STATUS:
Say "thanks," when they compliment you and smile. Watch more of what's going on around you instead of staying inside your head. If eye contact's hard, stare at her forehead.
16 days ago
Current
Say "thanks," when they compliment you and smile. Watch more of what's going on around you instead of staying inside your head. If eye contact's hard, stare at her forehead.
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30 days ago
@ColdAtlus: Cheems.
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1 mo ago
If commissioning an artist isn't possible, could look into using AI and then editing what it puts out. Lots of ppl are salty about AI art so maybe use a disclaimer, but it's an option.
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2 mos ago
1-liners become impossible if you actually write. What're your characters' 5 senses picking up? What emotions/thoughts do they have as they speak? What body language do they show? No bulli, just fact.
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2 mos ago
In the AI era, you can only get ghosted if you choose to be.
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Bio
On CST time, United States. Typically busy most of the week and do most posting/replying on weekends.
Holy sh-*quack*! *pun intended* This is one badass church dude! I also love the little Biblical reference you incorporated. I could definitely see the holy barrier "miracle" being manipulated to that degree. Maybe he (or she) is the only individaul capable of this manipulation, hence why the Inquisition would be interested in inducting them into their ranks. Furthermore, I'm wondering what if your character's abuse by the clergy was part of some secret plan by the Church to create like their own superweapon, a clergyman capable of manipulating "miracles" to be used more offensively and with better results. Think Anderson from Hellsing, this badass preacher slaughtering demons while throwing out scriptures with a psychotic grin on his *quack*-ed up face. Anywho, this character sounds dope and I can't wait to see how they play out
Nah, my take on it was going to be slightly less cynical towards the idea of organized religion as a whole. The abuser in charge of the orphanage doesn't represent the "dirty underbelly of the church" or anything. They're an example of an evil person who has managed to fool others around them so that they can put themselves in a position of influence from which they can satisfy their own urges. Just like so many serial killers who were "never suspected" by their neighbors, this person faked a life of holy devotion so that others wouldn't notice their true intentions.
To give more detail on the manipulation of holy barriers, my thoughts were that whereas most people would probably value that ability for its defensive nature--in other words, make it "harder to break," or make it "bigger, so it can protect more people," this character instead thinks about it like a childish (traumatic, right?) art project: folding paper or stacking blocks. So instead of making a magical brick wall in front of him, maybe he turns that wall at a different angle and makes it really thin instead:
The reason the Inquisition decides to take him would probably be more along the lines of "He's like 12 and was able to crush a man's bones to dust with two big grinding wheels made of prayer. And he's only a little crazy! Let's train him for about 10 years then turn him loose on some heretics!" XD
*standing calmly amidst scattered piles of demon corpses and burning undead. Several pieces of furniture have been destroyed*
Oh hi! Sorry if I woke you up, but these guys kept acting like they didn't understand my questions!" *wipes a blood spatter from the rim of my glasses*
The setting I have in mind is inspired primarily by the Castlevania games and Netflix series with a bit of Van Helsing and Bloodborne in the mix, so yes magic does exist, but it is primarily used by those who practice magic, and it depends on what type. [...]
Clerics, who are of the Church, the supreme religious authority of Gransylva, practice holy magic or "miracles" such as healing, repelling undead and other evil abominations, blessing water to turn it holy, and casting protection spells such as forcefields or enchanted circles.
Furthermore, the Church looks down on all other forms of magic. They're hypocrites who boast their power comes only from God. All other magic users are of the Devil and must be destroyed. So yeah witch burnings and all that fun stuff.
[...]
All of that's perfect for what I needed, thanks! I kinda figured that's what you would be going for given the Castlevania influence but I just wanted to make sure!
The idea I had for my character would be that he grew up in a Church-run orphanage, but faced abuse from a corrupt, evil individual hiding behind a "public image" associated with the Church. Despite this my character takes strongly to the teachings of the Church and thus manifests "miracles," which end up being used to kill the abusive clergy but in the process also destroys the orphanage (I'm currently thinking the "holy barrier" ability being used to make geometric shapes, such as a giant millstone to enact Matthew 18:6). This prompts an investigation by some sort of inquisition-esque/black-ops organization within the Church, and upon finding evidence of what had been going on they end up inducting the character into their own chapter.
Committed to the work of the Lord, yet broken by the sinful nature of Man, the character now gives alms to the poor while wearing a warm smile distorted by scars--and then laughs maniacally as he tears his way through the demons, both mortal and supernatural, who are responsible for creating individuals like himself.
