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kaiju-z · 5 years

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Seon Adventures - Episode 6, “Welcome to the Jungle and That’s the Tea”

Another great episode for us, the group /o/

When we last left off with our heroes, the five of them, Kevin and Killer the War Horses, and Azam had left the ship upon which they shared many unforgettable memories (no matter how much Luck wants to forget some funny and TRAUMATIC TM stuffs).

As Azam ran off ahead of everyone, the party felt themselves envigorated, like they went up a tier in the ladder of adventuring or something (they leveled up) and were now left to their own devices.

Their travel from the docks to the city itself was short as they soon came to realize that Menum was a city of trees. Which is to say that those, who made this rainforest their home had repurposed a number of ridicilously large trees into houses and establishments of various necessities. (Think Return of the Jedi).

Belli and Luck were the most easily impressed, as they are basically the sheltered kids. The more they travel, the closer they get to the center, illuminated by what those of the arcane could gather were Dancing Lights. (I personally assume it’s bio-luminescence from the plantlife surrounding them).

Lead by Mournimar and Belli, the disaster siblings, the party go for a high rise tavern, climbing a rope ladder with much acrobatics in tow, being drawn to the sound of people chanting.

“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

What they find up top is entertaining, to say the least. A new initiate, it appears (we later learn his name is Samson) is chugging down some sort of alcoholic drink, much to the amusement and pressure of his fellows. Some sailors from the ship, others local citizens and Forestheart Bretheren, it seems.

While Mournimar and Belli join in the chanting, Luck searches for information from the bartender, upon the party noticing Azam drinking away his woes. While ordering an ale from the wood elf barkeep, Luck asks some curious questions of the Traveling Gentlemen and learns that four of them passed through here (confirming what Mournimar had told him previously on the ship of their even number now). From what he gets, he now knows that they got on bad terms with the leader of the Forestheart Bretheren and promptly made their leave, after searching for some artifacts.

What lastly he learns of them is that their next destination was the Capitol, Crystalgate. So Luck will have a lot of backtracking to do, if he hopes to get to them soon. He later joins Azam and continues a conversation from the ship, post-prevented execution.

While this is going on, Samson takes a knee. Or. Well, a back as the drink was apparently too much for him. In the merryment, Mournimar orders himself the same thing and is warned that the stuff, Centaur Moonshine, is very heavy stuff. Much to Belli’s protests and failed attempts at preventing disaster, Mournimar starts chugging and Belli tries to get help from an exhasperated Amelia.

To her chagrin, once she arrives, Mournimar is just. Out of it. Burk is proud (Proud Burk count: 1). Amelia ends up carrying Mournimar to a backroom for a few minutes, where they also see a passed out Samson.

Amelia does not have a good time in Menum, sadly and she doesn’t get a wink of sleep either, even after getting a room to yeet Mournimar into. She takes a corner, after Luck takes a second bed. (MISUNDERSTANDINGS WERE HAD and now Luck feels awkward over the disappointed MOM ENERGY from Amelia).

While the others are nap-nap-napping, Belli sneaks out and in search for someone with two silver rings. She reaches an establishment, bounced on by a tattooed Goliath, with whom she has a conversation, hinting at her relation to Ficus. She needs to learn more about his whereabouts, she misses her brother.

Being let in, she soon finds someone the Goliath had directed her towards, a changeling woman around Belli’s age (IT WAS KIT FROM THE SLEEKCLAW ONE SHOT!) and the two have a heart to heart about Ficus, with whom Kit had worked in the past. Kit gives her directions on where she’d have to go next, if she truly wants to reunite with him and the two go their own way, once they are outside. (FRIENDSHIP GET). Belli safely makes it back to the tavern and gets her shut eye.

In the morning, awkwardness between the pointy boys and Amelia. Burk was sleeping the whole time out in the open and had a close to cordial conversation with an old lady that was more confused than freaked out by the Goblin Barbarian (Gorbarian TM).

Once most of everyone reconvenes, Luck buys the lot of them lunch (including for Burk, which I’ma say he ate in canon, unless Hayden says otherwise). The party get approached by Samson, who introduces himself as such. Samson Drascullion, druid of The Forestheart Bretheren.

The party begins to ask him some questions, following a failed attempt to extort him for money (Belli and Luck, the greedy kiddos tried to bs poor Samson so hard) regarding the cult and elaborate on their quest to take the cult out of commission, permanently. Mournimar learns that they worship all the allowed deities, which confuses him. Why aren’t they worshipping the forbidden ones instead?! Samson and Luck respectively have to point out something: Samson, that the cult believes their mission to kill everyone (PAINLESSLY, YOU GUYS) is just and therefore pray to the “good” gods; and Luck that it wouldn’t make sense for them to pray to Potencia, as she is the one you call upon for ruthless action, punishment and imprisonment.

