Angkar: Dry season. Often sunny, but precipitation is rare. Humidity is low, some bodies of water may have dried up, and bushfires can occur. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Cooler temperatures, although still relatively hot. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Calm and generally cool. Thunderstorms and heavy showers are not uncommon, and there is also a chance of snow until late in the season.

Soto: Trees begin to bud and the snow begins to melt, which may cause minor flooding. Although temperatures increase, snowfall early in the season is not uncommon. Low-lying plants grow while the tree cover isn't too dense.


March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please ask [b]DaringRaven]! As for the rest of the announcements including a season change, you can find them over here at this link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


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    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

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    Supporting Admin.

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    Welcome to our home, a world in which anything can happen. From sprawling deserts and vast forests to massive volcanoes and luscious hot springs, Soare and the Scattered Isles are beautiful places just waiting to be explored. For the brave and the bold or the cautious and the wary, creatures of all kinds roam the earth, looking for adventure or for a place to call their own. Species of all kinds - the well-known and the unknown - thrive here, though not always in harmony.

    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

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    Setting foot where we don't belong; 3-4 people
    Topic Started: Jul 21 2017, 01:30 PM (466 Views)
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    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.
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    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?"
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    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

    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?."
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    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 "
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    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."
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    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

    "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?"
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    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. "
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    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.
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    The octopod replied his greeting accordingly, exceeding expectation with their overpouring and laid-back friendliness, arms attractively ashimmer as they shook his hand. He halfly wished the visual quality of it to be contagious, like glitter or magick that would rub off, but as of now his palms had remained the same. Perhaps it was for the best, for he would never wash his hands again should said transimission take place, forced to treasure the eldritch touch forever.
    It was all too precious.

    Satisfied and inspired, he detached to his prior lounging, knuckles under his chin and toothy grin widening. Though he could've stared at Nispa prolongedly, near hypnotized, watched as the dim lanterns reflected from the multitude of black eyes, skin sparkling on event the slightest shift or shudder, each limb afloat in expressing of intriguing personality, he saw it best to slide himself back to the exchange. Lightly reluctant, his hues sought out the pale lady, Lilieth, who was currently embarking a mission of sprouting a surfeit of speech as if it was the very sense of them.

    How did so many complex and jaded sentences even form themselves at such a velocity, he wouldn't dare venture. Instead, he just reduced lightly in his position, melting closer to the table and adopting silence. A part of him wished to avert from the lady all together, willing to wander in the dusty rafters and spiderwebs in escape, but fell short before the frightening force that gripped him, keeping his attention drawn. The only thing surviving more unsettling than the strange sensation, was how bereft of patience Lilieth portrayed to be.

    They were like a fortress, stance a stable mixture of strategy, savvy and strength, function finalized and significance self-explanatory, but he felt their view of surround as somewhat simplistic. Was as if they were drained of enjoyment, denying it having any intrinsic value and thus pursuing all through pure practicality and unforgiving efficiency, ignoring the intricate niceties of interaction and instead initiating interrogation. Those sharing their dwelling were naught, but devices.

    All Kingdoms had their downfall, destined to return into their natural state of directionless disarray and convoluted chaos sooner than late and he foretold such an occurrence more than possible with Lilieth's honourary personality. Perhaps not in near future, but due time, akin to the silent disintegrating of human spirit, inaudible disappearance of positivity and sanity, indefinite dying of dusk. He had seen it too many times happen even to the strongest and most detached, afraid to witness it once more, for of heart he judged them sincere and well-intentioned.

    The circle was closing, yet unraveling from the other end.

    Lilieth's unembellished protest on quality of beverage awakened his sympathy, providing him with remembrance upon his latest unconsumed meal. Those floating slimey chunks. Certain they wished not hear of his experience, nor relate for most took joy in denying all kinship with him, he rotated his stare downwards at the table and on all the little specks of filth and remainders of past dine, visibly ashudder.

    Distracted by a pattern of morsels, he fell off the conversation wagon for a fragment in time, rounding his index around little dry peaks that he had collected with his thumb into quite accurate, though microscopic topography of Do'Suul. It was his wonder whether he actually could be viewed as having any skills, in an exploratorial extent and exploitation as all those rounding him seemed to, by both assurance and appearance. What if they wouldn't allow him with, deeming his sorry being unworthy and but dead weight in their planned expedition, closing him away as unadvantage.

    The thought of Llewellyn and Mirche caught him, their weary looks and uncertain suspense at the mountains, refreshing his guilt. He saw them both turn into bone, hues hanging loose, skin ashen of grief and bodies brittle like dry leaves, static figures slowly shattering into the draft. By the time he managed himself back, they would be naught but grey dust on the floor, rejoicing with their sisters and brothers in Veles' grove below.

    And he would be alone. Again.

    He swiped his forearm restrainedly over his crumb creation, purging imagery from both surface and subject. No. He would join the adventure, fulfill his meaning. He would make them take him along.

    Ignited by new determination and boldness, he perked his head. Nispa had just finished their addition to the theme of self-induced stroking of egos, though their briefness of description truly did them credit, ringing to him honourable and humble. To him, their dental conclusion was the perfect bouncing point.