Would that work, or would some aspect need to be tweaked/changed entirely?
Potentially interested! Did you have any particular limits in mind for what characters should be capable of, or any more details about the setting that would be relevant to character creation? For instance, does magic exist, and if so are there any rules on its usage? Are characters expected to be normal humans, or do elves, werecreatures, other races and so forth exist?
Personally I'm thinking of making a character associated with some sort of church or other spiritual order, so if there's any healing magic, witchcraft, etc going around I'd probably have to address their take on it.
I enjoyed that. I particularly like the misconceptions and over-thinking bits of the other characters besides Dalton. His luck-stat must be really high. xD
Is it, though? Inara seems pretty keen on throwing him at something called a "Mouthclaw," which is NOT a confidence inspiring name XD
Before long, one of the roads leading through the park appeared to be filled with a long line of white vans. Several of them had the logos of different restaurants or other service providers, like those who would set up tents or stages and seating for events--that had to be related! Otherwise, why would so many of them, from different businesses, be all following each other? Miyuki pulled her hood down as she jogged down one of the nearby bike paths, following the vans' route as they entered the park proper.
Now other people were starting to filter into the park. Some of them carried bags and looked around shiftily. More than once, Miyuki saw them stop behind large trees or near benches. They would don long white robes over their clothes, and remove their shoes and socks to put on simple leather sandals. They were definitely cultists!
But there seemed to be some others within the park as well. @The WorldA girl in a yellow hoodie...and a large, muscular man wearing all black like some kind of creeper. Miyuki didn't particularly linger on these individuals, since her focus was on getting closer to the large field where people seemed to be setting up for an event...but, she unconsciously held her hand closer to her chest as the symbol began to throb again.
It wasn't just a stage, or a tent with seats, or food stalls. The cultists were setting up strange figures of straw or wood. She had seen footage of a festival on the internet once, something in the United States called Burning Man, and while none of these structures were on par with the sheer scale of that one, they seemed to loom darkly over Miyuki as she passed under their expressionless faces.
"Excuse me, Miss!" Miyuki barely stifled a squeal as a large man in one of the white robes stepped out in front of her. "Are you here for the Messengers of Hope event?" The man smiled at her--unnervingly so--but held his hands loosely clasped in front of him and his body language didn't seem threatening.
"Y-yes, s-sorry! I've, um, n-never been to one of these before!" She pulled the wrinkled flyer out of her pocket and handed it to the man for inspection. He nodded, his smile widening to a disturbing grin, and held it back out for her.
"Please, don't apologize, my sister! We are so very blessed to have you! Please, please, take a seat towards the front--we must be sure our newest believers are able to experience all we have to offer!" Nodding as she gulped down her fear, Miyuki clutched the flyer close to her and moved towards the seating area. Then, she suddenly stopped and shook her head!
I'm not supposed to go along with all this! I just want to know what's up with the demons, and these crazy dreams!
But, now that she was among the crowd, and listening to the laughter and chatting going on around her, the shy girl began to realize just who was in attendance. A model she'd seen in magazines and on morning shows was wearing one of the white robes, and speaking in a fast, enthusiastic manner to a stern looking man. The collar of his robe was a little low, so Miyuki could see the stiff neck of his business suit beneath it and part of his tie. She didn't know him by sight like the model, but he radiated a "CEO" kind of aura. And...
"Ohmigosh," she dropped her flyer, and brought both hands to her mouth. Or rather, her scarf. "Is that Rei-kun!?" Though no one around her replied to the whispered question, Miyuki blushed with second-hand embarrassment. "Rei-kun" was the stage name of a member from her favorite male idol group, and the young man himself was gathered in a circle around one of the effigies--"And that's T-Takki, a-and Yuuya! N-no way!" Was the whole group involved in this cult? That put a serious damper on her multi-way crush, to imagine her pure and beloved idols could be involved with such a weird group...
Someone called for everyone's attention, from the podium nearby. As spotlights were swiveled in that direction, Miyuki saw another face she recognized from the news. Satoshi Miura. Forced to step down by his fellow party members and embroiled in numerous scandals and lawsuits, the politician's appearance came as less of an unexpected surprise to Miyuki than the idols' had, but she was still confused. She had thought he would be in prison by now, or at the very least under house arrest pending one of the several cases being built against him. Even if he had enough money to get out of it, like all the other wriggling worms in government, to knowingly involve himself with a group as controversial as the Messengers of Hope didn't seem like the brightest move.
