RE: ~*Getting To Know You*~


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12/1/2015 22:14:26

Remaint
Member

An intrigued train of thought filled with archaeology and lost history rhythmically chugged within Woyadei’s head, merrily spewing little clouds of exotic armours and peculiar artefacts. Petite trails of sparks loosed as its wheels grounded hard against mental tracks, stopping upon imaginative stations of oriental mysticism, smart lizard people and extinct sub-humans. De Valher’s descriptions brought much wondering to the conquistador, as-MAN. SLUG. THING.

Woyadei stumbled.

The abrupt change of the noble hunter’s pacing sharply reminded the undead of her status as dragon-kin, when she effortlessly pulled him off his feet as he failed to accommodate the shift in velocity.

"-We've made it back, but the front of the Inn looks different than when we left."

The undead conquistador had his whimsical mood crumpled like some disposed gaudy shopping bag provided by one of Karaser’s ‘malls’, but was nonetheless relieved when de Valher made no point in bringing up his folly. Still, so fouled was his mood that Woyadei only scowled upon their arrival at the inn. Well don’t blame me for charring the furniture; you were going to do that yourself had not puke-arse shyte-Stone did his thing.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, the conquistador carefully observed the damage to the tavern through whatever available crevices that allowed sight. A walk to the rear of the tavern and a walk to deposit Comrade Pedes close to the dead Grabbi left him slightly perplexed as to the situation on hand. He was sure the static generated by his minor outburst hours prior only scarred his immediate surroundings. It was then possible, if not probable, that turmoil boiled loose during his group’s absence. Woyadei first thoughts flashed to Verna Troy. Just as I concluded! She WAS a bandit, and her bandit friends sprung a bomb-loaded ambush!

The only thing that prevented the conquistador from launching an arc of violent lightning through the tavern’s window and bolting the hell away was the sight of his millipede. It was waddling.

Well, it always waddled, but it was waddling calmly, as if nothing’s wrong. The serene company of his arthropod friend visibly relaxed the conquistador. Woyadei continued to accompany de Valher in silence, quite sure that he wouldn’t commit an act of arson in a fit of paranoia.

"-What is that horrid smell? It's like a mix between wet dog and Crystal Harbour's public restrooms during the lunch hour."

Now that he was this close to the building, inside it, and that the noble hunter mentioned it--truly, it is only because of how close I am-, Woyadei could find a hint of infernal sulphur in the-MAN. SLUG. THING.

Woyadei gagged.

It took very much for a smell to strike undead, given their dysfunctional organs, and the smell of wet hell-dog was very much that smell. Hell! It may not even be Hellcanidae, but Vomit-Glutes having 'intervened' again!

Things made sense then, and really more so if the first assumption was entertained. An infernal being invaded the inn and laid waste to whatever it contacted, evidently turning itself into waste through the process. Ha. Infernids, hellspawn, devil-kind. The undead conquistador held great experience in their types, operating alongside them in mercenary ventures, entrepreneur undertakings, reckless lollygaggings. Fighting against them, in frozen hells, hot heavens, proper wars, vasive tournaments. There was always one individual which would pervade the unstable conquistador’s mind, and its name was MAN. SLUG. THING.

A harsh double clatter rang throughout the area as Woyadei nearly tripped over a stool, ending with yet another as he slammed his glaive-butt into the floor in an attempt to steady himself.

“Cazzo!”

This was no time to be faltering under some obscure and faraway curse, and Woyadei shook his head quickly as he paid full heed to his surroundings. Right. Valher’s off to tend Mr. Uncommon Arse. Heh. Whatever dealt Keystone his injuries could not compare to my results. There’s some ugly child dancing about a table. Verna...is not some mad bomber. Sana’s being ordinary. Orange Itch... is being ordinary. There’s a suspicious fellow in black. I could vaguely see skeletal forms in the fireplace…

“Keystone. How was your adversary?”

There was no antagonist’s tone to the undead’s words, only a neutral voice curious to the actions of the much larger man.

In the meanwhile, Comrade Pedes partially curled itself onto a chair, in a manner reminiscent of a normal sitting human. The big bug took a cup of ale in its three-armed grasp.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 12/2/2015 0:22:06 >

AQW	Post #: 176

12/3/2015 0:06:45

Sigil
Member

Keystone took grim note of those returning from their hunt, particularly that they were accompanied by a new friend. A new friend and a massive insect that vaguely resembled something he and his people used to have to hunt in the catacombs and deeper storm drains of his native city.

The manner in which they had all parted company earlier in the day definitely colored his view now, though there was the slimmest hope that, now that they all got a modicum of violence out of their collective systems, that the remainder of their evening could continue with a touch more civility. Naturally, that was not an instantaneous reason for his absolute trust, as evidenced by Keystone's instinctive reaction to Arche's approach: A foot trailed behind him, his hands relaxed, knees bent ever so slightly, allowing him to maintain the same height as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

The broad man's head shifted to the side, as her hands neared it. "I 'preciate, but I'll be proper Goldilocks by the dawn, Miss." his underclass accent intoned. "Save your magic for something pressing."

With painfully few exceptions, Keystone did not trust magic, nor magic users. Submitting to it, even for a beneficial purpose, gave him a feeling as a man who had just put his mark to a contract, but had failed to fully understand the smaller script at the bottom of the page.

The call for purchase of whatever was left of the corpse was not unheard by the chestbare pugilist, his mind making a casual inventory of what he would prefer to obtain were he to be stuck in this Realm for longer than his supplies held out. Sad matter was, coin would be necessary, sooner or later. Things had to be replaced, and unlike the unrealistic illustrations of the stories about the slightly more northern Barbarian Septs, he was not going to be comfortable wearing a bear skull helmet, furry loincloth, and bandoleer of throwing rocks to keep the weather off of him.

Not that he would really mind the furry loincloth, mind you. There was a time and place for everything, but the circumstances in which he would be dressed thusly would have to involve a Safe Word and people he trusted far more than anyone in the establishment presently.

Keystone's attention to the scythe wielder was broken momentarily by the dead one, pointing a direct question at him. It was rather difficult to read the expression of a man whose face had been stilled by death, and later unlife, so he resolved to respond in turn, effecting a soft, gravelly voice, "Our adversary. Dunno yet, but I hope it's lightly charred, with a warm, red center."

His statement reinforced his resolve to negotiate a trade. Keystone redirected his attention to Arche, still waiting for a response to her query.

"Make me an offer, then." he said aloud. "Ten pounds of fresh Infernal flesh, otherwise untouched 'cepting it was recently cut away by good steel. Only beast of its kind in this world."

AQW	Post #: 177

12/5/2015 1:05:04

Apocalypse
Member

"Who's to judge?" was always a catchy tune and would have brought in rounds of voices from the other patrons in a comical chorus of ne'er-do-wells and the quick-tongued. Would have. This outcome fell to the wayside with the should have's and could have's as acrid smoke poured forth from the hearth. The fumes washed over the dancing goblin, causing him to cough and trip over his own feet. He fell with a crash, his chin landing square against the tabletop. The alchemist pushed himself up and crawled back to his seat. Last time I provide civilized entertainment, he thought as he reached for the bottle once more. With eyes watering from some combination of his jaw's chance encounter with the table, the stinging smoke, and the noxious smell (because of course the beastie would continue to plague them even in death), it took the troubled hidie several attempts before his hand found its mark. Nilburke moved to refill his glass a notch too quick and splattered some of the precious drink upon the wooden surface. It had been a liquor of questionable quality to begin with but that was no excuse to allow it to go to waste. He lowered his cracked lips to the table, sucking the brew from it with all the gentle care a male softie gave in his first kiss to his first love. The tender nature of the operation was marred by the horrific slurping sound accompanying it. Meh, practicality came before acceptability.