    " Me too. " He begun and turned in his seat halfly to face Lilieth. Wild-eyed, he snarled and clicked his teeth together, rolling a faint growl.

    " I also gotses this... " The spear was hoisted for a whistling second, well-kept and tirelessly sharpened steel flickering, colourful plumes ashiver. " Am pretty good with it too. You wanna see? " Unawaiting an answer, much less one of denial, he stood up on his chair and spun the spear atop his head virtuously like some carnival attraction, then flinging his arm at lightning speed.

    The spear launched, passing through a sliver of an opening betwixt people, hitting one of the thick wooden columns that circled the space, supportive elements for the shack's structure. Following suit, he jumped over the table in a flip, accelerating through the crowd that had split due disturbance. Someone screamed about their 'precious pylons'. Reaching the pillar, he bounced against it and up to grab his weapon by the pole, swinging himself atop it like a monkey. At a reasonable height and with confident balance, he then took off once more, boldly up and into the wrought iron chandelier. It creaked and shook hideously, like a crashing carriage, but he would only dive himself further into the middle of it, sticking out his feet and wiggling them in contentment.

    He shot a look down, waving at the ladies in a smile. Had he done well?

    " I can also lifts curses and speak to trees, if that is helpful. And uh.. Gots bandages. "

    Digging into the chest of his shirt, he produced a generous roll of linen.
    Meriele Logala

    " 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. "

    After finishing her little, introduction Meriele supposed it was, Lilieth continued with her piece. Mentioning pain, injury, and complaints about Hell's Tooth's alcohol. Then, she went on about introductions and descriptions of each other's skills. Well, as for her part, Lilieth seemed to be quite knowledgeable, and talked about her capability to take the brunt of any danger they may face. Well, Meriele didn't know about her own willingness to be injured, but she supposed this could be a fun adventure.

    Nispa seemed to be quite an interesting one. While Lilieth seemed cold, calculating, and fed up with bullshit, Nispa came across as friendly, flirty, and interested. Didn't quite seem to be a very tough woman, but did come across as someone who like to get things done. And she mentioned a mean bite. Not even a moment later, Nispa sent a wink in her direction.Meriele could only imagine what she meant by that. "Fuck, get yourself together! Back on topic...."

    Meanwhile, Yaropolk seemed enthralled with Nispa and slightly intimidated by Lilieth. While Lilieth and Nispa spoke, Yaro appeared to be distracted by crumbs of all things. When it came his time to speak however, he perked up right quick and spun to face Lilieth. When Meriele looked upon his face anew, she saw a fire in his eye's that shone of determination, and with a growl and click of his teeth, he affirmed that he had a good bite as well it seemed to Meriele. At least, thats what his bpody language and speech conveyed. This child was perplexing. Determined and yet soft in speech until doubted, clumsy yet graceful. At this point, Yara brought his spear to bear, mentioned his skill and asked if anyone wanted to see. Meriele was just about to encourage him, when he suddenly threw it, with unerring aim, between a gap in the crowd to land with a solid thunk into a support column. "This just gets more and more interesting..."

    At that, Yarapolk sprinted, twisting himself with a bounce off the column onto his spear, and from there shot into the chandelier, waving at them and smiling excitedly.

    " I can also lifts curses and speak to trees, if that is helpful. And uh.. Gots bandages. "

    "Boy, this Lilieth really didn't waste time. Must be pretty serious about what's going on here... And Nispa..." Nispa truly piqued Meriele's interest. This boy however, this one was odd. Meriele liked him though. He was entertaining, and had passion, determination, and a drive to prove himself.

    "Well, I don't have a spear, and as much as I can bite, I doubt its much like Nispa's. In lieu of those however, I do have this here axe..." At that, she pulled Melinodel from her back and drove it into the floor with a loud crack of wood, and drew several daggers from her clothing. "Oh and I suppose I also have a few daggers. I'm quite good with either, I'm fast, amidextrous, and can handle just about any ship I get my hands on." While she spoke, she took to juggling the 4 daggers she had drawn, and as she finished, she threw all four in rapid succession, one landing above, below, and to the left and right of Yaro's spear, pinning it neatly in a diamond of steel.
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    Lilieth was calmly analysing the weird bunch they made, and was pleasantly surprised. It none of them looked the part, minus half-demon, they seemed to have pretty interesting skills at their disposal. One said you couldn't judge a book by its cover isn't it?

    They had a good allrounded team, with a large set of skills. Even if sailing a ship probably wouldn't come in handy in this one, there was still a large amount of stuation they might be able to face depending on the different background within the group.

    As for pure strengh, each of them seem to be able to handle their own. The acrobatic style of Yada'Nok was a clear cut with her heavy fighting style. Meriele seemed more allrounded, and Nispa had quite a few tricks up her sleeve.

    Lilieth visibly relaxed, as she lean in her chair and crossed her feet on her side of the table :

    " Seem pretty decent to me ! Welcome aboard guys. I hope each one of us will make it safely till the end, and also for each of you to find what he came for. " She raised her pint, and with a wince, she took a sip of it.

