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Aurileith Sabriel

Aerial Archer - "Keep both eyes open... and breathe."

0 · 571 views · located in Tegea

a character in “Age of Alliance: Serpent's Call”, as played by kokiri_kat


Nothing Else Matters
Dust to Dust


"Keep both eyes open... and breathe"


"My name is Aurileith Sabriel. I am an archer. I’ve served many years in the Elven military… is that what you were looking for?"

"To protect those who need protecting. Same as you, I’m sure."

[B A S I C S]

Nicknames: Aura. To this day her mother still calls her ‘moon,’ an adorable little nickname given at birth because her features were so pale. If she’s being honest, she finds it a tad insulting. Yes, she’s quite pale. Get over it. Most of her comrades in arms just call her Sabriel.

Gender: Female

Age: 78

Race: Elf

Origin: Rielorn, or more precisely, a village on its outskirts called Luin.

Voice: Aura’s voice is modulated and steady, with a slightly husky aspect, and a very light accent that isn’t easy to place. She always speaks in a refined, polished manner when she speaks at all. More likely than not, Aura will be found listening instead of speaking.

Class: Archer

Offensive/Defensive: Defensive

Magical Affinity: Low: she only knows what her mother taught her, and that was so long ago now, she has trouble remembering. When she finds herself with the rare bit of downtime, she will practice, so as not to completely forget.



[A P P E A R A N C E]

Hair: Pale like silver. Pale like moonlight. Aura actually quite likes her hair. On a canvas of practically colorless features, at least it stands out. The color, in actuality is platinum blonde, heavy on the platinum. She keeps it long, always, and brushes it until it shines. It is soft and feathery, and easily picked up and tossed about by the wind which always succeeds in making her feel free. For the most part, she does nothing to it, but when it becomes particularly cumbersome she’ll trap it in a loose braid.

Eyes: One of these things is not like the others. Her eyes are the only part of her appearance which Aura can claim as dark. They are a rich chocolate brown. And, while a bit of a difference is, for the most part, refreshing, in this instance the starkness of the contrast can be slightly off putting.

Complexion: So fair she might as well be translucent. Seriously, girl needs some bronzer or something. Though she is outdoors quite frequently, her skin has just never tanned well. She is saved by the mere fact that it is quite dewy and youthful, and has a luminescent quality to it in darker settings which can be quite pretty if you’re into that sort of thing.

Height: 5’7’’

Build: Her build is quite slim and toned, lacking in overly bulky muscles, but it’s apparent she’s fit. Her figure could be likened to that of a dancer’s, or perhaps an acrobat’s.

Weight: 122 lbs

Body Markings: She has never likes the idea of body piercings so she doesn’t have any of those, but she does have a substantial amount of tattoos, mostly covering her back and arms. There are many awarded for marksmanship on her wrists and inner forearms. More personal ones like her mother’s name in elvish and the name of the village in which she was born on her upper arm. But, the most meaningful, and the one she is most proud of are a pair of wings wrapped around a gilded cage spanning most of her back and shoulder blades which indicates that she tamed and bonded with her bird mount Qiqsa.

[D E S C R I P T I O N]

While Aurileith is not delicate per se, there is something about her that screams ‘refined.’ Her posture is flawless, her mannerisms precise; every action is thoughtful and deliberate. At first glance, she might look like something out of a fairytale; she might resemble a graceful woodland sprite with her shining pale skin and hair like molten silver, but on closer inspection, it is apparent that this is not the case. There is an emptiness in her eyes and a rigid set to her jaw that evokes an image of a tightly wound machine. What at first seemed elegant now becomes austere; posture which merely seemed dignified is revealed to be uncompromising. Aura is made up of hard-lines and even harder eyes, and while she is not exactly mysterious she does exude an unreachable quality that does a good job of steering others from her general vicinity. She lacks the open, smiling face and kind eyes that persuade people to share confidences. Her eyes are slanted and uninviting, her brow stern, and her plump lips seem ever to be set in a thoughtful pout.

Moral Alignment Lawful Compassionate


[P E R S O N A L I T Y]

Aurileith is, in her heart, a free spirit. She is the type of elf who would love to wade into the middle of a rushing river just for the hell of it or run barefoot through a field of flowers. If you find this sort of behavior disconcerting, don’t worry, she would never actually do any of those things--at least not if there were anyone around to see her. She would only want to do those things. Secretly. If you observed her closely enough as she walked passed that river or field, you might see the hidden longing in her eyes, the pent up desire rushing from her like an overflowing tub, but most likely not. She’s gotten very good at hiding it. You might wonder what made her this way; wonder why she feels the need to mask her emotions so completely. It wasn’t anything major. There was no one event that traumatized her for life. Perhaps it’s simply easier. Cleaner. Perhaps in a lifetime of having decisions made for her, she likes to keep something secret, something that she knows is hers alone. No one told her to find pleasure in the feel of cold water rushing over her skin. She just does, and no one can ever take that away from her if they don’t know about it.

She is not the type to show her pleasure in such a garish thing as a smile. She wouldn’t be caught dead with one of those on her face in any form. A genuine smile, a smirk, it doesn’t really matter, they are an outward symbol of what one is feeling on the inside and Aura doesn’t go for that. This does not mean that she does not treasure such emotions as joy, amusement; love, but she’d rather others believed her immune to such feelings, as if they were a disease, or at the very least a bad habit she is loathe to give in to. If she lets down her guard, you might even see a hint of such feelings, but once they have been expressed she is quick to regret what she would consider a lapse in judgment, and is not above twisting someone’s arm until they pretend like nothing happened.

Though you might never guess it, Aurileith is naturally inquisitive. When she was a child, her mother nurtured this trait, but as she grew older and joined the military, she learned that inquisitiveness and independence were not exactly sought after in a soldier. You were meant to do and not to question, and therefore she buried those traits for a time, though she never really lost them. Over the years it has morphed into a sort of finely tuned observation which suits her purpose better. If something interests her, she will not ask a million questions, but she will watch, she will observe intently from a distance until she understands the thing and what it is meant to do and how it does it. She uses the same quiet observation on people as well.

[F E A R S]

  • Aura has a very intense fear of being underground, or in tight, confined spaces with no immediate escape routes.

  • She fears dying having never followed her heart instead of her orders.

[Q U I R K S]

  • Eavesdropper: This is not done out of nosiness or malice or an intent to do anything other than learn; to be informed. Aura has always been possessed of a good pair of ears, and she uses them to figure people out, to get the answers to questions she’d rather not ask aloud. Of course, anything she learns in this way she will absolutely treat as confidential. She has never been, nor will ever be a gossip.

  • Bathing beauty: As previously mentioned, Aura really enjoys water. If she is anywhere near a body of water, she will more than likely find time to steal away from the group in order to bathe privately.

  • Self-Conscious: Her humility is such that she absolutely refuses to look into a mirror in public. If she is in a room with one, she will always turn in the opposite direction. The only time she looks into mirrors is when she is brushing her long silky hair--her one vanity. Also, compliments of any kind make her uncomfortable and she will never know how to respond. Most of the time it is with a curt nod as she is briskly walking away.

  • Bubble: Aura’s need for personal space is very important to her, and she doesn’t much like being touched--especially by those she doesn’t know well.

[E T H I C | V A L U E S]

The values instilled in her during her formative years were later to be proved somewhat moot, but she never truly lost them. In fact, she holds them quite close to her heart. Follow your heart, have a giving spirit, be free; choose. Choose the path you wish to follow in life for yourself. Ideals that seem wonderful in theory, but that she was never truly able to put into practice since her path was chosen for her. She could have been like her mother. She could have chosen for herself, but she lacked her mother’s courage, and so let herself be led. The values instilled in her by virtue of her culture live in her as well: serve your kinsman, respect nature, be your best self. Aura strives to live up to those standards, and only wishes to live up to those her mother taught her. Perhaps now--considering the task she is undertaking--would be a good time to start.

[A G E N D A]

Her mother lives on the outskirts of Rielorn where danger of the plague is most prevalent. Her most pressing thought when joining The Serpent’s Gathering was of protecting what she holds most dear if she could. And… if she gets to experience the world outside of Elven territory in doing so then, bonus.

[L I K E S]

    • Water. It’s cool and refreshing, and feels like liquid silk on your skin. What’s not to like?

    • Aura has unusually sensitive skin and she cannot abide anything rough touching her body, which is why she truly appreciates soft fabrics. If she’s wearing leather, it has to be well worn and never rubbery. If she wearing metal armour it has to be smooth. But her favorite thing to wear, by far, is silk. Sadly, the life of a soldier doesn’t give her much occasion to pull out her best chemise.

    • Baby animals. While it has been established that Aurileith likes to put on a very robot-ish persona and has difficulty with the softer emotions, all her stoic bad-assness goes out the window in the face of a fuzzy duckling. She will immediately melt into a puddle of unflattering, baby-talking goop. But come on, can you blame her? Show me a person who doesn’t like ducklings and I’ll tell you to stop being friends with them. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.

    • Adventure. It’s not something she’s had much of in her life, and she’s always longed to see more of the world outside the elvish kingdom, but it’s not something she’s likely to admit to. Secret desires and all that. Ask her about it when she knows you better.

[D I S L I K E S]

    • When all eyes are on her. It is rather difficult to quietly observe when you’re the one being watched. It does not embarrass her, however, or make her uncomfortable to be put on the spot. She’s learned the art of carrying herself with professionalism and decorum, and how to hold her own under questioning glances. It is more that it makes her restless, and slightly annoyed.

    • Animal cruelty. Uh uh, not cool bro. Not under any circumstances. Aura has alway had a long fuse, and it takes a lot to rile her, but mistreat a defenseless animal and she will make it her business to get in your face. Fortunately she hasn’t come across much of this as her kinsman generally respect the natural world.

    • Personal questions. She rarely asks them and does not like being asked. The inevitable question going through her mind will be “why do you need to know?” But, she will answer them if you are genuinely interested, or if compelled to do so because you outrank her. But, still, she will remain skeptical.

    • Sleeping. Aurileith has always had a love/hate relationship with sleep. It takes entirely too long to fall asleep, and once she does, even the slightest noise will usually wake her. If she could, Aura would just give up on that whole business entirely. Long story short: if you need a look out, she’s your girl.

[Excellent] - ★★★★★★
[Strong] - ★★★★★☆
[Competent] - ★★★★☆☆
[Average] - ★★★☆☆☆
[Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆
[Learning] - ★☆☆☆☆☆
[Scrub] - ☆☆☆☆☆☆

You have a limit of 20 stars.


[N A T U R A L | T A L E N T]

  • A Way with the Beasts: [Competent] ★★★★☆☆ Animals of all sorts have always responded well to Aura. A cooing song, a gentle scratch behind the ears and they seem to melt with little effort. Dogs, horses, and bird mounts don’t take long to warm up to her and stand ready to obey.

  • Silk Touch: [Competent] ★★★★☆☆ Aura has a very light and precise touch, and a very sensitive one. This would come to serve her well during her training in archery. Not only can she pull arrows from her quiver with shocking speed and accuracy, she can tell the different types of arrows she keeps in her quiver apart on touch alone. And, if her morally compass ever swings in a less than honorable direction, she’s a decent pick-pocket.

[C L A S S | S K I L L S]

  • Aerial Archer: [Strong] ★★★★★☆ Whether mounted on Qiqsa, or sheltered high in the trees, Aura does her best shooting from high places.

  • Up Close and Personal: [Poor] ★★☆☆☆☆ While she trained in ways to defend herself which didn’t involve a bow and arrow, Aura never took to them the way she did to archery. If forced into close quarters, she has a pair of trusty daggers which she is passable with, but overall, she prefers her longbow.

  • Camouflage: [Average] ★★★☆☆☆ Stealth is very important to Aura’s fighting style. She moves quietly, climbs quickly, and generally tries to blend in with bushes or trees and gain the element of surprise and thus be able to pick off enemies at her leisure.


  • Band-aide: [Poor] ★★☆☆☆☆ Her mother is infinitely better at this sort of thing than Aura, but long ago, she taught her to manipulate the power of light to heal wounds. All she can manage is superficially wounds, but, she supposes it’s better than nothing. Aura practices every chance she gets so she will never completely lose this ability.

