trade-like ones, especially in glorious battle and high adventure. Seeing as the gnome was occupied with socializing, all that the barbarian did was to give the ringleader a playful wink and a wide smile.

Yet, before he could down another mouthful of the delicacy he had packed with him, he could not help but stare, somewhat indiscreetly, at the newest arrival. A spider-like woman had shown her rather odd face, and was locked in conversation with the Vaulter. The vaulter himself had raised some questions of a far more benign nature as well, namely the pick-like tool he carried with him, along with the rumors he had heard of his kind being sighted in the north, had stirred up an all-too familiar feeling within Kol'Rakul's heart. And for him to be a warrior to boot? Well, approaching him would be inevitable. He was especially curious of how the man could fight with both spear and crossbow, while bearing a shield. All in good time, he though. Turning back his attention towards the spider-creature, he recalled tales of a raiding party he had joined not long ago, in the days where they assaulted the subterranean lair of the Demon-Conjurer Anbyn-Gir, speaking of spider-like tallfellows in the deep places of the earth. Even though the creature had an air of regal superiority by the way it talked and moved, the barbarian was quick to mentally scold himself for being quick to judge. It was here to help, after all, for one reason or another. And that was enough.

Before he could form another thought on the matter, he was quick to react and turn around, as the wizard was loudly reprimanding a couple of guards, for depriving the freedom of a... Deep-dweller? Foul, disgusting enslaver of men and breaker of wills? Truth be told, the Axeman had little clue of the creatures, save for some first-hand experience of their abilities, and of their usually violent nature. Yes, a few of the creatures' companions had even been caught in the arc of Kol'Rakul's blade. Yet, this one seemed different. Larger, and more fierce. And, by the looks of it, it was here to join on this quest. Whatever the case may be, the gigantic man gave him the benefit of the doubt, but decided he'd keep a close eye on the deep-dweller, especially if it neared poor Feon, to take advantage of her unique condition. Averting his gaze from the beast, and focusing back on his lunch, the barbarian was once again quick to divert his attention elsewhere, as what seemed to be a formless shadow with no owner hopped from here to there. What sort of dark sorcery was that? Was it of the deep-dweller? Of the spider-woman? As he was about to brandish his axe, the shadow quickly darted towards a new arrival.

It seemed that a well-dressed man had appeared, and oh how he made Kol'Rakul wary. He seemed like a cross between a sorcerer up to no good and a deceitful merchant, and the Axeman had met more than he could count in his travels. Despite his strange shadow-sorcery, the man was polite enough to introduce himself to the party. Kol'Rakul shuffled about, still seated, to face the man, and raised his right hand high to greet him. "HAIL, SHARPLY-DRESSED ONE! IT SEEMS YOUR SHADOW IS UNRULY! WHY, YOU OUGHT TO DISCIPLINE IT, LEST IT RUNS OFF! HAW-HAW!" He did seem awfully shifty, but having come to the city's aid, much like the others, made the Axeman conclude that he posed no immediate threat. "CARE FOR SOME MEATBREAD?" He motioned to the small mountain next to him. And speaking of which, knowing Feon's massive appetite, he grabbed a hefty piece of said treat and tossed it over to the monk. "HEY, FEON! CATCH! THERE'S ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE!"

After all the introductions seemed to be over, the barbarian could once again relax and enjoy the morning. Taking a gulp off of his mead horn, he leaned slightly back, supporting himself with his right hand, which was still clutching his axe. As his now relaxed eyes skimmed through every present member of the menagerie, he nearly blew mead out of his nose at the sight of a little girl speaking with the gnome. This was no place for children, no place at all. They should be comfortable at home, learning their runes, or letters, and hunting with their fathers for hares, elk or whatever it was that children in these lands did. Slouching forward, and supporting himself by his knees, he carefully observed the newcomer. It seemed that the child, even though filthy and alone, freely brandished a knife. Even though one part of Kol'Rakul felt happy for this one's fighting spirit, he was heavily alarmed at the sight of her. He had heard of beings taking on guises of innocence, though he could not for the life of him pinpoint what it was. He settled with observing the child from afar, as it conversed with the wizard.

A Good Old Dungeon Spelunk (Full currently, check back later!)

@DracoLunaris Shit, I hadn't thought of that! Been typing everything in the box below like a total jackass.

A Good Old Dungeon Spelunk (Full currently, check back later!)

After nearly finishing a post almost as big as the Axeman's pecs, my computer decided to bluescreen on me. Needless to say I am frothing with rage.

@Banana :D