Nilburke had been somewhat aware of the arrival of three new patrons, four if one included the giant millipede in their company. He recognized the first two as the apparent be romanced and her guardian of a pet (or vice versa). It was amusing that the latter appeared to gag in the presence of the beastie's remains when its own odor was worse by far. Manageable, but worse without question. Perhaps this wight had been a test-run and the inability to handle tough odors was a flaw in the necromancer's design? Maybe. Either way, the pair approached Keystone with a certain level of familiarity as they made conversation with him. Nilburke kept quiet in response to the female softie's request for the creature's remains - the goblin had full-intention to keep the vials of blood for himself, and no amount of money would persuade otherwise (however, his tune could change if the right magical artifact or item was offered in place of coin). Besides, his first impression of her was of a self-absorbed elitist belonging to the class of aristocrats - Nilburke never had any luck in getting along with that sort. As for the wight, the goblin raised his glass to it as Brute made the comment about the beastie being their adversary. The gesture was made to appear as some form of acknowledgment while in actuality it was a test to see if the undead used its empty sockets for sight or depended on some other form
of perception.

His gaze shifted from the duo to the third softie who had secluded herself away from everyone else. Odd for this one to walk in with the others only to abandon them at the first possible moment. Strange bedfellows, perhaps? Possible, but the burning glint in her eyes couple with her actions led him to suspect that she was not a full-blooded human softie. Whatever mixture flowed in her veins was the probable cause for her aloofness. Nilburke smirked to himself as another idea for a game struck him: trying to guess the mixed softie's heritage based solely on the reactions he could elicit from her.

"Oy, you over there!" the goblin called out to the isolated stranger. "Gonna have a bev with us or just gonna sit there with your thumb up your arse?" A stupid grin split his face as he rocked on his stool. The cards and the chantey had been ruined but there was still some fun to be had.

It was also of note that the oversized millipede, with its hideous appendages, had secured itself both a chair and a cup of ale. Of the new four, this one was his favorite by far.

Post #: 178

12/5/2015 11:57:56

Draycos777
Member

"I 'preciate, but I'll be proper Goldilocks by the dawn, Miss." his underclass accent intoned. "Save your magic for something pressing."

Arche slightly pulled her hands back when Keystone moved his head away from her. Standing flat on her feet again, Arche let her arms drop to her sides.

"-That's fine. Suit yourself, I'll not press the matter."

After speaking to Woyadei, Keystone returned his attention once more towards Arche, this time with the intention to trade.

"Make me an offer, then. Ten pounds of fresh Infernal flesh, otherwise untouched 'cepting it was recently cut away by good steel. Only beast of its kind in this world."

Arche puzzled this last statement for awhile before speaking up again.

"-What do you mean 'only beast of it's kind'? Infernals are pretty common, unless you are talking about a rather strong one from the lower levels. However, if that was the case I doubt the tavern would still be standing in mostly on piece."

Arche took a quick sniff of the smells that drafted out from the kitchen.

"-I've never eaten an Infernal before, but it that is what they smell like properly cooked, I wouldn't mind trying it."

She hadn't eaten anything since the morning, and the smells of the cooking Infernal meat sent her dragconic side and stomach screaming to be fed. Willing them silent, Arche gave the large man her reply.

"-Alright, how about three gold pieces for each pound you're willing to part ways with."

A thought came to Arche as she looked at him. The man said that he was from another world as well before she left this morning. So no doubt he has no idea if what she is offering is a good deal or not, he only knows that he'll need some kind of income from this world.

"-Don't worry," Arche gave the man an honest smile; "You're definitely getting your money's worth. I'm not one to cheap someone out of a deal."

She hoped that the man would trust her word on the matter. Not many of the new people here trust nobles all that much. While she couldn't exactly blame them, it really annoyed her that they lumped all nobles together. It was like lumping all heroes and villains together 'cause they are all strong. A voice three feet off the ground broke her out of her internal thoughts.

"Oy, you over there!"

Turning around, Arche saw that the voice belonged to a goblin, and his sights were directed towards...

"Oh great, looks like it's started already."

"Gonna have a bev with us or just gonna sit there with your thumb up your arse?"

"-Ah, umm..." Arche frowned at the goblin; "-That's right you weren't here before we left so I do not know your name. Well, either way, it'd probably be for the best of you don't incite my friend, lest you find yourself in a unfavorable position. She isn't as, understanding, of others as you'd like to first believe."

"I'm sure that was an understatement, but better just to keep it as that."

Arche then turned towards Rajiri, speaking once more in dragontongue.

"I'm sorry, no doubt you're ready to leave this place by now. Only we get something to eat I'd be more that happy to talk to you outside where no one is around to bother us."

She then turned towards Keystone again, half to hear his reply and half for another reason. That reason being that this time, she would speak the burning question in the back of her mind.

"-Sorry, but what it the world is a Goldilocks?"

AQ	Post #: 179

12/5/2015 16:14:06

Bastet
Member

Rajiri wasn't particularly appreciative of the slurs that a certain goblin on the other side of the tavern had shouted over to her. It wasn't that she ever appreciated goblinkind in general, even the few that paid her proper respect: their typical stereotype described them as little more than opportunistic vermin. However it was, she knew that starting a brawl in the tavern likely wasn't going to end well, and if that she stopped to address every individual who harassed her she would have to waste half her long lifespan doing so. Taking the time to put an answer together, after pondering if doing that at all was even worth it, she was about to speak back when Arche put herself between the red dragon's annoyance and the irreverence of the goblin. Rajiri let out a soft sigh while her kin addressed the alcoholic creature: it wasn't often that she even allowed someone to talk on her behalf.

While the fact that Arche had talked for her technically excused her from answering the diminutive creature, she couldn't stop herself from doing so. Even when her friend had been kind enough to attempt to divert attention, she fully understood that the foremost objective of Arche’s sentences was keeping her calm. Yawning softly, she spoke for herself, in a voice so uninterested in interacting with the offensive scoundrel that it was very clear that, in her opinion, he wasn't worth the dirt underneath her footwear.

“You aren't worth my time, greenie, and I'm not interested in spending my time with you or having more of these bland drinks. Bother those better inclined.’

Resting the tip of her left hand against her temples, Rajiri also gave a reply to the Draconian that had been spoken in her direction. It probably was a dead giveaway that she was related, at least in species, to Arche, but it didn't matter if she felt secure enough in the company of those around her: she could be probably made it out of town alone if the natives became hostile, but with Arche at her side she could've probably just slain them all.

"Indeed. Do grab enough food to feed the both of us, if you will, I've had enough of the tasteless cooking of the last town I visited. I'm not expecting much better, though, if the locals are as skilled as the infernal smell that permeates this tavern suggests."

Post #: 180

12/6/2015 0:49:40

Sigil
Member

Keystone regarded the offer of coinage. Really seemed to mull it over. After a moment or three, he shrugged, and let out an uninspired monosyllabic utterance of adequate agreement.

Scholars on the subject of Keystone's earlier career, prior to his role in the coming Planeswar and establishment of several academies of higher learning, though somewhat after his development of the Three Minute Bowl of Noodles (later shortened to Instant Ramen by marketing) in a smithy's kitchen somewhere in the realm of Faerun would, in years to come, disagree over whether it was "Eh", owing to his accent and upbringing, or the more colloquial "Meh". The argument, though trivial, polarized the community in which the Stalwart Beater of Wholesale Arse retired and eventually had a statue in his likeness erected by the City Fathers. The disagreement eventually turned to bloodshed, climaxing in something akin to a massive street brawl/holy war in the drowning rain. Storm drains washed the blood of the fallen away in gushing, transparent red urban streams of false righteousness.

Unaware of the future he had set into motion with a single vocal action, Keystone turned on his heels and strode back to the kitchen door. He had promised that he would be checking in on the progress, and he meant to. While in transit, he pulled a formidable looking utility knife from his belt, testing its edge with his thumb. It made a sufficient tool for parting dense, infernal flesh from bones, ergo it should make tidy work of cutting off a hunk of meat for a quick sale. What he witnessed when he opened the door made short work of his plans.