[W E A K N E S S E S]

  • Unoriginal: Being a soldier might not be what she would have chosen for herself, but she’s become quite good at it. Give her an order and she will generally follow it no questions asked, but ask her to give input on a plan of attack or come up with a new strategy and she’ll probably be lost.

  • Uncomfortable with vulnerability: It’s not that she’s apathetic, in fact she might care a little more than most about the sufferings of her comrades, but Aura does not know how to show it. A show of vulnerability makes her cringe, and she will be more likely to run in the opposite direction than offer any kind of comfort or consolation. She hates herself for this, truly, but doesn’t know how to change it.

  • Life is not a bowl of cherries: Aura has a tendency to look on the darker side of things. A mission not going as planned? She’ll be the one with the ‘we’re all gonna die’ attitude. Hope in the face of disaster has never been her strongest suite; more like resignation.



[A R M O R]

Aura is usually clad only in a small amount of armor; enough to keep her protected, but not so much that it becomes cumbersome. A chainmail plate guards her upper torso, while a pair of leather shin guards and a matching set of forearm bracers protect her extremities.

[C L O T H I N G]

For the most part, Aura chooses comfort over flare. She wears tunics and trousers soft enough to grace her body without irritation in various and pleasant earthy tones; greens, browns, rusty reds. She also prefers tall boots and long capes. But, she is not opposed to dressing fancier if the occasion ever calls for it. In fact, she might have a silky number stashed somewhere at the bottom of her rucksack.

[I T E M S]

  • Quiver with arrows of various sizes
  • Pouches of herbal remedies given to her by her mother
  • Various food stuffs for travel
  • Ivory hairbrush

[T O K E N S]

A garment of any kind as long as it’s made from fine silk.

[P R I M A R Y | W E A P O N]

Weapon Name: Moonstone
Weapon Type: Elven Bow
Length: 64’’
Weight: 12 lbs.
Origin: This bow made from quiksilver with refined moonstone inlay did not come from the Elven Armory. It was the one and only gift she’s ever received from Mordyth. The bow was his in his glory days. He gave it to her before she’d really disappointed him. Aura bets he wishes he could take it back now.

[O T H E R | W E A P O N S]

Weapon Type: Dual curved daggers
Length: Both 10’’
Weight: 2 lbs. each
Origin: These blades didn’t come from anywhere special. Aura picked them up one day in training and discovered they were easier for her to handle than your average straight dagger. So, she kept them.


[M A R I T A L | S T A T U S]

Single, and generally not interested in anything that doesn’t fall under the category of ‘no muss, no fuss.’

[F A M I L Y | T I E S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | S a g e | [ 90 ]
Ah her mother. A glowing, guiding light in her early days, Aura regrets that she didn’t have a normal mother/daughter relationship with her. Still, she admires the hell out of the courage it took to stand up to her father and choose the life she wanted. Aura could have used some of that courage when her time came, but her mother did remarkably little when Mordyth came to take Aura to Rielorn. Perhaps she thought her daughter would come back to her. She’s still living peacefully in Luin, and Aura sees her when she can.

    | F a t h e r ? | [ -20 ]
Yes, well, Sage never disclosed her father’s identity, and whomever he is, he’s never reached out. Aurileith finds herself looking closely at every blond-haired elf she comes into contact with in case it could be him, but mostly she just hates him on principle.

    | M o r d y t h | [ 20 ]
Aurileith has a complicated relationship with her grandfather. As an elf who once held the distinguished title of 'watcher,' his expectations for his children and grandchildren were quite high. He was instrumental in her being chosen for military service, just as he was in the case of Aura’s mother, but Aura, like her mother, lacked ambition in his eyes. Therefore, she is constantly disappointing him.

[O C C U P A T I O N]

Soldier in the Elven Military.

[S O C I A L | R A N K]

Mordyth’s status and distinguished military career gives her some rank by association, but honestly, she would rather get by on her own merit as an archer.

[O P I N I O N S]
  • Humans: According to her grandfather, they are an inferior race. But Aura no longer puts much stock in his opinion. As she hasn’t had much opportunity to mingle with humans, she reserves judgment.

  • Elves: Hrmm… Which elves are we talking about? She’s known many who are decent folk, just enjoying their lives or trying to live them in a way which will get them remembered after they’re gone; elves that truly want to help others, like her mother, like her fellow soldiers. But then there are other elves; elves like Mordyth and the Watchers. Ones that seem to enjoy toying with other lives like a cat with a ball of yarn. Her opinion of these types is… less generous.

  • Orcs: Two enthusiastic thumbs up! Aura’s curiosity towards other races is quite high, and the few orcs she’s met have seemed kind and noble enough. She’s looking forward to meeting more of them now that she has the opportunity.

  • The Serpent’s Gathering: It’s an… interesting mix of individuals on a noble cause. Plus, joining has given her the opportunity to leave Rielorn which is a good thing in itself.

  • The Pestilence: In all honesty, it terrifies her. She’s heard terrible things, and doesn’t want to think about dying like that. The fact that it’s reaching the outskirts of Rielorn--where her mother lives--scares her even more.

[R E L A T I O N S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | O r c B r o | [ +65 ]
“Ah yes, the orc who just loves our elven food. I have some spinach cookies just for you.” *Wink

When they met at the gala, he seemed tense at first. It was only when she realized what was happening that she understood, and she found herself in the unusual position of wanting to reassure someone. How did one even go about doing such a thing? They talked. If Aura wasn’t so against openly enjoying things, she would have said it was nice.

    | A d r i e l | [ +40 ]
He’s the guy everyone talks about?”

So this is what it feels like to be in the presence of a celebrity. She expected… something different. Well, she’s heard he’s good with magic. Aura wouldn’t mind learning a thing or two from him on that front.

    | G r e t c h e n | [ +05 ]
“Well, aren’t we clever?”

The human’s language is quite colorful. Aura supposes she deserves props for finding so many different ways to insult people. But, she could stand to lose the attitude.

    | T a n e | [ +30 ]
“A bear, huh… yes I see the resemblance.”

While Aura appreciates this human’s kindness, she finds his jolly, open nature difficult to comprehend. He looks like he should be so mean. She is confused. Sometimes she amuses herself by looking for weak points in his armor. It’s nothing murderous; she’s not an assassin. It’s more of a way to pass the time.

    | K i r | [ +35 ]
“He reminds me of a skittish animal.”

Aura’s instincts tell her to approach him calmly and quietly so as not to overwhelm him. She’d also like to coo at him like she would a scared filly, but she’s not sure how humans feel about being compared to animals. Is it offensive? Perhaps he would appreciate a sugarcube, anyway.

    | L a e t y a | [ +55 ]
“You enjoy bathing as well? Perhaps, sometime you could be my lookout?”

The orc seems to be possessed of the kind of forthright courage that Aura so admires. She could see herself being friends with her, as long as she steps back an inch or two. Respect the bubble.

    | E z r a | [ +20 ]

His stories sometimes merit a micro-chuckle, but all in all, she doesn’t take him too seriously.

    | B e r l i o z | [ ## ]

    | G u l f i m | [ +65 ]

Aura cannot look at the shy orc without smiling inwardly, because she knows. She understands what it’s like to be inquisitive about the world around you and yet not know how to form the right questions. She would happily and patiently answer any questions Gul directed at her, but she understands that she is not the most approachable person.

    | A r a y e l | [ ## ]

[B I O | H I S T O R Y]

She remembers her early life being quite pleasant. Luin was a small and humble village in which her mother was its most prominent member. As a gifted healer and shaman, Sage Sabriel was relied upon and looked up to for as a ;leader of sorts. Aura remembers their small hut smelling of lavender, spearmint and eucalyptus. Lovely smells from her mother’s herbal remedies. She remembers her mother singing to her when she would awake in the night with bad dreams; cradling her in her arms and surrounding her with comfort. She remembers her mother’s dark hair and kind eyes; her smiling lips as she told Aura the importance of being true to one’s heart. For Aura, as she grew, there was no other option. She was who she wanted to be, and at her early age, that meant a little girl who picked flowers and pressed them into books; a girl who ran barefoot through the forest with a befriended fox in her wake. The little girl had no worries or cares, and let herself be led by whims and fancies, never knowing that there was another, harsher way of life. She would learn.

An older elf came to their house one day. Aura didn’t know who he was, but her mother seemed to. The stranger looked her over, and she felt uncomfortable, sensing that she was being appraised. She discerned the tension between the two of them, and when he left, there was a sadness in Sage’s eyes that her daughter had never seen before. The man was her grandfather, and he would come back to take her away for a while, her mother told her. Aura didn’t want to go; she’d never left her village before, never left her mother, but Sage assured her that everything would be alright.

“You’re going to hear things about me, Moon…” her mother began,sweeping a piece of her silvery hair out of her eyes on the day Mordyth came for her. But, instead of finishing her thought, she only shook her head and looked away. “Just remember… you can choose.” Aura wasn’t sure what her mother meant, but she was too distraught to ask.

When her grandfather took her to Rielorn, she cried a lot at first, and with each tear she shed, Aura felt Mordyth become more and more impatient with her. She would have to grow some thicker skin, he said, if she were going to be a soldier. This was the first she heard of his plans for her, the watcher’s plans. She would pick up where her mother left off; right the wrong that had been done when she disgraced her family. He told her the story, not bothering to hide his disdain for his own daughter as he did so. Sage Sabriel had a promising career, until she gave up everything to become a shaman in the boondocks and raise a child on her own. She became pregnant and left halfway through her training, breaking her family’s hearts in the process. She was a pariah in Rielorn, but her daughter was going to make up for it all. The pride of the Sabriel family now rested on her shoulders.

Nothing about a soldier’s life appealed to Aurileith, but in the short time she’d known him, Mordyth’s approval had become very important to her. And so, she did as he wanted and began training as a soldier. It was an… unpleasant experience to have all the individuality and freeness of spirit that her mother so nurtured taken away piece by piece, but slowly, being a soldier became her identity. It just so happened that it was also the identity of about a thousand other elves. There was nothing different about her anymore, nothing that set her apart from the guy in the next cot over. It was around this time that she began to recall her mother’s word from their parting. Just remember… you can choose. And then she understood; she understood that she had made the wrong choice. She also understood how much courage it must have taken for her mother to choose. Aura did not have that kind of courage, and so she stayed.

Life was uneventful for a time. She showed promise as an archer, and the day that glowing review from her superior officer got back to her grandfather’s ears was the first and last time she’d see him smile. Though she was talented, she lacked ambition, and did not rise quickly enough through the ranks for Mordyth’s liking. Here was another chance for her to run, when she realized that no matter how hard she tried, she would never truly win her grandfather’s approval. She could have followed her heart back to Luin and her mother, but she was a coward. Again, she stayed.

Decades passed in much the same way, until one night she found herself at a Gala in honor of an orc, of all things. For some reason, Mordyth wanted her to be there. She listened to the rumors as she quietly made her way around the banquet hall. The rumors were that this orc was immune to the pestilence, and that a small group was finally forming to fight it at its source. The rumors intrigued her. The pestilence was all anyone talked of, these days, and there had been horrifying reports of it recently reaching elven territory. She’d been worried about it reaching her mother’s village. Her grandfather confirmed the rumors, and seemed strangely keen for her to meet this orc. They waited in a long line of elves before she was introduced, and Mordyth’s motives became clear.

“Higoht Ezengbo, allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Aurileith, proud archer of the Elven Military. She would make a fine Second, don’t you think?”

A second what, exactly? Aura wasn’t sure. But she knew she was being foisted on this poor orc who looked slightly overwhelmed. Mordyth left them, and she tried her best to convey that she wasn’t interested in whatever it was that her grandfather was trying to volunteer her for. She found out later of course, when the Infiltrator, Adriel Nisaan was chosen over her and every other elf vying for the position. Her grandfather had a few choice words to say about that. And when Aura expressed an interest in volunteering to join the Serpent’s Gathering anyway, he made his opinion known. No granddaughter of his was going to be a grunt soldier on a suicide mission after she had been passed over for a higher position.

He told Aurileith to steer clear.

But for the first time in her life, Aura didn’t do as she was told.

[F L A G S]
Anything that has to do with finding out who her father is. Or riding a sphinx.


So begins...

Aurileith Sabriel's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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She would never forget the day she left Rielorn. It was ingrained forever in her mind, she knew--not because it had only just happened--but because in a lifetime full of following, she had finally made a choice. In all probability, it wasn’t the smartest choice. In fact, her journey of self discovery would most likely end in certain death, but at least it was a choice she’d made. It was not her mother’s choice, or her grandfather’s, or even her superior officer’s; it was hers, and she claimed it proudly.