    " Second's time a charm, you already lost the sense of taste by then. "

    Lilieth wasn't a cold bitch, beneath her stern look, once people got to knew her she was even warm, it's just the present circumstances that didn't allow her to be too relaxed yet.

    Speaking about beind relaxed, she didn't even let her guard down for a few second that something suddenly caught her attention. This something being a pint flying at full speed toward her face. The horrible thing about having perfec kinetic vision is having a perfect, nearly slow motion, visual of what's going to happen but being physically incapable of preventing it. Lilith just got the time to lower her head before the impact, which threw her on her back on the ground.

    Serve you right bitch !

    Slowly raising from the floor, her face bloody and covered in the orc pissed they called ale, she slowly mutter, at breaking point :

    " Who ... did ... this ..."

    Another nameless voice raised from the background :

    " And what are you gonna do, throw a tantrum ! "

    Oh sure I will ...

    Lilieth jumped on her feet, A malicious grin stucked on her face.

    She put her hand on the side of the table there were sitting at, and suddenly gripped it. She spinne on herself, demonstrating her beast like strenght, and hurl the table accurately in the global direction of the shout, which lead to ale splashing the crowd, and few people getting knock out cold on their ass.

    " One delivery of tantrum, if that's what you call it ! "

    On guys start to clamor in anger, but was soon welcome by a chair hitting straight in the teeth.

    " There is still more where it came from asshole ! "

    A pint flew her way, but she dodged it this time, and it end up spilling on a bunch of nasty looking pirates.

    Someone start yelling " BAR FIGHT" ! And hence the chaos began.

    The one rule of bar fight is no weapon allowed, except if it's improvised from anything laying around in the bar, which contented perfectly with Lilieth orcish strengh, which was cracking an honnest, is not mischievious, smile.
    Edited by Lilieth, Jul 28 2017, 07:24 AM.
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    When exactly did everything go so wrong? Perhaps it had started with Yaropolk, his spear a blur until it found a place in the timbers halfway across the tavern. Yaropolk himself quickly followed suit, leaping onto his spear and using it as a launching point to spring up into the unnecessarily large chandelier that dangled above them all. He produced a roll of bandages. Just in case.

    Perhaps it had been Meriele, who swung her battleaxe with such force that the floorboards and the very ground beneath gave way. Splinters flew outwards in a display of outstanding force. As if to ice the cake, she procured four daggers, juggled them about for a few seconds, and sent them flying into the timber as a way to decorate Yaro's spear.

    Perhaps it had been the mug of ale that had been thrown from the midst of the now-silent crowd. It sailed through the air in a near-perfect arc and came to collide neatly with Lilieth's lowered head. The force of the impact knocked her off her chair. Nispa searched the crowd for the source of the mug, but the only things that the crowd offered were taunts directed at Lilieth.

    Perhaps it had been Lilieth, slowly picking herself up with fury written all over her bloodied face. Not wanting to get in her way, Nispa closed her eyes and steadied her mind, focusing on the future as best as she could. When she opened her eyes, she saw Lilieth hurling the table across the bar. Startled back to the present, she scampered away from the table, leaving just enough time for Lilieth to grip it with furiously white knuckles and spin it into the air. It swept through the crowd like a bulldozer of pain, knocking out those too slow to dodge it. It ended its unexpected journey by crashing into the wall and splitting down the middle.

    However it started, the bar was now roiling with activity. Despite her talk earlier, Nispa hadn't been in many fights before. Her instincts told her to run, to get out of there, but she didn't want to leave quite yet. Instead, she focused her mind once again on the future, watching her surroundings hustle to catch up to her mind. She saw another mug come flying in their direction. At the same time, a man to her right came forwards to strike her. She backed away from both of them and heard the mug hit the man instead, but her eyes had moved past them and were already alerting her to the next few seconds.

    Juggling the view of the future with the actions of the present was difficult. It took nearly all her concentration, and she could only keep it up for a few minutes before she had to give her mind a break. However, from any other perspective, she was a master brawler, dodging punches before they were formed and tripping feet that didn't know they were going to be in the way until it was too late. As one woman made to headbutt her from behind, she slipped her head around to bite the woman in the neck, an act made nearly impossible without exact timing. She injected her victim with her venom. Although it wouldn't affect her much, the proximity to the woman's brain would surely dull her senses and reaction. Nispa tossed her aside and moved on to the next.

    She found herself enjoying the fight much more than she expected. If left to herself, she would keep fighting until no-one was left to stand in her way. She had four fists of punching and she was enjoying the chance to use them. Had she not been focusing on her future-sight, she would have noticed the wily laugh that was building under her breath. She was having fun.
    Edited by Nispa, Jul 28 2017, 12:59 PM.
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    He withdrew the bandages and repositioned slightly to stare down with interest, looking for reactions and lounging atop the clattering ceiling wheel with unhindered ease as if it was naught but a bundle of branches. Soon enough, Meriele provided a continuation, drawing both axe and attention.

