~*Getting To Know You*~


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10/5/2015 10:17:39

Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns

Another day, another foot fall on the ground as the sun hung low in the sky. The usual dust kicked up from the ground as the wind blew. The trees as usual rustled their leaves, birds were chirping. It was a right peachy day in the middle of nowhere in a nowhere town on a who cares days. People wandered through the village, going from here to there not really caring who was coming and who was going as long as they didn’t run into them and get in their way. There were buildings, there were horses, there were creatures. A right ordinary place on a right ordinary day.

Well save one thing; the fog that had come in during the night. Wasn’t that fog was a strange thing, it happened from time to time. There was a dock nearby. What was strange was the woman that came tumbling out of the fog cursing like a sailor as her face hit the dirt.

“No, no, no!!!!” she screamed as her bow spun around her shoulder like a top and catching up in her cloak; pulling it over her face. “Not again! I am sick to death of these mother loving freaking stupid blasted bollocks filled fogs whisking me from place to place, realm to realm!” she grumbled as she stood up and looked like a mad woman trying to get her cloak off her face and her bow back in place.

Stopping she huffed and balled up her fists, letting out a long and loud frustrated scream before calming down and ripping the cloak straight off her body and kicking it along the ground. A few heaved breaths later and she had calmed enough to look around.

“Where in the blazes am I now?” she muttered to herself and snatched up her cloak. Her bow slinging to her back once again she began to tunnel vision on the first person her eyes fell on and make a bee line to them. Stepping right in front of the person and blocking their path.

“Where am I?” she snapped. The old man looked at her oddly and gave her some village name that she wouldn’t have known anyways. Sighing she rubbed her temples and spoke again. “No, I mean, what realm is this?”

“Um, Lore….” He said before scurrying off away from the woman.

“Lore? What kind of name is that?” she said as her hand dropped and she glanced around once again. Seeing the tavern she shrugged to herself and figured it was as good a place as any to start. Didn’t everything that went wrong start there?

“I could use a drink,” she said before pushing into the tavern that was like any other she had ever seen. People, smoke, smells, drunks, yup. It was surly your typical tavern that everyone stumbled on sooner or later.

< Message edited by Gingkage -- 10/21/2019 18:21:32 >

Post #: 1

10/5/2015 11:16:42

Draycos777
Member

Coming out from the foggy forest, Arche made her way towards the town's tavern. In her right hand was a scythe that was nearly as tall as she was and gave off a cool steel impression. In the other hand was what had once been the tail of a Minotaur shaman. She had taken on a quest to drive a Minotaur hunting party away from the area, and although she knew the townsfolk would have rather her have killed more than just one, the quest only said to disperse them; so taking out their leader seemed the most reasonable choice to take. As Arche mulled over how she'd reason it over to the barkeep, a rather loud voice interrupted her thoughts with a scream. Looking towards her left she saw a woman kicking a piece a cloth on the ground.

She was secretly thankful that she wasn't the first one in the odd woman's sights, as she instantly questioned the poor old man that is saw with rather strange questions. However, Arche quick retracted it saw soon as she saw the woman headed for her own destination, and let out a sigh while strapping her scythe to her back. Entering the tavern, Arche quickly walked up the the barkeep to turn in the tail and receive her reward.
Arche ended up referring the to the tail as:

"-The leader's tail, the rest ran way in fear. Shouldn't have anymore problems."

Collecting her reward and ordering some hot tea, Arche, with the tea still in her hands, turned around and tilted her head slightly upwards to look the strange woman in the face and spoke with a soft voice that bordered the edge of needing to strain yourself to hear and being loud enough to easily hear.

"-Did your teleportation spell go wrong? You seem confused... and out of place."

Post #: 2

10/5/2015 20:00:16

Remaint
Member

Prior marching into the foggy coast that awaited him, Woyadei had been filled with an odd consternation. His superior had issued a command, specifically for him, to head North of their location, with perhaps a warning to stay cool-headed and not be alarmed. It was an odd situation, as Woyadei had not been known to cower, or rage. Quite likely, the undead had been tasked with a hidden, suicidal mission. That didn’t bother him, it was not the first time he obeyed an order that lead to his death.

Well, he thought it was a mission that would conclude in his death. Even before laying foot in the looming fog, an acquaintance, probably friend now, held his hand and affectionately stated that she’ll be with him, if there would be a time of need. It was perplexing. Were they experimenting with the afterlife? Was he simply expected to return? Will he even die?

Soon enough, the undead soldier dutifully stepped forth into the fog, and was gone.

The fog had not been anything to be puzzled about. It was all-too usual, given that Woyadei had spent much time in Shuischeier, a chain of islands where fog never seemed to leave. Hell, the organisation he belonged to was named the “Confederacy of Mist.” Woyadei abruptly stuck his arm upwards, to shield his eyeless sockets once the fog lost its comforting typicalness. The damned Sun.

The undead soldier furrow his brow. This is not Shuischeier. Glancing about, he took notice of a dock underneath him--ordinary wood--, ordinary human buildings, ordinary living horses. Also humans...Living humans, in fact. Also the bloody Sun, why’s it so bright? Woyadei deepened his scowl.

“Not again! I am sick to death of these mother loving freaking stupid blasted bollocks filled fogs whisking me from place to place, realm to realm!”

Woyadei had less time to ‘appreciate’ his surroundings when his attention was caught by a hollering woman, with perhaps a similar situation to his own. The undead soldier was standing rather distantly behind her, however, and so fortunately was not the first person to behold her fury. So lively. I may have done the same if I was alive...actually, nope. Never did ask for directions. He followed her, and stopped just outside a building.

Soon enough a short farmer formerly lugging a not-rotten bovine tail contacted the woman. Carrying a scythe--a strange one, there was no second handle down by the haft--, the farmer was likely much more knowledgeable about their current surroundings, given her probable line of work. Placing his glaive, a weapon significantly taller than himself, upon his shoulder with the point behind him as not to be threatening, Woyadei casually strolled toward the two, less ordinary women in the tavern. If there is information afloat, one can be sure it will not rest with the mundane.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/5/2015 23:18:13 >

AQW

Post #: 3

10/5/2015 21:10:23

Sigil
Member

Today had been an interesting day. Let’s go through the list, shall we?

Fistfights – Two.
Poorly placed wagers – One.
Available funds – Less than ideal.
Contracts of employment – Zero.
Times slapped by women – Two. (Well, one woman, but she slapped twice)
Rumors about disappearing merchant caravans - Many, with potential for profit.