The hooved tiefling has to step away from the table at this point, because he’s very upset. Turns out that this cult had no connection at all to the one he was after, personally. Belli approaches and the siblings share a moment in front of everyone else present, revealing things about their backstories.

Mournimar spills the beans about how he was raised n a cult, worshipping the Forbidden Deity “Potencia”. Goddess of ruthlessness, control and imprisonment His mother was a member, but his father faltered. The mother told on the father and the cult attacked. Mournimar doesn’t remember much after that, but he woke up, covered in blood, surrounded by bodies. His mission from that point on was hunting down all those, who worshipped Potencia and rid the world of them.

He tildn’t want to tell Belli, because he was affraid she’d stop being so close to him. Belli’s opinion of him, however, hasn’t changed as she still loves andcares for her tall pointy “bro”.

And she reveals to everyone of her family’s tragedy, how they were turned to stone in her absence, how she tried to pray for all the gods, including the forbidden ones, Potencia especially, for help, to save them.

But she got no answer.

Mournimar doesn’t think less of her.

The two hug it out. It’s heart warming.

Burk. Has heard. None of this as he was still on ground level when this transpired.

After everyone ate, the party and Samson made a stop at his leader’s base of operations, where Samson got an ok, in private, for the lot of them to have a swing at the Death Cult, with the caviat that the FHB would come a few hours later, should they not be done with this.

Taking the war horses with them, the six adventurers made their way to the stronghold of this cult. Luck even got to bond with Kevin, thanks to Mournimar’s approach : D It was nice and Luck is now just embarrassed. That and he was carried onto Kevin’s back by Belli.

Traveling through this dence jungle, they quickly realize how warm and humid it is in here, as they pass through shrubbery and trees, by animals and what not. Luck is bascally the only one, aside from Samson, who’s got this, since he comes from a warmer climate.

They succeed on their strealthing to the checkpoint of the stronghold and see it in it’s full height of 40 ft. With guards atop, none the wiser.

As they plan on their next move, Belli suggests and implements her infiltration, using invisibility and quickly comes to realize how screwed th party would have been if they just blindly walked in.

Aside of the guards on top, there were at least tw more towerds of archers and a table of four, with one just staring in the direction of the door itself.

Belli sneaks on forward and goes through an opening and down a coridor, on the right of which she passes a guard, just sitting, none the wiser. While she can’t find traps, she does find the courage to take the man out and she does so in a few good rounds of stabbing and blufing him into believing that the “Prophet” willed it to be so., with advantage, thanks to invisibility and then, the mask she had collected from the half-elf from where this whole adventure started.

After looting the body, something good, Belli gets to look through further doors and finds 5 men, 3 red robed, 2 black robed, in what was essentially a break room. She manages to trick thm into believing that the wind opened the door and quickly locks them inside, before proceeding and learning of underground activity, including more multi-colored robed cultists, two minotaur and their leader, handling some bizarre orb.

She quickly comes back to the party and things get wild in a hurry, once she explains the situation to them. (Also. Proud Burk count: 2)

Death-ites bodies begin to drop left and right (and to pieces), with Burk gaining the 6 person kill count, above the rest. The rest do great, especially Amelia and Belli, considering Amelia’s disadvantages on rolls, what with 1 point of exhaustion.

Mockery is quite viciously dealt by the bard and Mournimar fires their arrows like a baller, missing only rarely. Episode 6 marks Luck’s first kill in the campaign as he works to break in his new daggers , taking out one greenlit Redguard, before divestabbing a second, (with Amelia finishing that one off ultimately). This episode also Marks Luck’s first use of the Lucky feat, (1 of 3 uses for the day), in which he gets bad luck and misses his target with the crossbow.

Even Samson gets into the spirit of things and takes and kicks some ass, using his druidic abilities as needed.

By the end of the fight, all the grunts on level oen are killed in a variety of gruesome ways, but one, who escapes in the jungle, where he’ll either die to the wildlife or rethink his life choices.

Mournimar almost died. Seeing Belli getting attacked by archers, he took a jump from 40 ft to get close to Belli and took a lot of damage, which didn’t help when he got shot at by the archers.

Don’t even wanna think what would have happened if he had no potions to chug and healing help from Samson @ - @;;;

The bodies were then, of course, looted and the session ended with the party thinking of a gameplan to proceed. (and the 5 of us dorking around with the scribblign feature).

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lamesorrow · 5 years

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Decisions, Decisions

Time: Many, many decades ago.

The idiotic couple that tried to tame her had obviously never dealt with Corner trash. For instance, they never even noticed when Little walked out of the dining hall with a shiny new knife hidden up her sleeve.

Now that knife was going to be Little's ticket to freedom.

