Setting foot where we don't belong

Citizen of the World
Joined: March 31st, 2017, 10:33 pm

July 21st, 2017, 8:30 pm #1

The helltooth island, named after the tracherous rock piercing the surface of the water between two waves. A name it seemed to rightfully deserved now.

To call is an island was a strech, it was big enough to deserve this name, but small enough to not figure on any map, and way too barren to draw the attention of anyone.

Anyone, but people in the business of smuggling, that had long turned this lump or rock, sand, and scarse forest into a waypoint during their journey between Morrim and Soto. It was luckily positionned enough to be just south of the Andakisla river, making it really convenient for anyone wanting to use it as an entry of exit point of Morrim without leaving any manifest into an official port.

A barren Island that no one cared about, even less Lilieth, if not for one peculiar occurence.

With the weakening of Soto governemen'st control over its territorial water during the Méadaigh uprising, the smuggling business went from marginal to blooming, leading to the creation of a smuggling conveniance port on the Island.

It was all about a few shack and a loading deck, but Smuggler, and even pirates, started using it as a way to trade merchandise, reload drinkable water, and unload some gold to party, drink, and fuck every available whore.

One thing leading to another, some adventurous/drunk spirit started exploring the island, which triggered another phenomena : People, mindlessly wandering the Island, not even remembering their own name.

First it was deemed the poor chance of some unlucky fool that ate some berry he shouldn't have, but once the phenomenon started to become common occurence, people started to speak of a curse, or an haunted island, haunted by the spirit of the first pirate to ever wonder this waters.

Once again, things could have stopped at that, if not for some "luckier" fellow coming back with half of its wits.

A crypt he said. Ancient, well protected. The last residence of a king of the old.

People started investigating, and found the said crypt, but more importantly, they decypher the inscription :

Here lay for eternity Hel'or, last heir of the Helian dynasty. May the mad king forever rot amongst it's most prized possession.

"Prized possession" was the key words, or the only words that actually were remembered for that matter. The word spread like wildfire : Booty. There was an ancient royal booty to be uncovered. The crypted was sealed by magical defense, but the harder the task the crazier people became : If one took upon themselves to protect this place, it sure meant the treasure inside might be worth a lot.

The rowboat carrying Lilieth his the grey silicate sand, as she jumped of the rig and set foot on the Island.

She wasn't called here by the smell of treasure, she, was much more interested in the name : The Helian dynasty. It was a dynasty stretching far back, far enough for her to remmbering not as history, but as HER story.

(Unintentional pun but I'm damn proud of it, so suck it, girls power, it's herstory now)

She proceed to walk toward the tavern, or the shack that served its role. Despite her confidence in being able to deal way better than anyone with the mystery of the old, she still needed to find some companions, or she would be hardpressed it she encountered a situation she couldn't resolve alone.

Most people here were going from table to table, also seeking companion in this endeavour. She didn't paid any mind to the different kind of lowlife seeking a patron to stab in the back if needed. The first that tried to grab her by the tight and asked her for her price got punched so hard that in the future, he would need to blow his nose from the inside of its mouth.

Lilieth wasn't especially violent, at least not more than your usual sociopathatic and battle-crazed maniac, which made her pretty decent in present company, but a good deterent usually avoid many problems.

Citizen of the World
Joined: July 18th, 2017, 3:32 pm

July 22nd, 2017, 12:20 am #2

Nispa wasn't one for wandering. Most of the time, she stuck to the coasts of Morrim quite tightly. The most 'wandering' her humble life allowed her was to and from a small coastal town, unremarkable in nearly every way. The people there grew crops, and raised animals. Some of them spent their time baking bread. Some of them wove cotton into clothing, or wool if the season demanded. Some of them felled the few nearby trees and whittled them into furniture or fences. One was a blacksmith. His services weren't often in demand, but when they were, he became invaluable.

Nispa had found this small village a little less than a year ago. Despite the proximity of the ocean, signified by the ever-present salty tang of the air, none of the townsfolk dared brave the seaside cliffs to go fishing. It was there that Nispa had found her place. She awoke very early in the morning to a star-studded sky, then fished until midday. That was when she went into town to trade away her catches. Most of the locals were grateful to eat something other than crops and cattle. She left the town each day with bread, carrots, cheese, and pork, or perhaps that day it was potatoes and beef, or beans and rice. She always left town with a few more coins in her pocket. She didn't have a purpose for them, but she was sure they would come in handy sooner or later.