    Enchanted and enamoured, he watched as splinters flew, scattering away from the blade's way like a fan of frightened doves. Along with wood, the blow inspired the dust and dirt on the floor to unsettle, launching a generous cloud into the air. Impulsive, he reached a hand to grasp at it from amidst his iron cage, picking out a tiny grey feather that floated his way. Eyes gleaming, he held it for a moment in the shelter of his palms, examining the tiny, though well-tinkered structure. He fell lost into it, disregarding all else until the time a certain set of words reached from below.

    It was the pale lady, speaking out their acceptance for the miscellaneous and multi-faceted collective. He brought his hands up victoriously by himself, fingers and teeth clenched. He wished to scream, announce his pleasement, but all things considered thought better of it, instead producing but a restrained hnnnnnnnnnngh from betwixt a snarl and jabbing at the air in attempt of unleashing some of the excitement.

    It was settled, the adventure would take place, he would find the things he came for, return and all would be better again.

    They would only have to get there first though. A task the quite fast and scattered succession below proved not as straight-forward and smoothly-managed as he had thought.

    Chairs scraped the floor, a table went hurling across the tavern, goblets and tankards flew on each and every side. Suddenly, the mildly civilized space had reduced to what could've been called the very essence of humanity; a clattering and clinking chaos bereft of rules, violent and easily ignited, a realm of free for all where every one fought purely for themselves.

    Bar fight.

    The chandelier let out a loud metallic clang, taking a hit by a wooden bowl. He stuck his head out at the one whose hands it had left, barking in quite the authentic imitation of a rabid warg, spraying spittle. From within his shirt, he produced a large oaken ladle, launching it at the aggressor with aggravated precision and enraged speed. It hit them square on the crown of their head.

    Great success.

    Letting a most hassled glance wander, he checked on each of his fresh companions, condemning them all quite successful at surviving and suppressing anything that faced them. Of course the ladies would handle themselves, each in their colourful and varied ways, be it by brutish strength, prowess in blades or excellent premonition. He concluded with a painful obviousity that the only life and health that concerned him in any level or manner was that of his own.

    If only because all he had was a masterful aim in the end of a good throwing arm and was slowly running out of things to throw. Gathering haste, he tucked the tiny feather into his ponytail and shifted his weight rapidly, invigorating the chandelier into a swing. As it reached a high point, he lunged to the nearest pillar and slid further down to his spear. He grabbed the pole and swung himself below it, yanking downwards to loosen it on his way.

    He landed in a thud, recoiling instinctively and slapping a sudden attacker across the face with the flat of his blade. Though remaining standing, they staggered, lending him enough time to spin in place and make a run towards the door.

    Dodging fighters, fists and furniture with determination, near dancing through the throng, his gaze remained fixed at the door.

    Get out, get out, get outgetoutgetoutgetou-

    He tripped, unsure upon what, and flew forth like a fish from a cannon, wiggling and round eyed all the way to the floor. After the planks it all turned pitch black, the gradually fading pulse of an ache on his forehead the last thing he felt and the clatter of his spear somewhere in the edges of his dimming attention the last thing he heard.
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    [HRP] : No new from Meriele, so we skip his turn. I'll write in a way he can catch up latter if she reappear.

    Things were getting pretty heated up. You say what you want about smuggler, pirate, and the sorts, but their core was still a meaner version of sailor. And hell you didn't want to mess too much with sailors. This things with them having enough caluse on their hand to hit like hammer and not feel any pain.

    Past the initial bravados, et once the small fry had already been sorted out, the pressure intensified vastly.

    The last active memory of Lilieth was something about headbutting a big fellas, only to turn around and get hit by a knee straight in the face.


    When she woke up the next day, way before, thank to her constitution, anyone else that was either knocked unconcious by a mean hit or alcohol, the whole tavern was a wreckage. But god it felt good to let go of some steam.

    Lilieth had inherited from her warrior inheritance and culture. It was her first good deathless brawl since forever. She patted the back of the big guy she was apparently sleeping on.

    Meriele was nowhere to be seen. Considering her own experience as a pirate she probably felt when thing were going bad and she fled.

    Nispa was laying on the floor not far from here, so Lileith load her up on her shoulder.

    As for Yada'Nok, he was just around drinking tea while waiting for them to wake up.

    [HRP] : Dunno, it felt like something that might happen x) play along or just tell we if you want something edited.

    Lileith scratched her nose :

    " We might as well go, I'll throw the spider lady in some fresh water along the way to clear her up. Not that I might not use a bath myself to get rid of the stench "
    she added while frowning her nose at the rancor smell of spoiled alcohol all over her body.

    After getting freshen up a small torrent in the forst, the group was ready to begin their exploration.

    The entrance to the tomb was standing strong amongst the scarce vegeration, barely visible under the dust.

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

    Lilieth scratched her nose. For some reason she couldn't put her finger on, something felt of about it ...

    " Nevermind, let's go ! "

    Their team was down one membre, but who cared, they'd see soon enough what they were up against.

    After a short corridor, they entered a small room. It was entirely decorated with murals depicting an ancien civilization, demon and heavenly beast.

    Around them was the corpse of a few expedition membre laying around. Lilieth immediately saw something was of : There was no trace of external wound, not any external sign of poisoning or anything.

    Suddenly, the mural started lightning up. The whole team felt like they were falling despite still being pretty much immobile, before shortly feeling unconcious.

