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4 days ago
Current "You're me from the future, and you came back to the past to keep me from suffering like you did?" asks my childhood self. "Something like that," I reply as I load the gun.
5 likes
5 days ago
That bot left a number and email. Someone should cast "Unending Newsletters" for them.
2 likes
26 days ago
Writing horror is super difficult because it requires telling a story while shutting up at the same time. It's fear of the UNKNOWN, not fear of the well-written descriptions.
9 likes
2 mos ago
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.
1 like
2 mos ago
@ColdAtlus: Cheems.
1 like

Bio

On CST time, United States. Typically busy most of the week and do most posting/replying on weekends.

Most Recent Posts

@Visyn Hi, nice to meet you, but did you happen to get Vlad's approval beforehand or anything? Typically a Character Sheet is submitted to be looked over by the GM first before you jump into the game.
Working on an update!

EDIT: And we're up!
@Eviledd1984@Kazemitsu@Vlad Tepes

Since Kharne seems like he'll follow Valentina, Alistair will accompany Bert and Chance to the inn. Internally, he's thinking that while the chapel might be the one place with any protections against evil that might've allowed people to survive, the inn is going to be in a central location and may have more clues as to what's happened to the place due to having more people present before everything went to hell. As well, if there's anything left unspoilt, the inn's larders may be better stocked than those of the chapel. He's also still trying to figure Chance and Bert out, whereas he already has a rough understanding of the other two.
Posted!

Gransylva's highway department was murdered by a bloodthirsty vampire hundreds of years ago. The roads ain't been maintained ever since.


Alistair: "Ridiculous." *kicks dirt into a pothole* "How then, does this Vampire King expect to provide for his horde of horrors? And how does he pay them, with no functioning economy? They can't possibly all be hell-bent on supporting his dark rule for no recompense!"

*A zombie steps out of the shadows next to him* "Yeagh...We dun even havegh dental..." *Its teeth fall out*

Alistair: "You see? They don't even have dental." *cuts its head off and sets the body on fire*



Barille Outskirts




The next to speak was an olive complected man dressed in dark leathers. He stank of gunpowder, but his scarred face--though perhaps not as disfigured as Alistair's own--said that he had fought up close more than once. Maybe losing those fights was why he relied on firearms now. He had darting, sharp eyes...but spoke frivolously, and with dextrous skill flipped a deck of cards between his fingers.

A smooth talker and opportunist. Possibly with a proclivity for violence. said Alistair's Inquisitive instincts. But he withheld judgement, and when Chance suggested a game the priest simply declined and held up his palm in understanding. The other fellow, however, a burly sort with weapons and armor openly on display, seemed irritated. Chance introduced the man as Bert and teased him. Clearly some sort of mercenary, or perhaps law enforcement. A bit uncouth, perhaps, for the latter. Yet either they're close enough friends to tolerate a bit of ribbing...or Chance knows Bert can't bloody his nose in present company. Their dynamic didn't seem to be a normal one.

The Dragonborn, Kharne by name, said only a single word. Actually, maybe it was an assumption to think that was his name? Maybe "Kharne" meant something in the dragon tongue like sod off you filthy humans? Alistair didn't think that was the case, but it was clear from the big one's body language that he wasn't comfortable being social. However, the warrior had been the second one on the coach, and thus Alistair had observed him the longest.

He didn't like the animals, to whom the feeling seemed mutual. He didn't seem to know exactly what the cues were for getting off or onto the carriage, each time the doors had opened to admit another of the party. And when Valentina had introduced herself, there'd been a tiny sigh and twitch that Alistair recognized as a disdain for social activities.

Barbarian, then.

The Inquisitor continued to watch his erstwhile companions as they played or refused to play Chance's game, constantly filing away new information. Whenever the thick fog outside provided any opportunity, though, he also took stock of their surroundings. The dead lands couldn't tell him much...save just how bad things had gotten in the once prosperous lands of Grandsylva.

Soon their ride came to an end. The coach driver was only too happy to leave them behind, but Bert seemed just as eager, if far from joyful, to press ahead. The way he dragged Chance with him suggested the card dealer was not of the same mindset.