That day came soon enough. She went to Drennyl the woodworker and asked him to make her a boat. Not a big boat, but a boat all the same. She left him almost all of her coins, and several weeks later, he left her with a small canoe. It was just big enough for her person and a supply of rations. He asked her if she was leaving. "Only for a little while," she responded, picking up the canoe and resting it on her shoulders. In truth, she was curious, and willing to do a bit of exploring to sate her curiosity.

The town's inn was always abuzz with chatter of some kind, so it was no surprise when a stranger got himself drunk and babbled at length about a small island and a hidden treasure. It was the kind of tale parents told their children at night, and it was the same sort of story that filled their youthful dreams. Nispa would have ignored it, and the man altogether, if it hadn't been for the proximity of the island in question. Just a small ways off shore, just over the horizon to the east. That was manageable.

She took the canoe with her down the cliffs, a task that would have been impossible if she'd had the human number of limbs. Instead, the boat was but a minor inconvenience. When she reached the shore, she set it down, then went back up for the paddle and her supplies. When she was ready to go, she climbed carefully into the vessel and set off through the waves.

She had never sailed before, but the drunken man's words proved true. As soon as Morrim fell below the horizon behind her, the small speck of an island appeared before her. She reached it just before sunset, pulling her small vessel out of the water and stashing it amidst the small navy of pirate, smuggling, and vagabond ships. The town that greeted her could be best described as ramshackle, with little rhyme or reason holding the place together. One building--er, shack would be a better word--was lit from within by bright lights to keep the dusk at bay and voices bright with booze. She cautiously opened the door to reveal the activity within.

The people inside were ragged from sailing, but jointly reveling in their brief respite from the sea. The bar at the back was bustling with men and women alike. Two scantily-clad women turned to the door, expecting new customers, perhaps. One of them was brave enough to approach her. Nispa smiled in return, winked at the woman, and allowed her to be led back to the table from whence she came. She was about to join the conversation when a loud smack echoed through the small building. She, as well as most of the other customers, turned to the source: a lithe woman was standing against a rugged sailor, his nose bleeding and her fist raised. Several of his comrades immediately started heckling him for "picking the wrong one", while a few let out whoops in hopes of encouraging her.

Nispa's gaze stayed on the woman. She didn't belong with the rest of the rabble. She was well-groomed, save for a few stray wisps of midnight hair. She was pale: the sign of someone who didn't have to toil outside every day. Perhaps she was wealthy. Nispa didn't care for such people, but she soon became intrigued by the woman's blindfold. She didn't appear to have any difficulties navigating the crowded tavern, making her way to the bar with relative ease, so Nispa became doubly curious as to why she had it. She whispered a brief goodbye to the two ladies that had greeted her and slipped up next to the woman at the bar. Up close, she smelled faintly of wild things, bringing fond memories of her past just below her consciousness. It brought an easy smile to her face, and she waited a moment before initiating conversation.

"You've got a nice arm," she started, referring to the sucker punch she'd delivered minutes before. She shifted her gaze to the woman's face, stalling for a moment at the blindfold. Eventually her eyes settled on the woman's slight nose. "What brings a lady like you all the way out here?"

Citizen of the World
Joined: February 1st, 2014, 3:56 am

July 24th, 2017, 4:31 pm #3

They had found Llewellyn during their stay at the mountains, at a small isolated village in the silvery side of peak Hagalaz. Though the runaway road had taken its toll on the lot of them, the one surviving fragment of Lachesis' covenant, he had noticed at first glance an entirely different exhaustion upon Llewellyn despite their brave face and smiles, knowing in his heart them not being well.

In but a couple days' time, the druidess had become bedridden and unresponsive, engulfed by otherwordly sickness that tore away whatever joy there had been for the reunion. Luckily Llewellyn had already settled into the village and made friends, used their gifts to aid the community, and thus they were allowed to stay, even have their own space. Sitting at the bedside for hours at once he had looked to his master vedmak, browsing for guidance and a flicker of knowing, soon enough realizing them being just as clueless as he was.

Drained and depressed by mileage and misery, equally in person as in their paraphernalia, Mirche had resulted to just burning a bunch of Salvia near the door and praying to Żywie, the latter a deed they had requested of him as well. He had complied, naturally, but after a couple days it had gained a sense of repetetive pointlessness, taking how none of it seemed to have even the slightest ripple of an effect.

Tired of waiting for the fickle favour of the unseen, he had expressed the desire to leave, if only to resupply by wandering the forest for mandragona and white bryonia.