Everyone else started moving to their seats. Miyuki faded into the background, finding a seat in the further rows near the side of the event grounds--not quite at the back, where they would look for stragglers, but definitely nowhere near the front. And Satoshi's speech began.
Protection? How could the Messengers of Hope protect people from demon attacks? How could Satoshi promise something like that, when he no longer had any such power? Besides, if someone was in danger, wasn't it better to call the police?
And who were they supposed to be praying to? He hadn't said anything about who or what the cultists even worshipped...
The chanting began. Miyuki's hand throbbed, and she began to massage her palm with the other. What was this strange feeling bubbling up inside her? Why...did she suddenly feel...so foggy...?
The lights were too bright. No, wait, those weren't the spotlights, they were...what...who?
She sat under the kotatsu at home. At the old house, the one they'd all lived in...together. The table was set for breakfast in front of her. The air was warm, so they had the door open to the side porch overlooking the small flowerbed and the tree with her childhood swing.
She looked up, and across the table. He was there, cracking a raw egg into his fresh, steaming bowl of rice.
"P-p...pa...Papa?" Tears began to well in her eyes as she sniffed, and pulled her scarf down from her face. He looked at her, and smiled his one-of-a-kind, lopsided smile.
"Myu-tan, can you pass me the soy sauce?" He pointed. She nodded, numbly, as her chest and throat began to close up. She reached for the bottle--
Her hand stung. Blue embers began to glow around the strange black tattoo. She flinched back.
"Ah! I...Wait! How did I...what is all of this...?" She looked at her father, and he looked at her...then he blinked, and looked down at her hand.
"Oh, I see. You should probably get going, then." He looked sad, but set his rice down on the table. Then he took his chopsticks...and instead of laying them across the bowl, he instead gently stabbed them into the white, fluffy grains and let them stick straight up.
Like an offering to the dead.
"Sorry Miyuki. It's going to be a while longer before we can share a meal together again." His eyes rose to meet hers again, and once more, he smiled.
"W-wait! Papa! Don't...don't leave me!" She rose up on her knees and tried to reach for him, over the table--and a blood red hand grabbed her by the wrist.
"Now, now. Please, don't rush." Her father's seat seemed to slide further and further back, of its own accord, as he rose up from his knees. "There will be plenty of time, later. But for now...be strong, my princess." Then he looked over her shoulder, at the dark presence growing heavier and heavier behind her.
"Take care of her, will you?" But then, he furrowed his brow and poked his chin out like he was imitating a Yakuza, and doing a poor job of it. He jabbed his finger at the entity holding Miyuki back. "But don't think I'm giving her to you, got it!? Any man that wants to hold my little girl's hand, has to beat ME first!"
"Aye, m'laird." said the darkness, before yanking Miyuki away, through the black waves of a tossing ocean...
Miyuki regained consciousness with a scream, tears running down her face. As she stood from her seat, knocking the chair over in the process, she saw that several others were in the same state--only, their tears were a dark, thick red. Eyes rolled back into their heads, other people among the crowd frothed at the mouth or convulsed in their seats. Gasping with revulsion, Miyuki groped for the tote-bag holding her bokken as she looked around at the rest of the cult.
"JACK FROST!" someone roared. Miyuki turned to see that strange man in all black leap up, throwing off his hood as he whipped out--a pair of nunchaku?! And as he rushed the stage, she recognized him too! That was Xavier Wong, an international action star! Was he part of the cult too?!
Wait, he was fighting with the cultists! And...was that a little kid in a snowman costume with him?!
Na, lassie. That be Jack Frost, a demon lik' masell. This be whit Ah spoke tae ye before--Let us jyne th'fray!
@Eviledd1984Just as the Cyclopes was about to bring down its hammer on the martial artist's head, sparks flew! Steel clashed with steel, and the red-handed fae soldier managed to barely deflect the blow! As the hammer's head came down on the stage, an explosion of wood chips and dust rained over the comatose crowd!
"Lass! Thay aren't a' oot cauld!" shouted the demon towards Miyuki.
"What?" she questioned with a blank face, before a sudden movement close to her face caused her to whip backwards with shocking agility for a nerdy girl. One lens of her glasses cracked at its edge, a near miss!