    When lilieth opened her eyes once again, she was alone. The whole world around her was dark.

    " Shite ... A psychic trap ... "

    She new the kind, they were trapped by an evil spirit in their own mind.

    A shadow formed next to her, taking the form of an old decrepit wizard with a pretty mean look.

    " Eh eh eh ...What have we here ... Lilieth that it ? A queen of the old as I see ? You're quite the unexpected guess ! This pirate were starting to bore me. Let's play a game shall we, it's called how long will it take me to brake your mind ! "

    Lileith frowned, in this kind of trap, feeling of time was distorted. Un few second in the real world might seem like year in it, meaning there wasn't much of a time limit, and the evil spirit at the core of the formation was accessing their memory freely, cherry picking the best way to torture them.

    His voice ring into Lilieth ear, as the surrounding darkness let way to make a few shadow appears : People, people from the past, from Lilieth past. Familly, friends, but all showing the gaping wound they wore at the time of their death.

    Lilieth couldn't help but feel every single hair on her arms standing : They were in of some real unpleasantness.

    [HRP : I saw you both had mind resistance upgrade, so ultimately getting out of this probably won't be too hard. I design the different encounter before looking at your respective characters. I'd like, if possible, if you could split your answer in two, like me, meaning stoping after describing your own personnel hell, next post we'll each get the chance to described how we get out of it]
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    ((TW: mild disturbing content/gore towards the end))

    The fight dragged on longer and longer. Nispa was surrounded by a ring of unconscious sailors, but the tavern had been near full and her mind was falling behind. She found herself slipping back into the present. At first, it was just for a moment, but after a minute she felt the pressure building against her temples as she fought for concentration. As she struggled with her ability, her fighting suffered, and it was only a few seconds later when the first man landed a punch. He hit her in the side, knocking the wind out of her, and the brawny mob had no problems overtaking her after that. Nispa was helpless to stop them. Moments after, she fell...

    ...into a body of water. It jolter her awake, alright. She scrambled to sit up, but was wildly unsuccessful, quickly devolving into a pile of thrashing, uncoordinated limbs. She fell back into the water with an unceremonious splash. As she lay in the water, it was then that her mind decided to wake up, throbbing gently behind her eyes and making her wish she was still asleep. She wasn't hung over, but the mental strain from the night prior left her with a nasty headache. She lay in the water for a minute. It was cold and she closed her eyes again. Without sitting up, she cupped two of her hands and took a sloppy sip from the stream. It went all over her face. That was fine, she was drenched anyway.

    She spun her legs around into a much more successful sit. Having double the limbs was a bit of a hassle with half a mind. She opened her outer, smaller eyes and determined that that was quite enough light for her.

    She looked around for the first time. She could see Lilieth nearby, scrubbing one of her arms clean of dried beer. She was a tricky one. Nispa had made a point not to think too hard about her, but alas, her head was still pounding. Yaropolk was there too. She waved at him with a weary smile. Meriele, however, was nowhere to be seen. Damn. I liked that one. She pushed herself upright and pulled her sodden skirt up so she wouldn't step on it. She wrung out a fair stream of water from it before making her way up to dry land. Lilieth saw her stir and began leading the way through the forest. Nispa ambiently followed.

    She felt for her daggers, making sure they were still there, tucked away as they were. She made a tally of her limbs: yep, still there. There was a nasty scrape on her cheekbone that she didn't remember was from a pirate's ring. As she took a deep breath, she felt that one of her lungs was bruised. All this before we even started...? Still, she felt no regret. The fight had, if anything, made her anticipate the tomb with even more impatience. When she finally caught sight of it, her breath caught in her throat.

    It was dusty. It was grimy. There were all sorts of monsters lurking below, no doubt. She couldn't wait to go in! She sauntered over to the entrance, her headache forgotten, but held back as Lilieth read one of the inscriptions. "Here lay for eternity Hel'or, last heir of the Helian dynasty. May the mad king forever rot amongst it's most prized possession."

    Nispa frowned at the verse; judging by Lilieth's tone, she wasn't the only one who didn't like the sound of it. She'd never heard of the Helian dynasty. Then again, she'd never heard of a lot of things, growing up in the Erth'netora forest. She waited impatiently for Lilieth to continue.

    "Nevermind, let's go!" Lilieth led the way into the crypt, Nispa practically bouncing at her heels. The ruins led them through a hallway and into a beautifully decorated room. She ran her fingers delicately over the carvings, marveling at the creatures and the preserved lore. She paid no mind to the dead bodies. The walls were the only corpses she cared to examine.

    The thought of traps made her pull her hand away from the wall. She called herself reckless, but they were simply so beautiful, the stories of ages past. She leaned closer to watch a brilliant winged serpent rear up against a shadowy wolf. The two wrestled in the heavens as the people shot arrows from below. Their quaint religion brought a smile to Nispa's lips.