Having ended a contract by some textile merchant or another for the position of Grand Babysitter in charge of Really Big Bolt of Cloth Transportation Safety, and the subsequent week blowing the modest earnings therefrom, he was seriously considering looking into other venues of employment. This one last run, and he was out. If something didn't happen that put him closer to figuring out why entire caravans of overland trade goods vanished from the face of the earth, he would focus on more practical pursuits. Like pit fighting. Or bar bouncing. Y'know, where it was safer.

Truth be told, he really wasn't an investigator. He mostly just hit people.

Luck, if one could call it that, found him about two days from home. While napping against an oak tree, waiting to relieve the Watch Sergeant that evening, in fact. He slept, confident that he would be roused for his turn. Instead he awoke alone, still sitting against that old oak tree. With the exception of the one arboreal tower, however, his surroundings had drastically altered. It was as if a chunk of reality, his reality, had been stitched into another.

He remained calm, stood, relieved himself against his native oak (even whistled a bit during), and took stock of his new environment.

Foggy. It wasn't the time of the year for fog back home. More trees, too. Not the kind of trees native to his more familiar expanse of dirt. Fortune favored him in one regard; his belongings were right where he left them the night before, or rather where they would have been were he still home. Something else gave him hope: he could smell a woodfire somewhere to the east.

A fire probably meant a human settlement. A human settlement probably meant there was a bar nearby. He could at least get a drink. Good silver coin still jingled in his coinpurse, and unless he was in a totally alien environment, everyone accepted silver.

He sighed, shouldered his pack, and spoke to seemingly nobody in a low, irritated voice, "This makes three times, damnit! What lesson am I supposed to learn now? What good deed needs bein' punched into the local folk, eh?" An underclass accent betrayed the nature of his upbringing as he continued, "Another time then, until you reward or release me. 'Ere we go..."

The broad man wrapped his black wool coat about him, and followed the smell of smoke to a lovely little hamlet. He picked which building was most likely to sell alcohol and made a beeline for it. Upon entering, he located the bar, slammed a few silver coins onto it, and half-growled,

"Beef and beer, lots of both. Fresh bread if you got it, and if'n you'd humor me, where in the arse am I supposed to be? I've had a right strange night."

< Message edited by Sigil -- 10/5/2015 22:34:41 >

AQW

Post #: 4

10/5/2015 23:52:11

Draycos777
Member

As Arche waited for the woman to respond to her, two more weirdos showed up. the first, wearing a trenchcoat, shades and armed with a glaive, walked towards her and strange woman. The other, who was as tall and big as Arche was short, headed straight for the bar.

"Beef and beer, lots of both. Fresh bread if you got it, and if'n you'd humor me, where in the arse am I supposed to be? I've had a right strange night." The tall man growled his order and question.

"Maybe I should have picked a different town."

Arche sighed inwardly. It couldn't be helped though. She had already chosen to get herself involved in whatever silly event had ensued when she spoke to the woman that was screaming at her cloak. Bring her cup to her lips, Arche took a sip of the tea within before speaking up once more.

"-You're in a small port town. The name doesn't really matter since the town isn't of much significance."

This was true. Arche could probably buy most of the town with the gold she had on hand. However,she kept quite about that fact. Arche was never one to brag, and besides, she learnt that having multiple people learn of your wealth in an area with such a low standard-of-living always invited trouble, which was something she didn't want.

Arche took other sip of her tea before looking at the shades of the man in the trenchcoat and took a small step back.

"-This was also your question as well no? I, myself, didn't really plan on staying here for very long. I came here because I heard that a Grabbi was in the local area and I want to see if I can use their bottomless eating to make a new bag."

Arche's nose curled from the smell of the man in the trenchcoat. It was a smell she had grown to know very well during her times traveling. It was the smell of well-decayed fish guts; the smell of death. Either this man had recently killed something or someone and hadn't taking a bath since, or he had just come from a place that permeated death... or he was death itself; an undead. There where times that Arche cursed her heightened senses, this was one of those times. She'd just have to make a mental note to keep an eye on that one. She knew many undead that gained sentience are able to throw away their natural hatred for the living, but she trusted the undead no more than she could lift a mountain and shake it. Covering her nose with the sup so that she could only smell the tea, Arche spoke up again.

"-Do any of you three have a plan? Or are you just freeloaders now? If not, I could used a hand if this Grabbi really is here." Arche paused to drink again, then continued; "-Of course, you'll be paid for your help."

Post #: 5

10/6/2015 1:05:23

Remaint
Member

"-This was also your question as well no? I, myself, didn't really plan on staying here for very long. I came here because I heard that a Grabbi was in the local area and I want to see if I can use their bottomless eating to make a new bag."

Woyadei tilted his head at the farmer’s sentences, for key information could be gleaned. Firstly, the farmer is not a farmer, or at least, not native to the region. But what’s a hunter doing with a scythe? Secondly, the hell’s a “Grabbi”? From what she said, it seemed to be an animal with a particularly acidic, durable stomach. Her tone sounds with notable confidence. Either she was truly young, or of experienced importance. Quite importantly, this port being of low worth means it is an escape route, should events turn awry.

He was about to remark, but refrained upon noticing the hunter’s apparent revulsion towards him. A curled noise obviously referred to smell, and a step backwards tells of potential threat. The undead conquistador inwardly sighed; he already appeared suspicious, and all he did was ventured some metres. Well, carrying a soldier’s weapon and dressing the way he does tend to raise alert, not to mention having formaldehyde circulate within his non-functioning organs. He knew that. It couldn’t be helped, never bothered to blend in with the humane types anyway. The alarming matter is, how many “Holy” orders exist within the region, and how did they deal with the dead?

"-Do any of you three have a plan? Or are you just freeloaders now? If not, I could used a hand if this Grabbi really is here." Arche paused to drink again, then continued; "-Of course, you'll be paid for your help."

It was always an adequate plan to act in service to a welcoming, even if leery group set upon a hunting task, especially if one was shoved without prior warning into an area unknown. Information could be mined, trust could be obtained. Currency, though not of particularly great worth to himself, was still valued for its versatility, and the Confederacy of Mist would benefit in accumulating it. Also, Woyadei preferred not to be known as a societal parasite. It’s a good place to start.

“Such a task may suit my capability, I will join you.”

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/6/2015 1:38:54 >

AQW

Post #: 6

10/6/2015 8:59:19

Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns

Sana glanced over towards the one that originally spoke to her and rose a brow before shaking her head as she leaned against the bar. “No, no messed up teleportation. I don’t use magic like that,” she said as she held a finger up motioning for the barkeep to come over to her. The middle aged burly man with a gut that was far larger than it should be came over to her with a wiry grin on her slovenly features.