“Her” bedroom was located on the first floor, which was annoying but not excessively so. What was important was that the room had a window—a large window with not a single metal bar, locked but otherwise perfect. Little could hardly believe her luck. Truly, the elves who ran the orphanage were stupid beyond words.

The only problem was her room-mate: a red-haired girl even younger than Little. She was shy and didn't speak much—in fact, Little has been stuck at the orphanage for two days now and so far she has never heard the girl utter a single word to anyone except the caretaker woman. Definitely not a promising escape partner, that one.

After supper—during which Little shoved as much food into her mouth as she physically could, because while those short stays at the City's various orphanages always were damaging to her ego, only an idiot would pass on an opportunity to eat free food—the children were herded to their respective bedrooms.

Obedience made her insides twist and turn, but Little did as she was told without a single complaint. It was not her first party, after all. She still remembered how infernally difficult it was the first time the guards had snatched her off the street; back then she had no idea how to behave and as such ended up lashing out like a wild animal, prompting the caretakers to stuff her into a secure room that didn't even have a doorknob. If not for a stroke of good luck, Little would probably still be stuck at that damned orphanage. The thought of her narrowly avoided grim future made her shiver. She was never, ever going to let it happen again.

At least that brutal first learning experience had taught her what not to do. This time, when her short legs failed to keep her safe from the city guard's grasping fingers, Little approached her imprisonment with perfect calm. She communicated as clearly as she could, trying to temper her instantly recognizable Corner accent, and didn't bite anyone ever as they tore her clothes off and stuffed her into a tub full of foamy solution that soon became dotted with tiny corpses of dead fleas.

Truth be told, that bath and all the free food were the only thing Little didn't hate about her current situation. Her body didn't itch as much any more and her stomach stopped rumbling. That was nice.

For many that promise of basic hygiene and warm food was enough to keep them shackled. It was the reason why Little's group would randomly grow and shrink all the time. Granted, the ones that appeared and disappeared were usually kids from other districts. Softer, gentler and easier to tame than Corner trash. No wonder for many of them the comfort of an orphanage was more important than freedom.

Little couldn't wrap her head around it, but she tried not to judge. Not for empathy, of course, but for simple selfishness that came naturally to a girl like her. Other people's problems were not her problems. If they were happy then Little had no reason to care. She had her own shit to deal with.

Like winning back her freedom.

Little laid in bed for what she hoped was at least an hour, struggling against the comfort that had her eyelids slowly slide closed. Even a rat as street-hardened as her had a difficulty resisting the warmth and softness that enveloped her body. For one treacherous moment she even considered drifting off and staying at the orphanage for another night, so she pinched her cheek to sober herself up. This comfort was a damn trap, one that would rob her of freedom and independence.

When Redhead's breathing became soft and slow, Little scrunched up her nose and slowly pushed the covers down. She made no sound as she sneaked out of bed and crawled closer to the window. Her long ears were twitching every few seconds, trying to pick up the faintest noises—like the change in Redhead's breathing or soft footsteps outside the room.

Two days at the orphanage had given Little plenty of time to familiarize herself with the outlay of the building and come up with a decent escape route. All she had to do was get the window open.

She silently took off the sleeping gown and squeezed herself back in the clothes she was wearing during the day. A shirt, a skirt, a vest, socks, shoes... The guards had burned Little's own rags when she was stuck in the flea-killing bath, so now she had to improvise. She hated the clothes the orphanage had given her, but there was no way in hell she was going to show up in the Corner wearing a sleeping gown.

The knife was small and dull, but it was more than enough for Little's purposes. The girl slowly approached the window and cast a cautious glance at her room-mate. Luckily, Redhead was still asleep, arms loosely crossed over her chest.

Little suddenly realized that her fingers were itching around the knife. For some reason her head filled with a faint urge to take the blade and...

The girl watched Redhead's throat with eerie fascination.

She realized that she's curious. Curious to see if she could cut through the girl's throat. Curious to see if she could do it without making her scream. Curious to see if she would die. Curious to see how long it would take her to die. And so, so, so damn curious to see how the stupid caretakers would've reacted in the morning if they entered the room just to see the girl slaughtered like a pig...

Little blinked and thoughtfully looked at the knife in her hand. What would it feel like?

She shook her head and looked away. The urge was gone and Little was left to wonder just where the hell it came from in the first place. She was not violent by nature—at least not by the Corner's standards. Many of her friends wouldn't think twice about beating a beggar to death to steal his coins, but Little wasn't like that. Then again, maybe it's because she was so small and weak that she subconsciously knew it wouldn't end well? Maybe this sudden urge was a sign that she was finally growing up, turning into a proper bloodthirsty rat?

Little shook her head again and decided not to think about it for now. Maybe she would contemplate the odd feeling sometime later, when she's safely back in the Corner.