"The lord...The LORD our Elohim...is one LORD..." mumbled a cultist holding an extending baton. The man approached as if he was drunk, but with clear purpose. Miyuki's hand closed on the hilt of her wooden sword, and as she drew it the cloth tote was thrown aside. As it drifted on the wind, all ten of her fingers slowly flexed and closed on the weapon's grip.
"S-stay, stay away!" But of course, the attacker didn't heed the warning. A new look entered Miyuki's eyes now--the look she had whenever she stepped onto the club mats to spar.
With an unintelligible gurgle, the cultist lurched forward--!
Miyuki was two steps faster, and with movements combined from HEMA and kendo delivered a flowing three-strike combination--head, body, and chest! The cultist was stunned by the heavy blow to his skull, and the next two drove the breath out of his lungs--he wasn't dead, but dropped to the ground all the same. Then the intense look on Miyuki's face was immediately replaced by one of confusion as she ran towards Lham Dearg, and by extension Mr. Wong and the Jack Frost demon.
"What's going on?!" she blubbered, as all around them the seizing victims in the crowd continued to chant...
Zeroth has yet to post, so one could form the hypothesis that they're both just engaged in action in the PMs, to be settled before NoCo can make a GM post.
Yes this was absolutely the reason I haven't been slacking off or anything >_>
Deep in the pit of Dalton's gut, a cold burning sensation surged. His fear and anxiety dulled, just a bit, as familiar memories ate away at him. This wasn't the first time a girl had simply laughed in his face. But, with the strength only an abused customer service representative can understand, he kept his expression completely neutral.
Then she jumped up and grabbed his hand. Still giggling as she seemed to believe his behavior was incredibly unusual, she started to drag him in an unknown direction. He immediately stiffened, but it didn't really matter--she just kept going, oblivious, as his feet wore small furrows into the earth.
"--perhaps I can convince our Alpha to let you challenge the Mouthclaw in the caves! Members of our tribe have been trying to claim that skin for nearly a century. I'm sure that will be perfectly worthy prey for the mighty skinless hunter!"
"Oh yeah, sounds perfect!" I HAVE FUCKED UP!
Then again, she isn't hostile anymore, and that was our goal, correct? We've bought ourselves some time to think! said his tactical side.
Aargh, I can't figure out if she's honestly making fun of us or not! She's holding our hand, though! came the emotional side's response. But it was easier to repress those thoughts, because Dalton was still sulking internally about being laughed at and how pushy Inara had been thus far. If he had decided that he would live "differently," this time, then he didn't want to be anyone's doormat any longer. But the question was, what exactly did he need to do to be a different person?
A branch whacked him in the nose just then, and as he rubbed at it with the hand not currently bound in Inara's iron grasp she prattled on to introduce herself. If she was in training to be the next Alpha, then not only was she probably way stronger than him, but she was going to have a lot of pull within this tribe. Staying on her good side was paramount now--or else, getting far, far away from the Silverclaws.
They soon came to a place where the forest floor dipped among rocky cliffs, and Inara led him down the slopes of a rugged ravine. Apparently, the Merrick settlement was hidden--was it because they had other rival tribes, or because the monsters in the forest didn't fear humanoids? Dalton winced as the thorny vines prickled him, and tried to take note of the surroundings with a sharp attention to detail.
He was reminded of a history class where they'd studied Native Americans, and the textbook had a picture from the Mesa Verde National Park. Within the cave dwellings, the Merricks had either built or carved a few primitive structures, but rather than just houses it seemed like these were more along the lines of strictly necessary things--kilns and stoves of fired clay; storage for tools, water, and food; and what seemed like a communal area for meetings or meals.
Outside the cave, any other structures looked distinctly temporary--tents of thatched grasses or hides strung between wooden poles or bone spikes, simple bedrolls under lean-tos, and so forth. Dalton assumed that meant they were at least semi-nomadic, perhaps following the migration patterns of animals whose pelts they harvested most often?
Speaking of pelts, Dalton felt even more naked now that he stood within eyesight and earshot of the first "people" he'd encountered in this new world. Just like Inara had implied, even some of the kids who didn't even look old enough to have gone through puberty still used small bits of animal skin in addition to woven grasses to cover themselves. Teenagers had clothes made entirely of pelts, and several adults even had capes or makeshift "armor" made from the layered hides of creatures. Some of the faces that now looked at him did so from beneath the visage of wolves, mountain lions, or boars that still had their tusks intact.