Mirche had tried to convince him against, said it was their Mother's passing that had sickened their sister, the failing and fading of Erth'Netora and Earth itself, but he had remained unbelieving. He couldn't dare look at Llewellyn, his prior caretaker and mentor, sibling in calling, and stand static now that illness had claimed them, staring as they wasted away.

In a week he had returned, tired and empty-handed, to a house that grew ever darker. Mirche hadn't bothered to even scold him for being away, unmoving beside their hollowing sister, yellow eyes hooded by the weight upon both soul and spirit. He felt the contagiousness of it grasping at him and in his attemps of remaining unyielding he had taken to reading through Llewellyn's collection, browsing it all from herbariums to folktales, searching for anwers through the dimming eves.

Amidst saddened sleeplessness and deepening despair, a set of invisible dots had begun connecting soon enough. Slowly but surely, they created a diverging pattern, an ignored image of option.

A lone mountaineer huntsman, whom he had in his unrestrainable loquaisity gotten acquainted with during his trip to the forest, had spoken of a skerry, a menacing rock in the horizon with a couple too many tales attached to it, none of which were of pleasant pitch. Topmost, it had once been a hotspot for hanging fugititives and pirates, governed by miscellaneous seafarers and kept for a minor port back when no nation had yet claimed it. Along with such a stimulating detail, there had been word of a possible curse attached to the locale as of late, focal of it an ancient crypt.

Though he wished not disturb the dead and their rest, nor the presumed treasure that so had gleamed in the storytellers eye, he couldn't shake the sudden feeling that the journey was somehow meant for him. As of what text and spoken word had taught him, he had begun to ponder the island a possible place of power, an area of concentrated emotion and strong magickal current, an atmosphere able of enhancing both ability and quality. He had never been to one, for they were just as fabled and unfindable as the legendary fern bloom, but he felt that in his current anything, even pursuing old wives' tales, was considered more productive than useless loitering.

With broadened observance and a freshly ignited inspiration stemming from danger, urgency and hope, he had chosen to escape the gloom untelling of his intention.

As he had begun collecting his things, crawling and searching through corners of their excuse of an abode in the dead of the night, a tiny voice had spoken to him. It had deemed him unwise, a saddening victim of impulses and impatience, qualities which one day would surely be his undoing. He had agreed, yet argued that though hasty and hassled, he had a plan, a little fragment of scripted action that would haunt him until executed, akin to an undismissable itch. Since then the voice had staid silent, persuaded, but he imagined it would certainly reappear if only to laugh at his possible demise.

He had ran full speed the first mile, lightly wrapped feet thumping against forest floor, slapping the brush off his way with his spear.

Finally out the door and slowly unwinding, like an animal released of lifelong captivity, he had screamed to the dark and empty woodland air, letting the nocturnal breeze steal both his steaming breath and surging botherment. The copse had responded, echoing and humming, and he had taken it for a good sign.

By the time he reached the shore, his first checkpoint and point of wonder, he had felt a ton lighter. It had been ages since he had met the ocean the last time, reflected upon the mysterious and powerful vastness, watched the ever rolling waves and inhaled the saline air, that he spent an entire day just squatting on the sand, staring. Unable to fight the urge, he had eventually gone for a swim, roaring in his native tongue as he leaped to the sea butt-naked, into the chilly embrace.

Though he had not meant it, his yelling had managed to get him noticed by another, an elderly fisherwoman who had sported the beach not too far off, looking for decorative shells for their garden. They had approached him in determination, first by firm questioning towards his unneccessary noisemaking, but as he got dressed and explained his whats and whys they were quick to soften. He had gotten offered a place to stay for the night and a bit of advice regarding trasportation to Helltooth, although he sensed the woman sprouting such articulation was stronly against him departing to the said direction at all.

But he couldn't turn back, not now, not anymore. For him the point of no return had been the very moment his toes had passed over the first threshold.
Holding a cup of steaming soup between his palms, Yada'nok sat hunched at a corner table, still in the process of nursing his sea-sickness. It wasn't like the boatride had been too extensive, just the fact that he had never before been on any kind of sail, off the dry land. Sure, the earth could shake, but never... bounce and meander up and down in fast succession, like the big water.

At least the ferryman had gotten a good laugh off his dramatic squirming and shouting, after getting over their utter confusement. The show had also granted him a discount, if there was to be anything else positive, saving him the money that he had then spent on whatever swirling food he now held.