That being said, leaving her home was more difficult that Aurileith would have imagined. In all her years, she’d never been far out of elven territory, and never on her own, and saying goodbye to the things she loved had given Aura a moment of pause. Saying goodbye to her grandfather was not difficult. In fact, the curt nods they exchanged could barely be described as a goodbye at all, but saying goodbye to her mother was. She’d explained the situation, and Sage had told her she was brave while Mordyth snorted in the background. They’d hugged, and she held on just a bit too tightly as her mother whispered a fond farewell. Be safe, Moon.

Saying goodbye to Qiqsa was, perhaps, hardest of all. She flew with the bird to the outskirts of Autumour, knowing as they went that it would probably be the last time. Qiqsa, who had been her companion for many years, could not possibly take this journey with her. When they landed, Aura dismounted, grabbed her gear, and stroked the bird lovingly on the head.

“I’m sorry, Qiqsa, but I cannot take you with me.”

Qiqsa, as if she understood, bowed her head to make contact with Aura’s, and the two stood there for a long time. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the elf felt the stirrings of uncertainty deep within her. But she couldn’t go back now. And she didn’t want to. She was proud of her choice, and though she wasn’t exactly sure why, she wanted to do this. And so, with one hand still on Qiqsa as if to draw some strength from their bond, Aura turned toward the city she would shortly be entering. She scratched the bird one last time, told her to fly home, and stood watching until Qiqsa was nothing more than a tiny dot on the far off horizon.

As lonely as it was to be on her own in a strange city, Aura relished the feeling of sheer freedom that came with no longer being tethered. She moved through crowds with ease and stopped to look when she saw something that interested her. She was accountable to no one but herself for the first time, and she took in that feeling of freedom as hungrily as she took in her new surroundings.

Autumour certainly was a sight to see with its tall buildings and even taller trees, leaves the color of rubies and topaz; and nearly as vibrant. When the sun hit them with just the right light, it looked as if the trees had been set ablaze, and Aura stopped to marvel at their beauty, not caring as people cursed and grumbled at her as she stood, still as a statue that had been inconveniently placed in the middle of the street. Eventually, she slowed down traffic enough that the increase in bodies around her became overwhelming, and she moved on, choosing to duck down a less populated back street to regain her composure. The heels of her boots clacked uncomfortably loud against cobblestones sending a few stray cats scattering from the cracks in between the buildings. There was a twinkle in Aura’s eyes as she bent to scratch a particularly shabby gray feline behind the ears.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, “you don’t have to be afraid of me.” The cat began to purr and arched its back, rubbing its face against her hand, claiming her as its own. “I’m sorry little one, but I have nothing to give you.” The gray tabby meowed in protest, stretched its thin body and scampered off, possibly in search of someone who might have something to give him. Aura sincerely hoped there were kind people in this town who had a spare saucer of milk for her new friend.

Getting directions from a nearby merchant, she headed off in the direction of the Ebony Bridge, where her grandfather said the meeting of the Serpent’s Gathering was going to take place. And sure enough, when she reached the bridge, a small group was gathered. Aura slipped fluidly into the back of the group just a kinsmen she recognized began talking. He was with the orc she met at the gala, Higoht, so she knew she was in the right place. When the elf finished his speech, there was a commotion which made her raise an eyebrow. Several things happened at once, and Aura was glad that she was on the edge of the group, instead of in the middle of it. She took a couple steps back just to distance herself a little more.

"No offense Mr. Bossman, but I think it's best if we make our way out to the Quarry before anyone else decides to contribute to this conversation," said an orc she didn't know.

Aura agreed.

(Laetya gains +5 approval from Aura)


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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#, as written by Gray

The crowd was grew ever larger, containing not only big ones and little ones, but annoying ones and socially inept ones, as it might seem. One elf in particular seemed a bit off. His white hair and thin features would have been more at home in a drug house than in Adriel's crowd of warriors. He was twitchy for an elf; Adriel didn’t know if it was nerves, or if he'd followed Adriel straight out of an adjoining brigand den, but Adriel didn’t like him. Oh yes, he did notice the fact that he was being trailed. At first he assumed it was a sickly cat or a stinky human beggar with his unevenly paced steps. There was also a large man, clad in more armor than hair, who was oddly all too happy to be there. There was a frightened orc girl, and a man wearing a full turban. Another human stood nearby, seeming all too proud to be there. Adriel would learn that his name was Ezra. Ezra bothered him. Adriel hoped Ezra would be crushed in the trial. A dark-skinned human was eating. Weren't humans the worst?

Finally, there arrived a couple of elves. Real ones, with long hair and slender waists. That improved Adriel's dour mood somewhat, though not by much. Another orc... friendly and upbeat, it seemed. He rather wondered if they knew what they were doing here. Behind them all, amidst all of these faces, was Gretchen--or as Adriel affectionately called her, anything other than her name because he wouldn’t lower himself to that. He had hoped to see the last of her disgusting face when he'd sent her off earlier that day. Yet as fate would have it, she scampered right on back like rats to a cheese. Just his luck. She must have gotten hungry or something, and returned to feast on his scowling. Of course, if she didn't show up on her own, the serass would have just sent him after her to see if she was dead.

But he digressed; Adriel wouldn’t have time to be distracted by the woman flipping him off, because the twitchy elf suddenly woke from his drug-fueled stupor.


Ah, his hair looked like a cock, did it? That was a new one, considering the style was an ancient and well regarded one among elves, something Adriel doubted the white haired man knew much of. He could have called it ancient and garnered more respect from the infiltrator, but oh no, cock was preferable. "Do your parents still insist you're an elf? Or do they refuse to acknowledge your father as the milkman? Because no elf would dare spout such foulness to me, round ear."

Here he had tried to make a good impression, and maybe even inspire some stragglers. Well, that was out of the window; all Adriel had to do was be himself. It was around that time that Gretchen managed to make the turban wearer pass out with the sheer potency of her face. Adriel... dryly supposed he could relate to the poor man's reaction. "Can someone help up the master adventurer down there? You there, harlot, as you caused this, I'm sure you're equally capable of waking him. Do it... nicely. The rest of you, unless you feel inclined to aid her, be ready to move. The sooner we're on our way, the sooner we get to show up the Silver Knights."

"--A moment, please," said the orc rather abruptly, going as far as to clasp Adriel behind the wrist. They exchanged a curt look, and Adriel hoped that his relayed the fact that while you may have grown, you're still very much the same child, aren't you? At some point the serass had begun scowling, likely when the man had planted his head into the city road. Still, he kept his brows set, and eyes open and alert as he addressed the Gathering: "This will be the single and only instance in which I will not accompany you all. I know he's... a bit of a grouch, but I do trust the judgement of my Second, and I trust him to make choices best suited to our cause. I can only hope that one day we can both earn that trust from you." He slowed his breathing, bowing his head and pressing a calm beam onto his face. "For now though, I simply wish you luck. Spirits be with you, and thank you all for coming today."

"Thanks Serass," said Adriel, his voice barely above a whisper, "but I told you, no coddling." There was something of a wry smile upon his lips, and the elf hoped that Higoht wouldn't feel too offended. Though deep down inside, he realized that the big green soldier was pretty fragile. "Alright, the rest of you, let's go mining." Quickly turning his back to the company he was leading, Adriel marched towards the smell of clean air.

Gretchen lost 2 approval from Higoht.
Kir gained pity from Higoht.
Gulfim gained 2 approval from Higoht.
Laetya gained 2 approval from Higoht.
Everyone else gained 1 approval from Higoht, simply for attending.

The walk out of Autumour was surprisingly short. The ebony bridge was built near the outskirts of city, and Adriel couldn’t be happier. The fresh atmosphere enveloped him, if the recruits were watching closely they’d likely notice his simple relief to be out of the city. There was some talent among this bunch, even the elf had to acknowledge this. While he might be crotchety and closed-minded, there were men and women among them who seemed battle hardened already. This mission might go well. He picked up his pace as the group moved through open plains. There would have been no sign that anything was amiss until nearly a quarter mile outside the city, when a distinct shaking feeling could be felt even through the toughest of hide boots.

Adriel paused briefly at the first shudder, turning to address them. "I should inform you, any cavalier worth their merit would know what this is... but I imagine I have a more succinct explanation prepared. It's a species of drake that moves through earth; a Nidhogg. Normally they're... smaller, and confined to the elven territories. If you've ever wondered why elves feel as though we're the guardians of the world, you'll be seeing the answer soon enough."

He turned away, resuming his pace. “The beast I ask you to slay makes its lair in the quarry down the road. It is incredibly old, and we shall pray for all our sakes that it is male; regardless, keep an eye out for eggs. I ask that you smash any that you should find; they are most prone to eating flesh when they are young.

"Once we arrive, there will be no turning back. If any of you would prefer to embrace cowardice and another day, by all means, return to the city. To those who feel true loyalty to the cause, again: we’ll be securing a human quarry against a Nidhogg. From the feeling under our feet, I can tell you this is a particularly nasty one.”
The elf didn’t enjoy admitting follies of his own kind, but it was a grave offense from many decades prior. Typically all drakes are no larger than pig or large stray dog when they hatch. During Adriel’s training as a cavalier, he'd been given the opportunity to fight these bog drakes before. Typically, the creatures never leave the forest, and even if they did, they would stay buried for nearly a hundred years. With earthquakes as intense as these, however, it was safe to say this creature might be have survived and flourished even longer than Adriel.

The sight of trees became scarce. Only minutes later, the ground simply disappeared before them, like a magician's trick. The group stood before an incredibly large quarry, a flat slab of ground several leagues below their feet, with natural stone walls on all sides. There was only one long slope which lead into it, and a series of caves along the horizon marked old miner’s holes.

Typically, this would be an impressive sight. The trees had been cleared for lumber supports in the mines, and the stone was carved with such efficiency that one might assume a fictitious race of pint-sized men had dug them. Loose stone on the ramp’s surface would shutter with each quake, and the sounds of warping wooden beams in the mines were disconcerting at best. Adriel began to lead them down a wooden ramp the workers had left behind.

As the quakes reached the peak of their intensity, as it became increasingly difficult to maintain balance, they would know it was coming. On the far wall of the quarry visible cracks began to appear, growing with each quake. Even Adriel, scrunching at the nostrils, had no idea how big this creature had become. Finally, the wall collapsed, giving way to the emerging beast.

While the party was safe up were they were, a sickening odor would soon be accompanying the monstrosity. No doubt about it, the creature was a bog drake, a crouched Nidhogg barely smaller than most human forts. It growled gutturally, saliva spewing from it's chasm of a mouth. Boils shivering under its neck as its massive appendages bent and broke the flat ground under its feet. This would prove an opportune time to get a look at the rows of teeth sharp enough to turn stone into food. It peered up at them, defensively perched near the quarry wall. Each toe was as large as a man, and the feet themselves had more than enough surface area to squash any human dumb enough to stand before it. Then it screamed, reverberating, warning any would-be predators that it was not going without a fight, as its glaring orange eyes watched for any sign of movement.

This was a monster which should have never made it this far, and if Adriel had his way, it wouldn’t be moving much further.

“I will not be helping to slay the beast," Adriel said finally, crossing his arms as pebbles fell all around them. "You’ll do everything on your own, I’ll probably just sit on a rock somewhere and judge your performance.”

Thankfully, near the edge of the cliff a godsent appeared, a stump from a once mighty tree was now kind enough to volunteer as a perch for the elf. Adriel casually meandered towards the now-seat, and made a motion with his hands which couldn’t be a more clear sign language for well, have at it then.

The {Monster Compendium} has been updated.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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It seemed that Illeren’s outburst had done more than just draw attention to himself as several things happened that were too coincidental to not have been a direct result of his proclamation. Someone jumped, another person stumbled, people stared…

And not a single fuck was given by the elf that day.

Most people seemed content to simply let the matter slide into awkward obscurity, but one such human man seemed more than capable of breaking that little bit of social taboo with a boisterous laugh and an arm around Illeren’s shoulders. Illeren raised an eyebrow at the man for a moment, before he introduced himself as Ezra and more or less approved of Illeren’s shouting. Not something he was entirely used to, considering people were either telling him to shut up, move along, or asking where their money was. Illeren gave a single sharp intake.