“What can I do you for sweetheart?” he asked in a rough voice with a bit of spittle building up at the corner of his mouth.

“Double, strong,” she said before turning her attention back over to the woman. “I’m just sick of getting picked up and dropped off by random fogs as of late. This is the third time in a month, at least I think it is a month. I have lost count,” she admitted as the man came back over and set the glass down on the bar top. Sana reached for it but his hand quickly went over it.

“How do you plan on paying?” he asked.

“I’ll work it off, I ain't no freeloader,” she said before shoving his hand to the side and pulling the glass over to her side of the bar top. Leaning over the man ran a grubby finger with black under the nails along the bare skin of her arm.

“I am sure you can,” he said in a pathetic attempt at seduction. Sana calmly put the glass back on the bartop and before he could react her bow was off her back and the center wood was around the back of his neck. She stepped back and pulled down hard, slamming his face into the cracked wooden surface before the bow slipped off the back of his skull and was back slung in place. He reared back holding his face as the blood poured from his nose. Sana calmly picked up the drink and downed it in one swift gulp before resting the glass back on the counter.

“You broke my nose!” he whined.

“Shouldn’t have touched me,” she snapped back as she pulled up a seat and let her legs swing to and fro.

“You have to pay for that!” he said as he grabbed a dirty ragged and shoved it against the bloody stump of a nose that in Sanas opinion looked better this way than it originally had.

“I said I would work it off, give me a few,” she said with a shrug as her hands rested between her legs on the edge of the stool. Turning she glanced around and counted the patrons before looking up and her lips mouthing something that one couldn’t understand. “Yeah, one should do it for today,” she mumbled to herself before looking back over to the man as he groaned. “One song for one day here on the house,” she propositioned.

“What? A song, you have got to be kidding,” he said as his eyes narrowed, figuring she was just some brigand looking for a free meal.

“Not kidding, one song, covers my costs. If not, you get this,” she said pulling out a silver arrow and spinning it on the end of her fingers. The mans eyes widened and he nodded slowly. “Good, we have a deal.”

Post #: 7

10/6/2015 12:39:28

Remaint
Member

“I’m just sick of getting picked up and dropped off by random fogs as of late. This is the third time in a month, at least I think it is a month. I have lost count,”

So, the archer did not intentionally travel with the fog, nor seems to be capable of willing it, but still seems to hold some connection to it.

“Shouldn’t have touched me,”

Woyadei observed the archer with amused, non-existent eyes. Her actions seemed to bring no subtlety and would likely land her in much trouble in the future, if not already the past. An experience with a war, brought upon by escalating conflict originating from a minor scuffle in a rival city coloured his perspective. Still, the undead conquistador didn’t look down on the archer; she was livening things that were otherwise really dull. The women of Kleinschar, his immediate military company, would have done similar. Actually, only a certain Ethna Graves would act this tactless. Vampires and succubi would have placed that guy under illusions, and take his money. Sirens and mermaids would hypnotise the fat fellow, and eat his organs in dark water. Undead humans, barring Ethna, would...act quite unpredictably, but probably more civil.

“One song for one day here on the house,”

A small smile found its way to Woyadei’s expression. Don’t those who deal with musical instruments tend to be less violent? I suppose I haven’t seen many musicians then. He did see quite a number of undead, demonic and humane sing or play tunes, and most of them tend to be less aggressive, or at least they look like it out of battle. Those same people certainly served in conquests and defenses, and were just as fierce as any dragoon or gendarme.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/6/2015 12:48:05 >

AQW

Post #: 8

10/6/2015 18:16:39

Sigil
Member

The big guy at the bar, beer in hand (still waiting for his food), made subtle observations of the people in his immediate vicinity. The few around him making the most noise, while quite entertaining, also seemed the most irritated. Listening to snatches of their conversations, he figured out why. At least two of them were lost, as well.

One was angrier about it than the other, the lady with the recurve bow. The one that wasn't so miffed, with the waxy skin and stark white hair - didn't seem to take in a breath except to speak. This was off-putting, especially considering his last big adventure had him hunted down by, and having to bareknuckle back to death, a handful of free-willed walking corpses of varying degrees of power. Not certain how this society took to the undead, intelligent or not, maintaining a respectful but terse demeanor seemed the best course of action until he learned more.

Not that he was eavesdropping, mind you. Well, technically, yes he was. But he wasn't being nosy; this was an attempt to gather more information about his surroundings and the potential level of hostility therein for a man in his position. Taking a bread-and-butter caravan guard's job in an attempt to find out more about disappearances had only resulted in getting himself "disappeared". He was about 80% sure that this whole situation was related to it, thus giving him a fighting claim at the reward, but getting back to explain (let alone collect) was a different matter altogether. Maybe if he sat and listened more, kept a low profile, pertinent information would slip.

As it turned out, the only thing that slipped was himself.

The brief exchange between the archer and the would-be Lothario barkeep, terminating with “Shouldn’t have touched me” caught the large man and his beer mid-swallow, prompting an uncontrolled eruption of poorly timed mirth. Partially inhaling his lager, he immediately flew into a coughing fit. Vaporized beer and hoppy foam filled the atmosphere in front of the stalwart pugilist before he could bring his hands up to cover his face. Whether he was laughing or coughing was anyone's guess.

"Bloody 'ell, woman! Made it come out m'nose!"

< Message edited by Sigil -- 10/6/2015 19:56:38 >

AQW

Post #: 9

10/6/2015 20:15:16

Krey
Member

A light breeze whistled through branches as she emerged from the treeline, looking down on the nearby town with an amused glint in violet eyes. Bare feet padded silently along the path, a constant smile decorating pale lips, loose tresses of fire flickering against her shoulders, dangling from the loose bun which tied them. There was a considerable fog rolling in from the sea, nearly engulfing the small port town; just the kind of environment for a grand entrance! Well, perhaps if she'd not just performed a grand escape merely an hour before.

Ah, the look on the governor's face at the fresh pink coat of fur his prized stallion bore. It was worth the jaunt through the woods which followed.

But now she was coming to a new town, one which didn't know her. A blessing and a pity, to be sure, but there was nothing wrong with making a name for oneself thrice in the same month. For now, though, she thought it perhaps best to keep a little bit of a smaller profile, allow herself some time to rest and relax before stirring up anymore trouble. Not as if that was what she'd told herself in the last town... And the one before that. But what was life without a little... chaos? She giggled to herself, a sound suited more to a schoolgirl than the twenty-something woman who just now began to skip down the road into town. Yes, this was going to be fun indeed!