" The fern bloom, eh? Have not heard a soul mention such a thing for quite some time... Is the business of witches and warlocks, or the type. "

Across from him, speaking over the racket of the busy indoors, resided a weathered presence. They had kept him company for a bit now, conversing openly of everything under the sun, and though they seemed generally scholarly by attire and act, he couldn't dismiss the strange edge of shadiness. Nodding as to indicate listening, he would muse silently on the floating lumps in his cup, wonder whether they were of plant or prey, if either. Although hungry, he was afraid to take a swig.

He heard a light scraping, decorative buttons of a shirt on table surface, as the man leaned closer, conspiratorial. Thinking it a fun game, he mimicked.

" Where did you catch word of it anyway? "

His dark eyes slided off his meal, at the questioner.

" I read about it.
" So you think there is one on this island? "

" I- "

A sudden, violent godsend of a commotion caught the rest of his utterance, along with most attentions. Chairs and heads turned, and with a little effort of craning his neck he could spot the target of such stares, a lone foreign looking individual in the aftermath of a quite succesful punch. Seeing his opportunity, he dissolved from his spot and into the crowd, dispersing from prying view like a fart to desert wind. As the too curious man turned to adress him anew, they were met by only his abandoned cup of suspicious stew.

He crawled on all fours, knocking ankles gently with the pole of his spear so to make way for himself, slowly working it to the general heading of interest. As the tavern reinitiated its husle and bustle, goers having collected themselves of shock and surprise, he swiftly sought shelter under a table, huddling into hiding. Betwixt moving figures, legs agait and hands aswing, he fixed a look at the pale lady.

Was that... a blindfold?

Exceedingly intrigued, not least by the eccentric eerines of their garb, he watched keenly as the scene developed, gaining an addition. It was in the form of another ladylike appearance, a seemingly friendly approach, though akin to the monochromatic they also sported alternative attributes. He tilted his head, squinting, certain for a moment he had imagined it all.

An extra pair of arms.

He hadn't.

His stare widened, heart jumping to gallop in excitement. Of its own accord, wholly driven by a childlike wonder, his short stature left the unseen fortress. He directed a sneak towards the one who so had gained his adoration with their handy adornments, sliding forward in the unstopping throng fluently like a serpent amidst straws.

Succesfully abaft the multitalent, he tried one of their lower arms, stroking it in awe. It felt warm to the touch.

" Niesamowite*! " He exhaled loudly, adoration in his tone.

* Awesome!

Meriele Logala
Citizen of the World
Joined: July 23rd, 2017, 8:51 pm

July 24th, 2017, 6:25 pm #4

Having just spent a month aboard a small smuggler's caravel, Meriele was ready to unwind. She loved the ships of course, but the people were troublesome. As much as she enjoyed teasing and messing with them, the constant advances and attentions were quite unwarranted. They caused quite a few fights aboard the vessels, and she loved every second of it. However, it is quite nice to get a break from a tightly confined ship with a crew barely reaching the low 20's. Her port of choice this particular time, Hell's Tooth, a small rock just south of the Andakisla River. A perfect place for smugglers to enter Morrim.

As the only true population of the island are pirates, smugglers, and convicts, its a great place to find anything a ship may need, from crew to water, to the ever important rum. Speaking of rum, Meriele could really go for a flagon of it. Having been here quite often in her years of shipside service, she worked her way across the small rock to the shack that served as a tavern and brothel on this gods-forsaken island. She pitied the working girls here, quite a few of them fell victim to the more gruesome clientèle.

She had chosen a perfect moment to enter, just as some poor bloke got his nose broken for picking the wrong woman to approach. Shameful boys, not knowing their audience. Some people just can't read others. Something about the woman who had just snapped his head back seemed....

"Strange, I can be quite certain I've never met this particular person before... yet something seems strangely familiar about her." Stepping into the crowd, and pushing aside any advances made on her, Meriele also noticed a strangely 4-armed woman approach and compliment her punch.

"Amateurs... I swear. What is wrong with people these days? No one plays a game anymore, its all up front and no fun." Snaking her way through the gathering crowd, Meriele sidled up against this four armed woman, an arm wrapped around her waist.

"Now now dear, can't you see this woman doesn't want to be bothered?" Gesturing to the man now firmly on his arse, blood dripping from his face, she continued. "I'd say this man found that out the hard way. Maybe instead of complimented her punch and possibly seeing more, I say the three of us ladies get a table and maybe a few drinks." At this, Meriele flicked her tail up over her shoulder, running parallel to the fiery braid running down her back, and pointed the group in the direction of an empty corner booth.


Hearing a sudden voice from below, Meriele looked around her and the woman she was currently draped on only to see a young boy stroking one of her lower arms. Well, if the day got any more odd, Meriele was certain it wouldn't get much worse.