“Aye mate!” Placing an arm around Ezra’s shoulders in return like they were in a chorus line. “Let there be laughs and excitement, of every variety!” Illeren stated, stealing a glance at the many lovely ladies that had somehow made it into the group without his knowledge. Suddenly he was wishing that his first impression had been a bit more manly, but the situation was done. “Name’s Illeren by the by!” Illeren stated loudly enough for everyone to hear him before removing his arm and continuing to look at the people around him. The orcish woman stated something about getting a move on, and Illeren slammed his palm into his chest plate.

“I agree with the lovely lass of the greenish type! We should go break things that don’t agree with the things that we like!” Illeren stated, his voice much more level than before, but still with a very high tinge of excitement piercing what would otherwise be an almost respectable tone. Save for the content of the phrase...and the slapping of his chest plate...and Illeren being Illeren. He was willing to just get going, when of course Adriel opened his mouth to respond to him.

"Do your parents still insist you're an elf? Or do they refuse to acknowledge your father as the milkman? Because no elf would dare spout such foulness to me, round ear."

Illeren stared at him for a moment, ignoring Ezra’s comment to the insult and portrayed an almost blank expression on his face before giving a slight laugh. “Good to see that the elven stereotype is well deserved ya arrogant piece of cow spittle!” Illeren fired back, a grin on his face as if he was expecting a fight. Frankly, he didn’t care who this person was, what their position in elven society was, or if he could kill him or not with a blink. If you fire shots, you better be prepared for return fire. “‘sides...round ear? MY EARS BE POINTEH LIKE SWORDS!” Illeren damn near yelled as he grabbed them and gave a good yank almost as if he was making sure. It was only after this little exchange that he noticed that Ezra wasn’t at his side anymore, having moved to assist the fallen clothed man that Illeren had completely failed to notice until that moment. Illeren gave a shrug, the situation not requiring input from him in any manner of the word. Instead, he now shook his arms and rolled his shoulders with the impatience of a hopped up druggie. He was ready to go, he had to go. Something had to go and he wanted it to be them to the test.

He was ready for a fight, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise.

Illeren wasn’t ready for a fight.

As he stared down into the mine that might as well have been an abyss from his point of view, he could feel his legs lock up and his eyes go wide. That was really far was a long drop…”That’s a fookin large hole…” Illeren accidentally said out loud before shutting himself up quickly. A bead of sweat actually appeared on Illeren’s forehead as he stared down, all his thoughts turned to what would happen if he should fall. How painfully sudden it would be, or painfully slow. Either way was not something he wanted to happen, and he might have stood there for several more minutes if not for the convenient timing of the Nidhogg.

Now, Illeren was familiar with the creature. His Cavalier training had made it mandatory to be in the know about the creatures should they find one with standing orders to kill on sight for all Elven soldiers. This was not the creature he had been told about. First of all, it was massive...second of all it was FUCKING massive. Granted the shock of seeing a creature that could have been a physical representation of Adriel’s ego was enough to force him from the edge of the mine and return him back to the moment. Adriel had spent the trip telling them about the creature, but Illeren had to admit that his mind had wandered, and so had his eyes although he would never tell the others about that particular tidbit less he wanted to be slapped several times over.

If it hadn’t been for Ezra’s laughter which sounded more desperate than anything to Illeren, he might have thought he was alone in wondering how they were going to kill something so massive without some sort of siege weapon or mass magic. Speaking of, he had just noticed that Ezra’s sword was now on fire. Suddenly Illeren was seriously considering learning magic because fire and swords was just...well come’s fire and swords! Turning his mind back to the present matter at hand, Adriel made it painfully aware that he wasn’t going to be assisting in any way whatsoever, and left the group to take up a perch along the edge of the cliff. Illeren stared at him as he simply sat at the edge of a deadly drop before realizing he was staring, and that the man was an elf and used to heights.

Ironic, Illeren was aware.

"Alright gang, time to make Papa Elf proud! Any ideas?" Ezra stated as the Nidhogg continued to remind them of its presence. Illeren gave a scoff, pulling his sword from the sheath on his hip.

“My plan is to fook that buggar up so badly it will look better in comparison to it’s present self ya betcha!” Illeren stated giving his sword a once over, running a hand along the inscription on the blade. “But ‘ey! If ya bastards wanna waste time thinkin up a statergy, then all the power to ya! I’mma be down there slicin’ at the squishy bits!” Illeren then turned and ran for the ramp with all the reckless abandon of a suicidal lunatic only to come to a skidding stop at the ramp as he caught a glimpse at the height once more. He paused for a couple of seconds longer than necessary before stealing a glance back at everyone else.

“What the fook ya pricks starin at! I got this!” Illeren yelled back before scrunching himself up against the wall and slowly walking down the ramp as if the ground was going to give way at any moment.

‘ad to be a fookin mine...couldn’t ‘ave been a prairie or city block! Nay, lets pick something that good ol’ Illeren will have trouble with. Illeren stared a glance up at Adriel, who he did not doubt was having a good old laugh at his state right now, his chest pressed up against the wall as he side stepped down the ramp.

Well played ya righteous sap licker!

(Illeren slightly approves of Ezra's approval + 5)
(Illeren slightly approves of Adriel's fiestiness! +5)
(Illeren slightly disapproves of Adriel's fiestiness! -5)
(Illeren slightly approves of Laetya's suggestion to get a move on! +2)
(Illeren greatly approves of Ezra's fire sword thing! +10)
(Illeren greatly DESPISES heights! - 99)


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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Aura walked from the meeting point to the quarry on the outskirts of the group, keeping silent but watching, observing. The group she’d chosen to join was colorful to say the least, and she enjoyed taking in the nuances of facial expression and body language that each member of the party exhibited as they journeyed. Aura observed it all. The downcast head of the man who’d fainted suggesting apprehension; the roving eyes of the dark-haired human who’d helped him suggesting perviness; and the quick stride and effortless posture of their leader suggesting… confidence? Boredom? Aura wasn’t sure.

As they drew to a halt at the top of the quarry, Aura guessed by the rumbling of the ground and the stench in the air what it was they would be facing, but as the nidhogg emerged from the earth, the elf realized she had never encountered one so massive. Her hand went automatically to her back to retrieve her bow while the other nearly simultaneously readied it with a notched arrow. She pointed her bow at the ground and stood in a defensive position as strategy began being discussed. A soldier at her core, she did not dare make a move as one of her kind with a commanding voice assumed the mantle of temporary leader and suggested a plan of attack. Having faced bog drakes before, Aura already knew what she should be doing, but still, she waited until an agreement seemed to be made about the best game plan. Once people began jumping off the side of the quarry and onto the beasts, she decided it was probably safe to begin attacking.

The elf had been called upon before to slay nidhoggs, and she’d always felt a pang of regret in having to put them down, as she did with most any living creature. But, Aura felt no such regret now as they battled this monstrosity. It needed to be exterminated. She made her way slowly down the quarry ramp, flawlessly loosing arrows into the boils of the beast as she went, her posture rigid, on guard for any imminent threats. As it so happened, this proved useful, not for any attack from the nidhogg, but for the large piles of slimy mucus flying in all directions like a disgusting fireworks display as the team hacked into the giant creature. Aura sidestepped the mess as gracefully as she could, having no wish to suffer the same fate as the members below who were covered in the stuff.

Just as the beast seemed to be on its last legs a new threat appeared. She saw them before she was fully down the ramp, and she heard Adriel’s shout not long after. "By the Gods. Recruits! Kill every last one of them. Let none flee." Nidhogg babies, freshly spawned, made their way from a crack in the quarry walls to the open area where many of members of the group were engaging in combat with the mother. Aura felt her stomach drop, and she allowed herself a split second of fear before she put away her bow and raced down the rest of the ramp, hoping she could defuse the situation and prevent needless death. Perhaps the infants could be subdued rather than slaughtered.

As she reached the quarry floor, she looked up to see one of the infants charging at the elf who’d introduced himself a Illeren as they were leaving the Ebony Bridge. He was rather preoccupied with battling the mother and had not yet seemed to notice this new threat. Aura threw herself in front of the charging nidhogg.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop!” Aura cried, and for the moment, it listened. The baby stopped in its tracks, though reluctantly.

The trick in getting most beasts to submit, Aura had found, was controlling her own emotions. If she allowed herself to feel fear in this moment, the creature would sense it. So she focused on clearing her mind, and exuding calm authority. She bent her body just enough to show that she wasn’t a threat, and with her palms held out in front of her, she forced eye contact with the baby nidhogg. When it tried to move around her, she again stepped in its path. “Stop!” she exclaimed again, taking care to keep her tone free of desperation or frustration, leaving only dominance. The beast bucked its head back as a growl rumbled in its throat, but it backed up an inch. She advanced a step to match it immediately, knowing that if she showed the slightest sign of weakness now, she might be done for. “Back!” Aura stepped another foot forward, forcing the nidhogg back even further. It roared again and met her eyes without hesitation. The elf could see then that she’d lost what little control she’d had over it for a brief second.

She barely had time to brace for the impact before she felt claws ripping the skin of the forearm. The beast advanced on her, sending her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her. At this point, Aura could only hope that she’d distracted the creature long enough for another member of the party to get the drop on it.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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It was as if the fullest, brunt force of gravity wrenched her forward again, but this time at a jarring right angle. Apparently wasting no time, Gretchen had rammed her bare feet into the dirt to barrel full speed, shoulder checking the young drake and tumbling together with both the beast and a hard downward force. With a feral cry, she wrestled against its tough, writhing hide as its talons flared and thrashed beneath her. It caught with a revolting, riveting drag onto parts of her thighs and chest. She successfully straddled the creature, even roughly punching it right in the teeth before clasping both hands on her dagger and baring straight into its bulging throat. The junior screamed at an unholy pitch, or it started to, while its bubbling blood began to fill areas it should not be filling. Gretchen did not even register the violent spurt of drakeling blood that coated her face and neck. She stabbed it again, and again, and five more times for good measure even after movement had stopped beneath her.

She heaved where she was for a short while, her lungs barely able to keep up as her hands shivered with rapture. Jiggling the handle of her dagger out of what was now a fleshy disarray, the bandit swung her torso upright and lurched forward into proper footing. How could she describe what most people would feel if they shared her body right now... Like singing and dancing? Yeah, that sounded about right, though it far from showed on her features: Gretchen did not look pleased in the slightest. Gretchen wasn't certain she had noticed the elf who had been knocked down by the shithog in the first place, although she did witnessed the fiasco wherein the daffy woman tried to communicate with the fucking animal. Only a low snarl came to manifest as Gretchen spared Aurileith a passing glance: her outward disappointment and rage directionless, her mind utterly elsewhere. All the while she breathed heavily, seething and staring around for another one of the little shits.

Then, spotting one, she bolted. Mindless of her surroundings. Mindless of her companions. What companions?

...She couldn't FUCKING believe that she had tumbled off the ugly colossus the way she did! Her damn sword had gotten thoroughly lodged into the mother nidhogg, probably having dug into the surface of its spine, and she couldn't get it out for the life of her because the big fuck wouldn't stop flailing around like a retarded lamb! Yes, everyone was trying to kill it and it reacted on instinct. Gretchen understood the gist of that concept, but it still pissed her right the fuck off. As such, ignoring everything around her, Gretchen spent the majority of the battle digging her own little trench into the monster's back. What use was it all if it stole her lily leaf sword?! She held on as it slung its head to and fro. She held on through its abysmal screams as it took despair and damage. She held on even as its tail pretended it was a mallet and swung through walls and people alike.

Oh, no. What did her in was the smartass who decided to use his fat ass to stampede down right into the nidhogg, probably giving both it and everyone near it a goddamn concussion. With that, combined with the creature's reinvigorated last ditch attack, Gretchen finally lost her grip on the pommel of her weapon and was flung towards the wall where she started this mess. She grunted loudly through her teeth on impact, her left elbow and tailbone having taken the worst of it. Thankfully she didn't use those for too much. Glaring and staggering to her feet, she saw red. And she kept on seeing red, even after taking it out on her first prey.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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#, as written by Jäger

"Hesitation's unbecoming, maggots."

