Xiro Zean

Pariah Online | Season One

O c h r e

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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As the blue light of the administrator flickered away from the scene, Ochre quickly noted how symbolic the action seemed to be. Like the hopes of every person in the dungeon, it disappeared within an instant, as if it had never existed. He was also conscious of how calmly he seemed to be taking the situation, his body still with expression unflinching, gaze still locked upon the empty area where the announcer had once stood. Of course, it was highly likely that this was caused more by shock rather than by a stoic nature, frozen by his fear rather than weathering through it.

After all, it wasn't everyday that someone was told that they were stuck in a life or death situation.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be... could it? This sort of situation was only achieved within the realms of anime and fiction, weren't they? Games were meant for entertainment, allowing their consumers to distance themselves from the waking world, to escape from the troubles and conflicts that made up their day to day lives. They were meant to be a tool of escapism... Not a prison that promised one's demise should they fail in their task. Ochre knew it was abundantly clear he had not misheard, his senses acute in preparation of the dungeon's mechanics and traps that were surely set for their downfall, and the varying states of shock and desperation that fell across the other players. But... it was a hard pill to swallow. To understand that he was separated from his family in a decisive way that could end in his...

With a visible shake of his head, the virtual blacksmith pulled himself from his spiraling thoughts as a loud explosion brought his attention back to what was happening in the present. His gaze eventually swiveled towards the unmarred doors of the dungeon room, smoke drifting off of its pristine figure. Flat on his behind and visibly stunned by the lack of results for his efforts, Landon was the visual to Ochre- No, Maxwell's inner thoughts. Bewildered, desperate, and lost. He wasn't like Graves, who had a mask he could drop in order to reveal his true feelings, nor Ellian, who wore her heart on her sleeve yet could hold herself together in a trying situation. Ochre, Maxwell, could only be what he was. As his head drifted downwards, his eyes caught sight of the blood that caked his armor, placed there from the body he had carved for its materials. And in a fit of fear, he saw it to be his own. One mistake. That's all it took. A single misstep, and he'd die. No matter how careful he was, no matter how efficient he acted, with a single misjudgement he could end up just like the ogre he once stood above. Without his prompting, his breaths came faster, his hands shook with indecision. What could he do? He was just a single man in a sea of others, and with the stakes as high as they were he would be like any other in the throes of death-

"Ochre?" A calm voice cut through the notions that ruminated at the forefront of his mind, a soothing break in the dark thoughts that had taken hold of him. With a turn of his head, Ochre took in the sight of his business partner, her chains at the ready by her sides as the air around her seemed to be suffused with the mana of her auras. In that moment of clarity, she seemed like an anchor in the world around him, ready for the troubles ahead despite the weighty nature of the situation before them. Within seconds, his hands began to still, breath caught just before it could escalate any further. "Come here," Altissima spoke once more towards the blacksmith, and at her call he obeyed, his armor clanking with each step he took until he was within her sphere of influence, already feeling the weight of the auras she had activated as he made a move to her side. As he took the space right beside her, Ochre closed his eyes and rose his head, taking a deep breath as his heartbeat steadied within his chest. "...Thanks," he voiced out with a calm, even tone, his head once again set firmly on his shoulders as his ears picked up the beginnings of Graves' attempt at a rallying speech. He didn't expect the Enchanter to understand what he was thanking her for, yet he did so nonetheless. She didn't do much, really, but all he needed was something to anchor him down, something solid he could hold on to.

All she did was be that anchor, for a single moment in time. And for him, that was enough.

Pariah Online | Season One

And so it begins... Oh boy.

Pariah Online | Season One

@Stern Algorithm

Welcome back!

@Inkarnate

And you as well :D

Pariah Online | Season One

If I die, you'll be the first to know.

@Inkarnate

Here's to hoping the opposite...

...cause who would run this RP if you died? Shy? Hah, funny joke. _{ohdeargodshydontkillmeitsjustajoke}

Pariah Online | Season One

@shylarah
What do you mean? That Maxwell and Ochre aren't different at all? Or are you talking about moi? XD

Pariah Online | Season One

O c h r e

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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"Yo, Orchid!"

Ochre averted his gaze from the current cadaver of an orc that he had been skinning, carving knife slack in his dominant hand as he slowly stood up from the half-desecrated corpse. Scarlet liquid painted the front of his bronze armor, drenching the lower half in particular as if he had been wadding in it. His blank, coal stare viewable from the T-shaped slit in his helmet locked with the pikeman's own, a measured nod his only response to Graves' call. The name was one he was quite familiar with, having been called as such each time he and the bloodied soldier met for a dungeon run. It wasn't the worst thing he'd been called, to say the least, since the man was essentially naming him after a varied kind of flora.