A little more fun than she'd expected, even, perhaps! Once she had skirted the edges of town, in order to get a feel for her possible escapes and just what was actually available here, she came to the tavern. Certainly these are rowdy places, the kind of place one is more likely to get away with causing a little bit of trouble, but inside she could here shouts. Of course, even shouting wouldn't be so atypical in a place such as this, but these were the shouts of trouble. Cracking the door open, she took a peek inside to see the bartender with a rag in his face; bloody nose, perhaps? Who'd caused it she couldn't be sure, but it seemed the trouble was past for now.

Even still, she got the hunch this wouldn't be the last of it, and so with a wide grin, she threw the door open and stepped inside. Arms wide in a grand gesture of 'hey, look at me!' and without more than a lilting chuckle, she wandered over to the bar where were gathered a group of troublemakers if ever there was one.

“My friends! When fate deigns bring together such a crew of motley folk, trouble looms on the horizon most assuredly! Would that I might introduce myself! I am Verna Troi, of the Algrin Troupe!”

She took a deep bow, then, a gleeful smile veritably splitting her features as she held her head up to gaze upon each.

AQ	Post #: 10

10/6/2015 20:44:56

Remaint
Member

The undead conquistador has since slid to a corner in the tavern close to the door. The noise of someone gagging on alcohol, laugh induced, based on his humoured language caught the dead man’s attention. There by a table was a large man in high spirits, likely a commoner, but an honest one maybe. The type one might be able to count on for battlefield tasks, given his stature and vigour.

Woyadei’s sights fell upon a red-clad woman when the tavern’s door thunked open. Her attitude was mirthful, greatly so, and she spoke with high confidence. Immediately, the undead thought of bandits, staging a robbery. The term ‘Troupe’ was registered, but the conquistador would not take chances. A hand flew onto the handle of the glaive and Woyadei bounced from wall-leaning to a ready, if still calm position. Initially meeting her eyes briefly, his glance did fall low, however. ...Bel culo...

AQW	Post #: 11

10/6/2015 22:11:55

Draycos777
Member

Apparently, fog made the strange woman a realm hopper whenever she came across it. Or at least that's what Arche understood from her reply. She was about to ask for a clarification when the barkeep came up with the woman's drink. Arche wasn't sure if she should feel disgusted by his perversion or annoyed by the fact that she had just realized that he had been treating her like a kid when she was just recently talking to him about the Minotaur's tail. Whatever the case, the strange woman might cause her trouble if she gets everyone dragged into a barfight. In the background, Arche could hear the sound of the big man choking on his beer from laughing too hard.

"Bloody 'ell, woman! Made it come out m'nose!"

Arche frowned and mumbled to herself. "-Way to loud."

After the realm-traveling bard finished threatening the barkeep, Arche sighed and stretched out on her tip-toes so that her left hand could reach the man's face. Keeping it close enough so that it covered the nose, but far enough so that it didn't touch his face. In the next second, a soft glow surrounded her hand and lasted for three to four seconds more before disappearing again.

"-A small wound like a broken nose, isn't much of a problem to heal. That should cover for your nose, and this," Arche reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a couple of silver coins; "-should pay for the drink."

Honestly, it was probability more than double the drink's actual amount, but that would make the barkeep shut up faster. Arche then turned to the bard.

"-I know you're new to here, or I guess to this world, so it doesn't really effect you, but please chose your action a little more carefully. Unlike you, some of us have a reputation to uphold in this world. I'd hate to think of how word of me getting involved in a barfight in-the-middle-of-nowhere would be used against my family."

Arche stopped to finish the rest of the tea in her cup, before ordering more.

"-With that being said, I wouldn't mind hearing one of your songs."

Before anything else could happen, another weirdo showed up for a grand total of four now. Acting as if she was on some real life stage, the rouge-dressed woman drifted over to the group. Arche planed on ignoring her at first, until the man in the trenchcoat suddenly got tense.

"-What are you doing? I don't really care if you attack her out of some odd fear of traveling clowns, but if you end up killing her, won't that make things a bit messy?"

"As soon as I find that Grabbi, I'm leaving this town. There's way to much weird crap going on in this town."

AQ	Post #: 12

10/7/2015 0:20:32

Remaint
Member

"-What are you doing? I don't really care if you attack her out of some odd fear of traveling clowns, but if you end up killing her, won't that make things a bit messy?"

The hunter’s sentences certainly brought things to light. This is what passes for a clown? Have you even Seen--Unlikely. Those are in Morseren...scheisse. Still, is no one alarmed when a colourfully dressed, eccentrically acting person announces themselves at some inopportune, chaotic moment? Still in guard, Woyadei seeks explanation.

“I do not intend on harming the harle..clown, so long as she bares no threat herself. But as it stands, do you know this woman?”

Now that the undead ponders, the woman with her over-optimistic personality, many sheathed knives and white-red colours does appear to be some clown, maybe a psychotic harlequin or some other circus worker. And really, the only people who happily announces their entrance like so are mobsters, supremely confident in their overwhelming firepower and eagerly awaiting to gain civilian valuables. Woyadei had gotten into a couple fights with such rogue-ish figures, in Karaser, a sprawling urban territory. The Karaseren mafia-guns out-ranged his lightning. Not that the undead conquistador expects the circus-woman to be apart of the mafia, or suddenly spawn undead-effective firearms.

...He didn’t quite know how this nicely coloured woman sparked such a nervous train of thought. Do I carry a latent fear of clowns? Do clowns carry a latent power of fright?

The prior actions and statements of the scythe-wielding hunter had confirmed Woyadei's suspicions. The girl was from a highly influential family, likely wealthy enough to command a firm number of assassins and mercenaries. Not someone to piss off. Concerning her scythe, it may very well be that she is from a combat-oriented family that fights without conventional methods. Her trust is valuable, but her fighting form could be disappointing.

That healing ability she displayed is also interesting. Necromancy? No, the guy was alive. It went without saying, from where Woyadei came from, medics were also necromancers. Geomancy? Well, despite how grimey he looked, the bartender probably isn’t made of actual mud. He kind of was though, as humans compose of certain solid, terrestrial material. Yet, it's unlikely the young girl mastered the element to such an extent. Luxomancy? Do paladins here carry scythes? Made sense. Reap the souls that were wickedly rooted to this earth. Obscuromancy? The hell does darkness have to do with healing! It would seem further observation must be done upon the noble hunter.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/7/2015 5:07:27 >

AQW	Post #: 13

10/7/2015 10:23:23

Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns

Burn With Me
Click Song Link For Sanas Song For This Post

Sana glanced over towards the man and smirked, an innocent shrug coming from her shoulders as her legs swung still to and fro from below her knees as she sat on the stool. “Better that than blood,” she quipped before her attention was drawn towards the petite woman and her smirk left her lips as she slid out of the stool and let her feet fall to the ground silently.