    A darkness rolled over her conscience. Her vision turned black. She felt herself falling. Her feet landed roughly in piles of rotted leaves. She heard malicious laughter echo from the void. Fire's heat burned one side of her face. She shrank back; a scream pierced the silence. She knew it. From somewhere, she recognized it. Her heart yearned to help him.
    She struggled to open her eyes against the smoky blaze, but realized they were already open. Her vision was black. She heard the laughter again, this time closer. She couldn't see it. The fire flickered up higher, scorching her brow and singeing her hair. She yelped, but no sound came out.
    She tried to run. She tumbled downhill, her feet skidding in the decaying leaf litter. She put a hand down to steady herself. The skin of her hand peeled away in the flames, curling up like shreds of paper. The ground swallowed her hand, stripping its flesh and pinning her down. She heard him scream again, the sound of death and fear and agony. She ripped her wrist free of the ground and pressed on, leaving the remains of her hand behind.
    She was getting closer. She could hear him struggling. The fire grew hotter, fiercer. She felt it lap at her skin. She felt it consuming her flesh. Tears evaporated off her unseeing eyes; her eyes themselves were melting away, leaving hollow sockets behind. One of her legs buckled as the muscle burned off her bones. She finally reached him, reaching out with rotting hands, hardly anything left but bones. She felt him. She touched his arm. It was slick with blood. The laughter grew louder and louder, blocking out everything but the raging of the fire and the sizzle of her flesh.
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    " Eow... "

    He awakened to the feeling of being pulled up, unfamiliar hands yanking him by the arms. His feet tried to take footing, clomping limp and awkward against the floor as he was aided to stand, hues half-lidded and blurry. Drowsy and with a little headache radiating from his forehead, he muttered a couple obscure curses.

    " There there, kid. Better ya get off the floor afore them others wake up and stampede over ya. Downright miracle none did so already. " A calm voice spoke to him with a glint of amusement, the type of humourement he didn't quite understand through his mildly concussed state.

    Straighforwardly, they walked him across the tavern and set him to seating, on top of some stranger's travelling chest at the only table that had remained unmutilated through the conflict. They gestured him to stay, like one would a domestic animal, and turned to supposably fetch something, dodging more or less unconscious bodies on their way behind the counter. He frowned, equally at the case of being ordered around --for in his village he would've been considered an adult by now and none was to tell him what to do but his master Vedmak-- and the fact that he had trouble remembering how the hell he had ended up with such a painful existence, picked up from the floor by another.

    As his vision begun to undaze and he let it refresh upon the surround, it didn't take him too many moments to recall. His hues zigzagged across the splendid view that spread before him, more or less literally, and by the time he spotted the first familiar face even his purpose of being here had cleared up for him, along with his head.

    The Pale Lady.

    Well, thank the Gods. He had already begun to fear they might've left on the expedition without him, leaving him to nap the day and adventure away. Not too far off from their honourary personality laid that of his quadrupedal favourite, such duality of presences proving to him that he indeed must've not missed anything yet. The one with the screaming red locks and invasive nature was the only one he failed to locate from the mess of an environment, but he imagined that had they gone in advance they wouldn't have made much of a skirmish at all.

    Could it even be called an expedition if one went by themself? He thought not.

    The table creaked as a sizeable bowl was pushed before him, sloshing with steaming liquid.

    Please no, no more soup, no mor-

    " Tea. Would've given ya a cup, but most of those lay shattered on the floor... I put some extra in to ease that headache ya must be havin'. " The elderly, supposably woman --as of their raspy voice and utterly weathered look overall he couldn't be sure-- stated as if having read his thoughts, lone index pointing at his forehead markingly. Wide-eyed, he instinctively slapped his fingers against the spot they had gestured at, finding a swollen dent. The tips of his digits came back sticky and with a reddish tint and he would stare at them as if in marvel. The woman released a strained sigh.

    " We'd best clean that up, lest ya catch some infection. "

    He responded by a mere nod, reaching his palms under the bowl and taking a guarded sip. Ginger and lemon, with a hint of mint. So far so good.

    What stared back at him form the bowl though, dancing on the reflective surface of the tea, wasn't good. Woy, he looked like he had just crawled out from a... well... bar fight. He made near deranged haste to untie his ponytail, smoothing his hair backwards and correcting it to what it used to be, along with patting at his garments in arrangement of folds. Mirche hadn't emphasized that one must've looked flashy or too polished, just that it was a matter of professional pride for a vedmak to at least look tidy. Made it easier for others to accept, to see their somewhat controversial and at times even feared calling a bit more approachable and tame.

    Though only an apprentice, nowhere as intimidating as his Master, he still believed in keeping up appearances.

    He had nearly made it through his tea and gotten his bruise cleaned when finally there was a flicker of life by the rest of his troupe. Watching keenly, he traced as Lilieth levered themself to standing, miraculously stable and unhindered by past battle. They were quick to proceed, throwing the still unawakened octopod over their shoulder like some featherlight damsel they had just rescued.

    - We might aswell go...

    Nodding wildly in approval, he gulped down the rest of his tea.

    " Thanksies for tea and helps. " He said, smiling at the old woman whilst rushing to gather himself and whatever belongings kept dropping from within his garments. The pale lady was already out the fragmented door. Near tripping into his own feet, he hurried after them, jumping over sleeping seafarers and drunks alike on his way.