"May God speed ye on your return, and keep you safe all your days." he prayed for the driver, as the cart's creaky wheels grew more distant

Here under duress. Bert is a keeper of some sort. Meaning Chance is...needed, somehow? For what?

As they walked the rutted, puddle-spotted road of churned mud and overgrown roots, ravens cried overhead. A chill wind brushed them with wispy, wet fingers. Although most of Alistair's body was covered, his breathing quickened as he felt the clammy air upon his face. He pulled his mantle tighter and pressed his lips in a stony, grim line.

The village of Barille was a wreck. Blood, long dried but moistened just enough by the breeze and soil to smell, stained the streets. And an upturned cart...and a fallen basket of fruit, now rotted and covered in flies. The dirt smelled like gravesoil.

"...It seems this place is in dire want of the Lord's blessing." he finally said, the first to break the silence. He glanced around at the others, and then at the seemingly empty buildings. "What say we search for an inn to get our bearings?" Or perhaps it'd be better to look for survivors. But no. Alistair suspected that, if anyone remained in Barille, they were no longer human. Yet, hope against hope, he wished that his instincts might be mistaken...


@Eviledd1984@Kazemitsu@shadowsaint007@Vlad Tepes

Posted!

@Eviledd1984 Will the attempt to get into NHK happen right away after a time skip? Or are we going to do some RPG style wandering around town-type stuff, maybe recruit/fight some other demons, etc?


Inokashira Park


@Eviledd1984
As Satoshi and Lham Dearg squared off, it seemed like the other demon contractors present had managed to fend off the Cyclops and the other angelic being. Xiaolong, or Xavier Wong as Miyuki knew him from movies and TV, came charging towards the stage. He called out to Miyuki that it was time to finish this battle, before starting in on Satoshi himself.

"Ye daft--! Dinnae interfere in mah battle!" yelled Lham Dearg, shaking his shield as his normally grim face distorted with comical anger, complete with a red pulsing vein in his forehead. But just then, the diminutive Jack Frost happened to leapfrog over his shoulders with a happy "Hee ho!"

A barrage of ice shards from the other demon put Satoshi off balance, allowing Mr. Wong to deal him a rapid combination of blows! The politician hit the stage with a loud thump. He was roughly grabbed by the martial arts star, who wasted no time interrogating him.

With a choked laugh, Satoshi claimed that this was all somehow to protect the earth from "a fallen angel." He also called Xavier Wong a follower of "Fu?"

"W-what does he m-m-mean by...a fallen angel?" Miyuki asked shyly, tugging on Lham Dearg's kilt. Understanding her intent, the demon raised his own voice.

"Who be this fallen angel, mah lassie says!" barked the Scotts-fae. But it seemed Xavier was just as confused as the two of them, and stuck on the implications of Satoshi's claim.

"W-wait! Awawawah...W-Wong-san!" Miyuki cried out, her cheeks turning red with embarassment. "M-maybe we shouldn't assume it's Satanists?" She wrung her hands as she babbled--normally she would be too star struck to even speak to the man at all, but the adrenaline from the fight had strangely pushed all her other anxieties to the back. "Th-there are other kinds of "fallen beings" in m-mythology..."

Satoshi passed out before they could get any concrete answers. Xiaolong started to investigate the other cultists, and the unlucky few who were still conscious were subjected to the same manhandling as Satoshi. Meanwhile, Miyuki approached the other girl who had been wounded in the fight.

@The World
"A-A-are you, um, okay?" she asked Hikari Kana with a nervous gulp. Lham Dearg stood a few steps behind her, weapons sheathed and arms crossed. He was still clearly pissed about having his duel interrupted. "I'm sorry we couldn't help you quicker--I, I just, I thought if we beat the summoner, b-both of those monsters w-would disappear..."

"Weel done, ye wee lizard!" said her contracted demon, smirking at Akane. "Ah thought ye wud git crushed easily, t'look at ye!"

While they were talking, at some point Xiaolong would approach them again. Handing them his personal info--which almost made Miyuki faint on the spot--he told them his plan: Apparently, there might be another lead within the NHK broadcasting center. If the two of them posed as his entourage while he conducted an interview, they might be able to find the cultist spy...