“I could really care less what this world or any other thinks of you, your family or anyone else for that matter. I don’t take kindly to those that would put their hands on me and I take even less kindly to those that put their reputations above some grabby bartender being put into his place. Don’t like the way I do things, perhaps you should leave,” she said in a cold voice. “Feel free to stay and hear my song before you toddle off,” she added with a graceful bow that seemed rather uncharacteristically graceful for a woman with such a fiery temper.

Her head turned slowly as the new woman entered the tavern and her thin brow arched deeply. Another? she thought to herself as the word troupe came to her ears. She obviously wasn’t from Sanas troupe nor even her realm but one could spot their kind easily enough by the way they carried themselves and this one did not seem to hide it the way Sana did. Not that Sana cared anymore what she was; she just preferred to dress as a marksman over an entertainer for that is what she saw herself as truly. She had to admit though, being a gypsy had its perks. Especially in places like this where the turn of a hip could get a job done faster than the tip of an arrow.

“Seems you arrived just in time,” Sana stated to Verna as she stepped over towards her. “I was just about to begin,” she said as she shrugged her pack, bow and quivers off her back and shoved them towards the man whose drink had just come out his nose. “Hold these,” she said rather presumptuously before cracking her fingers and fanning them out as she stepped over to the fire pit that burned into the center of the room.

Taking a deep breath her hands flexed out over the flames, cutting through them and seemly to catch them in her palms before she turned around and faced the tavern patrons balancing a flickering fire above the palm of one hand. Her hand began to move and weave through the air as she seemed to sculpt the flame until several figures of illusionary fire stood around her and the sounds of violins and lutes began to travel through the air of the tavern that had now fallen silent. The original flame now lay split in two, one small flicker in each hand as her voice began to ring out over the sounds of the instruments; a velvet voice that rang clear and true.

“You are gone to the highest bidder, now you’re with one that is gods worst sinner. Well, no don’t care about me. I was just the one who was meant to set you free,” she sung as she strolled around the room, moving the flames from one point to another as she rolled them over the back of her hands and through her fingers.

“I tried to make you a part of me, I even told you what would happen theoretically. There is something that I need to know. Why am I the one that lost it all?” she vocalized as she stopped in front of a single patron and pointed a finger towards him, the flame flickering at the end of her nail.

“But every day and every time I turn around, searching for a place that I have left behind and all I wanna believe is that you could bleed,” she caroled before turning away from the man as her voice grew with intensity and the flames began to crawl up from her hands and encompassed her wrists, then arms and up to her shoulders as her body began to move and sway with the rhythm of the sounds that swirled around her.

“Burn with me, I’m just an empty shell. Another’s friend transformed to someone else. Take your seat, I cast a spell, so you’ll be less like you and more like someone else,” she chorused. She continued to move through the tavern, seemingly to speak to certain patrons as her fiery hands would cup their cheeks or fingers would trail down their shoulders as she sung. The fire never burned them but instead cast a haunting shadow over them as she was near.

“Ones life is another’s dream. What someone says a myth is one’s normality. How can I believe there’s another sun, correct me if I’m wrong but I’m the chosen one. As night as taken what is left of day and everything is like it’s made of clay, I feel like I am the only one feeding my need to be reckoned as someone. Any every day and every time I turn around, searching for a sign so I can make a sound but all I want is to flee, I want to see you,” she sung as she stood still in the center of the room, her body swaying slowly with each note that left her vocals. A small pause before her voice rang out once again and seemed to echo itself in the nothing tavern in the nowhere town.

“Burn with me,” she sung as the flames swallowed her form and from there she continued to sing, repeating the chorus time and time again as the flames pulled off her body to reveal her as one of the patrons she had touched during the song up until that point. Then the flames would surround her again, pull from her and reveal another patron. “I’m just an empty shell, another’s friend transformed to someone else. Take your seat. I cast a spell, so you’ll be less like you and more like someone else.”

At the last repeat of the chorus, the flames pulled from her and swirled above as the figures she had created from the flames returned to her flame and spilled back to the pit fire as her voice fell silent. All the illusions of her being another one of the patrons falling away until it was just her once again. Turning she faced the bar keep and smirked.

“That cover my costs for the day?” she asked flatly and the barkeep could only nod slowly, a look of astonishment falling over his features. “Good, pour me another one.”

< Message edited by Afina -- 10/7/2015 10:24:48 >

Post #: 14

10/7/2015 12:32:34

Remaint
Member

“You are gone to the highest bidder, now you’re with one that is gods worst sinner. Well, no don’t care about me. I was just the one who was meant to set you free”

Woyadei felt a shiver throughout his spine as the woman sang. Undead. Necromancy. Holy Order. In one way or the other, those unliving offered their services, or were compelled to act. His own Shuischeier holds a very long history of mercenary operations. All throughout his continent, the Dominion of Mist, slavery or organ trade was commonplace, especially in populous areas such as Karaseren or Harrowshreiken cities. The demons and necromancers who employed the usual undead tend to be termed ‘sinners’. Then there were the crusaders and paladins, whose declared mission was to ‘liberate’ all undead. None of this particularly disturbed the conquistador, but he grimaced nonetheless.

“I tried to make you a part of me, I even told you what would happen theoretically. There is something that I need to know. Why am I the one that lost it all?

There were some experiments that people, even undead people actively avoided thinking about, let alone loose a single word of it. Some dark deeds are harrowing to such a degree, it was deemed assuredly perilous to describe. The only truth, vague though it may be, is that inconceivably eldritch practices are exercised within the black mountain, Morseren. Woyadei had crossed this secret by sheer misfortune; his first duty of his unlife was to assist in disposing grisly material deemed unfit for the universities of occult sciences. He had glimpsed upon two of such frightful happenings, and limped away in forced forgetfulness.

“But every day and every time I turn around, searching for a place that I have left behind and all I wanna believe is that you could bleed”

Countless undead believed themselves cursed with such circumstance. Spawned in an unholy manner in the foreboding fog of the Dominion, conscious of their unnatural existence, it may be sympathetically comprehended why the sentient dead feels as such. They turn to look upon others of their new kind, and find no comfort in death’s unliving embrace.

“Burn with me, I’m just an empty shell. Another’s friend transformed to someone else. Take your seat, I cast a spell, so you’ll be less like you and more like someone else”

Cremation, undeath, aesthetic surgery comes to mind. Not merely whole bodies could be animated by the talented necromancers of the Mist, but damaged, lost and even burnt forms may be raised from the dead. Flame used to be an effective force against the Dominion’s inhabitants; it is no more, for countless battles against the region’s holy territory, Remilon, have lead to great mystical advances in resistance. Empty shells of discharged fire became a common sight, however.