"Bloody 'ell!"

Still shirtless, he jogged back to his leather and canvas toolkit. Unrolling it fully revealed its true purpose: It was a full length apron with customizable holders for various epicurean tools. Keystone slipped it over his head and fixed a proper slip knot in the waistcord. Recovering his proper culinary knives, he set one foot in front of the other in a beeline back to the kitchen door, a determined warrior pursuing his latest antagonist; a hunter taking to his quarry in the open field of kitchen counters and iron stovework, to dance his steps in the never-ending ballet of knives and fire. Emerging from the kitchen were the unflattering bass tones of a man who had witnessed epic clustersoddery and strove to bring order to the undisciplined masses within.

"No, no, NO! This ain't a bloody broil cut, ya shifty codswallow! No, cut it... cut it like... MOVE. Bloody, sodding, frigging hell, son, back away from the Rothe Chopper before you snip your danglies off. This is sausage, not soup. No, if I wanted stew, I woulda bloody well asked for.. MOVE. And why the hell is my button in here?"

The banging of pans overtook speech for a short while, though one could still make out the calm and civil differences of opinion that came from two or more culinary professionals with differing viewpoints. The discourse of such mutual respect sounded suspiciously like a gorilla knife fight in a brass forge.

Eventually, the noise calmed down. Not gone, but faded into sounds of hurried professional work. Though one person exited with a black eye, he quickly rejoined the group. Through the partially opened door, an interesting side to the personality of Pugilist and Errant Monk Keystone could be gleaned, if one listened closely.

"Right then," he began, accent as strong as ever but with greater calm, "This bit is called a 'Mornay', or something similar. You lot don't have the proper hard cheese for it, but this is good. Keep it simmering. You, make sure you've got an adequate ratio of hog's fat to dog meat in there, 'right? It needs to bind as it smokes. Good, good. Bring the over heat down low - vent it, yah. The strips should have taken in the flavor by now, lay them in gently for four hours. Ok, ok... You boy're alright. Keep doin' this EXACTLY for one hour, I'll be back for round two."

Keystone casually stepped from the kitchen, polishing a clip-point blade. "My 'pologies, but I can't be accepting your gold t'day, Miss. Got higher purpose for it at the now, but if'n you're still in the mood for a bit of supper, I can oblige with a different repast for the evening."

He tucked away his knife, and returned to the kitchen. A half minute later, Keystone emerged with a large service platter laden heavily with many plates of foodstuffs, which he carefully set down in front of Nilburke at his table.

"I believe you wanted yours bloody, never mind the seasonings. 'Ere you are, Master Goblin, taste of victory." The large brawler set a plate dominated by a single, large cut of bone-free meat, cap crispy along one edge and slowly oozing rendered fat mixed with a hint of red. Similar (though more personalized to preference) plates were delivered to the others that assisted in the takedown of the beast. True to form, he did have a plate for himself: Lightly salted, with a daunting slice of chilled compound butter.

The meal was complemented by roasted and mashed sugar yams, skins still on, with spiced cream and butter, thinly sliced and sauteed cabbages, and a heaping stack of thinly poured oat crepes. For those not present for the kill and subsequent immolation of the beast, sausages and gravy over wide, floppy noodles would have to suffice as their main course, backed up by the complementing sides.

"Lots you can do in short order with two or three buggers pushing the same direction, innit?"

Keystone settled down in front of his own steak, the butter melting across the top of it, oily goodness running onto the plate. He eased his knife into the flesh, regarding the color and texture of the beast that, just a while ago, set him on fire. Staring at the lightly charred meat featuring a warm, red center, and with some degree of personal satisfaction, he spoke aloud:

"A Goldilocks, ma'am, is somethin' that is... ...Just... ...Right."

He popped the forkfull of meat into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

AQW	Post #: 181

12/7/2015 0:35:23

Remaint
Member

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.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 12/7/2015 7:43:14 >

AQW	Post #: 182

12/7/2015 23:00:23

Apocalypse
Member

'Twas the supposed necromancer that answered the goblin's inquiry in the stead of the less-fun redhead. Nilburke just gave a small shake of his head as the black-clad softie iterated her warning. Of course a high and self-indulged noble would take it upon herself to determine what it was the goblin wanted and diffuse the situation. To be done 'for the common good' or some other silly notion, as this little green fellow had no comprehension of what he was doing. I must intercede on his behalf! That was the most likely train of thought in her closed, privileged mind. It is my duty to uphold the peace from those lacking a level of intelligence akin to my own!

What a load of bollocks.

This coupled with her false presumption that this beast was a Lorian Infernal (as it may well be an Infernal from whatever realm it had come from - only Wheat could provide insight into that) was another mark against her. The intelligence was there - that much was certain - but it needed to molded, to be sculpted. Under the right tutelage, she could maybe make an impressive dive into her field of specialty. Maybe. That is, if any master could make it past her flaunting of knowledge, no matter how passive it is. Hrah Thorn might do her some good, but that was none of Nilburke's business.

The situation took a stranger turn as the noble turned to her companion and spoke in another language. Nilburke raised an eyebrow not so much at their private conversation as the sudden thought that if Wheat had come from another world, then why could she understand the language in this one? It was possible that she already had an encounter with this realm and learned one of the common tongues. Though if that was not the case then it meant this other world had crafted at least one language the same as Lore. Nilburke just hoped there were not any slight yet grievous differences such as the definitions for "kill" and "kiss" being switched.

Strange turns led down strange paths. Not Ember's response - her harsh reply was expected and just confirmed Nilburke's suspicions: she was part-dragon, but almost without a doubt identified as only a dragon and ignored the softie side of her. Half-scalies such as Ember were always a puzzle to the alchemist - not their uptight better-than-thou attitude but the fact that their biology fit the description of were-beasts rather than other halflings. He still had to remind himself not to refer to them as were-drakes from time to time. No, the first oddity was the revelation that the little ambassador was also part-dragon. The second was the sudden quaking of the wight as if it had been chosen by its master to infiltrate a paladin order filled by the most zealous and battle-crazy crusaders. This was followed by spurts of electricity flailing off its body, doing even more damage to the already tarnished bar. As the wight fled, Nilburke was reminded of the lightning bolt he had seen on his way in. That was one less mystery to solve.

"Thank you," said Nilburke, a little late to the plate being placed in front of him. There was a lot to process in a short amount of time, and it was almost making him regret his plethora of drinks. Almost. He cut a piece off his bloody steak with a few ragged cuts and plopped it in his mouth. There was an intense heat to it, not like the spiciness of seasonings but also not unlike it either.

"All right, in short order," the alchemist said through the last bit of chewing. He turned to the Ambassador and swallowed. "You didn't care to notice me until you thought I could potentially be an issue. Please do continue to not notice me or my own affairs." His head swiveled to the scalie in the corner. "As for you, if that's how you feel then, oh, are you in the wrong place! And another thing-". The alchemist raised his skilled hands to his mouth and - using nothing but the skin of his palms, the bulbs of his lips, and a little air from his lungs - produced a rapturous sound which belonged to the heavenly choir of those who had just feasted upon a might banquet that caused untold chaos within their stomachs. Not alchemy by an stretch of the imagination, but a process just as beautiful and magnificent.

When his symphony was complete, Nilburke added one last nugget. "Also, your wight is broken. Have you tried killing it and reanimating it again?"

Post #: 183

12/8/2015 15:59:01

Bastet
Member

Rajiri rolled her eyes as Woyadei let out a second display of his skills with lightning magic, except this time he seemed to display far less control about his powers. He began by charring some furniture around him and cursing in a language that sounded strangely familiar to her ears, but she didn’t think much of it as he rushed out of the tavern and caused repeated discharges of lightning. Or, at least, Rajiri assumed that it was him: she didn’t know for certain, but if some god decided to strik the zombie down and save her the effort of doing it herself she wouldn’t have complained in the slightest.