Akeno doesn't have anything on her that would work as a knife for those hides. Is there anything nearby she can grab?

It'd be easy enough to find another Sharp Rock or a couple of Hard Rocks she could smack together until they knap into pieces, since Shamar's yurt is in a rocky area of the camp.
THE GENTLEMAN IN THE SILLY HELMET HAS BEEN THROWN OUT


*As soon as you slam the front door behind me and turn around, I come out of the basement door*

I posted, btw.


Some Time Ago...





"I assume you've come to bid farewell?" The tall priest, wearing a plain black cassock despite his rank, did not turn toward Alistair. Instead, he faced the young man's long shadow upon the wall. Head bowed, the youth stood behind him in the open doorway. Bright sunlight spilled around him as the draft disturbed drifting clouds of incense.

"Yes. If I should not return, Master Rafael...Know that I can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe you." Stoic as ever, yet his words trembled with reverence.

"You owe nothing to me, boy. Give thanks to God." The man chuckled as he shook his wild golden mane of hair. "I, on the other hand, tried everything I know to keep you from this venture." But as his tone sobered, he adjusted a pair of tinted spectacles on the square bridge of his nose. "What you attempt is no less than a crusade, and the Church has no desire at this time for such things. Better, they feel, to do God's work among them as will receive it."

"Yet the Lord has spoken, and I must answer."

"As you've told me." Master Rafael sighed. "That the images of Gransylva, and its Red Dragon, are not mere symbols representing the disorders of your mind, nor parables as the Son taught the Apostles, but a direct order. And you will believe no other interpretation."

"It can be nothing else. Vampires I have slain, but nothing of that kingdom and its accursed history has ever burdened me." The shadow on the wall grew smaller, yet it concentrated darkness into a void that stared, resolute, back at the master. "Nonetheless it appears to me, again and again." Master Rafael did not blink as he folded his hands behind his waist.

"Then go, my son. If you truly do this out of desire to follow the Lord's will above all, then He will guide your course. My prayers go with you."

"Thank you, Master Rafael. And...goodbye." Alistair's shadow withdrew, and the dusky herbal scents clouded the chamber once more as the doors closed.

"...Young fool." sighed the priest. He looked up at the altar, and fingered the cross around his neck. "But...perhaps this is for the best, given how those old farts have been breathing down my neck." He made a gesture with his hands, and focused his mind on an unspoken prayer. "After all...what better prey for a monster to hunt, than another monster?"



Present




The priest sat silently, reading his Bible in deep concentration. Every so often, his mouth moved, perhaps in prayer or simple recitation. Yet only his vestments, with their rustling and jingling, produced any sound. As each traveler had stepped into the carriage, he'd taken stock of them as best he could. Their clothes, their weapons--if they spoke, their accents. The movement of their eyes, the way their hands gestured. How the carriage driver spoke to them.

He had only greeted each of them with a nod, perhaps the softest hint of a smile. But it was difficult to see, for he currently wore his white mantle up so as to hide his scarred visage. Two long marks--where something had scraped, or perhaps burned away the flesh--were most noticeable on the bridge of his nose and his forehead. Other smaller, faded scars--including a paper thin duelist's mark along his cheek--peppered what little exposed flesh his robes did not cover. He never made the effort to shake anyone's hands.

For the first time, as they trundled along roads that had long ago turned from civilized cobblestones to mud-rutted dirt trails, someone spoke. A woman wearing coat and breeches rather than a dress, as well armed as Alistair himself. He could sense the blessings on some of her equipment, and more than once had seen the gleam of silver. Hunter, and well prepared. She introduced herself as Valentina. Why did that name sound...somewhat familiar? Vampire hunter, or just monsters in general...and a chain whip? Yes, there was something there in his memory...

"Likewise a pleasure, Miss Valentina." Alistair said in a neutral tone, bowing his head slightly. "I am Alistair Miller." He then looked expectantly at the others.


@Eviledd1984@Kazemitsu@shadowsaint007@Vlad Tepes

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