Ah, that sun-bathed hair and tiny, sharp face from before. As she briefly made eye contact with Vasha, her eyes were wild with violence, a smoldering hatred boiling within. The rangy woman reminded him of a rabid dog, except without the threat of an incurable disease. A shame that - I’ve always wanted to test out its implications on a human being. Vasha felt a twisted kinship with her as she lobbed herself on to the beast, almost indulging in her berserk mania himself, arm twitching in anticipation from the thought. But he checked himself, shaking his head slowly in small movements to cleanse the urge.

Vasha hadn’t realized that he had been joined by someone else during his lapse – an elvish woman, dark and compelling. Her eyes were liquid mercury, hair the maw of night. A rolling softness of cheek and lip offset the unearthly quality of her eyes, lending her an altogether unsettling appearance. Despite that, Vasha found her incredibly beautiful, perhaps due to the very fact that she possessed such visual contradiction.

"We mustn't disappoint father." What is with all these people calling that elf Dad? Soon, she had launched off the side and more followed; the pretty boy from before who spewed lava from his hands, an orc woman with one hell of a weapon, and even the pile of rags from earlier managed to find himself an ideal vantage point, slinging a barrage of arrows into the beast. Vasha found a new appreciation for pretty boy, looking after the flames hungrily as they spiked and slithered across the Nidhogg’s form. The Nidhogg was noticeably distressed, using the momentum of gravity to violently barrel its body from side to side. Like a ship caught in a storm. To his approval, most had followed his advice, finding others to join arms with. Now all he had to do was find someone that would do the same for him.

A brown-skinned human approached him from near the front of the pack. He had impressive heft and a sort of nervous excitement that lit up his features when talking. “I’ll go ahead of you, Dark Hair.” When the man bit his lower-lip noticeably, Vasha’s eyes snapped to them, finding the mannerism odd to say the least. He almost felt the urge to tell him to bite harder and draw blood.

“Thank you for stepping up – I have no doubt we’ll make a fine team.” The man disappeared down the ramp, entering the battlefield. Vasha followed him, taking a moment to appraise the scene. More had joined the fray. A silver-haired elf took up point on one of the ramps against the quarry wall, gracefully avoiding a sudden explosion of mucus and grime that showered most of their party. The white-haired rat from before had managed to get to ground level without dying, attacking its front right leg. His partner had rammed a lance deep into the thing’s eye, gauging it out in waves of continued force. Looking back up at the members remaining, a hulking suit of armor was positioning himself for what Vasha assumed to be a plunge. Following the man’s trajectory, Vasha realized that he was going for its head.

A brief pause from the Nidhogg and the giant pitched himself off the side. A squealing noise distracted Vasha from the tank’s landing – looking out past the Nidhogg’s gargantuan form, smaller, faster shadows appeared from beneath its cavernous stomach. It was a mother. Oh, now this has gotten exciting. A voice echoed through the quarry, “By the Gods. Recruits! Kill every last one of them. Let none flee.” The elven archer had noticed the new development as well, running down the ramp as lighting suddenly sparked against the walls of the quarry. The tank rolled off the Nidhogg’s head, revealing a jaw that couldn’t quite close anymore.

Pivoting on his heel, Vasha broke into a sprint, jumping off the lowest ramp and landing near his partner. Still, the brown-skinned man continued his assault, backing off when the Nidhogg moved to attack him and reapplying pressure when it was distracted. “Well done!” Vasha exclaimed when he saw the pus and grime spilling forth from the Nidhogg’s eye like a broken faucet. The Nidhogg, in a bout of vexation, moved a massive clawed foot towards them, obviously with the intent to squish. Vasha predicted the arc of movement, jumping in the air before the foot had slammed into the ground. Finding purchase on the slimy skin of its tendons, Vasha used the Nidhogg’s next retreating movement as a springboard to land near its face.

“When I tell you, use all the force you have to drive that lance as deep as you can into that hole of an eye!” Vasha barked over the ever rising sound of the Nidhogg’s wails. He waited, observing the ebb and flow of the beast’s movements. The sickening squish of boils reverberated in his ears. Still yourself, Vasha. Patience. And then he felt the growing simmer of paralysis as the Nidhogg became overwhelmed, passing over its enormous flanks like a tsunami. “NOW!” Vasha yelled, waiting for the lance to appear from his peripherals before piercing the Nidhogg’s other eye in a flurry of strikes. The Nidhogg opened its broken jaw and angled its head upward, a torrent of air pouring from within as a great howl of agony. Vasha quickly took the opportunity, throwing himself into the beast’s mouth. His saber pierced the flesh of its tongue - a place to hold on before the Nidhogg reflexively swallowed him whole. It was much more slimy and hot than Vasha predicted. He could feel the tingling of pain from what he assumed were regurgitated stomach acids and other digestive enzymes. The damage would have to be severe he could actually feel the pain. He needed to act quickly.

Ripping his saber out and propelling it further down its throat, Vasha looked for the lymph nodes that he assumed would be at the very back. Occasionally light would pour in, casting vicious shadows across the bumpy texture of its tongue, almost looking like miniature mountains and valleys. Gods, was it massive - the tongue itself was nearly the size of a town square. It felt like an eternity before Vasha reached the back of its throat. His entire body was thoroughly soaked in the thing's blood and fluids. Groping around in the dark, he felt something much softer beneath his hands. Fleshy globules the size of adult sheep lined its vast palette. Hoping that this was what he was looking for, Vasha took hold of each one with his left hand and sliced through the back with his other, promptly stabbing his saber back into its flesh so that he wouldn't fall into the black hole of its throat. Upon each removal, the Nidhogg rumbled like an earthquake, nearly shaking Vasha free of his foothold.

How the fuck am I going to get out of here?

Vasha approves of The Bull's teamwork: +10
Vasha slightly approves of those that followed his advice: +2
Vasha approves of Ezra's fire making ability: +7


Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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"This sword. Where it ends, and I begin."

There's was so much happening at once. Too many people with too many personalities, bundled and bunched into a group reminiscent of Orcish ranks. Certainly no chest pounding but she was sure that would come later—and if things couldn't get anymore surreal, an arm dropped around her shoulder and a familiar body drew her into a warm side-hug. Laetya. Her blue eyes softened. An inch of tension left her drawn shoulders, and a tremble-ridden sigh escaped her lips. Her mouth opened to say anything but then, the armoured man she'd bumbled into knelt forward and collected the needles she'd dropped and offered them back to her. No judging leer. No curled lip, insult curdling on his tongue. A simple gesture. Her mind whirred and stuttered, but she managed a soft-spoken, “And I, Gully Gragba.” Too stiff. But there it was. She accepted the bundle and sheepishly shoved it back into her satchel, underneath the helmet she'd been trying to extract.

While people like Ezra or Laetya or nearly everyone here wielded words as easily as she did her sword, Gully floundered and found herself having little to say. She did find Illeren and Ezra amusing, as well as she found Tane chivalrous and kind. Her words, however, stuck in her throat like those prickly needles. Conversation was devastatingly gut-wrenching. Instead, she remained swaddled in Laetya's embrace and glanced over shoulders when she heard someone thump against the ground. It appeared as if it were merely a shamble of rags and limp limbs, but people were already bending over to help him up, and Laetya was already leading them in the opposite direction. Her jelly legs disobeyed her willingness to incur aid. She moved like the river and flowed along with the group.

Moving away from Autumnor into more unfamiliar territory filled the silence she supposed she should haved filled with Laetya. Should she have asked what she'd been doing over the years? What had happened in Kyoshel on the wall? Why she'd disappeared and never returned? The details had not been told to her. Confidential as they had been. Questions were met with stern frowns, shaken heads, and cutting words that ended her queries. Her older brothers responses had always been grim. If even he wished not to speak of it... she wondered whether it would be appropriate to mention at all. Whether or not fortune smiled on her, she needn't fill in the gaps with her blubbering. Adriel's instructions began and she listened with rapt attention.

Ancient steel. She, too, smiled. This is where her little spark ignited. Words were words. Sounds to fill empty spaces. Emotions that did not quite fit in her palms. Giving and taking and giving again. Those were rivers she had not learned to cross yet—these oceans, however, were ones she sailed frequently. Like a sailor scrambling up ropes, relying on muscle memory, Gully's countenance shifted as her fingers tickled across the pommel of her blade. Fighting coloured her world when she could not. She could almost feel her heartbeat drum through her head. It was a song she leaned against for familiarity and comfort. And while she actively listened to Adriel's nonchalant admonitions, Gully's eyes followed the craggy quarry, dipping into darkness.

Even as the ground shuddered and trembled beneath their feet... it was the stench that bothered her most. Certainly unlike the softly-scented needles pushed to the bottom of her satchel. She would've liked to catch a whiff of it in that moment. Soon after, a shambling wreck of flesh shuddered from the recesses of the presumed nest and the Nidhogg bugled towards them. Vasha's useful knowledge would not go to waste. Avoid the walls when it clambered up them. Focus on it's neck-riddled boils. Consumption of rocks. Speedier individuals towards the front and slower, hardier ones towards the back. She fell somewhere in the middle. She shifted her weight and dropped the satchel to the ground. And she did not hesitate, throwing herself into a throttling sprint. Her left hand closed around the hilt of her blade and it sang free of it's scabbard.

Gully sprang into the air and relished the wind as it bit past her cheeks. Far more sprightly than her weight would impress. She tensed her legs and arms and landed across the Nidhogg's slimy back with her own, considerably-less disgusting one. Her momentum carried her all the way down it's thumping tail and she scored a flesh-wound with her sword, slicing down it's spine. She wove between her perhaps-someday companions and slipped her blade in Illeren's mentioned squishy-bits. Dipping underneath it's belly and diving away from it's stomping claws. It did, however, slap her away with it's hind leg, driving her into a loose-limbed tumble into the furthest wall. She crooked forward and wheezed. Fortune held. She'd managed to keep her sword in hand.


She took another withered breath and pushed herself back to her feet. There was a wetness blooming down her neck. Blood. Her blood? Maybe, it's blood. She wasn't sure. Another shout sounded over the clamor of grunts, roars, and bloodcurdling screams. One of fury and rage—belonging to Gretchen, being tossed around like an angry leech. Vasha and the dark-man were dealing with the Nidhogg's razor-toothed maw. Everyone else was hidden beneath the Nidhogg's girth and stomping legs. She wanted to cry wait wait wait. That she would be there. That she was coming to help her. The words died, and where words died, actions persisted.

She hurtled forward into another calf-burning run and utilized her momentum to swing her sword in an upward arc beneath the screeching younglings rippling throat. Before it had the chance to dip it's head across Aura's face. Before it was too late. It's head tumbled beside Aura's face, and a neat spray of blood and whatever-else followed along with it. Grabbing the creature by the back of it's shoulder, Gully hefted it off of her with a grunt and exhaled sharply, trying to regain her lost breath. Everything was happening so fast. Too many people, too many different personalities. All bundled up. Fighting together. Her heart soared.

Gully wiped a grimy palm across the front of her leathers and offered it to Aura. A smile. Gore-spattered as she was, her eyes swilled with concern. Worry. Strange how battle changed how she felt so quickly. The nattering nerves striking doubt through her mind were mere afterthoughts, as long as this person... a stranger, was whole and fine. “We're not finished yet.”

Of course not.

Gulfim greatly approves of battle +50
Gulfim approves of Vasha's knowledge +10
Gulfim approves of everyone's fighting prowess +5


Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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Illeren’s demeanor had changed ever so slightly once he was in the heat of battle, doing his best to eliminate the creature in front of him. It wasn’t a complete 180 in terms of his personality, but looking at him it was clear to tell. His smile was of excited determination rather than mischief, his motions were fluid and filled with a singular purpose, and his blade soared through the air with every flick of his wrist almost like he did so himself, his body contorting as he made to dodge the subtle but dangerous movements of the giant Nidhogg. The only thing that remained was probably his speech.

“Ya feel that you right tit gobblin wanka!” Illeren slashed and pierced with every ounce of his being, knowing that even though it didn’t seem like it, the cumulative effects of all their attacks was slowing the giant ugly beast down. He continued to do so right up to the point where the Nidhogg decided to throw a temper tantrum and stamp its feet up and down. Illeren forced his sword deep into the leg from where he was standing, on top of the foot, and held on for dear life while the Nidhogg did it’s best impression of riverdance. When it finally decided that enough was enough and it was time to move, Illeren retrieved his sword and jumped off the foot, landing in a single roll. The entire body was moving like some kind of weird body of water, with skin flapping about like the waves gross massive balls of pus and blood shooting every direction. Illeren charged forward, intent on keeping up with the Nidhogg, ducking and weaving through the ballistic bath intentions.