Undeath. It’s quite easy to tell, but those resurrected tend to have altered behaviors. A person one may know, would lose much sense of familiarity once returned.

Surgery. Too often, bodies given life once more become heavily disfigured. In the interest of public decency, purpose or even art, necromancers and alchemists customise walking corpses. The operations of Morseren and Karaser are liable to be rather astounding. Unrecognisably rended carcasses could be reformed into perfect duplicates of some other being.

“Ones life is another’s dream. What someone says a myth is one’s normality…”

The occasional philosopher will state such a phrase. Contemplating the possibility would drive one mad, sane, then mad once more. There was a minor rumour floating about the lonelier regions of the Dominion, that there exists a realm without magic, with the unliving a complete impossibility. Some say the rumour stemmed from the divinations of Morseren, many ignore such a myth, perhaps out of fear; for how might one feel if their deaths were eternal?

“Burn with me”

The undead conquistador held much surprise; his glaive had fallen lax with a soft thud and he relaxed from his guarded stance. Such peculiar lyrics, a complete oddity in performance. Her change in form is a unique touch, if potentially powerful one. Woyadei could not say such an experience was entirely pleasant, but it was thrilling. The only musical acts he ever participates in were the occasional march songs his company sang, to pass time.

♪Friedericus Rex, mein Konig und Held, Wir schlugen den Teufel fur dich aus der Welt! 🎶

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/7/2015 23:06:55 >

AQW	Post #: 15

10/7/2015 12:59:20

Draycos777
Member

"I could really care less what this world or any other thinks of you, your family or anyone else for that matter. I don’t take kindly to those that would put their hands on me and I take even less kindly to those that put their reputations above some grabby bartender being put into his place. Don’t like the way I do things, perhaps you should leave,” she said in a cold voice. “Feel free to stay and hear my song before you toddle off,”

At the bard's remark, a slight burning rage began to grow inside of Arche's chest. She wanted very badly to slam the woman's face into the table much as she had done to the barkeep.

"The hell does she think she is? First off, there are more these more than one way to put someone in their place other than violence. If you can't handle something that simple, then you shouldn't even be traveling! Secondly, You're the one how came to this world! If you don't even care to learn about it, then you leave,b- enough calm down."

Arche didn't voice her rather fiery options, nor did she even have the chance to as the woman began to sing. Dance around and poking patrons, the bard used magic to turning as the fires played the sounds of music. By the end of the song, Arche felt herself feeling rater disappointed. The song was indeed wonderful, however, the music and effects were all second-rate spells at best. Maybe it was something that wow'd the commonfolk out here, but even she could pull off tricks like that.

In fact...

Arche, while taking a drink, discreetly flicked her right pinkie, pouring her magic into the fireplace. The flames darkened, dimmed and brightened, before finally succumbing to the shadow magic and burning a bright violent and purple. Acting as though she was still only drinking her tea, Arche split the flames and guided them towards each patron the bard had touched, making them dance underneath and around their feet as if the flame was still entranced by the bard's song. Glancing over to lock eyes with the bard, Arche held her monotone voice; probability one of her greatest weapons when negotiating with other merchants.

"-That was a good song, but..." Arche turned her gaze towards the purple flames; "-Either your magic has side effects in this 'realm' or it's as volatile as your personality. Eitherway, if you happen to burn down this building, you can be assured that I'll 'toddle off'."

"I doubt I'll see her again after this. I don't know how her own 'realm' worked, but she'll likely get herself killed here by pissing off the wrong person. A shame really, since the song was so nice."

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 10/7/2015 13:15:06 >

AQ	Post #: 16

10/7/2015 14:21:43

Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns

Sana glanced at the woman out of the corner of her eye as she picked up the drink that was poured for her and sat down at the bar; downing it quickly before retrieving her things and placing her bag next to her in another stool and slinging her bow and quiver over her back.

“Or perhaps I just did enough to get what I needed done instead of wasting time and energy trying to impress more than what was required,” she stated flatly. “But if burning the tavern down is what it takes to make you toddle off, I will keep that in mind.”

Stretching her hands above her head she arched her back deeply and let her body tense for a moment before relaxing once again and resting her elbow on the bar. She had dealt with far more impressive lay abouts than the one that seemed to think their opinion on things mattered. Thing was, most people were like that. They figured everyone cared what they thought and the truth of the matter was that people were usually more worried about what others thought of them, so much so they pulled stunts like the petite woman had to get attention. To Sana it didn’t matter. Like her or hate her she didn’t care what others thought. She was too old and had lived through too much to bother with such trivialities.

Looking over at the bar keep she ordered some food and rested against the back of the bar once she spun around to look at the tavern. What in the world was she doing here? She hadn’t tried to get here. Her realm hadn’t sent her here. Something in this realm must have brought her here but why was beyond her and in the end she only reason the thought even crossed her mind was the sooner she figured out why she was here the sooner she could leave and get back to her home and back to the quest she was on before the fog had taken her.

She wondered how many others in her group have been spirited away and if they had been where they were now. Or was she the only one? If the fog kept rolling in to take her here and there she may never get home. The first fog had taken her from her group while they were camping in a cave. The second had rolled into a castle where she was performing before a king. The third she had been in a cold wasteland fighting alongside a paladin among others which had also been spirited away. Now she was here, in the middle of a no where town with nothing to go on.

Her thoughts drifted back to original group. She missed them. Fiona with her fiery hair that touched the ground and her ever persistent attitude. There was Vaeri, the holy nun with an axe strike that could cleave an oak clean through. There was Lob, the loving half-orc that was like a pet to the group, ever sniffing out trouble. Drizzak, little goblin Drizzak who loved battle as much as any dwarf she had ever met and he was a true artist when it came to a kill. Then there was Derrix, the poet from another realm who spoke of his home in such a way that made others wish to see it. Sana sighed as she ran her fingers along the edge of the stool. Would she ever see them again? And what about her sister and her niece? What had happened to them? They had freed slaves together, killed a Lych, destroyed a necromancer and slaughtered an Anti-Paladin together. And their adventure had just begun. She hoped they were okay, they were her family.

Post #: 17

10/7/2015 15:31:28

Remaint
Member

For the moment, the excitement has faded, with possible lingering effects in the form of dancing fire. Likely innocuous, but best keep an eye out. In all my experience of raids, the smallest of flame could burst into an easy cause of death. Somewhat fortunately, gunpowder appears not to be present, but much wood is.

