Vertigo

Persona: Roll the Dice (5e)

Thinking of doing a Paladin or a Fighter - a frontliner in heavy armour in any case!

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

𝐹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔

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Fellwing had already turned to leave, when she heard Garrock's voice from behind her. From the sound of it, she'd struck a nerve. Unsurprising, if unintended. Though he wasn't raising his voice, the venom in his tone was unmistakable. The black drake turned around, eyes narrow and teeth bared, but tone likewise even.

"And yet it is us, the senseless rawscales, who have done all in our power to rescue your housemates, while you do nothing but berate and belittle our efforts at every turn. It doesn't surprise me you see no value in conversations, considering you're entirely unable to have a civil one. And of all the times to go on a tirade, you choose this one, when we've no time to waste tending to your wounded ego."

She turned around fully, petite body held upright even in the face of his immense strength. Her tail swished too, but it was hardly enough to swipe up dust. The Seer's mouth opened, then closed again. Anger almost pushed her to spill the details of her vision, but she bit her tongue. She didn't wish to admit she'd dealt with the Darkness again, not to him. There were many who bristled at the mere thought, and though her clucthmates were understanding, outsiders tended not to be.

Kebros, however, would. Perhaps even better than her clutch.

"Write as scathing a review as you can muster," she hissed, "I fear the loss of life more than a ruined reputation."

Once more, she was about to turn, when Skobeloff inserted himself into the conversation. Some other time, she might have appreciated the gesture - now, already exasperated, she shot him a glare as well. "Fine! If you're in such a hurry to abandon us, take him and go to your new friends. I will go alone if I must." It would not be the first time - and in a way, the thought was soothing. Just her and the Darkness, as usual, what else did she need? It wasn't the first time people didn't trust her or her visions.

Then Stargaze stepped up, and Fellwing's anger simmered to give way for surprise. Why was she-?! And then she realized; Stargaze, the Orphan, without a house, was concerned for her future. "No, Stargaze, that's-- none of this is your fault. Do not take blame that isn't yours, you've suffered enough here."

She looked to Garrock, still defiant. "I will not apologize, but neither will I continue this argument. We have no time for this. I'm going, alone if need be, and I suggest you hurry in turn."

ooc

Fellwing Stands up to a Superior, and with an 8, she marks a Shadow [Anger: Lash out at a friend], and picks a success of the DM's choosing. Convinced by Skobeloff, she agrees to his plan however.

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

Writing that post now, oops. Also still trying to decide whether to incur an obligation instead, cause I'm curious how that goes, and also because it's fitting too, hmm. We'll see what happens once I get to the end of the post.

Edit: Ok the anger made more sense in the end (sorry Skobe)! I felt weird picking the success though, since the choice also involves picking how the NPC reacts, ha, so I figured I'd leave it to you if possible! The useful item would be my preference but I doubt Fellwing delighted him so...

Expedition to Isekai

𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭

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It took weirdly long to die.

Duncan had expected to pass out the second realization had hit him, but here he still was a second later, sitting, staring, waiting, stuck in a limbo that reeked of blood and guts.

He barely recognized his name when he heard it shouted. He felt disconnected from everything around him, including his battered body. Sounds were muffled, colours dulled, and time slowed down as if in a dramatic scene right out of an action flick. The only unaffected sound was the feverish beat of his own heart, as it tried to desperately make up for the blood he was losing every breath - if he still breathed. He wasn't sure if someone's body could just forget to breathe, but his was probably pretty close to doing that.

It still didn't hurt, and that was scarier than any pain.

Something collided with his side forcefully enough to send him flying, and it was that impact that snapped him back to reality. Sounds returned all at once, immensely loud; the growling of the beast as it shook itself free, Daisuke's shout and the subsequent grunt as he hit the ground next to him, Asahi, shouting as he tried to beat the monster with a stick. His heart, still there, still beating.