Illeren was still beneath the creature at this point, and he was seriously starting to reconsider his position as keeping his balance amidst the clawing and scraping of the beast was almost as hard as getting a blow in himself. Dirt and dust was kicked up, coating his armor and himself as he coughed and forced his eyes open through tears caused by the obstructions. At the very least, it wasn’t what everyone else was currently coated in, even as his white hair was now a dirty grey. When the beast finally did stop, Illeren took that moment to clear his eyes so he could properly see. He heard the pompous ass yell something about killing every last one, but to be honest listening to that elf was really damn low on his list of ‘fucks given’.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Enough of this dirt shite in my sockets!” Illeren stated, finally getting fed up with the dirt in his eyes and instead making for the nearest leg and jumping up on top of it once more as was the norm for him. His eyes would clear eventually, but for the moment he simply wanted this thing dead for shoving dirt into the golden gems that were his eyes. He stabbed, slashed, cut and weaved through the boils on the beast’s leg, giving off insults that were getting more and more incoherent as time went on. Starting with ‘Ya fookin bastard!’ to ‘’ant dis lookin fookbar!’. When he finally did regain his entire vision back, he looked over to see a baby Nidhogg grappling Aurileith to the ground. Before he could make a move to help her, the sheepish orc came by and cleaved the bloody thing’s head off. Illeren gave a smug nod as he absentmindedly stabbed at the mother’s foot some more.

It wasn’t long after that the baby nidhoggs were dead, and the mother collapsed on the ground, much to the surprise of Illeren as he made a mad dash to get out from underneath her once he realized. She had crashed to the ground and Illeren threw himself to the dirt in order to avoid being squished. He got up, wiping the dirt and grime off of him as best he could before looking back at the creature. There was a brief moment of silence from him before he gave a hearty laugh and pointing his sword at the carcass. “Right! We fooked ‘er up somethin fierce we did! I mean, just look at ‘er, all crumpled up like a wet sack of potatoes!” He twirled the sword a couple of times before smoothly returning it to its sheath. He turned to look at the others, noticing that they were all more or less covered in guts, pus, and blood. He laughed even harder, if that was even possible.

“Look at all ya silly gits! You’re…” He couldn’t even get out a proper sentence, at least for Illeren, without bursting into laughter. Sure, he was covered in dirt and grime a plenty, but not organic matter. Adriel started talking to them, and the moment his grating voice started making it’s way to his ears, Illeren’s laughter died down. At the very least, the elf seemed pleased with their progress and achievement, so it toned down Illeren’s annoyance of the man somewhat. He ordered a trophy to be cut before he started talking about what they were to do next. Barkmere, Illeren had been there before and personally didn’t like the place. It was a nice town of course, probably one of the better ones out there, but it was too bloody close to Elven territory for him. He hated going back that direction for any reason whatsoever, and gave a huff as he realized that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter if he wanted to continue with the job. He had realized that he might be forced to go back to the dreaded land of the tree humpers, but he had hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon.

Although there was the bone of contention regarding the induction. An immunity to the plague? Yes please, but what did he mean if they survive? Was the cure almost as deadly as the disease itself? Well that seemed right stupid to Illeren. Adriel tried to amend his statement, but it was already too late. There was a threat of death from the thing supposed to protect them from threat of death...Ironic. He then made to go help the blonde woman with her sword while Illeren turned to the others of the group. “So, we go drink a brew that may kill us, or save us from a different death…” Illeren put a hand up to his chin. “Sounds dangerous...I like it!”

The trip to Barkmere was more or less uneventful, with Illeren being bored for the majority of the way there. He sharpened his blade as he went, practiced twirls with it, and generally used it to relieve his boredom. At one point he had started singing folk songs, but after a few very pointed glances he got the message and stopped...for the time being. They couldn’t stop the Bard Illeren! It took a number of hours before they reached Barkmere in the dark of night and the building’s glow providing the only source of light for miles around. They approached the walls, with Adriel getting them inside and directions to where the group was supposed to meet. The walk there was short and, once more, uneventful as they moved inside and were greeted with the leader of the expedition. Bo smiled and waved them inside, another rather unpleasant looking elf taking them and moving them to some bathing area. Illeren gave a very audible sigh of relief. “That’s great! The rest of ya smell like a bad case of chicken pot stool!”

It was to his utter dismay that the bathing areas seemed to be separated by gender, leaving Illeren pouting slightly as he and the other guys were lead to the baths. Once his initial disappointment wore off though, he didn’t waste any time whatsoever. Going into the changing room, he quickly tore off his armor with both a practiced ease and reckless abandon as piece after piece seemingly flew from his body. Aside from his sword that is, which he ever so carefully detached from the side of his chest piece and gently set it down as if it was some revered object. He kept going until he was completely stark naked in the change room, portraying the scars and tattoos that literally marked nearly every inch of skin. Without bothering to don a towel or any sort of covering garment, he walked out into the main area of the bath.

He walked along the wooden boardwalk over top of the bath, giving a good inward breath and stretching before tossing himself over the board and literally belly flopping into the water. He surfaced near the edge of the bath with a wide smile planted on his face as he simply sat in the warm comfort of the bath, enjoying what would probably be a very scarce occurrence of being clean. He let himself slip down into the water until it was up to his eyes, peering into every corner with more than a hint of mischief about them as he moved around the pool.

Illeren exited the baths with only a loose pair of cloth pants adorning his body, leaving his upper body and all its tattoos exposed for the world to see. His armor was in a bag, toting along his back while he held his sword in the other as he followed the instructions of the orc, who had found him investigating several closets...cause he was ‘Lost’. Bastard had caught him in the act of trying to nick anything that was worth anything in there, luckily Illeren had been able to play it off. Or at the very least, if the orc gave any indication he knew what Illeren was doing, he never said anything. Little beads of water still clung to Illeren, and his hair was still fairly matted from the water as he attempted to simply wipe the water off of him. While doing so, he nearly full on stumbled into Bo.

“Oi, my bad.” Illeren stated, looking up at the man.

“No harm done..." The orc replied, amused if anything. "You're Illeren, right?”

“Aye mate, tis my name. Hig-oit right?”

“Hiː goʊ, but just call me Bo.” Illeren gave a smirk.

“Much easier on tha tongue! Less pretentious too, sounded like a ‘igh born dicker for a moment there.” Illeren pointed to the room. “We settin’ up in there?”

“Haha, yes. Go ahead and get comfortable, we’re still waiting on the others.” Illeren gave a nod, slapping the man on the shoulder as he went inside. It appeared he was the first one here, and so he set about taking up a spot at that table, setting his armor off to the side and placing his sword on the table in front of him. He took a look around, to see if there was anything else that he should be aware of and finding nothing. He sat himself down, flipped the sword into his grasp and leaned back, placing his feet on the wooden surface as he unsheathed his sword and went about glancing at it. He reached over into his pack and brought out his sharpening stone once more, letting the rhythmic motions keep him more or less entertained until everyone else came in.

That being said, when everyone else did come in, Illeren didn’t bother stopping. He simply slowed until the sound of the stone on sword was practically imperceptible. He glanced up at Bo as he started to talk, everyone paying attention to their leader. He didn’t bother moving from his current state, which some might have seen as incredibly disrespectful, but he was paying attention at the very least.

Bo introduced himself, and set about starting the story with a tale about a snake. Apparently its poison was what allowed one to be immune to the plague ravaging the lands, but you had to survive it first. Illeren let his head drop slightly as he thought about it as trading one poison for another. At least this one would prove to be survivable, mostly. When he mentioned the side effects, making special note of what Adriel did during his stint with the drug Illeren gave a scoff. “‘e’s an assasin ain’t ‘e? ‘e most likely kills people when ‘e’s sleepin!” Illeren stated without so much as a single care given as to what the others might be thinking about when he said that. He simply continued his slow upkeep of his weapon as Bo continued. There was talk of respect, loyalty and everything else that came with being under the employ of someone else. Funny enough though, he made a note to mention morality, which struck Illeren as odd.

He wasn’t the most ethical man around, but he knew where to draw a line. It just struck him as weird that the boss of this so called group would be open to their interpretation what was right and wrong when really it should simply be left up to him. He then went on to list all of their objectives while they were with the group, which Illeren found to be common sense. If they were going to be immune, it would only make sense for them to be in the thick of it. If they survived the induction anyways. Illeren perked up when he started listing out rewards with a noticeable bodily movement. Pardoning? Pass. Fame? Pass. Respect? Pass. Physical Recompense? Now that’s what I like! Anything I can think of? Oh, I won’t ask for much me thinks. Maybe a castle, my own brothel, and enough gold to drown several leagues of leprechauns.

Finally Bo seemed to wrap up, indicating that his assistants would help with the induction ceremony. Maybe the speech would have scared off anyone else, but in Illeren’s mind, immunity to the plague was enough to warrant a try. At the very least he would be able to travel without fear of turning into a brain dead ghoul, not that several people hadn’t already thought he was one. “Well enuff wastin time then! Let’s drink a brew and avoid ghoulification shall we? Ladies first!” Illeren said, pointing to Ezra with his sword and a wicked smile.

Illeren ever so slightly approves of Adriel not being a stuck up dick. +1
Illeren slightly approves of Gulfim's "lady like strength" +3
Illeren slightly approves that Higoht's name isn't a high born dicker +1
Illeren disapproves of not being able to nick anything.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel Character Portrait: Kiske Kirill
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After helping Aura back to her feet and turning back to see Vasha jettisoning out of the Nidhogg's gaping maw, covered in sludge and mouth-grime, and for a few breaths, Arayel... Gully's sword dipped lower and lower until she opted to extract the only clean piece of cloth on her person to wipe her blade off and slip it back into it's scabbard. The Nidhogg had slumped onto it's oozing face—dead, clearly dead. And Adriel was already moving into the cave to deal with the rest of it's crabbing fledgelings, sizzling them to little more than twitching limbs and ash. She watched as everyone gathered their wits and shook themselves off. They were a smelly, putrid mess of dripping Nidhogg-matter and blood. A simple twitch of the nose was the only indication that it bothered her. Instead, her bright eyes glanced across them. She, too, counted their losses, quietly bowing her head and whispering soft-lipped prayers. A send-off to their spirits.

As far as she was concerned, they were the lucky ones. She did not fault Adriel or Bo for the deaths in the quarry. Future battles would always wage fatal stakes. They would live to see another day, and those who'd died did so bravely. Whether it was simply a test of will and strength or something much more complicated, honourable deaths occurred on battlefields. If she were so lucky to die with her blade in her hands, she would have no qualms and no regrets. Knuckling some of the grime from the bridge of her nose, Gully straightened her shoulders and finally slicked her fingers across her neck. What she'd presumed to be the Nidhogg's blood revealed itself to be a yawning flesh-wound. No more than an inch deep. Probably needed stitches. Another scar to add to her arsenal. Another thing making her less woman, more beast, she supposed.

Watching Adriel wrench the blade free from the Nidhogg's pustule-ridden back and toss it over to Gretchen—who was slicked and nearly covered from head to toe with much, much more blood and ichor than she'd imagined possible, caused her to pause in her steps. She'd seen her during the battle. Not quite frothing at the mouth, but wild in posture, wild in action. Eyes like wildfire and rage and teeth-gnashing fury. A torrent of energy contained in such a small body. Beastly, in nature. And very human. She watched her for a few more moments, tilting her head owlishly. A curiosity. Gully cleared her throat and quickened her pace until she staggered herself beside Laetya and Ezra.

As much as the others might have found the trek to Barkmere uneventful and dull, Gully enjoyed the brief spurts of silence. Even the accompanying chatter between her new, blooded companions did not bother her as much as she'd thought it would, and if it wasn't for the awful smell wafting behind them, it might've cut a wholesome scene. Her stomach still fluttered and flipped whenever someone directed any questions her way, but for the most part, she tempered a thin-lipped expression onto her face and bobbed or shook her head in response. For the most part, they trekked in silence while she mutely counted their footsteps to keep herself busy. She swore that fighting the Nidhogg had been the easiest part of this journey—but now, faced with idle conversation and knocking elbows with strangers, Gully floundered on dry-land.