She sat on the windowsill and got to work. Luckily the lock was cheap and primitive. The knife was not an ideal tool, but the very tip of the blade could be pushed between the wood and the edge of a nail that secured the lock to the frame. Little bit down on the inside of her cheek and started patiently working the nail loose.

Every few minutes she had to pause and wait for Redhead to stop grunting or moving, but eventually Little managed to pull the nail out. The other one was much faster to deal with since now the elf could gently manipulate the lock itself to try and get the best angle.

The hinges didn't make a single sound when Little carefully pushed the window open. Last night she had meticulously coated them in oil from a small lamp she had smuggled into the room.

She slipped through the window and slowly closed it behind her, because it wouldn't be good if a gust of wind woke Redhead up. The she sat down on the wide windowsill and grinned.

Freedom! She could practically taste it.

Little held onto the windowsill as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, careful not to make any sound as she finally landed on her feet. She froze for a second, straining her ears to pick up any noise, but the night was silent—or at least as silent as a city night could be. She started slowly walking next to the wall, right under the line of windows. It was much less risky that way, even if it took more time.

All windows were dark—except one. Little chewed on the inside of her cheek and contemplated a large splash of light which poured from the caretakers' room and formed a large window-shaped mark on the grass.

Little hesitated, unsure what the next course of action should be. She could wait for them to go to sleep, but hell knows how long it would take... not to mention that the call of freedom was becoming impossible to ignore. She was out of the building and that alone was enough to make her giddy. She wanted to go and leave it all behind.

Despite the haughtiness of her thoughts, her steps were light and slow. Inch by inch... She found herself right under the caretakers' window. The worst was already behind her. Now all she had to—

She glanced at the light on the grass... and almost choked on a gasp when a shadow suddenly appeared right in the middle of it. Little pushed herself against the wall and bared her tiny fangs when she heard a soft creak and the window right above her swung open.

“I've had enough of this,” a female voice announced tiredly.

Move. Move. Move! Leave, go back, go back, go away...

The shadow didn't budge.

Little opened her mouth wide and tipped her head back. A while ago she had learned that she can breath much more quietly this way: breathing through the nose could always produce a soft whistling noise, not to mention it sometimes didn't provide enough air. Like this, with her mouth wide open, Little could breathe slowly and deeply and she could stay like that for a long time, as long as she didn't accidentally suck in a bug or dust or anything else that could make her cough.

“We never go anywhere. We never do anything. It's driving me insane—it's just the children, always the children.”

Little's ears twitched. The female caretaker's voice sounded tired and dejected. Wooden windowsill creaked slightly when the woman propped her hands on it and leaned forward. Shit. Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down...

“It was your idea, Sanya,” a male voice said. It took Little a moment to recognize it as belonging to the male caretaker—he barely spoke and seemed to rarely be present at the orphanage. “You said you need to do something meaningful with your life,” the man continued. His voice was firm but understanding, but the woman still grunted in frustration.

“I know!” she hissed. “I know. I want to enjoy this life. But each passing year—I can feel it draining me. I look at our girls and—it makes me feel so hopeless because I know we will never save all of them. It's hard. It's too hard...”

Shadows shifted. The woman turned around when her companion approached and Little idly watched a dark projection of an embrace.

“I know,” the man said quietly.

Little clenched her eyes shut. Her left leg, awkwardly curled up and yet forced to support most of her weight, was starting to pulse with piercing pain, but the young elf didn't want to risk moving it and causing any noise, not when the caretakers were so close.

She winced when she heard a soft smacking noise. Gross.

After a long minute, during which Little genuinely considered jumping into the room and stabbing those disgusting elves with her knife, the kiss finally ended. “How about,” the man whispered, and his voice was so low it sounded almost like a purr, “we go have a very nice, very relaxing, very long bath together? You said we never do anything any more. I might have some ideas...”

Little rolled her eyes. Then she rolled her eyes again when the woman giggled and initiated another round of disgusting smacking sounds.

She patiently waited for the door to close behind the elves and then spent another long minute in perfect silence before she finally allowed herself a deep sigh of relief. Her leg hurt so much she had to clench her teeth to stop herself from whining as she slowly stretched it out.

That was close. Way too close, Little thought grimly as she carefully pushed herself up to her feet. She idly wondered what the caretakers would've done if they discovered her curled up under their window. Lock her up in the basement, perhaps?

Little rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. No matter, because she was not going to let herself get caught. Now the caretakers were gone, and they were going to be gone for a while, so Little had plenty of time to...

Her ears twitched and she slowly looked up. The window was still open... and this one had no bars either.

Huh.

Little hesitated. The window felt... inviting. But...

Sure, she was a cutpurse—and a pretty decent cutpurse at that. Smaller than most other rats, but also faster. She rarely left the market without at least a few copper coins in her pocket. She had never stolen anything from a house, though.