She listened to the goblin’s speech about how she was out of place and other insults she barely listened to, including a supposedly rude gesture that involved the green creature making noises out of his mouth. The red dragon wasn’t particularly bothered by it, rather her fine smell almost being offended by the stench of alcohol that came from the dwarf’s maw. Rajiri replied with a laugh in a tone that could probably be described as nothing short of arrogant, though she wouldn’t have used that word herself due to the fact that it had a negative connotation.

Gee, I really didn’t need someone else to tell me I was out of place here.

When she was done cherishing what she would have described as an example of the typical dim-witted individual that frequented taverns such as these, Rajiri spoke back to the diminutive offender. She pitied his kind so much she almost felt bad for them: doomed by nature to be the last wheel of the cart, they simply drank their problems away in squalid taverns and hoped that their lives would continue in a stable way, dreading change. This way of life strongly conflicted with the dragon-kin’s, as she always drove herself to improve, whether by sheer training or artifacts she could find in her travels. She hadn’t had much luck with the latter method due to the fact that she still favored her fists over any weapon she tried to adopt, and still wore the same armor that she had set off with.

“Don’t worry, little runt, it is precisely how I feel: I couldn’t be more out of place in a building filled with the likes of you. You simply gave me another example of why I don’t deal with your kind, and the fact that you talk in noises rather than coherent words says a whole lot more about who you are.”

Even though she didn’t know if he could see her, Rajiri grinned in a taunting manner. It was natural behaviour, and she did it whether she could get the message across or not.

“Go back to drinking your troubles away, few people among even the low-lifes of this town have any need of your banter.”

Post #: 184

12/8/2015 19:44:52

Draycos777
Member

Loud noise accompanied Keystone as he headed into the kitchen. When he finally returned, he informed of his rejection to the offer.

"My 'pologies, but I can't be accepting your gold t'day, Miss. Got higher purpose for it at the now, but if'n you're still in the mood for a bit of supper, I can oblige with a different repast for the evening."

Arche frowned.

"Then, what was the point of offering to sell it?"

"-No that's fine. I'm sure you mean well, but, if you had anything other then the infernal meat to offer, I doubt you would have been eating the meat from here earlier."

"All right, in short order, "You didn't care to notice me until you thought I could potentially be an issue. Please do continue to not notice me or my own affairs."

Arche turned around, as it seemed as though the goblin was talking to her in an attempt to make a point.

"As for you, if that's how you feel then, oh, are you in the wrong place! And another thing-"

The creature then produced a burp, just slightly less awful and lacking of any sort of manners than the cooking giant. The little man-child then turned back towards Arche now that his attention had finally wasted on Rajiri.

"Also, your wight is broken. Have you tried killing it and reanimating it again?"

Rajiri had something else to say, however, Arche did really care to listen to it.

"What is with everyone in this dam'd place? All day today I've had people bother me over the simplest of things. Are their feelings so damn soft they feel like they need to defend themselves all the time!?"

After Rajiri finished with what she had to say, Arche spoke up.

"-Two things goblin. First, I was in the middle of something. Just because I'm talking doesn't mean I don't notice other things. But please, by all means, forgive me for 'noticing' that you were bothering my friend."

"No, I should calm down, this isn't worth it."

"-And seco-, tsk, you know what? You're right, this isn't my business at all. I just thought you might want a warning before you went and got yourself into trouble. If you want to die in a barfight, then be my guest. I have other things I could be doing than warning you."

Arche turned around and walked towards the bar counter. Pulling out a few coins she handed them to the barowner.

"-The highest quality beef you have please, and make enough for two."

After he took the payment and left, Arche turned back around.

"-Oh. Not sure why you're talking to me about Woyadei over there. He isn't mine, in fact, I've got no talent at all in necromancy. So if I killed him, that'd be it."

Arche gave a small smirk.

"-Instead of judging people by their appearance, how about getting to know them first? You might just be surprised about what you find out."

"I can't wait to be home again. I hate these nowherevile-towns, in the middle of a nowherevile-region, own by some greedy, no-one-knows noble that makes the rest of us look bad. With his dumb, spoiled daughter. "

AQ	Post #: 185

12/8/2015 22:51:10

Sigil
Member

The shirtless practitioner of the gladiatorial arts breathed a barely audible "Bloody, sodding hell." the moment he got his first bite of spicy, savory Hellbeast. He had pegged it; the dog really did vaguely taste of sulphur and cumin. The flavor was quite unique. Not unpleasant, not by far, but unique. There was no chance in all nine (or eleven, five, whatever) Hells that this would ever bear the generic description of, "Tastes Like Chicken".

Still, the surprisingly seasoned and robust flavor was not the cause of Keystone's quiet bout of vulgarity. As earlier, it was the unnecessary drama.

While Keystone served the room, for whatever reason, the Dead Guy threw some manner of fit, running out of the establishment and firing off energy. "Must be a vegetarian." he muttered, and continued his efforts.

Truth be told, the mobile Pugilist was inclined to apologize for retracting his offer to sell. Was, mind you, until the Noble Daughter of Dragonfolk decided to totally ignore the fruits (and vegetables) of his efforts in concert with the scullery crew of the establishment, remarking that he had nothing else to offer, and attempting to pursue an alternate meal plan for herself. He stared, irritated and in mild disbelief, at the back of her head as she stood at the bar, if but for a moment.

"Absolutely right, y'ladyship," he began, sliding her reserved plate of sausages and noodles closer to himself, "Nothin' else whatsoever to offer." The bitter edge to his annoyance blunted somewhat as he realized, rather simply, that there would just be more for the rest of them. Being as he expected to travel quite a bit more before this chunk of adventure was over, loading up now was probably a good idea.

Keystone looked to Sana and the others who participated in the tavern scrap, motioning over any who had not yet found their way to the table. "Hell with 'em. Let's have our meal, pretend we're ordinary folk, and decide what to do with ourselves next, eh?"

He turned his attention to the Goblin, "Corner-lady wants to reject your offer to join, more's the pity. But first," he raised his glass of good, foamy ale, "To our troubles!"

Keystone tilted his beverage back, careful not to let the glass obscure his vision in this toast. "Were it possible to drink troubles away, I'd be three sips from rich and handsome." he chided, "Well, handsomer, anyhow." He chuckled, cut off another chunk of Hellsteak, and changed the subject.

"Professor Nilburke, if you're not mindin', I'd appreciate learning more about your, eh, Academia. To be specific, there any resources on martial philosophy or unarmed studies? I could do worse than study and copy books on the subject. Might learn something. Hell, might teach something, have before."

"To this day, the market square of a trade city is under the nighttime protection of a collection of "working girls", each educated in the Ironfist Way. Surprised the arse-gravy outta people, at first. Nice girls though."

AQW	Post #: 186

12/8/2015 23:30:35

Draycos777
Member

"Absolutely right, y'ladyship, Nothin' else whatsoever to offer."

Arche put her right hand up to her temple and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

"This guy, if I wanted a single plate I simply would have asked him to just cook me a piece."

"-Forgive me, I'm not to fond of things dipped in gravy. I'll take the beef without gravy if that's ok with you. Sorry for the trouble."

"-And please," Arche continued, her voice obviously strained; "-no titles. It feels weird. The name is Nemes De Valher, or Nemes. Whichever you want to use."

Arche walked out of the tavern as she waited for the meal to be made, and followed Woyadei to were he stood, pulling out two rather large coins. This were worth about 10 normal gold coins.

"Here," Arche held out her left hand so that Woyadei could take the coins; "I did promise to pay you for your help. You can keep the egg to, just tell me how it turns out."