Gathering materials from the dungeon orc was... visceral, to say the least. Not that it couldn't be, as it inevitably boiled down to "relieving" a corpse of its natural extremities, but today the act itself seemed... disturbingly authentic for some apparent reason. He couldn't divine the reason from his own musings, except maybe theories upon the cause of it. The same catalyst that had increased the intelligence of the orcs they fought, perhaps? An update that the entire party, strange as it would be considering how many "in the know" members there were, was oblivious of? Once again, he only had theories, but they were all that made sense to him at this moment in time.

"-covered. You think you can handle that, flower boy?" Snapping out of his thought-provoked stupor, the armorsmith blinked his half-lidded eyes before giving the man another slow nod. Honestly, Ochre had no idea what once of the most vocal players had just said, having missed most of what he said as he pondered the strange happenings in the game they were playing. However, he was sure that the task set before him couldn't have been too difficult, nor anything pertaining to a feat needed outside a dungeon's confines. Worst come to worst, he could just go with the flow until someone called him out. Less energy spent than asking, anyway.

With a brief glance at the ruined corpse next to him, the young man deduced that he already had enough materials from the orc to experiment with, and proceeded to roll the body over to cover the mess he had made on the creature's chest and mouth. Of course, it didn't cover the pool of blood that had gathered below the body, as well as the three other carcasses in visually worse states, but the small act should weather the worst of the stomach bug that had recently settled inside him.

Pariah Online | Season One

Aaaaaall right. I'm up, and typing. Whoooo! Also fuck college and its ridiculousness

Edit: Posted. Now time to wonder why the fuck it took so long.

Pariah Online | Season One

@Inkarnate
Waking up in 10 hours to post. College blindsided my ass DX

Pariah Online | Season One

O c h r e

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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A low, almost breathless sigh released itself from Ochre's lips as his gaze lazily surveyed the fallen figure before him, its brutish form unmoving besides the occasional spasm as the runic circle beneath it shone dimly with yellow, arcane light. Small, almost imperceptible sparks ran across the paralyzed orc, its eyes open yet unseeing without the breath of life fueling their gaze. The blacksmith's blade gleamed with each tiny arc of light that spread across the corpse, the blood dripping from its tip the same hue as the liquid flowing from a single, deep crevice across the beast's throat. As the magical trap slowly faded from the dungeon floor, its power fading without constant stimulus from its creator, the young man half-heartedly flicked his sword to the side as loose droplet of crimson removed themselves with the motion.

Honestly, they should have expected the dungeon to be full of tricks and mysteries, seeing that most if not all of the adventurers here have at least dipped their toes into a dungeon's depths before. It's what their known for after all, besides the loot that is known to lay within their expanses, as well as the monsters that protect them. But none of them were quite ready for a surprise attack from the floor of all things, especially from the normally intrepid orcs that had gained a reputation for their lack of intelligence.

Tilting his head slightly to glance at his nearby allies, he couldn't help but give one of the fighters that helped him out a slow nod of thanks, the bronze armor that he chose to enter the dungeon with creaking as the bottom of the helmet scraped the chest plate beneath it. Besides the orc he had defeated on his own, there were three others of the kind that had ambushed the small section that he occupied. Thankfully, the others of the party were capable of picking up his slack before he was able to set down a few traps, aiding another in defeating their foe. With that done, his sword was nonchalantly returned to its scabbard while a smaller, more versatile carving knife came into the grip of his free hand.

And so, the blacksmith took it upon himself to begin to loot the bodies around them. Not for gold, nor equipment, but materials. Removing teeth, skinning the orcs' tough hide, anything that the body could provide for his work. Of course, the damage wrought by his allies had most certainly reduced the amount of quality items, but he had at least one, mostly intact body to scavenge from. Enraptured into his meticulous, methodical work, Ochre ignored the sounds of disgust coming from the closest of the party, as well as the yelling coming from two loudest nuisances a dozen feet away. They really didn't have to shout, they were in an enclosed space.

It wasn't clean, his efforts, but it wasn't a job most took to doing, anyway. It saved the hassle of needing to bargain in market places for good deals in leather, bone, and the like, as well as having the pleasant side effect of being around the same quality after a bit of refinement. After picking his own orc clean, he slowly moved to the next, content in his slow, yet steady drudgery until the party began to move again. It was much less troublesome than talking to another person, anyway, and with how practiced he was the energy-efficiency outweighed conversation as well.