I think it's the "number" of pelts, rather than the strength of the creature it comes from, that determines their ranking... theorized the analytical voice as Dalton took in the other tribe members.
Great, so our bluff is for sure not gonna work! But we can't change tunes now, we've already somewhat convinced Inara! What do we do!? What do we say!?
Don't panic. Dalton futilely told himself. He crossed his arms to try and hide a shiver that passed through him. How many assholes did we know before who got by solely by talking out of their ass at every opportunity? If lying and cheating is what it takes to succeed no matter what world we're in, then that's what we've got to do!
"Well, you weren't lying after all!" He said to Inara, trying to project his non-existent confidence with a smirk. "Compared to where I came from, everybody here at least looks like they can handle themselves!"
"I told you so!" Inara put her hands on her hips and grinned wolfishly--pun intended. "Now, let's find my--"
"Inara! You've returned!" Both the wolf girl and the newcomer turned to see a male Merrick, somewhat older than Dalton and a fair deal more muscular, swaggering towards them. The Otherworlder couldn't be sure, but he made an educated guess as to what the man was wearing: deerskin leggings and breechclothes, a vest of something like buffalo or yak hide, and a badgerskin cap. In addition he had a belt that looked like some kind of snake skin, and a few other trinkets like bone necklaces, leather pouches, and more. Dalton couldn't be sure just how much of a pelt was needed to transform, but he was certain this guy probably had at least four, maybe five "combat ready" forms and at least one or two others that weren't immediately obvious. "How was your hu--what?" He blinked when he registered Dalton standing next to the female Merrick.
He and Dalton locked eyes for a moment.
Standard isekai flag--make your bets! Jerk With a Heart of Gold? The Rival? Red Herring? Intellectual Dalton once again metaphysically pushed his glasses up on his nose.
He's giving us "new fish in the prison block" eyes! And it's gotta be BAD if it's this obvious, because we've never BEEN to prison!
"Who is this outsider!?" boomed the man, drawing even more attention from those who hadn't yet noticed Inara's guest. He pointed at Dalton, who turned his chin up and stared, once again, dead center at the man's forehead. "Why're you bringing him into our camp unannounced?!"
"Stop shouting, Reidun!" Inara growled, wrinkling her nose. "Your bellowing is more likely to give the camp away than anyone I've brought!" She swept her hand towards Dalton. "This is Darutan, a lone hunter! Listen to this--" She smiled again as she laughed, "He doesn't have any pelts, because he says he hasn't met prey worthy enough to wear! Isn't he interesting?"
"Interesting? Him?!" Reidun's dark eyes narrowed. "And...what do you mean, he doesn't have any pelts?" Now the bigger male laughed at him as well, as he looked Dalton up and down.
"She means, I'm strong enough they don't make a difference." The Otherworlder wrinkled his own nose. He had to stick to his story, and stand up for himself. It didn't seem like Inara would let this guy attack him outright... "Nothing I've hunted before was enough of a challenge--why wear its pelt if it barely benefits me?" He made a show of looking at Reidun's own pelts with a snort of disdain. "If you stack a bunch of weaklings up on one another, aren't they still weaklings?"
"Hah! Do you mean to say you think you're stronger than I am?" Dalton lazily dug a pinky finger into his ear while closing one eye, in the hopes of giving the illusion that he was completely unconcerned about the bigger Merrick.
This dumbass is gonna take everything we say with hostility, but what do we do if he swings first?! He's DEFINITELY stronger than us!
Primal Rage's intimidation effect will probably work on him at least temporarily, like it did with Inara, but what if it affects the rest of the tribe too? Do we know its AOE?
"I don't really care how strong you are, bud." he quipped to the bigger Merrick, whose face started to redden. "Inara just brought me here to introduce me to your Alpha." To his internal self, Dalton added, And if he doesn't want to offend the Alpha-in-Training, or whoever their leader is, he'll have to back off, right?
"To introduce you...?" Reidun's expression changed again as he looked at Inara, and Dalton caught the slight quiver in the man's jaw. "Inara, what are you thinking?! Surely, you can't be--!"
Oh shit. Did he just jump to the conclusion I think he jumped to?
An Unsuitable Suitor, then. His analytical side sighed deeply.
That bastard! Stay away from Wolf Waifu! With his own sigh, which he actually did in real life, Dalton repressed his emotional personality.
"Reidun, you are being too loud again! Unless you know where my grandfather is, get out of our way." Inara seemed to bristle at all this questioning. But, just then, all three of them heard the rustle of beating wings and a shrill cry!