    " Oe, don't forget yer spear. "

    Afore he had time to turn and question with more than a 'huh', the mentioned flew past him, piercing the doorframe in a dry crackle. The woman's smile would widen at the sight of his aghast face, furtherly spreading into a grin of stifled laughter and he would respond it with laughter of his own. Snickering, he waved them goodbye and grabbed the weapon on his way out.

    " Don't get killed, boy! "

    After a bit of running, he reached the other two. He waved at them, a bit of surprise on his face as his hues sough out Nispa, their very scrambled being occupying the middle of the stream. The octopod didn't seem too bothered by the fact, so he gleefully returned their smile and offered a hand to help them up.

    Was a bit of a trek, but eventually the destination was reached. Trailing behind the other two, he remained staring at the entrance for a moment, listening the faint words of the pale lady as they read out the foreign script. The very essence of the place could've been described as looming, a beastial presence that lurked, alert and unresting, waiting for something.

    Or someone.

    Though it was silent and deserted by both civilization and wildlife, bereft of sound and all marks of ongoing life, he still felt watched. At the mouth of the tomb a forceful draft went past his feet, pulling at his cloak with chilly fingers, and he would halt once again to just listen. The deep hummed, calm and inviting, but he refused to believe such a welcome.

    The collective pushed on, downwards and into the small open space, the latter exponentially humid and somewhat crowded. Attentive, he swung his makeshift torch to split the dark in browsing of detail, taking a bit of distance from the rest that had occupied with staring at bodies and murals. His interest laid on the untouched walls, some of them dripping with water from previous downpour, and he focused on searching and scraping at the rock at the edges of the room.

    Probably not deep enough...

    A strange sensation went through his stomach as he turned to address the others, sending a shiver down his spine. The ground felt like it fell from under his feet. He yelled, voice a shaken croak as a tidal wave of chill flushed over him, stealing the flame off his torch.


    The darkness was like ink, thick and fluid to the touch. He could only see an arm's length, trying the corporeal blackness with his fingers. It seemed to swallow them, but when he pulled back all of him remained intact. He tried to listen, but heard nothing. Even the prior cavernal hum was gone, giving his ears naught but absolute and all-consuming quietness.

    Standing up, he spun on his heel and muttered a couple prayers, attempting to calm himself down.
    What would Mirche do, what would Mirche do, whatwouldMirchedowhatwouldMir-


    The voice seemed strangled of air, too small for him to recognize it. His hues searched around for a source, yet all that met him was emptiness.

    " Llewellyn!? " He screamed out, releasing the shout into the soundless realm that enveloped.


    " Mirche! Ada!? " He tried again, from the top of his lungs, force of the scream searing his throat.



    " I can't see you! Where are you!? " He could hear his own accelerating heartbeat in his ears, rushing betwixt his breaths that grew frantic.

    it hurts

    make it stop

    A heaviness curled up in his throat. His eyes were burning, hazy with inflating despair that grew behind his hues, crippling and disorienting.


    His knees gave way and he screamed again to dismiss the will to sob, howling and roaring at the unechoing maelstormal vastness like a caged beast. He hit his fists against the cold floor, doubling over.

    The whispers deadened. The silence was absolute.

    A chill flushed over him like a breeze, brushing through his shivering ponytail.


    A warm breath caressed his ear.
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    HRP : Asked Meriele about it, and he think he won't have time to participate, so it's the three of us.

    Time passed. Seconds, minutes, hours, months, years. Of course, all of it was illusory, but to Lilieth, it felt as real as it could.

    An apparition came to her : Her mother. The Ghost was a perfect depiction, created from her memories, everything about her was perfect, her appearence, the way she stood, gazed at her. Lilieth was startled a few second, before getting a grip.

    The apparition slowly walk to her and then hug her, but Lilieth was stone cold in her embrass, even when the ghost turned into a rotting, worm-filled corpse, it barely cause Lilieth any reaction. She slowly turned her head, and stared into the orbit of her "mother corpse".

    If a look could kill, then hers would have anihilated even stone into powder. It was the contempt and disgust that could only be born from watching at the most wretched existence in the world.

    If Lilieth was not startled by this show, the ghost actually was. Even the illusion nearly break as the old spirit powering the formation felt a cold sweat despite being dead for millenias.

    After this, he didn't tried any skin contact, instead, he sent everything he had, every face, every friend, every foes. It was like reliving every single balefull moment of her life. When finally it was the time of reliving her imprisonnement, and the darkness, Lilieth merely sit crosslegged, contemplating, before telling out of the blue.

    " I'm pretty sure that might work, can you try the whole sequence one more time? Just to be sure. "

    A cold snort echoed, as the Ghost appeared within the darkness and answered :

    " So heartless, not something to be proud about young calf "

    Lilieth close her eyes briefly, smiling lightly. Heartless she was not. But her memories, she spent a lot of time with, and she settled her grief long ago. To her, it was more of an opportunity, the same linguishing feeling that one would get by gazing at the portrait of their ancestors. Portraitn she had not, vivid memories where all she had, until today that it.