Cooing softly at the young boy, Meriele addressed him, "Young man, typically, you should buy a girl a drink before rubbing her arms. Why don't you join us and we can discuss manners while we drink?."

Citizen of the World
Joined: March 31st, 2017, 10:33 pm

July 24th, 2017, 11:22 pm #5

One of life marvelous mystery was the butterfly effect. And god know everybody hate when it happen.

You're merely minding your own business, and suddenly you're surrounded by weirdoes. Sure one could advocate that the superb facelift she just delivered came with a bit of an artistic touch : His mother wouldn't recognized him, the poor goon nearly looked human by now, which was not a small fear considering what she was given to work with.

She raised her head toward the first stranger.

"What brings a lady like you all the way out here?"

What? She had some gut this one. One quick look was enough for Lilieth to guess "most" of her. Her hair wasn't salty, so she wasn't a sailor, and her hand didn't harbor the symptomatics caluses of any weapon of her knowledge. Her tan skin, and the presence of other caluse allowed to cross the conjecture of nobility, so she was pretty much your average commoner. The four armed kind of commoner, which would make it a not so commoner she guessed.

Actually average was a bit of a stretch, 'cause any commoner around this part either had a screw loose or was hidding his game very well.

" I get that I might stand out a bit amongst this ship rats considering I wasn't born from the gutter, but if bad circonstances and a messy past constitute the first pillar of this place, I'd argue that ruthlessness and an overall disposition toward violence constitute a close and solide second. Therefor I might be in a better position to ask you what YOU'RE doing here. I mean, if I actually cared for your circonstances that it, and I'll admit being more interested in your name to begin with.Lilieth by the way "

Before she could get any kind of answer, Lilieth attention was drawn toward the newcomer.

Here she had clearly the opposite : Clear cut sailor combined with enough of a bloody aura to avoid any misconception about the kind of sailor she was. But somehow it wasn't her appearance that made Lilieth focus fully on her, and more a tingling sensation of her ... A demonic aura? Despite the fact she had an human appearance thank to her human genome, Lilieth was more or an higher demon thank to her extremely thick bloodline than a human, therefor she couldn't missed the signature of one of her kind.

She didn't said anything, but despite the blindfold, her gaze intertwined with this of this stranger. Like beasts, in their true and purest form, demon didn't need words to convey messages, and if this feral ability wasn't entirely transmited to their descendants, they still retain a bit of their primal instinct on this domain. As far as Lilieth was concerned, she was intrigued.

This girl was the first person of demonic lineage she crossed since she stepped back into this world. Unlike heavenly lineage, that were still existent, demonic lineage were abhorred in most place and most went extinct, at least in civilized place. It shouldn't come to a surprise to Lilieth that some might survived in the most lawless areas.


Now even Lilieth was just at loss of words. Feeling the rising headache, she just let it all go, and let herself fall in her chair, invinting the trio to take place at her table while signaling a barmaid to bring something to drink.

" Okay guys, either it was staged or we're due to some serious introduction, cause I guess we're around for more or less the same reasons and any more of this shenanigans will require copious amount of booze before ... I don't know, I just need the booze and we'll see "

Citizen of the World
Joined: July 18th, 2017, 3:32 pm

July 25th, 2017, 6:18 am #6

Nispa's four eyes widened at the woman's reaction. Clearly, she had not been well received, despite her innocent intentions. The stranger effectively sized her up with little more than a glance. Nispa shrank back, her smile fading, feeling self-conscious. This woman made her uneasy, now. The wildness that had calmed her earlier now rendered itself sharp and menacing. Perhaps she had bitten off more than she could chew by approaching.

"...if bad circumstances and a messy past constitute the first pillar of this place, I'd argue that ruthlessness and an overall disposition toward violence constitute a close and solid second. Therefore I might be in a better position to ask you what YOU'RE doing here. I mean, if I actually cared for your circumstances that is, and I'll admit being more interested in your name to begin with. Lilieth by the way."

Nispa took a moment to process what Lilieth had said, both considering her words and reevaluating her character. She chose her next words slowly, mulling them over before speaking them aloud. "I suppose, then, that I'd belong to the third pillar of insatiable curiosity. What the fourth pillar is, I can't quite say, but it--"

She was cut off when an arm wrapped itself around her waist, and surprised when it wasn't one of her own. Its owner's voice, silken with practice, drifted about from near her ear: "Now now dear, can't you see this woman doesn't want to be bothered?" Nispa turned to look at the newcomer; she smelled strongly of salt, and a disproportionately large battleaxe rested upon her back. Nispa matched her playful gesture by bringing one free hand up to caress the woman's jaw. "Then why would she find herself in a lively tavern?" she countered.