Instead of relying on her staggered repertoire of non-wit and sly remarks, she admired the scenery leading up to Barkmere's nondescript town and noticed Bo and someone else she did not recognize waiting on the rise. A ghost of a smile twitched at her lips, and slowly died as they made their approach. There would be no time to assault Bo with the flurry of questions dancing on her tongue—not now, anyhow. He was already giving them further instructions, and she had to agree that scrubbing themselves clean of the smelly grime caked on their skin and armour was far more important than skipping off to their next order of action. Tending to their wounds, as well. The yawning wound at her throat had already congealed and now, thumped dully. It was the idea of bathing with the others in an open chamber that plagued her thoughts. Any amount of internal preparation would not suffice. She inclined her head and headed into the inn with the others.

Battling against scaly slime-bags with multiple limbs, all slavering to feed on their sorry corpses? A simple enough affair that involved pure, unadulterated strength. Huffing down the ranks and remaining at stiff-spined attention while scarred Orcs screamed in her face? Terrifying but still manageable. And juggling the responsibility of keeping her home-bound companions alive and well while leading them in and out of Kyoshel's many scuffles? A thrill in comparison. Bathing with people she hardly knew? An awful reality that lent her little bravery. Her legs were anchors, and she, an old ship destined to remain adrift in dangerous waters. It was simple really. All she needed to do was reach for the door handle, let herself in, and continue her business as everyone else did. Yet every time she raised her hand to undo the latch, Gulfim's heart hammered until she pressed it back to her side, lips smothering down in a frown.

She did finally make it in, however. Weighing her options, she decided that it would be far more embarrassing to explain what she was doing standing in front of the door—not doing anything besides staring at it. She'd painstakingly removed her armour and set them aside, folded meticulously atop one another. Soft sighs, irritated grumbles, and light conversation drifted from the large tubs. And here she was, already sweating from the warmth radiating through the chamber and steeling herself to round the corner and sputter out her introductions. Instead, Gulfim slipped from her dirty underclothes while grounding her teeth together and controlling her muscles and movements to make herself as quiet as possible. Perhaps then, no one would hear her enter and she could mould herself into the wooden slats, clean as a whistle. Perhaps, she wouldn't humiliate herself by saying I am Gulfim Gragba and y-you're naked no no no don't look I'm not ready. She inhaled far too sharply, and counted one, two, three.

Fortunately, Gulfim survived her first shared-bath experience with little more than a bloom of embarrassment stippling across her ears. She wasn't sure if she'd grown closer to the women from seeing them completely naked or frightened herself even more than she'd been initially. Either way, she was clean. Mission complete. She also had time to scrub her armour clean and apply a fresh coat of mink oils to the leather segments. While the others donned soft, comfortable clothes, she'd opted to slip back into her armour. It contained her apprehension, squeezed it in a confined space so that she could manage it far better than if she were to go without. Some of the others wore far stranger clothes than she was used to. Ezra in particular, she'd noticed, had chosen an odd tunic that dipped low across the chest—and while she did not observe her father's telltale sign of human-fangs and beastly qualities, there was hair. She quickly averted her eyes and levelled her them back at Bo, focusing on his words, and resolutely attempting to ignore the itchy feeling of wanting to look at the other people surrounding her.

Ladies first, Illeren had said. And then pointed out Ezra with his blade (which was unusual enough). From what she could tell, Ezra was not a woman. The issue was moot. Gulfim was ready to receive the serpent's bite, after all. She did not joke as Illeren did, though she did admire Ezra's willingness to volunteer himself first.

It took her a few moments before her bright eyes widened and a giggle rippled out from her lips, soft as bells, clearly before she had the chance to smother it down with the knuckles of her hand.

Ah. It was a joke.

Gulfim slightly approves of Illeren's humor +5
Gulfim secretly approves of Ezra's chest hair +2
Gulfim approves of Bo's clarity +5


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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Delete this--double posted because of all those crazy RPGateway errors.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel
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The world is built by killers, so you better get used to looking at them.

How did one prepare for a cryptic, inexplicable initiation? It went beyond whetting blades and stretching stiff muscles. This was a battle she was not accustomed to facing and so, Gulfim had chosen to fuss with her armour until it shone like gleaming scales and slick obsidian. She'd had more conversations than she expected she'd have in such a short period of time, and had much to contemplate, but for now it would have to wait. She had no idea how the others fared, but hoped that they were well. Hoped with glaring urgency that they were alive. Even though she'd said nought a word, Arayel's reassurance resonated in her thoughts. They would be there for her afterwards. The fluttering birds-breath of a heartbeat felt unusually calm as she stepped down the stairs, trailing behind two hulking healers. This was just another trial to face, and if she were to compare this with what she'd had to endure beneath her father's cumbersome expectations, and her older brother's limitless shadow, it felt much lighter.

She would not falter in this.

She would endure. She would overcome. She would live, live selflessly and prove herself capable.

Down and down they went until a wafting smell of duskwood and pine needles met her nose. Pine needles? Perhaps not. An unfamiliar scent of old candles, musty warbled stones, and subterreanian earth. A curious, unknown earthly chamber illuminated with candles and torches—perfect for it's purpose, she supposed. There was a handwoven basket nearby, flanked by two healers, who were already ushering her towards the slab. She trailed calloused fingertips across it's surface, fixated on it's coolness, and placed both her palms onto it. She willed within herself a calmness, a tranquillity she could grasp and centralize herself with. If what Bo said was accurate, then that calmness would disappear. Every once she'd amassed until now would pour away, leaving her vulnerable. That, in itself, terrified her. The inability to remain whole, and calm, and assured. She took another deep breath and centred herself as the healers shuffled around the slab, unfastening the leather straps. Underground basement, musty smells, humid air.

Gulfim finally hefted herself onto the slab and stretched her legs outwards, trying to ignore the bead of sweat gathering at her temples, on her drawn-in brows. She forced her lips into a thin, dispassionate line; though, she could feel the blossoming fear resonating in her core. Hammering a hapless, quivery tune, which rattled against her ribs. What demons did she harbour? What would it be like if her fears were drowned out and overpowered? What would it be like if she, like Gretchen had against the Nidhogg... She shook her head and laid back against the now-shivery slab of rock, allowing them to strap her ankles, and upper arms down. They murmured instructions to one another, as if to make last preparations and finally carried the basket to her side. One of the orcs, smaller than the one who held the basket, adjusted her straps once more, before inclining his head. Ready, then. The lump in her throat remained a knot she could hardly swallow around.

When he pulled the top of the basket off and carefully handled the Styx snake, Gulfim bright eyes fixed on its gleaming scales. Gleaming like her well-oiled leathers, with eyes that spun like polished gems, catching the candlelight as it slithered around the man's green hands. It's forked tongue darted in and out of its mouth. The orc-healer drew closer, holding it aloft. It was mesmerizing, in a sense. Somewhat unexpected. What had she expected? A terrible monster. She'd heard tall tales and whispered stories in Kyoshel about the snake itself, but hadn't expected it to be so pretty. She found herself leaning forward to get a better glimpse, and in a flash of coiled capacity, the Styx snake hissed backwards, and latched onto her neck before she had the chance to jerk her arm up to defend herself. Flanged fangs dug in until the healer pressed it's head back, dribbling maw and all, releasing her from it's clutch-hold.

Her eyes swam. Gulfim hardly recognized them plopping the Styx snake back into the basket, hardly recognized anything at all. Red, red, red.[/color] Her senses were suffocating—drowning in the belly of a monster, and with it came a wholehearted soul-wrenching anger that resonated as brightly, as blindly as the blistering pain spanning down her neck and spine and thrashing limbs. A depth worthy of filling chasms of calm, tranquil pools. Her muscles spasmed and twisted and screamed against the strained leather straps, and her eyes rolled back into her head. She gnashed her teeth at the [i]faceless ones standing around her, and jerked upwards, pulling against the restraints. Blistering, burning snakes wrapped around her wrists. They were pulling her under. Underneath what? She wasn't sure. She couldn't—



And there he was. Standing next to one of the faceless ones, closest to her. Lips pulled into a disapproving frown, eyebrows drawn together as if to say she'd failed again. She'd failed her family. She'd failed them all. With all of the pain she felt, as if her bones were brittle branches crackling underneath his feet, Belfor looked upon her failures and arbitrated shame and weakness. The sound that escaped her own throat was feral and angry and bubbling with the same fractious storm brewing in her gut. Her heart felt hollow; a stone slab, cold to the touch. Unbeating and unusually quiet against the lick of fire fingering down her spine, her bones, her eyelids. There was nothing to cling to. No light, no centre-point. She waded in darkness, and it ignited flames instead. She thought she heard voices, but she couldn't be sure. Muddled and muffled and incessantly persistent in their rabble—she wished they would cease, or she would... she would...

You are weak, little sister. And we can't afford weakness.

He tilted his head and raised his hands, motioning to the faceless ones. More words, fumbling out of his mouth like yawning wounds. Gulfim blinked furiously, desperate to see him clearer. Willing him into nonexistence. Wanting to wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze until the words simply stopped. She longed for silence. To stop feeling that relentless, drowning malice. It made her feel sick; dizzy and weak. It was as he said. Her body shuddered violently. He was right, wasn't he?

You want strength? You want to be stronger? You're just a little girl. This it too much for you to handle. Pathetic.

She was frothing madness. Acerbic flames, fanning outwards. A monster's belly, swimming in a monster's belly. Full of filth and aching limbs; screeching lungs that could not form words of their own. She gurgled around growls and snarls and a savagery she did not believe existed. Stop, stop, stop, stop. Her body was not her own. The leather straps, the cold Styx snakes, strained against her efforts and finally tore apart and snapped off the slab, hurling her forward while the faceless ones converged and grabbed onto her shoulders. Too late. Too late, now. Bright eyes fixated on Belfor's grinning face, on his condescending expression; unimpressed by her corded hand bound around his neck. Fingernails digging in like talons. Her head snapped backwards, jabbed from somewhere faraway. Her hand remained, tighter. Their voices were small things, soft murmurs in the background of his.


Constricting fingers dug into the fleshy parts of his neck and fingernails continued digging trenches, burying deep enough to smother the smile from his mouth. Mush it into a strangled wail. There were hands wrapped around her shoulders, her biceps, her torso—all trying to force her back down. She could not swallow her rage. Impossible. Couldn't they see that? Couldn’t they understand? She could house it no longer. Errant fingers pulled back her lips, cracked open her grinding teeth and slime, monster slime, was shoved in. She tried to spit and bite and throw her head back but more hands clamped her mouth closed, held her chin and head position. All of the fight had left Belfor. In turn, her slick-wet hands released their grip on his neck and she was slammed back unceremoniously against the stone-slab. She was a mouse in the woods, she was a moth in a jar, she was choking on hatred, she was a child in a woman's body. Her limbs were cramping with the need to run far away, but the fight had left her as well, and the darkness ebbed like the sea. In and out, in and out.

Voices. More voices. She wished they'd simply... cease.

She tried to swim back to something. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Puffy eyelid clicking closed. Bruises. She felt bruised and beaten, and wondered idly if something had happened. There were softer voices, now. Whispering to each other; muted, clutching things that she wanted to reach towards. Promises whispered in the darkness that pervaded her vision. She allowed it to carry her wherever it wished. Heavy chest rose and fell. Battered knuckles clenched tight to her sides. She tried counting. She tried rolling words around her tongue, but only managed a small croaking noise. Suddenly, a strong hand dropped across her shoulder. Comfort, calm, still. There was a whisper—a familiar lullaby of words, just beside her head, but she could not make them out.

Her eyes slowly drooped closed, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. She slept.

There was no one yelling in her ears when consciousness claimed her. No unknown, mysterious voices muttering around the stone-slab she expected to awake to. Instead, Gulfim shifted against clean linens, though her body protested even those small movements. Had someone hit her? A brick wall, maybe. It certainly felt like it. Her last memory was being bitten by the Styx snake, and then nothing. Simply nothing. The more she scrounged her thoughts, the less she seemed to recall. There was a biting sensation of unease, swirling in the pit of her stomach. Besides that, there was little else. Perhaps, the others had similar experiences. She'd seen Arayel limping back up the stairs, towards their sleeping quarters. Hopefully she hadn't been the only one to faint. How embarrassing.