A falcon landed on a small tree growing out of the cliffside just above them, its roots clinging steadfast to the rocks. As they watched, it transformed into a Merrick scout wearing a feathery headband!
"Inara! Where is your grandfather!?" said the wildling, as the branch he'd landed on cracked when the weight of his original form replaced that of the falcon. Just when it was about to snap, however, he nimbly leaped and turned a somersault before landing like a cat in front of the young woman. "I must report to him immediately! Orcs have been driven into the forest by an elvish attack, near the shoreline!"
Dalton, in the manner of those who spend too much time analyzing every little thing that happens to them and who lacks the social ability to properly express their feelings, froze with a completely neutral look on his face.
"I'm sorry, Havardr, but I've only just gotten back. I'm looking for him, too!"
"Then let us hurry!" Havardr the Scout said with a nod. But once again, Reidun stepped in front of Dalton, who simply continued to stare at the man's forehead.
"I will keep watch on this outsider, Inara!" declared the warrior. "It seems the Alpha will have more important matters to attend to!"
"Get out of the way, Reidun--Darutan is my guest!" The girl's eyes turned into bestial slits, and the larger Reidun took a step back as she growled.
[Combat Sense] has been triggered.
Wait, what?!
The Skill's description said "potential attackers" would be detected! In game terms, our reputation with this NPC just flipped to "hostile!"
We're not even doing anything! Inara and this scout are both on our side, aren't they?! So why--
That's it! He's outnumbered and Inara outranks him! I think we can safely assert ourselves without worrying about him causing any more of a scene, and get past this already!
Reidun looked between Dalton and Inara, and gulped.
"In, I-Inara, I only meant that--"
"Didn't you hear her, pissant!?" Dalton suddenly shouted, putting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. "I'm here by invitation, and now there's something else going on your Alpha needs to know about. So stop your whimpering and GET! OUT! OF MY FUCKING! WAY!"
Yeah, channel everything we've ever wanted to say when we get cut off in traffic! This is our new life in a new world--no more Mr. Nice Guy!
It's a bit pathetic we only feel we can act like this when we outnumber the opposition, though...
Unbeknownst to Dalton, however, Reidun's reaction towards Inara was not entirely due to their difference in rank. In fact, his thoughts went more along these lines:
Inara brought another Merrick to the tribe? A male? She thinks he's interesting? She wants him to meet her grandfather!? She can't...she can't possibly be thinking of taking him as her mate, could she?!
This peltless fool says he's stronger than me!? He wants to meet the Alpha--he can't possibly be pursuing Inara as a mate too, could he?! No! I'm the one who's going to win her over!
Why's Inara angry at me? I'm trying to help her by keeping track of this outsider! What if he's a spy from another tribe?! Does she REALLY like him better than me!?
He tells me to get out of HIS way!? As if he has a right to see the Alpha?! If he's so determined, then he really must be after Inara! She invited him! Me? Whimpering?! He really does see me as weaker!
I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN!
"Inara, I shall go ahead--" Havardr, clearly having no patience for this kind of thing, spoke up. For an instant, Inara turned away.
Reidun let out a sudden roar, launching himself at Dalton.
But Dalton already knew he was hostile, thanks to [Combat Sense]. With that tenth of a second of forewarning, he ducked out of the way! Reidun was in mid-transformation--great horns began to grow from either side of his head, and shaggy fur sprouted all over his back, as his bare feet began to twist into hooves--
Then he hit the wall of the cliff the three of them had been standing next to. The impact shuddered the rocks, and caused Reidun to reel back! His transformation was canceled as angry red bump swelled on his forehead.
OH GOD WHAT DO WE DO WHADDA WE DO!?
We have to defend ourselves, we don't have a choice! There's not enough room to run past him and Inara's behind us, we can't let her get hurt!
Activate Skill, please! Primal Rage! Please work!
Reidun whirled on his opponent--and Dalton, once again, had frozen up with a completely blank expression. Any other fighter would know that once shit hit the fan, the only options were to fight, or flee. Freezing would only get you killed.
However...
The branch that had cracked under Havardr's weight, earlier, had been shaken completely loose by Reidun's charge slamming against the cliff. Just as the man raised his fist, his face already beginning to sprout fangs as white fur bristled and two black stripes appeared running down his eyes, the wooden bough came down.