Lavender eyes indicated the bleeding man as she continued, "I'd say this man found that out the hard way. Maybe instead of complimenting her punch and possibly seeing more, I say the three of us ladies get a table and maybe a few drinks."

Drinks would agree with Nispa, and Nispa would agree with drinks. She had just cast her gaze about in search of a free table when an inquisitive hand caught one of her arms. She turned to face him, expecting a question, but the small man seemed content to simply feel her limb. The skin was slightly thicker, stiffer, and darker than he must have been expecting. Although she did not have a proper exoskeleton, she was not as soft or as squishy as the vast majority of the population. Her arm, paying proper homage to her arachnid heritage, was coated in a sparse layer of russet hair that matched that of her head. It offered her a rough texture and an almost metallic sheen. The young man exclaimed, "Niesamowite!"

Her other left hand laid itself atop his own and she gently pulled him up to his full height. She didn't get many strange looks from the villagers anymore, but she could empathize with this man's wonder. "Not every day you see an octopod, huh?" she asked, trying not to scare him away. She gave him a friendly smile. He gave her the impression that he'd run away at the slightest provocation.

She felt the woman at her shoulder shift to look down at the boy, and she lightly chastised him. "Young man, typically, you should buy a girl a drink before rubbing her arms. Why don't you join us and we can discuss manners while we drink?"

"Now who's being rude?" Nispa asked her, tapping her finger twice against the flirt's jawbone. Looking back at the young man, she shook her head slightly. "Honestly, I already don't know what to do with her. Don't pay her any mind. Except for drinks. Definitely mind the drinks."

Lilieth, nearly forgotten, let out an exasperated breath. "Okay guys, either it was staged or we're due to some serious introduction, cause I guess we're around for more or less the same reasons and any more of these shenanigans will require copious amount of booze before ... I don't know, I just need the booze and we'll see."

Nispa, still uncertain about Lilieth but not willing to dwell on it, let loose a small laugh. "Of course. My name is Nispa. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Lilieth took a spot at a nearby table and flagged a barmaid. Nispa detangled herself and her arms from her admirers and moved to take a seat too. Draaf, but they were chairs. She was awkward with chairs, and she knew it. She also knew she couldn't keep standing. Draaf. Very well. She hiked her skirt up and placed her hind feet on the chair. Those knees bent backwards, and she leaned her back against her thighs as she took the rest of her seat. Her upper arms laced their hands together behind her head, while her lower ones rested upon the table, awaiting the barmaid and the booze.

"As for my reasons for being here, I bet you guys heard the rumours too. They say there's an old crypt out here somewhere, and I fully intend to find it."

Citizen of the World
Joined: February 1st, 2014, 3:56 am

July 25th, 2017, 4:42 pm #7

Their arm was glittering in the dim light, like a frosty grassland field in a clear morn of an early spring.

He had been so captured by the sight, breath at a pause, that when suddenly adressed by tug and tame sentence, he near jumped. His mouth pursed in indecisiveness and confusement, hues trailing belatedly upwards from the hand and along the taller figure to meet their eyes.

There was four of them.

Oculas akin to honourary saucers at the Queen's teaparty by now, his observance bounced to each of the blinking black beads in turn, uncertain upon which to settle so to not appear inpolite. His jaw was hanging slightly ajar, exponential wonder circling within the labyrinthine of his mind while the figure it inhabited managed but an idiotic standstill and an inspired 'ooooo'.

To the inquiry about octopods, he shook his head, trying a toothy smile in furthered response to their gentle manners. For someone who seemed possibly frightening and darn powerful, they were hideously hospitable. The one hanging at their side, an elvenly appearing woman with an air of strange wrongness and a tail, wasn't quite as such though. He came to know it the minute they laid that wanton lilac look upon him.

They spoke of drinks and manners, but all he could think of was the flashing of fangs betwixt their words. His top lip retracted a tad, baring his upper set of teeth into an expression of inquisitive puzzlement. Afore he could ask whether the octopod was indeed thirsty or not, the mentioned cut in to scold the redhead in turn. His ponytail swept in tune to his attention that bounced left and right, following the exchange in silent withdrawal.

What was this talk about drinks all the time. It was as if all they knew in life to be good was drinks. Drinks, drinks, drinks. Were they in a perpetual state of dehydration, or was the very image of the word an innuendo or surrogate for something completely different?