One of her eyes was swollen shut, and there were bandages wrapped around her arms, her knuckles. Gulfim took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. She wondered meekly if she should seek out the others and question how their initiations had gone. Wondered if she should simply seek them out to see that they'd all survived. She hoped that they were alive, as well. Hoped that their initiations hadn't taken too much of a toll on them. If she couldn't remember her own, and she was still alive and well, everything was fine. The Pestilence would not affect her as it did others, and she could commit herself to their objectives. A weak smile tipped the corners of her lips up. She hadn't perished in an earthly basement before being able to prove them all wrong. Her family, her brothers. Herself, perhaps, most of all. She was still alive.

After seeing to her armour once more, giving it last one last once-over before she began putting it back on. Snapping on buckles, pulling straps tight against her hips, and straightening out any non-parallel armour-pieces. It took some time. As soon as she was satisfied, and she'd quelled the nervousness already gathering in her legs, Gulfim regarded her blackened eye within the reflection of an old shard of glass. Mottled strangely against her mossy skin. She'd had bruises such as this before, but none she could not remember. Perhaps, no one notice. Everyone had looked particularly haggard after their initiations, from what she'd observed; she was no different. Of course, this journey would task them all. She made a small noise of approval, patted a hand down across the pommel of her blade and slipped out of her chambers.

Everyone had already gathered in the inn's lobby. Gulfim remained resolutely silent, though she took a quick count to see who'd survived, and was pleased with the number of familiar faces she spotted among them. Bright eyes crinkled at the edges, clearly relieved. Good—she shouldn't have doubted them in the first place. Some of them had already proven resilient while battling the Nidhogg... either that or far too stubborn to die. Dying in an old basement because of a snake bite? It was not a death she'd wish on anyone. She did not know whether they thought the same, but death in battle was always much preferred. A senseless demise without achieving your goals? A waste of life. Grim or no, it was the truth.

Any questions she might have had for them pertaining to what they'd gone through in the basement was neatly smothered by further instructions. Gulfim did not mind. Movement meant action, and action was something she understood well. She craned forward and listened intently, only slightly distracted by their newest travelling companion. Rocking on his heels as if he were trying to contain boundless energy. Juggling a simpering smile that appeared as if it were two steps away from transforming into a wily, delighted grin. A high profile killer? An assassin of high calibre. The title was impressive enough, and he did appear light on his feet. He would provide them with many skills, she was sure. His appearance was puzzling. She did not understand why he wore so much makeup and wished to ask him, though she doubted she'd have the opportunity because they were already being led out the door and Kiske walked beside Bo.

This particular journey was much different than the one they'd undergone to reach Barkmere. It felt different, mostly. While she wanted to pull up beside Bo and question his reasonings for taking them here, Gulfim hung beside Laetya and focused on her senses. Was this just another trial to face and overcome? She doubted it. Combating the Nidhogg had been Adriel's personal assessment of their abilities, and they'd passed. Surviving the Styx snake's venom and acquiring it's protection against the Pestilence had been their initiation into the Serpent's Gathering and now, they were performing it's duties. She adjusted her own lofty pack. There was a heaviness overhanging their footsteps, and soon after... a putrid, husky scent drifting from the buildings ahead of them. When they entered the square, Gulfim nearly walked into Ezra's back and wobbled backwards, sputtering an apology as she fanned out as per Bo's instructions.

It was only then that she noticed the bodies. Piles. Missing limbs and some bent in awful angles, gnawed and chewed and missing pieces of themselves. Some of those pieces hung from fiendish mouths. If they could be called that—jaws bent in equally terrible angles, boasting jagged fangs and slavering spit and blood down their pointed chins. Beady eyes swung towards them. Her hand did not waver. She did not hesitate. Her blade had already sung free from it's scabbard and she held it at the ready. Bo gave them further instructions, and Laetya was already sprinting down one of the alleyways. Gulfim nearly hurtled after her retreating form, but jerked to a halt. Twenty minutes? Shouldn't they stay together? Fight as one? This was not her squadron in Kyoshel. This was not... Gulfim regarded the others, eyeing the approaching forms.

Gulfim approves of Arayel's comfort +10
Gulfim approves of having Kiske onboard +5
Gulfim greatly approves of everyone surviving the Initiation +10
Gulfim disapproves of her own weakness -5
Gulfim disapproves of Laetya running off on her own -2


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Laetya Kyuutae Character Portrait: Illeren Myakleyth Character Portrait: Higoht Ezengbo Character Portrait: Gulfim Gragba Character Portrait: Ezra Bravesteel Character Portrait: Vasha Rhuin Character Portrait: Arayel Maervanyn Character Portrait: Kir Character Portrait: Adriel Nisaan Character Portrait: Berlioz Sarkozy Character Portrait: Gretchen Character Portrait: Tane Solberg Character Portrait: Aurileith Sabriel Character Portrait: Kiske Kirill
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“Eh?! WHAT NOW?! WHAT THAT?!” Illeren woke with a start, sitting upright from his bed, his sheets tossed every which direction and half the pillows sitting across the room from him. His eyes were half open as a mighty yawn escaped his mouth as he simply sat there for a moment. He slowly made his way off the bed, practically dragging his feet behind him as he made his way to...where the hell was he going? He stopped, peering around the room once more. He needed to wake up before he could do anything, but apparently his body was already doing that for him as a massive headache and familiar sensation in his stomach forced him into fight or flight mode. He shoved a hand to his mouth as he quickly peer around the room and spotted a bucket. He dropped to his knees, shoving his head into it and letting what felt like his entire stomach empty into it. He heaved more than a couple of times, finally peering up and wiping what was left of his supper or lack thereof off his face. “Nevah again...I swear...I’mma give up drinkin..” Illeren peered to his left where a dresser sat, and on the edge was a flask of some sort. He reached up for it, uncapping it and giving it a slight sniff. Whatever it was, it was strong...and strong was good. He placed his back against the wall and took a nice long drink from it, releasing it with a sigh of content followed by a rather loud belch. “Tomorrow...I swear...I’mma give up drinkin.” He stated to no one in particular.

He took another couple of long swigs, feeling his headache starting to subside now that the alcohol had been reintroduced to his system. There wasn’t enough left to get him right and properly drunk, but just enough to stave off hangover symptoms. Once he finished the small flask, he tossed it on the floor and let his head hit the wall behind him lightly, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. “Right…” He said lazily as he got up from his sitting position. He looked around for a bucket of water, customary for a morning wash up in these places as a slow look of realization hit him. He looked down at the bucket, noticing that it was nearly full...he hadn’t thrown up that much. He grimaced, reaching a hand up to his hair and feeling the cow licks that had it flowing every which way.

“Welp...time tah dunk mah head!” Illeren stated as he made his way to the door and quickly exited, looking down the hall and noticing a single caretaker looking at him. They looked at each other for a moment before Illeren thought it was getting awkward. “Dah fook yah lookin at?!” Illeren stated, thinking that the human was some kind of racist. The man simply pointed and Illeren looked down before giving a nod. “Right...well obviously that’s a reason to stare. I’mma get some pants!”

Illeren smacked the side of his head, trying to get the last of the water out of his ear as his slightly matted down hair proved an indication of what he had just done. Ran into the bath, literally dunked his head in, and ran off laughing like an idiot.

Good times.

Finally his ear popped and the last of the water drained out. Finally. Illeren thought to himself as he double and triple checked the straps on his armor as he walked through the halls. Illeren couldn’t claim to be responsible about...well anything, but when it came to his armor and weapons, you would be hard pressed to find a fault in them. His armor was tightly put together to the point where it made virtually no sound as he walked. A by-product of his time as a cavalier he supposed, and his weapon was already sharpened and ready for the day. He passed by a couple of people on the way, his hand reaching quickly and grabbing a carrot from their basket as he passed with the couple being none the wiser. Once they were out of sight, he chomped down on the vegetable, munching loudly as he walked in on the gathering of heroes.

Bo explained what they were doing today while Illeren enjoyed his breakfast like some kind of ADD rabbit, his eyes constantly darting every which way looking for something to supplement the carrot with. When he got around to introducing their new addition though, even Illeren paused as he looked at the man, finishing off the carrot and swallowing just enough to make sure his words were somewhat understandable. “Well what tha fook is that thing? I mean, look at this guy!” Illeren swallowed a bit of his carrot between words. “Are we ‘irin’ court jesters now?!” Illeren pointed at him with a small piece of bread. “Cause this fooker looks like ‘e face fooked a wet tapestry!” Illeren paused, looking at his hand.

“Oh ‘ey!” He exclaimed as he munched on the pastry like a happy child.

The trip to Merrilville was relatively boring as everyone still seemed to be in their own little world. Illeren managed to fill the time with more of his own little folk songs which, despite their vulgarity, actually sounded better than his natural speech as he actually spent the time to form his words.

“So what do yah do with a wonderful whore? Yah take her upstairs and lock the door! Yah bounce, yah plough, yah get turned around! Yah hump, yah squeeze, yah enjoy the sound! Until it comes, the time of payment, and ya’ll are left sayiiiiiiiiin...Yah don’t have the coins, after bustin yah loins, so ya’ll just ain’t payiiiiiiiiiin!” Illeren pretended to play some drums, making the sounds to go along with them. “So they scream, and they shout, which would be swell...if yah weren’t askin…” Illeren stopped for a moment. “Damn, what’s that smell?!”

Illeren looked around at the carnage that was surrounding him, having not even bothered to notice it through his little illusion of happy revelry. The air and people around him were silent as the signs of death and destruction hung over everything. Illeren grimaced, mainly due to the stench and sight rather than the thought of what happened. Illeren didn’t bother commenting this time, leaving his humor somewhat detached from the situation as the signs of what happened here became more prevalent when the corpses started showing up. Illeren crouched near one, lifting up a flap of skin and recognizing teeth marks, too big to be a wolf or something along those lines. “Fookin’ ghouls.” Illeren stated, grabbing his sword from its sheath and spinning it a couple of times.

They made their way farther into the village, Illeren twirling his sword every so often but not necessarily walking in a ready stance. He was more than fast enough to deal with anything that came at them, he was more or less trying to see what exactly they looked like. No sooner did he think this when three ghouls appeared in front of them, screaming and making a beeline for the group. Bo stepped forward, fending off all three with a mighty push of his weapon. He barked out orders for them all to spread out, search for survivors and eliminate the plague ridden. He pushed one of the creatures down the well, hearing it scream all the way down. Illeren looked off in a couple of directions, hearing screams come from nearly all directions.

Immediately people were starting to do whatever it was that they did. Laetya took off in a direction and Illeren contemplated following...for more than a couple reasons as he tilted his head before shaking it and reminding himself of the current situation. Gulfim seemed to chase after her for a second, and he was about to watch her leave too, but then she stopped and seemed to hesitate, much to Illeren's dismay. Why's she stoppin? Maybe If I smack her on the tush she'll run off like a bronco! Illeren gave it some more thought before deciding that would be something to save that idea for the future, if only because the situation could rapidly deteriorate into him getting a face full of sword.

He watched as Berloiz charged in magnificent fashion towards another group of the plague ridden, and Illeren bust a gut laughing as he walked over to Ezra and nudged him with his elbow. “Oi...oi oi oi…” He pointed at Berloiz with his sword. “We totally ‘ave to call ‘im Thunda Thighs now…” Illeren laughed harder as an arrow flew past him and into the waiting head of a ghoul. Illeren looked back towards the archer with a penchant for overindulging in face gear and gave a sigh. “FINE! Alright! I get it! I’mma go kill things now!”

Illeren strode forward, looking for anything to engage and decided to pick a path at random, jogging at a steady pace down a street until a group of four plague carriers came running on all fours towards him. Illeren gave a smile, grasping his sword in two hands, slowly wrapping his fingers around the hilt. “Ya’ll my first challengers! Oh! And this time, there’s no silly thing like ‘eights to get in tha way!” They simply snarled and screamed in response, Illeren’s smile was practically beaming, readying his swing as the lead beast lunged at him.

“Ooooooh...What do yah do with a wonderful whore...”

Illeren slightly approves of Bo's strength +1
Illeren slightly approves of Laetya walking away +1
Illeren slightly disapproves of Gull's hesitation -1
Illeren slightly approves of coming up with a future plan regarding Gull's hesitation +2
Illeren approves of THUNDER THIGHS! +5
Illeren slightly approves of Kir getting his ass in gear +1