...Until now.

Thin fingers grabbed the edge of the window and the young elf clumsily pulled herself up. She was light and strong, but the skirt she was wearing made climbing difficult. Little cursed quietly under her breath and awkwardly crawled over the wide windowsill.

Her shoes clicked softly when she landed on the ground and the elf froze, listening for footsteps. The bathing area was on the opposite side of the building, but... better safe than sorry. When she made sure that the caretakers were not going to burst through the door to catch her, Little slowly walked across the room.

It was small and it would've probably felt somewhat cramped if not for the sparsely placed furniture. Just a wide bed, a cupboard and a vanity table. That last one immediately attracted Little's attention, but she was very disappointed to discover that it contained no jewellery spare for a few thin silver rings. Then again... the orphanage didn't look particularly rich, so perhaps it was no wonder that the caretakers couldn't afford expensive golden jewellery. Truth be told, Little wasn't entirely sure what to do with the rings in the first place. Find a fence, probably. She would have to figure out whether or not Old Copperfang was still in business...

Little gave the other contents of the vanity table an impassive look. She found a bottle of cheap perfume, a small wooden palette of colourful eyeshadows and a few waxy lipsticks. A dense hairbrush didn't interest her much, but the colours...

Little looked up. Her reflection in the mirror smirked at her devilishly from behind a curtain of curly black hair that the caretaker tried to style—futilely—only last night. Little tilted her head to the side and contemplated her face. Small, gaunt, with huge blue eyes... She raised the lipstick.

In a few seconds her reflection was decorated with a pair of red cat ears and whiskers. Little snickered to herself and drew some skulls around the edges of the mirror, then a chicken, then a crude dick... Too bad she didn't know how to write; she would've loved to leave a message to the people who tried to tame her, just to show them how much they had failed.

Then again, Little thought as she once again giggled at the drawings, they say a picture is worth a thousand words...

She opened the box of eyeshadow, and revelled in simple destructive pleasure as chalk started to crack under the pressure of her fingers. There was something incredibly satisfying about rubbing brown dust into the caretaker's pillowcase. Little gleefully went a step further and poured perfume over the sheets, but that turned out to be a poor decision as the suffocating smell quickly engulfed the entire room and made the elf's nose tingle.

Little pinched her nose and crept closer to the cupboard. She heard sometimes people store valuables under their clothes and she was eager to check if—

A sudden cry made the girl freeze in terror. She held her breath for a second and cursed loudly when that single cry immediately turned into an entire symphony of wailing coming from the adjacent room, where the youngest brats stayed in their cribs.

Shit, shit, shit, shit...

She threw herself at the window and crawled across the windowsill. Shit! She planned to be well on her way to the Corner by the time her caretakers returned from their disgusting bath. Why the hell did those little shits have to wake up now?!

Little ran across the courtyard and reached the narrow passage where the bulk of the orphanage met a small utility shed. It was a dead end where the caretakers stored some old barrels and chests. Children were not allowed to play there, but it's not like Little had ever cared for the rules, least of all in a situation like this.

She quickly climbed the barrels and jumped up. Like she expected, it didn't take much effort to climb the roof of the shed. From there all Little had to do was jump down and land in the narrow backstreet, which would lead her away from the damned prison.

She crouched at the edge of the roof and glanced over her shoulder. The caretakers' room was still empty. The brats were still howling.

She won.

Little bared her teeth in a ferocious grin, hopped off the roof and vanished in the shadows.

So long, suckers!

#Wow Rp #wow character: shadow

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lillianna-davenport · 5 years