And then came the pain. Curse word after another spilled from Duncan's throat, mixed with screams and words that even he couldn't understand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck-"

He held his abdomen - or tried to; all he grasped was a handful of guts, warm and slick with blood. They didn't look real. Or, no, maybe they were too real. Too unlike what he'd seen in movies. How wasn't he dead yet?

Asahi's shouts died down, and Duncan realized where he was. On his side, lying on grass, a safer distance away now, with a worried Daisuke nearby. So Daisuke had been the one to tackle him. No! Why the fuck would he do that? Now the wolfbear was... shit... Asahi's scrawny ass was all alone out there, he didn't stand a chance!

Duncan moved an arm. Then another. The pain was horrid, burning, pulsating into every fibre of his being. But as long as he could feel at least that, he knew he wasn't dead. The fire in his gut was his very life itself. The adrenaline flowing through him was gone, used up, but he no longer needed it; now, his veins were filled with liquid fire.

He stood, first wobbly, then not. Speaking was still difficult; there was blood in his throat, gushing out in between words. "Yo... Dai. I'm not... ready for the bench yet. Lemme... back on the field."

If Daisuke said something, Duncan didn't hear it. All he could see, all he could hear was the goddamn wolfbear. He had to help Asahi. He didn't even know the dude that well, and yet Asahi had put himself in danger to save him. Goddamnit, trying to look all cool... he wasn't about to just owe his life to someone like him! Hell no. He'd make this even. More than.

Duncan had no plan. He had no weapons. He didn't even have his guts where they belonged. But he did have his fire - and his legs.

He was running before he knew it, moving faster than he had any right to. Every step stoked the fire, burning higher and higher, until Duncan's feet left the ground into a leap. He knew he could jump high. That's where he'd gotten his nickname from; his signature slam dunks. But this time, he was higher - and he came down with much more force and momentum, hands pressed together, elbow aimed straight at the wolfbear's neck. He'd crash down and pin it. Choke it. Wrestle it. Snap its neck. Whatever it took, as long as-

"Don't just fucking stand there!" He shouted at Asahi, blood spilling from his mouth. It sounded like he was about to choke on it. "Run!"

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

I should be able to get to it tomorrow, latest. Also, I'll have Fellwing's response happen chronologically before Skobe cuts in, otherwise the roll I got (and rolling at all) doesn't really make sense.

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

Oh my god, Garrock is a Karen, I love him.

Did a Stand up to a Superior, got an 8, a partial success, so will also mark a Shadow (anger). Need to decide which success to pick and write the actual post a little later though!

On top of that, this is a reminder to everyone that if you see one of the other PCs displaying your character's virtue, feel free to mention that you're giving them a friendship gem.

@XxFellsingxX

Ohh, right, good reminder. Need to ask Digi if Fellwing acting despite being fearful counts as bravery, and I also feel like Skobe should get Fellwing's friendship gem rn, he's definitely done creative stuff.

Age of Darkness: Despair of the Golden Goddess (LoZ RP)

Ｎａｄｉｊａｈ　

_{mentions: @MasterLink}
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Great, her wannabe saviour was the talkative type. Nadijah rolled her eyes, but with neither of them in a position to see each other's face, it wasn't exactly the rebuttal she intended it to be. Who did he think he was though, asking for her trust? That wasn't something a gerudo gave even to one of their own, if they were smart.

Then again, the smart ones probably didn't get stuck in barrels either.

"Fine. Push," she conceded, though her tone made it sound more like an order. "You don't have my trust, but I have a blade and you a neck. That's all the reassurance I need."

He did as he'd said he would, and Nadijah held onto her scimitar tightly as the small, wooden world around her started to slowly tilt - until at last, she could see more than just the cloud-covered sky. The voe announced he was backing away and staying cautious. Smart choice.

"And you won't know who I am, either," she grumbled as she shifted, more easily now that gravity wasn't conspiring against her. She was flexible enough to untangle herself without much trouble now, emerging from the barrel a dishevelled, angry mess - who immediately sprung to her feet, scimitar pointed back towards where the voe had backed off to.

