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Remaint -> RE: ~*Getting To Know You*~ (12/7/2015 0:35:23)
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The indication provided by Keystone that he was not alone in combating the formerly threatening infernid prompt Woyadei to once more cast a glance throughout the tavern, gaining to acknowledge those possibly capable of combat. The wight’s gaze only met disappointment, seemingly highlighted by the once dancing ugly child raising its mug to the large commoner’s words. Within the building were present not one individual, barring himself, wielding a proper weapon with the capacity to confront infernidae with ease. At least concerning the undead conquistador there wasn’t.
Infernidae were diverse entities, wielding peculiar strengths and peculiar weaknesses to complement them. Examples included some being allergic to silver, some who burned in contact with pure iron. These tend to hold exceptional resistance against varying material, like bronze, lead and steel. Such oddities were what unintentionally made Woyadei’s glaive so useful. Made of Aeternasphalt, his and like material weapons completely ignored the strange resistances of creatures inexplicably resilient against kinetic power transferred by typical means. The potential drawback, however, was the inflicted result. Infernoids and other special creatures wouldn't set alight or otherwise feel remarkably different pain upon being struck with aeternasphalt. Still, many slayers preferred the neutral, but extremely tough material over something inconveniently soft and easy to tarnish as silver or pure iron.
The two draconians he’d come to know would only get away with fighting through their sheer strength; note worthy was that the noble hunter’s bladed tool was too awkward for a typical human to cut with. Woyadei was not entirely sure what sort of infernid assaulted the tavern dwellers, but he was sure Sana’s bow and Verna’s knives lacked the capacity to transfer enough force to effectively wound what could trouble even someone of Keystone’s stature. Not that the conquistador could blame them, the two women didn’t have the muscular builds to wield a greater ranged tool anyways. Well, strength-based ranged tools. He eyed the shoulders of Sana for a bit, then Keystone’s. Why wasn’t Keystone an archer? He’d make a terrific one; would probably wield a hundred-seventy pound bow if he dedicated time to it. It was probably safe to say Keystone was being generous in giving credit to the other tavern defenders.
Woyadei took a seat next to his allied millipede as he contemplated. He watched with a small, amused smirk as the green-tinted child pestered Rajiri, and rolled his empty sockets when the two dragon-kin began to speak in Rumblies again.
The conquistador’s gaze came to fall upon Sana’s quiver, then the mysterious person clad in black, and finally the green...dwarf. Woyadei began to doubt the short being’s status as particularly young, whatever his species is. There was a possibility, maybe high possibility, that there were notable sorcerers present. Afterall, the bard-archer did demonstrate her ability to summon flames, illusive may that be. Black Pants here could be a prodigy necromancer for all he knew. Woyadei tilted his head as he wondered what exactly is the green coloured dwarf; its reptilian skin and height told little. There were a few ideas to guess from, including drakels, actual dwarves, simply outliers of a normal species, or even the living version of Starvers, similarly heighted, undead monstrosities that prowled Gwendolyn’s Wastelands to the south of Shuischeier.
The wight’s empty sockets lazed over to his accompanying arthropod, who was apparently content to sip liquid from a mug. He scowled in confusion. Since when did millipedes drink liquor?
“Ere you are, Master Goblin, taste of victory."
Keystone’s sentence brought the conquistador’s attention back toward the green dwarf--goblin, as he now knew. How odd. Woyadei had only encounter the term through reading a brief description within some introductory literature to foreign creatures. The same literature stated Goblins were driven extinct some few centuries ago on the archipelago, by crusading elves, territorial uruk, advancing humans, merciless undead, etcetera. Pitiful, might their history have been. Out-paced by elves, out-mighted by uruk, out-crafted by humans and out-endured by undead. The only legacy left to their name were a species of shark, the Goblin Shark.
Abruptly, Woyadei’s expression fell horrid with fear.
…
It was dark. So. Terribly. Dark. They were underwater, on the far end of some abyssal plain. All sound came as gurgling echos, and it bloody hurt everywhere, everything felt pressured. It was absolutely horrible, having lungs completely filled, interior organs crushed, blood squeezed to the point of ringing, damned ringing pain. There were four of them, all undead; Seysern, Veliva, Qarusis and himself.
Woyadei could see exactly nothing, his head felt like imploding from the kilometres deep pressure and he had to deal with ever turbulent soil being spat in his face by whatever underwater drafts existed. “Damn this!” His foot found no purchase and he slipped, dragging a mermaid and hydromancer he held hands with down.
“Hold on! It’s just rough ground!” A voice in his head, the hydromancer Seysern’s. Being underwater, none of them could communicate vocally, and they had resorted to holding physical contact with Veliva, a mermaid deathknight who wields telepathy to relay messages. A torrent of water punched past his face, sending him, and by extension, his group careening backwards. “Why in torn guts are we here!? What purpose does this serve!” The cryomancer, Qarusis was shouting. He continued shouting until he screamed. Woyadei’s hand was jerked outwards and it felt like his face was suddenly smashed open. He alongside Veliva were sent flying backwards into the murky, flooding dirt. Seysern had let go, and it felt like Qarusis had as well. “Scheisse.” Veliva cursed. “Sheisse, we’re not--Sorry!” Woyadei felt his other arm jerk and suddenly he was alone.
“Merda! Che cazzo! The hell’s going on!?” Woyadei cursed furiously. Instinctively he yelled, no sound came, but his throat crumpled as the water’s pressure attempted to equalize. He coughed, he choked. He fell to his knees before finding some semblance of self restraint. Woyadei looked about, and thought once more how useless the gesture was. No new information was taken, everything was still hopelessly black, and only old pain was registered. His zombified body was thoroughly strained, his head felt like outright needles were interior. Then something occurred. Something tapped him, almost gently. His arms instantly grabbed the offending object...firm...squishy. At that moment the damned mermaid cast an illumination spell and his nightmare manifested. Horrendous, spike bristling red jaws literally burst into his vision, he tried screaming, screaming like blood would rush forth and out, out of all that is hell.
...
The undead conquistador blinked. He held his glaive with bone-white knuckles and he had been trembling. Masses of electricity flew about as he continued to char the furniture about him into black flakes. Uncharacteristically, he dashed straight out of the tavern, into the closest clearing. Ferocious hand directions were thrown and lightning bolts were loosed in five rapid successions. “Goblin Sharks! Bloody Goblin Sharks!” Five more bolts were loosed. The town might have assumed it was in a thunderstorm, with all the crackling and illumination about.
“I’ll be damned if there are Uruk Sharks.” Panting, Woyadei flung one, final and heavy stream of lightning before collapsing on a leg and kneeling. A brief moment later, he was bumped by a large round arthropod, who no doubt calmly trailed after him. He chuckled slightly, just a hint madly, before struggling to catching his breath, rubbing the millipede. Damned Grune Teufel had triggered a flashback of his, quite an inconvenient one.
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