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Lets start with the new guy. Imagine if you will, a book worm of a guy. Scholar, really. Spends his time writing out long stories for the record, and adores history. Real nerd. Introverted, rare sighting in the wild, sort of lost in his own world, dork. Who, as it happens, also is insanely hot bodied under his robes (like when Star moans Abbbbbbs), mild mannered, and congenial. His main roll is to not die of shock from the shenanigans we routinely get up to. In actuality, he's an oracle who can cast some spells, heal pretty well, and is easily distracted by the smell of fresh paper. He sees the future enough to have a spidey sense, and sometimes crazy visions. Half-elf and with a nice smile, this guy is just all kinds of interesting. Then there is the dwarf. He's a knight from the highlands-type aria of the Pathfinder world. Decently groomed, and a weapons smith, he's the royal guard to the witch. His job is to keep the witch alive, which -being a witch - makes his job unfathomably, forehead-slapping-ling, underpaid. He wears his armor and royal guard garb most of the time, being a military sort. His beard is neat and trim (for a dwarf), and his specialty is fighting incorporeal things. He's unusually tall for a dwarf, being over five feet in height. This is a tower of a Dwarf who earned his rank, only to get stuck with this ungrateful job. The wizard comes from a Victorian sort of aria. She's an English sort of pretty, with all the dress and manors of that time. She might also be a closet necromancer, denying it hotly because the witch might kill her. She comes from money and has a bad habit of being English. Like. ENGLISH. This causes her and the witch to get into fights that ruffle the wizard's dignity very badly. She is a sucker for spells, collecting every single one she finds, though she cannot cast any evocations what-so-ever (elemental spells) without severe strain. Her spell book is so thick it could be used as a weapon - not that she ever would. It's her bonded item, after all. She coos to it, like Winfred in Hocus-Pockus. She very much likes her tea and looking disapprovingly at the witch, who she considers a hoyden and a complicatedly unsuitable, being Scottish, and all. Now, the rouge on the other hand... he's got that graceful, comfortable in his body kind of charm. And, officially, that Dick Grayson butt. Dat Butt has stopped wars - we assume - because DAYUM. He's a human with a lithe figure and certain dark style to him. His main concern is stopping the witch from eating sentient by-pedals, locking children in towers, or being evil. His general function is to find traps, disable them, and to raid the witch's things when the witch is passed-out drunk. He controls the party fiances, being rather good with accounting, and redistributes goods to the person who most/best can use them. He enjoys exploring new places and the occasional party. His mastery of anatomy is prodigal, as he can find the week point on anything in battle. Being able to wriggle free of just about any grapple or confinement has served him well. He has many daggers, but keeps one squirreled away in a place no one has ever located, just in case. Then there is the witch. She's a changeling. This means her mother was a hag (sea in this case), and her father was a humanoid (elf actually, and the Laird of his own, very important clan in the 'Highland'-like aria of Pathfinder world) which informs everything about her. As is required by the race, she has heterochromia. One eye is blue, one is green. Her hair is blacker than sin. Unlike most changelings, who are over 6' on average, she's ridiculously short. 4' 5", and prissy about it. She goes to church (Pharasma) and despite what the party thinks of her, is the only good character in the group. (Not including Snack.) She is stunningly beautiful (on a scale of 1-10, she's a 14) and very, very, detrimentally snobbish about her appearance. Not her actual body. Her clothes and jewels, even her magic items must be 'OMGERD PRETTY!' She wears her armored battle kilt with clan colors most days, and is actually 'Scottish' (pathfinder style) nobility. Her hair is 10 feet long. It moves of it's own accord, and she can manipulate it at will. She uses it in place of her body for strength related tasks or as an extra set of hands. Curses are her thing, though she is also an excellent cook and skilled musician. In battle she has a set of finger jewelry that are made of very sturdy stuff, allowing her to claw her opponents. The witch has a peacat (this thing here) which is a magnificent fey abomination with the cunning of a cat and the brain of a bird. This thing is ridiculous. It's just as vain as it's master, and functions as the witch's spell book, eating scrolls - yes, it eats paper - to learn new spells for the witch to cast. The witch drinks a Lot and has pointed ears, but not long ones like elves. Side characters include, but are not limited to: Martin the chipmunk who used to be a barbarian rage fighter the witch baleful polymorphed into... a chipmunk. It is the most fearsome, strong, brutal chipmunk ever. It belongs to the dwarf, who adores that thing. He has a name tag that says Martin. A silver dragon wyrmling (baby dragon) the rouge won in a poker game at a wizard collage frat house during a bender. The wyrmling is clever and amused by the rouge, who still can't find his left shoe after the event. (We got the rouge new shoes.) It eats silver coins and breathes ice blasts. An undead coachman the wizard keeps making look more life like for reasons. Most of them being to piss the witch off. He's intelligent undead, and uses a whip. Steve-Dave, a homunculus of patchwork and Frankenstein-ian origins. It looks like this. He's got a wand that deals scorching rays (boiling water burst), and from time to time wears whatever clothes he finds. He works for the witch as a caregiver to her animals. A standard horse named Fluffy. A Clydesdale named Bud the witch rides so she can feel tall, a roc (which is basically a massive eagle) named Sunny (it's about 6 months old as well). The roc imprinted on peacat when it hatched, who being a very idiotic sort of fey creature, thinks the roc is it's own egg hatching. This has caused... shenanigans. The witch recently turned another would be attacking ninja into a flying squirrel. As with Martin the chipmunk, the squirrel firmly thinks it's a squirrel, and is the swiftest ninja of a squirrel out there. He was given to the new guy as a pet for reasons. Of course there is Snack, who is a baby with gold glowing shampoo commercial worthy hair and luminous eyes. Horse, who is a battle steed, that carries about the box Susan and snack live in, and Susan who is a 20-something woman with little to no color as it's been drained out of her through shenanigans. Donkey pulls the cart that the witch keeps putting her ill gotten gains on, and three matched horses to pull the carriage. There used to be 4, but ... things happened. Fluffy acts as the 4th horse now (front right). And that’s the party.