At a loss, he murmured under his breath in frustration.

Must've been an obscure ladything. Go and figure.

The nice lady slipped away along with their introduction, and for a little he stood dumbfounded, sliding his stare tryingly at the one with the screaming red locks. Mirroring an impulse, he stuck out his tongue at them in kidlike defiance and mockery, scurrying in rapid succession to the wake of his four-armed favourite. Wasn't like he was gonna stay behind and wait for them to answer.

Or spill his intestines. Or... something.

He collided with the table in a thunk, having not halted his momentum due distraction provided by the miraculously awkward seating procedure by Nispa. As if having meant it, he slammed his palms on the wooden surface and leaped all the way across to the other side into a vacant chair. His form slumped down like a released wet towel in adjusting of comfortable position and he laid the spear to cross his lap, elbows seeking support from above the table as he inclined forward, slouching akin to an overly relaxed feline. Finally stilling, he rested his cheeks against horizontal palms, conjuring a smirk.

As of the pale lady's questioning, Nispa was the first to open up about their reasons. Knowing his own, those of forage and fulfillment, he couldn't even begin to imagine what their causality must've been for wishing to have a gander at a grave. Unable to keep to himself, he filled his lungs loudly.

" I wantses to join with! " He raised his index, watching at the shimmering octopod hungrily and with eagerness. Remembering the speak of manners at the same breath, he extended his arm swiftly and his right hand shot to hover before Nispa akin to a socially awkward thunderbolt. Waiting to be countered the handshake staid suspended, stiffly as if compelled by an outside force to create such a gesture against his will. Uttering a near inaudible uh in trying to harness his scattered tongue and thought, he brought his free hand to his chest and dipped his chin.

" Yaropolk. "

Grinning softly like a cookie, hues aglint with sincerity, he reproduced a similar nod in greeting to the other two ladies as well.

Meriele Logala
Citizen of the World
Joined: July 23rd, 2017, 8:51 pm

July 25th, 2017, 10:04 pm #8

"Rumors of what? I've just gotten back from a voyage, haven't heard a damned thing of any rumors."

Smiling at Nispa playing along to her flirt, and quite enjoying the caress, she followed Lilieth and Nispa to the seat, the young boy sticking his tongue out at her as he trailed along. Meri already quite liked the company she found herself in: A fellow demon from the feel of her, a four-armed, four-eyed woman who seems quite content to flirt back every chance she's given, and a curious boy who, judging by his dress and appearance, comes from the jungle tribes. What could be a more diverse group?

"My names Meriele, and you Nispa, sweet one, can call me Meri. Now, I've spent a month or two onboard a ship, stuck with about 20 men, rum ran dry a week ago, and I could use a good whiskey. And as for not knowing what to do with me, well, I'll leave that to you're imagination."

At that, she sat back, called for a whiskey, twirled her tail in her hand, and adressed the demon lady. "Now, you have a very familiar feel about you, and I'm sure you've realized the same about me, so instead of getting into that, maybe you could fill me in on what exactly this crypt is about?"

Citizen of the World
Joined: March 31st, 2017, 10:33 pm

July 26th, 2017, 9:56 am #9

For a few second, Lilieth didn't answer, just calmly considering the assorted patchwork of missfit they were making.

Two of them were of demonic lineage, even if demon hunting wasn't as big as it once had been, they were hardly ideal citizen anywhere else than Orl'Kabbar. And both Lilieth and Meriele could consider themself happy as somehow, the most distinct characteristic they inherited was devilish charm and attractiveness, which were still feature not frowned upon too much, instead of huge horns and wings.

Lilieth had a random thought : Wings would be nice to make en entrance though. Except maybe with door, getting stuck in a doorframe was kind of a movekiller.

They had a spider woman, a fact that was somehow less frowned that being born from a demon from the seventh hell, go figure !

And at the utmost of this freakshow, the only human of the group was the weirdest of them all, which came at no comfort.

Yet, somehow, it felt ... kinda right. There were like in a shithole were "normal" was really suspicious. Nobody would embrase a career or path of living that would bring him to Hellthooth if not for some dubious circonstances or questionnable life choices. At least here there was probably no hidden vice, as all the potential bizareness was weared on the surface.

" So ... Let's not reel in the ... unforseen ... kind of introduction we've had so far. Since pretty much everyone on this Island have it's own circonstances, let's cut short to story telling, and directly to business : My name is Lilieth, as I said, the reason for my presence here, and the rason for the ambient frenzy, is the discovery of this Hel'or guy crypt. An highly defended crypt will probably hold lots of ancient treasures and ancients mystery, and everyone have its wild guess of what may or may not be inside. "

The barmaid came with their drink, and Lilieth took a long sip of the glorified horse piss before continuing, while casting an horrified look at her "ale" as her taste bug were slowly commiting suicide.