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 12/9/2015 19:13:38 >

AQ	Post #: 187

12/8/2015 23:59:02

Apocalypse
Member

On poured the insults. First came the dismissal from Ember,, with shots at his stature, race, and drinking habits to boot. Granted, the 'your kind' statement may have been in reference to other races as a whole (which brought about the oddity considering Ember was half-softie herself and thus part of the problem) or to the 'low-lifes' that frequented taverns (which was just another indicator of her poor social skills). It was Nilburke's turn to roll his eyes. There was always at least one wretched sod with a point to prove at every tavern that gave him the same treatment. The fiery scalie - or rather, half-scalie - could keep her inflated ego, but the very least she could do was to bring some fresh and innovated trash talk to the table. "Why, thanks for your permission," he said in response to her command to keep drinking.

The Ambassador followed, though acted as if she and her friend had maintained the high road in their little spat. A little difficult to do when one head was calling him a low-life and a drunk while the other admonished him for daring to mislabel her magical abilities. It was enough to make one's head spin if they dedicated enough thought to it. It was good fortune that this goblin had no real thought processes dedicated to the arrogant and haughty. Well, not to ones who lacked the proper appeal. "I wanna learn something: does this mean the same in your dragon tongue?" With that, the alchemist puffed out his cheeks, stuck out his tongue, and once again made the harmonic noise that had somewhere in history been equated with raspberries. He descended into a brief fit of laughter as he clenched his hands onto his stomach and rocked back and forth. "Hyurk hyurk hyurk HYURK!"

He turned his attention back to Brute. The half-scalies had been a laugh, but a feast with his new comrades would suit him for now. "I dunno, it's like they enjoy having their thumbs up their arses." He stifled his next laugh as he joined in on Brute's toast. The umpteenth one of the evening, and there was no problem with that.

"And I'd be ten feet tall," Nilburke said in response to Brute's jest. The goblin cut another slice of the bleeding meat and chewed as Keystone asked him about the fields of study provided by Hrah Thorn. "Not as much as there should, least when I was there last," began the alchemist. He took a brief pause to wash down the piece of steak with his brew. The intense flavor left lingering in his mouth was not overwhelming, per se, but it made the act of talking a tad more difficult than necessary. "They might've expanded in the ten-odd years since I've been gone." His eyes remained on Brute, but his hands worked to cut the steak into digestible pieces. "There was a branch of the aura classes dedicated to incorporating various martial arts. And there was the chakra discipline which focused on the inner flowing of natural energy within the body, though a select few argued against its inclusion at the Academia Collective as a whole." With his steak dismembered, Nilburke then moved to hold his left hand above his meal, his fist closed with the exception of his pinky finger extended downwards. A slight circle was made over each individual piece, drawing out a different flavor from each one. The same experience would not be had twice. "But those were in the minority and their arguments never seriously considered. Just a bunch of old farts who clung too much to the old ways. There may be a fair bit of give and take for you there."

The goblin picked up a piece and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the odd-yet-sweet flavor that had been hidden away and only brought out by his little stint of alchemy. "I need to eat trans-dimensional beasts more often."

Post #: 188

12/9/2015 16:25:04

Bastet
Member

Rajiri rolled her eyes and gave a bitter smile as the greenie made another noise that resembled the one he had previously thrown in her general direction. She was amused to notice that Arche was carrying out her own battle with the other denizens of the tavern, whether arguing with the same dwarf that Rajiri was addressing or the muscular man that lacked clothing to the upper part of his body. The red dragon wasn’t bothered by the latter: he seemed a fair bit more reasonable than the burping gnome, but allied with him nonetheless.

Without much else to say, Rajiri kept waiting for the signal that Arche had found both of them suitable enough dinner, which she assumed was in order due to the fact that she had stopped to talk with the barkeep. The sooner they could return to less populated locales, the better, although Rajiri couldn’t stop herself from appreciating the heat that separated the indoor feast from the external world’s breeze.

The fire-aligned dragon kin ended up thinking about what the goblin had said, though said individual was not particularly high on the list of people she liked. She didn’t even hate the poor little thing, it was almost contempt that made her answer to his rude calls. As he had put it himself, she didn’t belong there: and she knew she didn’t, she never had. Her upbringing prevented from regarding those she met as little more than tools to uplift herself, ready to be discarded when she didn’t need them anymore. It didn’t bother her much because she had been grown to not think much of it, preventing her from making a sob story out of her life.

She wasn’t blind, however, to the fact that she had never found herself a true ally that she could rely upon. She also knew that those who presented themselves as apparent friends to others in the tavern were likely to stab the other man if they had something to gain from it, another reason that pushed Rajiri to resent prolonged contact with others. Thanks to being able to smell the meat that was on the dish in front of the green alcoholic as if it was in front of her, her thoughts went back from solitude to satisfying her grumbly stomach. If Arche wasn't going to solve that need soon enough, she could've just went and grabbed a portion of the food that the undressed man had offered to those who weren't already in the tavern: after all, unlike her kin, she had not explicitly refused it.

< Message edited by Bastet -- 12/10/2015 10:04:20 >

Post #: 189

12/9/2015 22:03:10

Sigil
Member

Upon hearing Nilburke's plans for his future diet, Keystone snorted, responding, "I sodding hope not, Nilby. I'm a bloody Trans-Dimensional Beast, too." Regarding his position in the warped hypothetical playing out in his mildly altered mental status, owing to the alcohol he'd been imbibing steadily since the fight and the as-yet undigested meat in his stomach, he offered a friendly suggestion. "Although, if'n I were on the menu, you'd be a smart one to first ask me how to best prepare myself."

Keystone took a look around the tavern, noting who was about and who wasn't; the status of the common room's structural integrity since their battle with the extradimensional fire-breathing infernal dog the size of an irradiated draft horse. His own experience told him that this was likely not the end of the festivities.

The central fire still burned, providing a general updraft of air currents. The positive light in this particular circumstance was that the warmer air, including the horror of burning hound hair, was beginning to exit the building (albeit slowly), allowing for slightly more enjoyment of their meal. Still, the meal would continue to be interrupted for certain unless one of two things happened: Either the cast of the tavern interior had to change in a meaningful way, or an olive branch had to be accepted.

Mulling over the possibilities, Keystone served himself a heaping portion of mashed sugar yams from the middle of the table and followed it up with two oaty crepes. Two bites in, he sighed and pushed away the re-acquired plate of sausages and noodles. Motioning with a large bite of hellsteak on his fork, he addressed their newest arrival in the corner.

"Provided we can come to an understanding 'bout being civil with one another, got some forcemeats and whatnot you might find palatable. Why don't you take the green Master's offer for a drink, and join us for a meal instead of sitting in a corner sneerin' at folks?"

Deep inside, the two-fisted culinarian wished there were an ample supply of bacon complimenting the repast laid out before them. Next time, maybe. There was something about thin sliced, cured hog fatback that seemed to smooth over the rough spots in cultural misunderstandings. Or at least allowed for full mouths, unable to voice much in the way of vigorous dissension. Either way, reasoned Keystone, bacon can cover for many social indelicacies.

Not for the first time, either.

AQW	Post #: 190

12/10/2015 16:13:23

Bastet
Member

"Provided we can come to an understanding 'bout being civil with one another, got some forcemeats and whatnot you might find palatable. Why don't you take the green Master's offer for a drink, and join us for a meal instead of sitting in a corner sneerin' at folks?"
Rajiri stood up about as soon as she processed the words that the muscular man had tossed in her direction, walking like she was moving to answer a challenge. Those looking at her, especially Arche if she hadn’t walked out for a reason that Rajiri didn’t care to understand at the moment, would’ve expected to begin a brawl when she reached her target. Truth be told, she addressed the people who had offered her dinner with the same affection that common folk she met were offered, that is to say, none.

“Sneering at folks is oh so fun, when dealing with little creatures like these. It’s almost fascinating to see how many ways of showing your flaws you can fit in single sentence. But I digress, I’d rather be eating than talking right now.”

Doing as what she said suggested, Rajiri grabbed a stool near to the feasting company and dragged it to an empty spot, taking control of the plate of sausages and noodles that had been pushed towards her by the man at the same time. She almost felt bad for ‘em, if situations were reversed she would never give up shares of her food for the benefit of others. The concept of caring for those other than her kin was completely foreign to her because nobody had ever given her a reason to making it her own.