#pathfinder #character details #shinanagans #we may be a hodgepodge of abominations to good taste and sanity #but damn we're good at it

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captusmomentum · 7 years

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AMD: Midnight Paranoia Club Part 1

Decided to make an executive choice given the way I think/write, in general and re: A Mirror Darkly. Since I come up w/ things wildly out of order I’m going to write and post those as they come then take the scenes I have and hammer them into chapters as I complete the needed content then post those in order. I figure that’ll keep things fresh enough.

So starting that off with much longer than anticipated scene from Uthvir’s perspective! like seriously I’m still technically writing it and it’s WAY long than I’d thought and not even done like YIKES.

prayer circle I didn’t fuck up Uthvir wildly

Tace and Inanallas are mine, Thenvunin (mentioned) and Uthvir are @feynites!

Aprox place in AMD timeline: post-expedition to the Temple of Andruil (working title) where Uthvir was rescued from statis and Inanallas fucked up on a cosmic level. A solid amount of time past the start of the fic.

PART 2 HERE

The temple had been fire and blood but it had been real fire and real blood—real wind on their face and blissfully cold solid armor on their body as they’d finally, finally moved after millennia. Those first moments of consciousness were an unholy barrage of sensory overload as they came screeching back into existence. Fear crashing back into them with all the force of a tidal wave on the ship of a ship. It had become so much More and they had not been of one mind for so long they thought they would break in pieces from the strain of it all.

They’d attacked wildly the first thing they saw, Fear’s howling wasn’t what started it but certainly made it more visceral, necessary. They don’t remember seeing much past wide, terrified eyes in a pale marked face before they lunged. It had not been a hard fight, they didn’t know if that was because the other was pathetic or unwilling, knowing their victim now they’d say it was a little of column A and a little of column B.

Their first clear thought came when Thenvunin bore down on them. He was instantly recognizable, long hair shining in the midday sun, handsome face contorted in an expression of outrage and determination, a sight they had seen many times on many a varied field of confrontation. It takes a few moments after that for them to finally hear him, like they’ve been too close to an explosion and their senses were only then recovering.

They do not know what to make of the rest of everything now that that’s all done. Past that it’s a shit show. They are happy that the Evanuris are all trapped in some pit somewhere but it seems like the rest of the world, as usual, has been irrevocably fucked because of them. Still, post apocalyptic nightmare or no, they can move and talk and eat and do whatever they want and go wherever they want so it’s heavenly to them.

They’ve been given a meager apartment of their own near Thenvunin’s own equally unimpressive apartment, a fact that is not lost on them. They do not mind it too much, they were not close with any of their peers in truth and even fewer of them can they even pretend to tolerate now, Thenvunin at least was a well known entity, familiar and easily handled. It was better than Curiosity who would use the closeness to wheedle into their life and pluck out what information she could or being completely surrounded by the unknown. Still Thenvunin could be tiring to say the least.

The taller man did not question them too much once it became clear that the answers would be hard won and deeply horrifying. He was too inelegant in such conversation to navigate those kinds of treacherous waters to attempt generally and Uthvir was deeply happy for it. They did not want to talk about it. They did not mind for the most part coming over to Thenvunin’s, there was not much for them to do at the moment past acclimate to the new era, which was anything from dull to so overwhelming they and Fear would be worked up into such a state they would not leave the apartment for days, instead pacing its length fully armored.

They were personally not bothered by the size of their own lodgings, they had had nothing grand in Elvhenan nor had cared to, but it was a massive step down for Thenvunin they knew. If it troubled him greatly he hid it well, past the complaints about the lack of garden for the birds, it was finely decorated as expected from him and there seemed to be enough ridiculous trends to keep him partially occupied. But they did not miss the looks he shot them, the way he treated them like glass or a wounded animal, the concern and sympathy.

They chafed under it, knowing that when they saw him they also risked that hovering worry was sometimes too much for them to tolerate. So then they walked. They had routes, the ones they’d learned while first being settled into this place. They did not deviate from their routes, Fear had too many good points on the dangers of deviation from the path for them to even consider it. It was too early for that, every time they stepped out into this hellhole was a victory at this point, better not to rush.

Tonight was one of those nights, They could not bear their apartment, could not bear Thenvunin and couldn’t find any way to settle— so they walked. Tonight they walked to a convenience store not too far away to pick up some dinner. The last vestiges of twilight clung to the sky, their nerves were already skyrocketing to near crazed from the encroaching darkness. It had been made expressly clear to them that armor was no longer acceptable dress and wearing it would gain unwanted attention and possible interaction with the law, They wanted neither so here they were, in the flimsy clothes these creatures wore, made even worse by the fact is was summer and Antiva City had the gall to be actually hot, wanting to scream at the vulnerability, shove all the passersby aside and find the nearest defendable spot to hide in.

