|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 11, 2012 20:19:04 GMT -8
Starting Location: Meradil, trading city of Sertallek. Time: 8:05 PM, summer. Sunset.
"-And when I said I wasn't worth the effort, I wasn't being depressing. I meant I don't take well to thieves." growled a Plague Doctor with black angel's wings. It was easy to mistake him for an anthro, with his beaklike Plague Doctor mask. He held a thief up against a wall and growled his threats, holding a scalpel. The thief dropped his Doctor's bag, and the doctor glanced around before adjusting the thief's face to examine his face.
"Bandit. Not a member of the local Thieve's guild, I see. Tsk tsk. You don't deserve the things you have. Aiming for drugs, I take it. Too bad for you, I have some." He growled a bit, and examined his scalpel threateningly before using the serrated side to cut the thug's shirt down the middle.
"This will just hurt for a SECOND." He jabbed the scalpel into the thug's chest. Lightening crackled along the scalpel and into the man's chest, resulting in an agonized scream that the Plague Doctor covered with a gloved hand. After a minute, the thug fell silent and drooled heavily, completely dazed and no longer feeling pain. The doctor let his body slide to the ground, still breathing.
"There now. Death will be mostly painless. It's just life that hurts." The doctor shrugged a bit, and patted the man's hair with the one hand that wasn't bloody.
The doctor stole the man's right hand and used a "preserve organ" spell, before wrapping it in the ripped shirt and tucking it into his bag. Preserved organs didn't bleed. He preserved the stump as well, so that he wouldn't die from the wound. It would hurt like a son of a bitch, but he wouldn't die. The chest wound, though? He was on his own for that one.
"Let this be a lesson to you. Don't steal from a Plague Doctor. We don't believe in 'do no harm' when it comes to those who harm others." Well, he didn't anyway. It was close enough. He hummed a tune and brushed the drying blood off of his slick leather uniform, and went about his business, with nobody being any the wiser for it. He could only have caught the thief by flying, as he was not a very fast man, but when he was pissed off he could be very very violent. A good man to have on one's side, though. He seemed quite nice, when he wasn't being stolen from. He had a spare hand, too. Never know when you're going to need one of those.
|
|
|
Post by gideondrake on Mar 11, 2012 21:00:41 GMT -8
Olmaz witnessed the whole incident in the shadows and slowly shook his head.
He wasn't impressed by death, it was the only thing he had to look forward to. Until then, however, there was money to be made. He carefully slid closer to the dying bandit and smiled wanly.
"Better you than me, pal. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
He patted the man's pockets carefully. Just a couple of gold coins and lint. Hardly worth the trouble, but then, he didn't really have much trouble himself. In fact, that Plague Doctor was quite effective in dealing with the rabble. Maybe some other scraps might find their way to poor Olmaz. He placed the coins in his messenger bag and followed the path the Plague Doctor took, being careful to stay in the shadows and keep a respectable distance.
After a few steps he looked back and nodded at the failed thief.
"See you around. Only not really."
|
|
|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 11, 2012 21:10:21 GMT -8
The Doctor walked along patiently, maintaining a walking pace around guards, who didn't seem to notice the faint smell of blood on the Doctor's outfit. He continued to walk, not noticing the Grave Robber. Undoubtedly because the mask is bloody difficult to see in.
He made his way to the nearest churchtower, since the sun was going down, and flew up to the belltower. Typically he tried to be a noctournal creature, but that was difficult in the summer. He sat down by the bell, pulled his wing over himself, pulled his hat down low, and turned off the lights in his mask in order to get some sleep. Either he wasn't interested in an inn, or didn't feel like going to one. Whatever the case, he kept his bag close. He didn't need it to be lifted from him a second time that day. He doubted he would get sleep, but the privacy of his own wings was good for thinking. He kept his ears alert, or as alert as they could be in his mask. It seemed to make everything echo uncomfortably, but he was used to it.
|
|
|
Post by aimzicr on Mar 11, 2012 21:25:15 GMT -8
Blood in the city. Not unusual, given the circumstances, but Vessa still wrinkled her nose as she passed the alley. Smaller villages and towns were not as prone to murders as these clumped-together seething hives of people. It was a fascinating lesson in ecology, really - put predator and prey animals in a confined area, and anything goes.
She stopped and watched the swooping flight of the hunter, her head cocked to one side. She wasn't the only one to notice the attack - there was a scavenger making short work of what was left of the prey, then skulking off in the shadows - but she had little interest in this urban forest.
Night was coming, and if she didn't want to end up a prey-creature herself, she'd need to find somewhere safe to kip. The bird-winged hunter had the right idea: height, a safe vantage point. Adjusting the strap of her heavy pack, Vessa started to head for the tower, keeping to the main roads, focused ahead and moving purposefully.
|
|
|
Post by gideondrake on Mar 11, 2012 22:09:15 GMT -8
Ah, cripes.
The Plague Doctor flew away. Climbing was definitely not one of Olmaz's strong suits. Besides, he was extremely envious of the way churches made preying on the small folk such a profitable business. If he didn't feel such an animosity towards the living, it would be a profession to consider.