Again, a dull SMACK echoed from Reidun's skull.
And by that time, Dalton had actually decided on what to do.
With a sudden scream as his whole body flushed red, the Otherworlder stepped forward and threw a punch. It was a wild swing, uncoordinated, undisciplined. Dalton had never taken a martial arts class or really ever worked out, after all. However, his opponent had just taken two stunning blows to the head. A punch that anyone else would've seen coming, he didn't see at all.
Then there was the matter of Dalton's punch, in and of itself.
His new body was not as weak and unathletic as he had once been. On top of this strength, he had the true intention to hurt someone--he was done with playing by the rules, with trying to be civilized. He wanted a NEW life, a BETTER life! What was more, was the boost given to him by Primal Rage.
Primal Rage: (Active/Legendary) - You turn your anger into a weapon. When activated, you can impose fear upon any creatures weaker than yourself. Stronger creatures lose the will to fight for a brief period. When used in combat, your strength will grow in proportion to your anger.
Dalton already had anger building beneath the surface. He'd just DIED, after all, because of stupid people, after getting yelled at by other stupid people all day.
Primal Rage Active: 0.02s - Anger is building...
Then some girl had just ATTACKED him out of nowhere, just because he happened to be in her "territory," and now he was being dragged around and involved with a bunch of shape-shifting cavemen!
Primal Rage Active: 0.04s - Anger is building...
And NOW, just like every other bully he'd ever dealt with in life, some stupid meathead who wanted to cause him problems wouldn't leave him alone!
Primal Rage Active: 0.06s - Anger is building...
Dalton had more than two full decades of repressed, untapped, utterly cringe-worthy anger to draw on.
Primal Rage Active: 0.08s - Anger is building...
Reidun blinked--and then Dalton's fist collided with his face.
Specifically, by little more than sheer luck and the fact Reidun hadn't been able to defend himself, Dalton had gotten him square on the chin. And as the Merrick Warrior's head rocked back, there was the cliff right behind him, yet again.
Dust fell from the rocks as the man slumped to the ground, barely conscious, his eyes rolled up to reveal blank whites. Dalton stood there for a moment, fist outstretched--and, again, aside from his widened eyes, his face was completely blank. This time, rather than freezing up, it was more that he was completely shocked at himself and his behavior.
Unbeknownst to Dalton, however, it didn't quite look like that to the outside observer. Havardr, a particularly sharp observer befitting his status as a scout, happened to be thinking along these lines:
I didn't register him at first, despite the fact that he should've clearly stood out--he has no pelts, even though he's an adult! Yet when I arrived, he didn't flinch at all--he was completely calm, with a stony expression.
When Reidun stepped up to him, he never once broke eye contact. And his expression remained unreadable--to be completely unphased, despite facing a warrior with several pelts like Reidun, even if he's a bit of a braggart...
And when Reidun attacked, he moved like he'd already seen it coming! Not to mention...did he intentionally move towards the wall, knowing that if Reidun hit it, it would dislodge the branch I broke earlier? That's an impressive level of environmental awareness--and to come up with such a keen strategy in an instant!
He knew Reidun would be distracted, and so he put all of his power into a punch that would've been too obvious otherwise--sacrificing technique for strength, yet with the full confidence it would work! Without a single pelt, he felled one of the famed Silverclaw Tribe's warriors with only a punch!
"Inara...who have you brought to us?" he asked, as Dalton stood stock still over Reidun. The falcon scout had seen that kind of look before--a wise predator who knew that the moment they became complacent, the prey might suddenly spring to life again. Just how many life or death struggles could this Merrick have survived, to reach such a level while wearing no skins?
"His name is Daruton!" Inara grinned, as if she were proud of herself for some reason. "I think grandfather will like him!" Then she called out to the Merrick in question. "Daruton! Let Reidun sleep off his stupidity! We need to go!"
"Y-yeah! Sure!" Dalton snapped to attention and jogged after the two of them as they continued deeper into the encampment in search of the alpha, leaving some of the other tribe members to gather around Reidun, all talking among themselves of what had just happened...
We fucked up.
Did we, though?
Oh we absolutely fucked up, but it was AWESOME!
Except now his knuckles hurt really badly. Absently, he rubbed them and hoped he hadn't broken anything.
Last Health Update: Leg is almost back at 100%. New 'world' post should be incoming tonight. Also, trying to get characters to 'link up' as fast as I can so you aren't stuck waiting for me to update constantly.
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