The undead conquistador headed in the direction of the singer-archer--Bardcher?--giving the clown-woman a wide, wary berth--the ideal of bandits still remained. Said Bardcher’s voice was a fairly antagonistic towards the noble hunter, and was fearless. Either the woman was absolutely formidable in combat, allied to incredibly potent entities, or is simply grumpy as a vampire without blood. Woyadei was keen on acquiring knowledge upon her origin and circumstances of her travel. Bleeding hell, I don’t usually do this thing, “investigating.” What am I to do if she asks for where I come from? “Hi, I’m here to screw with foreign affairs as an undead herald from the depths of the underworld?”

Soon enough, the undead stood near the ‘bardcher’, and spoke in a slightly soft tone.

“You conduct your music well, archer. I want to discuss something, if you don’t mind. I understand that we are both foreigners to this realm, and I would like to know where you were prior the incident with unintended transportation. I wonder of the possible forces that may have caused our unwilling departures.” Well, I willingly departed, but she doesn't need to know that.

Woyadei subconsciously grit his teeth. He was unused to potentially lying, and obtaining vocal information in a subtle manner, without the threat of screaming of artillery on the killing fields, without threatening to amputate limbs or zap cartons of explosives that would lead to mutual death, was alien to him. Many things could go wrong. She could be a paladin, she could work for paladins, she could have parent paladins, she could have friend paladins, she could have damnable experiences with the dead paladins! Shutting his mental rambling, the paranoid conquistador awaited some potential for an alliance, or que to fight. He wielded more than enough experience to plough through holy turmoil, come what may.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/7/2015 16:22:58 >

AQW	Post #: 18

10/7/2015 17:56:39

Krey
Member

Ever taking stock of the room around her, Verna noticed the sudden movement of the pale one, hand finding his glaive as if preparing for some threat. Ah, it warmed her heart to see the effect though, to be fair, threatening wasn't exactly the vibe she was going for. One simply had to take what they were given! Apparently, she wasn't the only one to notice the defensive gesture, for the small pale woman at the bar spoke up as if concerned that a fight might break out.

The grin on her features widened as first, she was named a clown, and second, the pale woman (Well, the other pale woman, the one with the scythe) was apparently concerned for her noble standing! Oh the joy of harassing the noble class! Indeed the high and mighty could be found anywhere, even in small towns such as these ones.

The one with the bearing of a ranger spoke next, though as was about to be made clear, she was more than just a ranger. Grinning all the while, Verna stepped aside to give her room.

And it was a lovely song! The dance of flames throughout the room was simply entrancing, though clearly illusory. For fire to dance along her body she would have to be quite resistant to the element; not unheard of, but she was also touching people who did not burn, so unless she was expending a considerable amount of energy in order to protect them as well, they must be illusory. A convincing illusion, though; your mundane patron would never expect fire to lick along their cheeks without a burn!

The performance finished, the singer moved back to the bar, and Verna applauded her approval slow and loud.

The pale man moved to the singer, clearly keeping distance from Verna herself, which drew a deeper grin from the trickster who, so challenged, had no choice but to provoke him. Slinking silently across the room, she made to rest one elbow upon the man's shoulder, her smile never fading, eyes locked on the singer. Despite her cheery demeanor, a tenseness in her body betrayed her readiness to retreat should he make to strike.

AQ	Post #: 19

10/7/2015 18:30:55

Remaint
Member

Woyadei’s eyes went a bit wide. That’s something bandits don’t do, unless they have a weapon prepared. Glancing the ways he could without moving he confirmed no harmful tool, drawn. Maybe poison? No, I don’t even react to such substances.

The undead turned his head toward the clown-woman. Her smile never receded, and it unnerved him. I’m bloody undead, how is a mundane human, even if eccentric, creeping me out! This was not the first time a suspiciously optimistic woman approached him, but he still lacked any idea as to do what. Attacking would make no sense, even if the clown was a succubus, devil or vampire, as none of them should want much to do with a zombie of Woyadei’s status, which is unknown and without bounty. Unless she’s a paladin! The clown-woman next to him probably isn’t recruiting mercenaries and honestly bares no resemblance to any holy order...but she is a clown. She’s clowning around.

“Miss harley-clow-harlequin--cough--Do you require something? I don’t recognise you, and I doubt you, me. Why are you so close?”

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/7/2015 22:58:12 >

AQW	Post #: 20

10/7/2015 20:46:18

Draycos777
Member

The bard sat down at the bar and quickly finished the second drink she was poured.

“Or perhaps I just did enough to get what I needed done instead of wasting time and energy trying to impress more than what was required,” she stated flatly. “But if burning the tavern down is what it takes to make you toddle off, I will keep that in mind.”

"Yeah right." Arche called out the bard's bluff to herself; "You hardly seem like the kind that would risk hurting a group of people use to chase off someone that looks like a child."

"-That didn't really touch on the subject of the flame still dancing after your song had ended, but whatever."

The flames had since returned to normal and Arche was making a mental note of everything she needed in catching her next prey, when the actions of the clown gave both her and the man in the trenchcoat cause for concern. Though the reason behind the concern were, of no doubt, two very different reasons. As the clown placed one of her elbows upon the man's shoulder, two different reactions happened at almost the same time. The man on his part questioned the actions of the attention seeking clown. Behind them, sitting at her own place in the tavern, came a voice much smaller and higher pitched than before.

"-Wwhat are you doing?"

Arche panicked and spoke out her thoughts. The difference in culture made her forget that she wasn't back home for a second. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen the two genders up close before, but for a complete stranger to get so close to another stranger; it made Arche forget where she was long enough for her to make at mistake. Arche had come into contact with the opposite gender many times in her travels, even those of the age she appeared to be, but non of them ever did anything but make causal talk and took on business matters with her. Between her straight-forwardness, her mostly monotone voice and race, there weren't many who would view her as a partner. Those who still did, either didn't care about what race one was or only saw gold in their eyes. Those too ended up quit once they realized that she could easily out up their gut if she happened to lose control of her emotions. So when it came to matters of business and speaking, Arche was confidant, but with matters of attraction, she knew next to nothing.

Realizing that her mind was beginning to race and that she needed to follow through, Arche quickly spoke up again to try and cover herself.

"-I don't know what culture your troupe adheres to, bbut," Arche glanced towards the floor as a light blush crossed her face; "-to mine, for a woman, and an apparently single one at that, to get so close to a man. It is an act of courting. You, you aren't that fond of someone you've just met right?"

Arche's small body grew even smaller as she shrunk herself into her chair, gathering shadows around her. If the clown came after her next, she'd use shadow movement to leave the tavern; quickly.