While grabbing an unattended knife to make the process of eating the sausages easier, her suspicion brought her to wonder if the meat that laid before her was poisoned. After all what did the man have to gain by inviting her to his feast? A bite-sized portion of one of the sausages changed her mind on that, however, due to the fact that she considered her judgement to be accurate thanks to her heightened senses: the dish didn’t have suspicious after-tastes or such other warning signs. She wouldn’t admit it immediately, but she recognized she was eating one of the best dinners she had had in a while. Not that the man would actually receive her thanks.

Post #: 191

12/11/2015 17:12:37

Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns

So much had and was transpiring right before Sana and yet she seemed oblivious to every last little detail; from the offering of food to toasts to the return of the others. Standing there with what was once a pure white linen, now stained with the remains of carnage, she wiped her hands off over and over again. The entire situation was not sitting well within the depths of her stomach and she could not shake the feeling; it was nearly maddening in it constant barrage on her senses and kept drilling into her psyche.

The beast died too quickly, it was foolish in its attacks; too reactive. She had fought such creatures before and they had conducted themselves in battle like a seasoned paladin of darkness. They thought before they reacted and you could see the process in the dark abyss of their pupils when they caught your vision. It was unnerving but not this one. It acted like a juvenile, no thought but simple pure reactionary instinct of the untrained.

One thing did catch Sanas attention and that was as the body of the beast was tossed into the hearth it actually burned. This was something she had not expected; only requesting the move so it was out of the way and no more blood seeped into and between the wooden planks of the floor. A holding place. Yet it burned as a piece of paper and was quickly reduced to ash. Was this a cause of it being outside of its own realm? Had it even truly been from the world that Sana called home? Would she ever know the answers?

Taking a breath she stepped over to the window, brushing passed those around her and glancing through where the glass had once been. Clouds were rolling in quickly, too quickly, and a blustery chill swept in and crawled through the tavern. A visible shiver shook Sanas frame as her arms quickly wrapped around herself; a futile attempt to warm her suddenly icy skin. As breath passed parted lips a small tendril of fogged rolled from her mouth; warm air hitting the chill becoming visible.

A worried expression broke across her features as she glanced over her shoulder and back towards those in the tavern. The gleam in her eyes nearly asking as clear as her voice would have if she had dared speak. "Do you feel that?" her eyes screamed before the tap of rains downpour began echoing through the tavern and her attention was drawn back before her and out the remains of the window.

The rain poured and hit the ground, what seemed to be steam rising from the ground and it caused Sanas heart to catch within her chest. She hoped it was not the beginning of another fog to roll in and deposit another beast into their laps. Slowly her hand reached through the opening to the rain outside, to feel the rain against her skin only to keep back quickly as she screamed. Trembling she turned around, her face wracked with pain as her hand held close to her; bubbling and blistering as the skin began to peel away.

Post #: 192

12/11/2015 20:38:12

Remaint
Member

Woyadei kneeled outside, ruminating, and frantically, turning steadily, attempting to dispel his fears. For the wight it felt like hours have passed as he posed motionless, deep in thought. Only did the sound of footsteps falling set his mind back to the current reality. Looking up, Woyadei would have reddened upon his realisation of his recent burst of lost control. The wight abruptly stood at the dragon-kin’s words, and accepted her payment without speaking. This was, what, the fourth time she witnessed his blunder? Yet again he felt relieved when she mentioned nothing regarding his broken discipline. Nothing yet, anyways.

A sudden downpour of rain set the present mood to a different tone.

The wight’s eyes were slightly wide at first, but resumed a neutral, even tranquil state. It was a bit odd, but Woyadei felt at home in the rain. The feeling of soft liquid striking his skin and the sound of free water flowing always comforted him. He would have continued being at peace if not for the several screams that erupted, a single from the tavern and some further out. Woyadei immediately struck a position for combat, being in Nebenhut, the Tail-Guard in which he held his weapon low to the ground with its point facing rearwards. The conquistador took quick but gradual glances about and noticed very little out of the ordinary. Well, ordinary for a Harrowshreiken town.

Steam poured from the earth, and from whatever the mysterious droplets contacted other than himself and his millipede. Emphasis on mysterious, for carcasses of birds who looked as if they had positively melted convinced Woyadei it wasn’t entirely water. The few people that occupied the streets ran for cover with panicked steps, holding their arms high with cloaks as if their very lives depended on it. The wight could see why, as the few unlucky who were without heavy clothing had heads who rivaled proper zombies in their grotesque damage and rot.

Acid Rain, the phenomena which by the holy might term brimstone and hellfire, the phenomena which purges entire lands of the living, and the phenomena which makes transportation and travel within Harrowshreik a living hell. It was well documented by the Confederacy, how living and undead alike suffered grievous material and bodily loss, when their homes sank into the ground, liquefied like sludge, when their iron wheels rusted to pitiful stubs, when their very feet eroded itself of the muscle needed to sustain locomotion. There were written thoughts, of survivors who had the misfortune to watch their own flesh greasily slide from their bones like meat within a long-cooked stew, watch as their comrades’ faces literally fell apart down to their bones and then crumble, dissolve into some slimy mess that one could not differ from long rotten waste.

Quite luckily for Woyadei, that was a long time ago, and his present body stood nonreactive to the horrifically destructive mockery of weather that should calm the mind, nurture the living, bring life to lands.

The conquistador relaxed his posture, and stood vigilant. He gazed skywards, appreciative of the darkening clouds. His companion millipede swayed comfortably, ever cool-headed, possibly even merry. Screams and terror or not, a town in rain was a town in serenity. One could pretend their troubles were washed away with the water, or burned away in this case.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 12/11/2015 22:32:15 >

AQW	Post #: 193

12/11/2015 21:45:58

Draycos777
Member

Arche had planned on staying outside with the undead until her meal was ready. 'Had' being the key word. When birds started to fall from the sky, an instinct deep within Arche told her to get inside, that something bad was coming.

Worried, she began heading back towards the taverns, not intent on waiting for the absent-minded undead to follow. It was when her back was turned that the screams started. Jumping up out of mild fear and surprise, Arche quickly ran to the taverns door and turned back around. It was raining, but something was off. People would not scream for normal rain. Looking closer she could see small strips of steam coming off the ground. Those that didn't make it inside fast enough, lay on the ground, their bodies slowly disappearing as if they never existed in the first place.

"What da'ell? What's going on around here!?"

Arche tried looking skywards from small angle she was allowed under the tavern's roof. She hadn't heard the flapping of wings or the roar of another dragon. However, the only thing she knew that could do such a thing would be an acid dragon. The scare earlier had made her blood rush, causing here dragconic side to come out. So if there was another dragon here besides Rajiri, she would at least sense them, however, there was nothing. Taking off her vest as her wings began to poke their way through, Arche decided to test out the rain's strength. Holding her arm out just enough so that the half the vest stuck out from the safety of the tavern's roof, Arche watched as the rain landed upon it. The vest be can to burn away slowly with each drop, but at the rate it was being eaten away, it would still need more than thirty minutes to fully disappear. Quickly retracing her vest, Arche looked around at the buildings. They seemed fine for now. Hopefully they'll last until the rain ends. Arche was about to say some to Woyadei, but decided against it.

"His probably immune to it or something. Heck, the stuff might even be healing him or something."

Arche headed back into the tavern. Noticing that Rajiri was sitting with everyone else, she sighed to herself and took both of the plates from the bar and sat down in a corner away from the windows. She was always told not to waste anything that she had paid for, so she couldn't reject the plate since Rajiri thought she was taking to long. So Arche began to set about eating both plates of meat and thinking to herself.

"Coming out here was a horrible idea. Between everyone hating me because of how I was born, to everything going wrong. I really don't fit in anywhere besides home."