"Right. Now, you," she started, eyes seeking to lock on to her little helper's. "You'd better forget everything that happened here, lest I need to cut off your tongue. Understand? Nothing but a cucco causing trouble, if anyone asks."

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

Ha, her exasperation is very fun to write! Rip Garrock, disrespected by a wee one.

And oh, good to know, will edit that part real quick.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

𝔏𝔢𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔯 𝔊𝔲ð𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔫

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Leifur had yet to get too far from the argument when he heard it wind down. He picked up footsteps; one set, then two. Heavy. Glancing over his shoulder, he found exactly who he'd expected to; Arton and Galahad. Out of everyone present, they were the ones he expected to focus on the mission the most. The viera was about to give the two an acknowledging nod, when he caught Arton murmur something under his breath. It had likely not been meant for him to hear, but few things escaped the sensitive ears of a viera, especially this close by. Furi? A name, most likely. He would commit it to memory, whatever it meant.

Galahad caught up with Arton, and from somewhere behind him, Leifur could hear more footsteps, and then a shout. Butterboy. At least there was no longer a danger of him alerting potential enemies to their presence; the arguing from earlier had already done a fine job at that.

There seemed to be no danger of such anyway; everyone they met on the corridors was long gone, a victim to a senseless battle. Corpses clad in armour, some with anger or surprise frozen on their faces, some with no discernible faces left at all. They'd been caught in heavy gunfire.

... Gunfire that Leifur could hear once more. He picked up his pace eagerly - not because he'd be excited to spill more blood, or to save someone from having theirs spilled, but because he was curious. He needed to understand how this happened, how so many soldiers made it so far into the castle, especially on a day like this, when security should have been particularly tight. It was inconceivable.

They arrived to the scene of a battle, catching a glimpse of the king, fighting, when they found themselves at the more unfortunate end of a rifle. Leifur was preparing for a dash, leg muscles tensed, when the members of another team cut down the gunmen - then proceeded to start barking orders and level a weapon at Neve's face, clearly blind to the very visible proof that their team had been fighting as well.

Had the others not been faster, Leifur would've attempted to cleave the man's gunblade in half, maybe an arm to go with it, out of sheer reflex. Thankfully, the urge was quelled by a stalemate, the subsequent breaking of it and then, as usual, Galahad.

Leifur glanced at the Skaelan who'd joined the fray, entirely sure he recognized her. Not from a personal account, but by reputation. It mattered little right now, though; he'd let the others resolve this matter, and move on to another. To the king, unharmed, and his troupe, equally so.

"A shame to find you without injury," Leifur raised his voice upon approach, but not his weapon. He was angry, not a threat looking to be cut down. "Considering the sorry state of so many of your men - and guests. Slaughtered in your own castle, on the day you threw a feast. Either you're a conspirator, or entirely undeserving of a crown. Explain yourself, and perhaps we'll know which."

Epyllion: Beyond Moonlight's Reach

𝐹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔

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Oh. Right. Garrock.

Fellwing had all but forgotten about him, and what blissful ignorance it had been. At the sight of the old coot - and then again as he opened his mouth to complain - Fellwing had to fight back a visible frown. At the very least, Skobeloff was quick enough to steal Garrock's attention, giving the Seer some time to gather herself. But though she managed to maintain a neutral expression, she kept fiddling with her claws and swishing her tail, impatient and annoyed by a yet another delay. A most useless delay, at that.

As the grumpy fool redirected his attention back to the rest of them, prattling about how he hoped they'd been useful, Fellwing mustered a smile so polite it teetered on unnatural. "Likewise," she quipped, "I do trust that a capable dragon such as yourself made good use of all the time we took."

She raised a claw, hoping to intercept him if he were about to go on another spiel. "And that you understand we've no further time to waste here. Any further chitchat can be done on the way. We have drakes to rescue."