"Maybe I could j-no. Leaving brings the best possible outcome for me. Please just stay over there."

AQ	Post #: 21

10/7/2015 21:28:45

Remaint
Member

The undead conquistador blinked. Courtship? How was it in the Shuischeieren military circles...Crude might be such a word. A sight of an attractive figure would be Shuischeieren society’s accepting excuse to lay small contact upon another body, and deeper contact if that was recuperated. It was a simple romance system that worked; heartful-handling rates always remained high and hardly anyone complained. The worst such a system came to were duels between drunks or temporarily over-sensitive people, and since learning the Art of Defense was practically mandatory in the perilous region, fights were comparatively long, and did much to quell vile emotion before parties gruesomely crippled one-another. Past that, army alchemists and necromancers were plenty on hand--hopefully.

A small grin found its way to Woyadei’s face. It’s been such a long time since he had a “girl-friend”--a blank appears where memory is supposed to be--, but he ‘appreciated’ many women, and some men on accident, since. There had been times where he gotten drunk to the point of broken sight--it took a lot of specialised beverage to do so because of his improper digestive system--and unintentionally participated in group-shagging. For the record, it wasn’t his ideal to act in such a manner--he didn’t really favour drinking at all--, but the undead conquistador gets quite lonely at times, and things simply happen. His acquaintances certainly ‘assisted’ in the situation, with a significant amount of them being succubi, sirens or vampires. Sometimes those acquaintances weren’t even demons, sometimes a group of really strong zombies or wendigo just wanted companions to drink in a make-shift bar with.

Woyadei chuckled. "Courtship would be much preferred to assassination."

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/7/2015 21:51:16 >

AQW	Post #: 22

10/7/2015 21:54:01

Sigil
Member

He didn't like this scenario at all. Not one bit. Recent experiences battling the undead already had him on edge, particularly considering the nature of one of the alehouse's guests that nobody seemed to mind. In the half-second it took the creature to adopt a weapon ready stance, his arm had tensed to hurl his beer mug, the opposing foot braced against the bar's smooth paneling to maximize the muscle groups involved in the hurl. It was all very quiet; very surreptitious. When the situation resolved itself without his stein-flinging intervention, he didn't know whether to be relieved or guarded.

Then there was the pushy lady that made the imposed request to hold her weapon until she was done entertaining. Fine, he liked pushy women. Pushy women who could sing - even better. He didn't so much like singing pushy women who wreathed the common room in magical flames. It would be a little bit before he could feel truly comfortable around spellcasters, either. They always seemed to have their own agenda, wizards. Something else his recent adventures seemed to reinforce. It would be a blessing to find a mage he could trust.

Looking into parts of his own background, it seemed a little ironic.

The Powers That Be, in their infinite wisdom, saw fit to place him in yet another situation involving wizards and the undead, PLUS an extra, added bonus: Ego.

Wizards, undead, and ego. Oh, my. What's an unkempt pugilist to do? Not having a firm grasp on where he was nor his next course of action, the only logical option was to pick a side. Undead Guy and Scythe Girl seem to have come to an understanding, something about hunting. Their latest addition was a tough read. Seemed to enjoy making the dead guy uncomfortable. That may be enough, but...

His thoughts were interrupted, a meal plopped before him on the bar. Apparently, a silver coin was worth more here than back home - a serving platter of stewed beef and gravy (at least he thought it was beef), root vegetables, and a large loaf of fresh bread now occupied the space in front of him. A half moment later, more beer joined the collection of rough rural fare. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.

The musical archer returned to reclaim her belongings from him, make a scathing (but agreeable) comment to her nay-sayer, and scan the tavern common room. The broad man took the opportunity to introduce himself.

"Right entertaining, m'lady." he began, his low voice resonating with a pointed underclass accent, "Name of Keystone. I'm given to understand you're not here by choice either."

He raised his mug to her, as if to salute. "Cheers. Got a name?"

AQW	Post #: 23

10/8/2015 1:02:50

Krey
Member

Verna could only chuckle at the pale one's reaction, for almost as soon as he'd given his, there was another from behind, a girl moments before so self-assured suddenly shaken by her unexpected behavior. Ah, this was indeed why she loved people so! One moment they could exude arrogance, and the next, plunged into a situation for which they were not prepared, lose all composure. She was silent a moment longer, then stood straight, tilted her head towards the man, and spoke with an amused little lilt. “I'm afraid I haven't either planned for you. Maybe next time.” She winked, made to turn, and paused, “Oh, and I may be many things... But a clown is not one.”

That said, she turned, her eyes settling on the very uncomfortable, small woman now before her. “My dear,” she said, her voice deepening a touch, “Spend a little time in this world, and you'll find culture exists only as an ever shifting sand.”

She took a step forward, her entire body slinking just that one step towards the woman, her head tilting slightly, “The beginning of one's courtship ritual is the start of another's execution. And the same to another...” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, grinning, “Just a tease.” And then returned her gaze to the small, pale woman.

“Might I suggest... You seem to be centered so on one color that you fail to see the painting. Is a world a world at all if not populated by all sorts?”

AQ	Post #: 24

10/8/2015 7:32:54

Remaint
Member

The undead conquistador bared a full grin. Just like the she-demons of home. The red-clad woman--I know of her name, but am tempted to call her “Miss ManyThings”--reeked of danger, or merely mischief--hopefully, with her cryptic sentences and sly demeanor. Her unpredictability likely drives away most mortals; very few would ally themselves to her, but the very few are themselves something to keep vigilant watch against. That is, unless she actually is a she-demon, then the whole hypothesis gets thrown out the window.

The undead was sure the red-clad woman held no holy allies, and if turmoil comes to boil, he would be assured conflict would not come in the forms of brawls or stand-off shooting. Her methods are different, filled with deceit and subtle hands. If the woman so desires, the conquistador would likely find himself already engaged in misfortune, too late to realise. He lacked experience against her kind, and the only sufficient method is preemptive murder, which once again wouldn’t be very productive. But Woyadei had no plans of catching her ire, not for the fear of consequence, but he rather appreciates her kind. Unpredictable, charming, peril paradoxically comforted the undead conquistador. and he wasn’t sure why.

Intending to observe what nonsensical antics “Miss ManyThings” will pull, Woyadei took a seat next to the commoner, Keystone, as it was. The conquistador met the woman’s glance with a curious smile as he tried to make sense of her words. Too vague, too vague, that could mean an absurd number of things. At the least, it was entertaining to watch the noble hunter squirm.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 10/8/2015 13:18:41 >

AQW	Post #: 25

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