" Present company on the Island is probably as fine as this elaborate orc's feet juice, meaning not pleasant to the eye, way worst beneath, likely to shorten your lifespan, and full of alcohol. So we're probably as good a group as they make, if you're for the task that it. "

Lilieth casted a glance at each of her counterpart.

" Won't lie, if my assumption are even close to the truth, we're in for pain and damages, but the reward might be up to the challenge. I'd like for each of us to quickly introduce themself, and why not add WHAT they can bring to this endeavour, appart from extra pairs of hands."

Lilieth laid back and added

" As for myself, as I said, I'm Lilieth, more or less Sotoan, depending on where you draw the line between geography and history. As you saw, I'm more of the thinker type, since this lad's guts are still inside him, but I can bear the brunt of a vanguard position. As for other utilities, since you probably wondered about it, there is little I can't see, which come in handy, your know for traps and whatnot. And as a bonus, I'm extremely knowledgeable of anything there is to know about this old cultures and empire, starting with language, even if my mastery over this subject remain superficial compared to a real expert. "

Citizen of the World
Joined: July 18th, 2017, 3:32 pm

July 26th, 2017, 6:47 pm #10

Catching half of her mind wandering, Nispa decided that it was time to analyze her newfound comrades. The flirt was more than friendly; she was charming. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to play with her. She watched her take a casual seat, swinging her battleaxe to the side so as not to slice herself open with it. She introduced herself as Meriele, "and you Nispa, sweet one, can call me Meri." She explained herself a sailor, ignorant of the rumours surrounding this island. Nispa's eyes alighted upon the woman's tail, which had gone unseen until now. So there's more to her than meets the eye, Nispa thought carefully to herself. She wouldn't let herself be fooled, but she was meticulous in keeping her thoughts hidden deep below her carefree actions and demeanor.

The young man, on the other hand, seemed to be hiding nothing. He first crashed into then vaulted over the table, displaying clumsiness and acrobatic prowess at the same time (an incredible feat). He landed with a plop in the seat across from her. He placed his spear carefully across his lap as Nispa spoke about the crypt. His hand shot out before his mind could catch up, and he declared, "I wantses to join with!" His scattered mind must have stumbled across the word "introduction", for he bowed his head and quickly added, "Yaropolk."

Nispa, realizing that his extended hand was awaiting a handshake, offered two with a smile and a laugh. Her upper right hand swatted the lower out of the way and received him warmly. "Nice to meetcha!" Something about him reminded her of the centaurs that used to neighbour her family. They were always a bit skittish, but they were often as wide-eyed with curiosity as he was.

Meriele had said something to Lilieth, but Nispa had missed it. She turned instead to watch Lilieth. The latter had said little, content to watch them through slitted eyes. Now that all eyes were on her (at least, most of them, Nispa noticed, glancing at Yaropolk), Lilieth explained the current situation, why she was there, and that the drinks were piss. Nispa took a tentative sip of her own before reluctantly agreeing.

"I'd like for each of us to quickly introduce themself, and why not add WHAT they can bring to this endeavour, apart from extra pairs of hands." Nispa tried not to take that last comment too literally. She waited a moment before replying; Lilieth continued to perplex her. She was beginning to realize that this lady would give her a headache if she thought too hard about her, so she contented herself with the word 'practical' and settled into a quiet distrust.

With that issue resolved, she lit her eyes back up and sprang into an animated chatter. "Well, I'm not completely useless in a fight. I can take a good hit or two, and I can do 'em one better. I've got some pretty good reflexes. I'm pretty strong for my size, and I'm a great climber. Ain't so hot about the thinking, though." In truth, she was an excellent thinker, often coming up with unique solutions to a wide array of problems. If questioned later, she'd blame her lie on modesty. She frowned slightly, thinking if she forgot anything. "Oh, and I've got a mean bite."

She sat back in her chair again, catching Meriele's eye and giving her a quick wink. She eyed her mug and wished it was full of better booze. Even water would be better than this bile; Yaro's subconscious was correct in assuming that she was genuinely thirsty. All the salt in the air left her feeling parched. That's what waterskins are for, she remembered, but drank instead from the tankard. She'd have to be a bit buzzed before she'd trust her life to three strangers in some cursed crypt.