Arche was never one to easily make friends. She couldn't understand human noble girls, and vice-versa. They talked about silly things that Arche could care less about, while her hobbies were cutting open monsters and talking about machines and trades. When it came to 'normal folk', they always became distrusting of her when they found out she was from a noble family. She couldn't stand how no one ever looked at her rather than her title. Of course having two very different personalities didn't help her either. Her dragon side's short temper always ruined things for her whenever she found somebody she could connect with.

"Whatever! Who needs 'em anyways. I'm just fine with my family and the villagers. Everyone else can go do whatever they want, I'm going home as soon as this rain is over!"

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 12/13/2015 9:10:42 >

AQ	Post #: 194

12/12/2015 1:43:32

Apocalypse
Member

Nilburke slammed his glass down at Keystone's almost innocuous comment. "You're faffing me." His eyes went wide and the previous joviality fled his voice. The glossy texture had vanished, leaving behind two scrutinizing orbs. Eyelids flicked over gold irises and just like that the usual mischief was present on his face. "Three travelers from other worlds?! What, does this bar have a special for planewalkers or something?" The goblin laughed through clenched teeth but the thought was a sobering one. The appearance of three beings from other dimensions - four, if it turned out Thief's portal had carried him farther than from just across the pond - was a noteworthy event, to say the least. Wheat and the beastie could have been chalked up to some work of magic on their side of things, but the other 'jumpers' complicated manners. Something was going on, and Candles may not have been too far off the mark: history would be made, for better or for worse.

As Nilburke mulled over the few facts he had, Brute showed surprising skill in diplomacy as the half-scalie joined them at the table, albeit with one last attempted insult at the goblin. He would have been inclined to retort in kind had he not been troubled by the latest revelation. The alchemist popped another piece of steak in order to have an excuse not to talk for a moment. If Hrah Thorn got wind of this, then no doubt there would be an investigator sent to get all the details straight. If Nilburke could coral this merry band to the Academia Collective, then he might end up doing them a favor. And favors were always preferable to have on one's side.

The air turned cold, tearing away the warmth bestowed by the drinks of the evening. The goblin wrapped his arms around himself as he glanced over to the shattered window. Nilburke was about to rebuke the tavern's softies for their incessant clacking when he realized it was his own chattering teething. He clamped his mouth shut just in time to hear Wheat's foreboding question: "Do you feel that?" If that had not been enough to send his skin crawling the sudden downpour of rain was. This was not natural. This - the planewalkers, the immediate cold, the unexpected rainfall - were all culminating to something and Nilburke was not sure he wanted to be around when it did.

In a feeble attempt to raise spirits (his own included), the alchemist blew a fog ring from his own breath and flicked a piece of meat through the center of it and into his mouth. "Not bad, huh?" The words had just escaped his lips when Wheat's scream pierced the air. The goblin jerked his head to see agony stretched across her face, her hand the apparent source of it. Surmising what happened, the goblin leapt from his stool and dug through his bag. "Fool of a softie," he said as bottles clanked and rang together. "Foolish, stupid, impulsive, little-" A green head rose up from above the sack to spit out the piece of steak he had been chewing on. It had been a rather lackluster piece anyways. Another moment was spent searching before the goblin popped back up with his jar of soothing cream. He nestled it in the crook of his arm as he sped his way to the archer. Along the way, he snatched up two abandoned glasses and flung their remnants onto the tavern floor. If anything, the contents may have served as an increase to the state in which the bar was.

As he crossed to the window, Nilburke freed a hand and tossed the soothing balm to Wheat. "Slather it on. And be generous," he said, not knowing the extent of the wound but that more would help, well, more. Balancing each glass on three fingers with the thumb
providing support to the back, Nilburke extended the makeshift lab tools to collect the corrosive rain. Specks flecked the far side of the glasses, and the goblin fought to keep his breathing even. He inched the collectors towards the wilderness outside and was rewarded with a thin layer of droplets pooling the inside. The goblins smiled to himself...before he got overzealous and a stray raindrop splattered onto his wrist. "Ow, you bloody twit!" Nilburke continued to curse himself as he stepped back, struggling to prevent the deadly rain from spilling. Upon approaching the closest table, he slid the glasses with perhaps a shade too much force as judged by the sloshing of their contents. This went unnoticed as the alchemist was distracted by the smell and sound of his hide sizzling. He had experienced worse burns in his mishaps with alchemy, but that did not mean his latest wound burned like a motherless goat.

"Cream. When you're done," said Nilburke without lifting his eyes from the pestering wound. In all odds, his tough hide would save him from some of the damage, but only time would tell how much. Until then, the goblin could only hope that its corrosive nature was limited to organic matter, otherwise the roof above their heads was about to take a turn for the worse. And then everyone could join in the fun of a spontaneous acid bath. He kept his first clenched to fight the urge to rub the wound and spread the hurt around.

The goblin raised his gaze to discover that the Ambassador had returned, this time taking the mysterious shadowy corner that every tavern seemed to possess. "If you're gonna laugh at this twit, best do it now," he said in her direction. "I doubt time will make this funnier." Nilburke sniffed the air and found the odor he found rather...pleasant. "But at least I smell almost as good as those sausages."

Post #: 195

12/12/2015 11:18:10

Draycos777
Member

Arche's attention was taken from her plate of meat, by a familiarly scratchy sounding, well, at least scratchy to her, voice.

"If you're gonna laugh at this twit, best do it now, I doubt time will make this funnier."

Looking up, Arche saw the goblin sniffing a wound on his wrist. She figured he must have gotten it from sticking his hand outside of the window like a fool. Whatever the case it hardly seemed laugh worthy.

"What is this? Some kind of joke, or is he just trying to bother me again?"

"But at least I smell almost as good as those sausages."

Arche sighed and turned her head to face the goblin, her silted eyes piercing through her little corner's shadows.

"Unless ya looking for me to, it doesn't really seem like something I'd laugh about. As for how you smell, I doubt it has any relationship to how ya taste. However,"

Arche gave the goblin a small grin and stretched out her wings trying to make them look more intimidating in the small space she was allowed.

"You might not wanna get too close. I might just try to take a bite out of you. I've heard Orcs and goblins taste good to dragons when they are well cooked."

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 12/12/2015 11:54:10 >

AQ	Post #: 196

12/12/2015 12:10:15

Remaint
Member

Rain may have always been a soothing omen to Woyadei of Shuischeier, but he still found such an occurance rather solemn. There was something about the grayed overcast skies that could be likened to a person weeping, whose many tears seemed boundless. A lack of living presence tend to accompany the damp weather as well, which while adds to the feeling of tranquility, also serves to remind the wight how lonely things can be. Memories came forth, of the times he was issued secretive parcels to deliver, or vast, empty lands to survey. Typically no one accompanied him as he plod past barren snowfields, lonesome swamps and hollow ruins.

The steam which permeated and spewed from the ground became dense, enough to obscure the little details which may not be so significant. An odd tugging sensation reminiscent of the first time the wight entered Lore came to his gut. He couldn’t see very far ahead suddenly and the constant petter of rain seemed to have stopped. It was atypical, but the wight wasn’t alarmed. It was cold and liquid soaked his wooly coat thoroughly, but he was indifferent.

Once more, an earth-caressing cloud, fog, came to past and Woyadei smiled faintly, perhaps sadly. Enough to obscure the insignificant details, indeed. The wight turned his head to the direction of the tavern door and stared passively. Maybe it was fated, that he will not matter to Lore, and Lore will not matter to him.

Without a sound, the conquistador and his steed was gone.

AQW	Post #: 197

12/12/2015 19:21:49

Bastet
Member

Rajiri recoiled in surprise as a pained scream pierced the usual rambling to be found inside a full tavern. The intensity of it made her think that the worst of crimes had just been committed, or that the end of times was coming. Either way, she had nothing to gain from it but possible injuries and wastes of time. Not one to underestimate possible sources of danger, she immediately turned to assess the incoming danger; reactively preparing for a fight, a range of scales that went from coral to red appeared on her body. She still remained cautious enough to avoid tapping needlessly into her powers if no actual peril was present, but she put herself at a level from which she could easily react to actual attacks.