He made his way to the cemetery. There, he was among those who lived in perpetual darkness.
A tomb's shadow provided the perfect spot for spending the night. He sat down, his back against the stone, grateful for its coolness in a Summer's day. He closed his eyes and slept, albeit lightly.
He wouldn't give up on the Plague Doctor so easily and he had to make sure not to miss him in the morning.
|
|
|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 11, 2012 22:12:46 GMT -8
((Well, time for me to go to bed, here. c: G'night! I turn in my portfolios tomorrow~ So can't wait. I might post from school, since I'll have time. If anyone logs on between now and then, they can introduce characters, gravitate toward the church, and we can try to spread from there. We might need to work out procedure for characters since we're all in different time zones. Anyway, G'night yall! =D See you tomorrow!))
|
|
|
Post by lethargilistic on Mar 12, 2012 8:53:46 GMT -8
Well. I'm bored, thought Idea the Bard as he walked through the Meridian street. It was hard for the masses not to notice this man whose jacket was designed to glow, but he honestly did not care to distinguish between any of those he passed or even to make an absent-minded effort. When on stage, it was his job to make everyone present feel as though he were playing just for them, as though they were two and nothing in the world made a difference. Right now, he was off the clock. Does a tom look her best in the daylight?
The analogy made him duly uncomfortable.
Luckily, that thought was drowned by a dull moan he heard in an alleyway. Since he was just milling about, Idea decided to investigate and came upon an unfortunate fellow. He was a brigand and his eyes told his observer that he was as far away from the gaping wound in his torso as one could hope to be--if one didn't mind feeling every second of agony as their life drained away on the pavement. That the brigand had wanted it badly was clear enough. This was professional-grade. Expensive. So, whatever the man's current condition (wounds and missing hand out of the equation!) , Idea just wouldn't feel right envying the poor sap. Looting a glorified corpse, however, was all square with his conscience. and he went about rifling the man's pockets for some coins rusted to crumbling, a photo of a lovely woman with more than her inhibitions cast aside for the cameraman (Maybe you do have something to envy, friend. Mind introducing us?), and a few sticks of bubblegum. The latter was what the locals called bubblegum, anyway. Just beeswax with some sweetener, but it served the basic purpose.
Alas, it seemed the man had spent all that he had on his current stupor. That, or some devil had come upon him before Idea the Salvager. All entertainment to be had at this man's expense exausted, Idea returned to his piffling about, waiting for his concert that night and awaiting his first chance to make his way home.
|
|
|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 12, 2012 9:13:49 GMT -8
((Hey Idea, the graverobber beat you to the Guy's pockets. :3 ))
|
|
|
Post by lethargilistic on Mar 12, 2012 9:46:04 GMT -8
((Whoops. Missed that, sorry!))
|
|
|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 12, 2012 15:22:28 GMT -8
((Warning: I'm gonna be adjusting the Lore part of the forum, and restricting it to staff only. It'l be changing to the "Player's Handbook" page. c: Hope this won't be too confusing! Also, just because the characters are starting to sleep doesn't mean the story stops.))
The night seemed quiet, until a sound like rumbling thunder began to echo, and started the Plague Doctor -and likely the town- from sleep. The doctor turned on the lights in his mask again and took off out the window to investigate, before flying back in in a hurry to brace himself against a wall and shield himself with his wings. A massive dragon descended, and perched for just a moment on the bell tower before swinging its head around and looking nearby. It took a look at the grave robber briefly, before roaring sleepily and taking off again. spreading fire aimlessly at things it felt like considering eating. The doctor waited until the dragon passed to lean out the window again and take flight, looking down.
"Anybody hurt down there?" He called loudly, not particularly caring what anyone else was doing around there. Dragons were somewhat like deer, in that there were probably many of them, but it was still rare and special to see one. Only deer are more delicious, and won't breathe fire at you. The Doctor looked around and noted that there was a field somewhere off a great distance he could see, and a farmer was going to be missing a cow or two, but it hadn't gone after the town. Too many sharp things in armor, probably. Cows were tastier.
"That looked like a Black Lands dragon." He mused aloud, descending to the ground to check on people. He didn't care if they were friends or foes. If they didn't try to steal from him, he was fine with what he got.
|
|
KirbyOfHyrule
Knight
'Hero' might not be exactly the word you're searching for...
Posts: 105
|
Post by KirbyOfHyrule on Mar 12, 2012 15:45:03 GMT -8
Forgath yawned. He couldn't help but being bored.
He had spent the day wandering around town, scaring some kids who had pointed their fingers at him. He watched some angel guy taking out a bandit who thought it might be a good idea to steal from him and already lost interest,when an elf looted the corpse. This town was so boring,the people so annoying. No matter where Forgath went, it was noisy and crowded. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry. Finally he decided to find a nice,silent place to take a nap. he had wandered off to a cementary,but even here were annoying sad people,so he flew up to the church tower and made himself comfortable on it's roof to sleep a little bit.