They did not do any of that, instead they counted breaths, chewed at their lip and dug their claws into their palms as they went. They moved even faster then their already brusk pace had been once the convenience store was in sight, anything was better than being out in the open. The light inside was that sickly yellow these sorts of places seemed to have, the majority of the interior was obscured by rows upon rows what these people called food. They walked in and began to weave through the store, weighing choices as they made their way to the premade meals in the chilled section.

It was when they came nearer to the alcohol section, a set of glass doors perpendicular to the wall of open shelving they’d been aiming for, they recognized two figures. The diminutive form of the elf they’d bloodied at the temple and the odd emaciated shemlan who was constantly covered in bruises caused by an unseen hand. It was hard to tell if they were planning to make a night of it or just popping out to get something since the elf, Inan—Inan’len? Inan’Bel? Inanbel’len? Eyes-something who cares— was dressed in intensely baggy and patterned pants and what seemed to be a very fancy bathrobe while their companion was dressed casually but in a much more cohesive manner which could have been what was considered fashion now or just knowing how to put on a shirt and pants. They hate to at admit it but coming across familiar faces makes them almost instantly more relaxed.

As if to live up to their name Inan-whatever notices them first and triple takes up at them from their squatting position, the other one’s attention is drawn by what could best be described as the intense spasm of the head and neck their friend just did, spots Uthvir and grins. He leans on the door to the alcohol display languidly as he turns to better face them.

“Hey Spikey, crazy seeing you here.”

They grunt. They’re still not as good as they want with the language but they gather his meaning well enough from tone at least. The other one gets up with impressively little grace, and they’re given their first good chance to look at them without two black eyes. The younger elf’s face is still somewhat discolored from the beating they’d given it, they’re surprised by that for a split second, but remember that healing magic is practically useless here and they are very, very pale— marks stay in skin like that for months sometimes years— it does not mean they’re still injured, specially since there is no more swelling. It does certainly add to their look of a haggard waif though, that seems to be what they go for since they always look like they’re dressed in rags and stolen things.

There is a brief awkward moment that hangs there hideously between them that the shemlen laps up every second of. Then the little one finally speaks.

“Picking up dinner?”

“Yes. And you? Picking up the festivities for the night?”

They grin and laugh a little.

“Sort of. We know basically what we want but the real question is how much, since it—y’know depends on what we wanna do.”

They’ll admit, they’re mildly curious. What do people like them get up to.

“Oh? And what are the things you want to do?”

“Well, we can’t decide if we want to just go back to my place and drink or if we want to go out into the woods and drink. My place means more drinking but less fun breaking up and the woods means less drinking but more magic stuff.”

They’re about to ask why on earth would they want to go out into the wilderness in the middle of the night and wreck havoc on pointless shit when that urge is redirected almost instinctually by their eye as a hunter. The two of them are haggard with deep bruise like circles under their eyes from lack of sleep, they look exhausted run down but wild and wired, caught on the knife edge of no discernible name. They radiate something Uthvir will not name —cannot name or face— that they know too well is burrowed deep in them as well. They don’t ask.

They consider it idly, going with them to the woods just to avoid their empty apartment but Fear rears up immediately. It is right too— too dangerous, too dark, too early to trust in too new and potentially disastrous a scene.

“If you want you can come with us back to my place. You can pick something up here or get something at my place, I’ve got plenty to eat.”

Now this they do consider. This is a much more manageable concept. They already know they can decimate them in a fight if needed, they can pick out their own food and drink here to ensure its as safe as possible and they do know with reasonable confidence where they live compared to the other. This can work.

They grin toothily, a display of their fangs more than anything. They note with amusement it does not seem to phase either of them. They get the sense very little scares them anymore, and if it does that are too far gone to even react. Another note of similarity they cannot decide if they dare to acknowledge.

“How kind. It’s gracious of you invite me after our disastrous first meeting.”

They shrug. “It was an understandable ass-kicking. And I have a very beatable ass so—” Their expression is the picture of nonchalance.

That startles a short bark of a laugh out of them.

“Then I suppose we have a plan!”

#my writing #amd #a mirror darkly #amd writing #uthvir #inanallas #tace #the three of them are the perfect examples of 'casually paranoid 24/7' so naturally they have 2 hang out #inan takes getting their ass kicked in stride most of the time they generally walk in expecting it so #the idea of those 2 fighting for real tho is so funny bc they're so short #pint sized carnage #but seriously this may become a legit trio bc they are all deeply freaked and ready 2 cut ppl #normally uthvir probably wouldn't be as bad as them but #it's been a rough couple of millennia

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