She only relaxed when she saw the goblin sitting next to her mutter a few curses, rummage through his belongings and speedily make his way to the woman who appeared to have screamed bloody murder. Such a course of actions made it look like he already knew what was happening, or was prepared for it, meaning that if it was a problem that he could solve Rajiri was likely not to be influenced by it. However, it merely took that moment of brief chaos for her to regret all the trust she had put into Arche by accepting to join her in the tavern. Desirable company was not worth entering a life-endangering situation.

Continuing to observe the goblin’s actions, she noted that he was doing something with vials that were swiftly filled with a suspicious liquid that appeared to have been collected from the outside of the tavern, due to the fact that he had exposed himself out of the building’s window. She couldn’t resist asking about the situation, and although she had no desire to begin talking again to the little creature, the process of gathering information was, by far, more important than her disdain at the moment. Rajiri’s next sentence was about to leave her mouth when Arche spoke abruptly, responding to some remark the dwarf had made in her direction. This almost annoyed the red dragon: now was not the time to be joking around, as much as she understood her hate for the kind of small talk being thrown in her direction. Rajiri spoke in draconic to get her point across quickly, and to avoid giving away information that she desired not to make available to others.

Calm, Arche. Now is not the time. As much as I hate everyone else in here, something dangerous could be happening.

Concluding her line as quickly as she could, Rajiri raised her voice towards the vial-carrying creature and prepared herself to react to any possible threats. Until she knew precisely what was going on and how she should respond to it, she was not going to back down. Her acute sight allowed her to see for herself the kind of burns that had been inflicted on those who happened to interact with the outside, and that did nothing but alarm her.

“What’s happening, goblin? What is the cause of those burns? Is the tavern under attack?”

< Message edited by Bastet -- 12/12/2015 19:22:04 >

Post #: 198

12/12/2015 19:57:54

Sigil
Member

Muddling about with his torso bare, Keystone was instantly aware when the temperature drop crept into the tavern. He had been hoping to allow his lesser burns (from his earlier pyromatic wardrobe malfunction) to breathe, but this sudden change of weather had him rethinking his clothing options. A little scratchy dermal irritation was preferable to a sudden shift of his vestigial mammaries into implements capable of cutting fine gemstones from rough rock.

Keystone dropped his fork and plodded back to his pack, left earlier at the bar. After digging around for a bit, he pulled out a grey, woolen shirt. Almost a sweater, it was thick and rough looking, fastening together with three close set buttons descending from the front collar. He eased it onto himself and pushed up the sleeves, leaving his forearms bare. A pair of tipless gloves rounded out his change of attire, the right one carefully pulled over his still-smarting hand.

While it certainly helped, it was not sufficient to keep the entirety of the chill permeating the establishment from settling into his bones. After a scant few moments, the cold became the least of his worries.

Rain that melted flesh. This was a little outside of Keystone's zone of competence. Sana was the first to fall victim to the corrosive downpour; it was in fact her scream that first alerted him with certainty that something catastrophic was occurring. Nilburke was the first to respond to her medical needs, the unpolished Goblin's salve at the ready.

"That looks nasty, Miss Sana. Wrap some bacon on it too, 'till we can get you proper looked at."

With excited alert, Keystone turned his attention to the building in which everyone was taking shelter. He peered outside, giving quick inspection to the different materials the rain soaked with its unrelenting downpour - plants, structures, and unprotected metalwork. He gave a quick glance to the walkway and porch to the front of the tavern, and a lingering look to the open roof above the central hearth-fire. In case they had to go out in that, the burly fighter wanted to know what to hold above him.

"I ain't the chemist, but that Hellhound burnt up awful fast and nasty. You educated types suppose this's related?"

Turning his attention to the barkeep, he posed another question, "Ey, squire! What's this roof made of?"

A frenzied thought held his mind for an instant, prompting a dash for the nearest windows, relaying from one to the other. If anyone was caught out in this, they'd be dead by now. Some may have taken shelter under wagons or similar smaller structures, trapped, at the mercy of this demon liquid descending from the heavens, threatening to soak the ground beneath them and burn them from the bottom up.

Keystone looked for survivors that may need help.

< Message edited by Sigil -- 12/12/2015 20:10:06 >

AQW	Post #: 199

12/14/2015 0:03:02

Apocalypse
Member

"If you do, be sure to have some applesauce on hand to soothe that upset stomache I'll give ya," Nilburke retorted. One would imagine that a full-dragon would eat goblins by the clawful, but this half-scalie would not even get past an entire limb. The extended wings were a nice touch and would have worked on lesser animals or minds with superstitious streaks. With Nilburke being neither of these, it just came across as the Ambassador, once again, pretending to be something she was not (as half-scalies had the tendency to do). The goblin let it slide as he had other matters to attend to, specifically death falling from the sky.

And because it was a joke. Eating orcs? As if; half the ones Nilburke had met could snap the little Ambassador in half while the other would dismiss on either the account of her small size or haughty nature. Even the tolerance of hidies had a limit.

The alchemist made his way back to his bag as Ember took her turn to speak. This time, however, was out of curiosity rather than indulgent chest-puffing. "Attack? No, no no," he said without looking at her. He produced yet another vial from his sack and walked back to where the glasses of the mysterious rain stood. "Unnatural phenomenon possible drawn by some magic at work here." Nilburke peeked his eyes just above the tabletop to get a good look at the collected liquid. It looked very much like rainwater, minus the slight dark hues from the liquors that had previously inhabited the glassware. Smoke rose from the wood where the droplets from the outside of the containers had descended. The point of contact hissed, but the wood did not display any form of damage that rivaled what had happened to the goblin's own hide. The roof would hold for now, though problems could still occur if the deadrain refused to let up. "As for the specifics of said phenomenon...I'll need additional time for that." The corners of the alchemist's lips twitched. "Good thing you came inside, eh? Looks like even dragons can be burned."

Careful of the droplets residing on the outside of the glasses, Nilburke took a hold of each and gave them a swirl. Separating the tavern's drink from the deadrain was a necessity for the latter to be studied. Alchemy went into work as the dark splotches fell to the bottom of the glasses. Unstoppering his vial, Nilburke raised the first cup and began to pour the deadrain in. Like so many other dangerous substances on Lore, the deadrain seemed to have no effect on glass. Alchemists may not have invented it, but they were the ones who had benefited the most from its creation. Some circles liked to call it "the alchemists' gift" - not for giving but receiving. And they were quite right - Nilburke never did have enough glass on hand.

Once he poured as much as possible before the liquor threatened to contaminate the sample, the goblin reeled back his arm and chucked the glass out the broken window. He could get no more pure deadrain from its contents, and the glass would be more of a hassle to clean than it was worth. Nilburke spoke as he began the process with the other glass. "Probably, Brute, but I'm just not sure how. Not just the deadrain and beastie, mind you, but the occurrence of three other realm-jumps in one location." The goblin jerked his head towards Brute, Wheat, and Thief in order. "Something is pulling all of this in, like a whirlpool grabbing passing ships and sea life. I just hope we can get a peak at the bottom without winding up in it."

He cocked his arm back and let the other glass fly. It disappeared into the rainfall, making a faint crash for those listening for it. With the defenestration of his impromptu lab equipment complete, Nilburke turned his attention to the newest addition to his collection. The vial was not quite half-full, but it should be more than enough for its purpose. After stoppering it, the goblin gave it a little shake and began the grueling process of bringing out different aspects of its latent potency in different amounts and combinations. If it was of Lore, then his experience should be able to identify it. If its nature was other-worldly, there was still a solid chance he would be able to equate it to its Lorian counterpart.

Post #: 200

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