When he woke up again,it was night already. A loud,roaring nise had disrupted his sleep. He stood up and streched out his arms, searching for the source of the noise. A giant dragon decended, looked around and decided to take off, settings things on fire.
"Oh, shut up, you big show-off", Forgath mumbled. Dragons... He yawned again.
|
|
|
Post by gideondrake on Mar 12, 2012 16:05:32 GMT -8
Waking up only to find a dragon staring at you was something he had never expected. And yet...
Right. Let's get this over with. Took you long enough.
The dragon quickly lost interest and flew away. It was... Disappointing. He was used to people calling him a pessimist, but he considered himself a realist. Odds are, if one was "lucky" enough to see a dragon, that would also be the last thing they saw. It's alright, though. This probably meant that the gods had a far more painful death for him in mind.
It was an oddly comforting thought.
Either way... Where there are dragons, there is danger... And danger usually means there's money to be made.
He quickly got to his feet, Plague Doctor all but forgotten, and rushed to follow the dragon's path.
No rest for the wicked.
|
|
|
Post by Pentharis on Mar 12, 2012 16:19:22 GMT -8
The plague doctor watched the grave robber go running with a bit of a surprised look. "Are you daft?! ...Well, actually. That looks interesting." He admitted, and flew after, carrying his doctor's supplies. He swooped down to fly a few yards above, to keep an eye out. "Be happy I have nothing better to do. And, on the bright side, if you lose a hand, I have a spare." He remarked as a cynical joke. He'd known enough grave robbers in his lifetime. Not all of them were nice, but they were generally tolerable company. When they weren't trying to loot the graves of the people he cared about.
For whatever reason, the angel was perfectly happy to follow along. Perhaps following a dragon was exactly what he needed to get blood pumping and clear his head a bit. That, or helping the idiot following the dragon. Whichever.
|
|
|
Post by aimzicr on Mar 13, 2012 1:42:08 GMT -8
The basement of a butcher's was probably a place no sane person would want to be in after dark - all that blood and all those animal corpses were enough to give many nightmares - but Vessa was immune to such nightmares. Dead animals couldn't hurt you, and blood was no more a risk once it was spilled than ale or milk.
Still, to wake up and head up the stairs to find that the basement was the only thing to survive the passing of a dragon's breath was terrifying.
"Winter's tits," she muttered, looking around the rubble, waving a hand in front of her face as ashes floated past. This damnable place was hot enough as it was. Adding fire just made her downright uncomfortable. Still, for pride and practicality, she didn't dare shed her armour, though she loosened it a little to let the air in.
In this pause, she spotted the predator and the scavenger from yesterday heading towards her. She stood her ground (she wasn't a thief, and hadn't eaten anything from the basement) but neither the runner nor the flyer seemed to notice her. They were following the trail of ash and debris and ruins.
They were following whatever had done this. Hunting whatever had done this.
Fascinating, she mused, and found herself following the pair, jogging to keep pace with them.
|
|
|
Post by lethargilistic on Mar 13, 2012 8:56:16 GMT -8
This was his element. The roaring onlookers, soon to be fans. Alcohol buzzing through his system and everybody else's. Games played for nothing but the highest stakes. Lives bought, sold, offered, drowned, wasted, redeemed, and (at least once. Long story.) born before his eyes, all cascading with the flow of his music. Idea sizzled as his music wailed forth from his Cyber-Alliance electric, moving his hands about the instrument, sometimes in concert with one another and other times letting them each concoct their own harmonies. On stage, enrapturing people with his polyphonic compositions, Idea was as honest as he could ever be.
And then the drunk in the front started leading the pub in another encore of "It's Bad Luck to Be You".
It was his only song that had ever truly caught on. Once, he had loved it himself. He even created his most obilgatory Bard spell to it's first chords. Now, after fifteen times per show, he was as sick of it as his current audience was drunk. It was just "The Money Song" now. You know what? No. Not this time. Idea threw himself completely into another cadenza, raising the volume so much he was momentarily concerned he'd actually blow the roof off the building.
And then the roof blew off the building, taking a chunk of the facade with it, and Idea and the audience were looking at a dragon's rear as it flew off, the debris cluched with a large, taloned foot.
"Roadie! Good show, mate! When did you set up a dragon display?...Wait a tick." This was just a pub gig. His amp and his guitar. He hadn't even needed Roadie tonight so he'd never summoned him. "Ohai," said he as the audience poured out of the building into the burning streets, no doubt to be burned into tasty crisps. "I'm not getting paid, am I?" Not a cent. As usual for these situations, the tip jar was the first thing to go.
Just then, as everyone was trying in vain to flee without being trampled while the Bard stood on stage waiting for his turn to walk out, he noticed a small group bounding off after the Dragon. The Bard was faced with a choice. Possible death under the heels of peasants or possible death at the claws of a dragon alongside a merry band of misfits. At least with the latter he had a chance to score some reward if he resisted all temptation to die a hero, and could a travelling Bard ask for much better than that? Idea ducked out the side door that the mass had neglected in its haste and joined the Angel, the man with the scaley complexion, the ghostly woman, and the token elf. Oh joy.
|
|