    " Come on, I'm just teasing you ! Go on ! Show me what you got please "

    The ghost got depressed. For millenias he stood here, prying into people mind and grinding their sanity, A reconversion in the entertainement business wasn't exactly on his career plan though.

    " What it already dead cannot be killed eh ... Seem like I will hardly be able to do worse than what you were already put through. Fine. Just die here alone. "

    It would surely take more time, and use a lot more of energy, but trapping her mind in the illusion was also a sure way to kill her. Lilieth smiled, and just snapped her finger.

    With a sound of broken glass, the whole world shattered around them, causing the Ghost to have a feeling of impending doom mixed with dread.

    " What ... "

    Before he could add another word, an terrifying large vertical eye opened, lazily looking at him. There was no sense of agression in it, not opression, nor any feeling, which made the suffocating opression that rose even harder to shoulder.

    There was no need for the demonic being to exert any pressure, it's merely existence was enough to supress the poor ghost into dying a graveless death.

    The world around them was made of bone and rotting flesh, even the ground behind their feet was an ankle deep pool of blood. From the blood, another existence rose, smaler that the eye, and a lot less opressive, but still a lot to big to fit into the pool, dispelling any question about this world still being illusory. It was a mix between a snake, and a centipede. Unlike the colossal eye, it exert no opression, and more, a temptation. The baleful aura it release froze all sense of fear of self-preservation. It wasn't "strong", but so dark that no human mind could work rationnaly while being invaded by it.

    The Ghost was a powerfull all timer, but it barely snapped out of it before slowly walking to its doom. It was the same thing as a prey entering a catatonic state before a predator. It was like the snake/centipede demon embodied the whole concept of devouring, and that nothing could resist it.

    Lilieth slowly walked, without giving a lot of thought to the old ghost, and sat on the bone thrones. She was minuscule next to the two baleful monster, but she still execrated an arrogant imperial aura that didn't loose to the other two.

    " I had time to explore the knicks and knacks of my own mind, and to temper the place, you like the decoration? Might be a bit out of fashion by now but I assure you it was so modern back then ... "

    it was to be known, that would have she been allowed to mature fully during the last millenia, Lilieth would have been a supreme existence by now that had nothing to envy gods. If her body and her bloodline hadn't mature, and probably wouldn't before the passing a whole new era, her mind had been tempered by a millenia of fighting over the edge of madness and had reached its full potential.

    Not even speaking about the fact that her powerfull bloodline ancestor manifestation, the eye, developped a pseudo conscience of its own, of the fact her clan split their soul at birth for a shard of primordial sin, Glutonny in her case, embodied by the snake, creating two powerfull behemots residing within of sea of consciousness, her will alone could bend anything if someone chose to invade her mind.

    " You, I like you. So I'll offer you a deal, extermination of this remnant of your soul, or service. Who know, I might even encounter at some point some opportunity to let you reconstruct your body. Would that be nice? ... "

    The ghost trembled, his whole body shivering. It couldn't be sure where the bluff began and where truth ended, but for some reason, he had a gut deep feeling she shouldn't try and find out.

    " Mi... Great daughter of the heave... of the seven hells. Even if those old bones could be of any use to you, there is no way for me to leave this place anyways, as I'm bound to this place for eternity. "

    Lilieth sneered : " Enough, if what I do believe is here actually is, it won't be an issue much longer. "

    The ghost trembled even more, stuterring : "You ... know ? How?"

    " Calculated it with my fingers ... You know, for someone as old as me, legend are mere legend but tales do carry taboo truth. You just need to be litterate enough in this generation to find some clues ignored by others. "

    The ghost felt his soul leaving him, and merely stuttered : " This old bones sure wouldn't dare to refuse such an opportunity to walk the path of the dark era and see the crescent gates fall. I'm sorry young noble, but I can hardly offer you my name though, as even myself won't be able to remember it. "

    Lilieth sneered : " I see some have done their reading too. As for your name, I'll just call you Old Ghost for now on, so, Old Ghost, reading to swear loyalty on your soul? "

    When Lilieth finally opened her eyes in the real world, the other two had already broken out from the spell. She smiled and stood, as the rune powering the spell deemed in submission before them.

    " What an enjoyable little nap "
    Edited by Lilieth, Sep 27 2017, 03:34 PM.
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    And yet, she had been here before.
    She knew this section of the forest; it was her home. The boy in her arms was dead. Her own rotting hands clenched into fists. She shouldn't be here. She couldn't be here! The fire had raged through here over a year ago. The forest itself was a lie.
    She stood up, her flesh melting into the leaves and her bones turning black from smoke and decay. That did not stop her. Her eyes had atrophied and seeped from their sockets and into the leaf-litter below, but she realized that that was not why her vision was black. This assaulter was a mind-dweller, and she was fighting its barrage without even noticing. Such were her mind powers. With a steadying breath, she lowered her defences and let it in.
    The forest came to life in brilliant orange light. The fire burned just as brightly as she remembered. Exactly like she remembered. She saw the body by her feet. He was just as he had been, all that time ago. His hind leg ripped open, his fingers curled around his ears, a foreleg seeming to twitch in the flickering blaze...
    She raised her eyes and saw the Ghost.
    He was ancient, but that was to be expected. Upon connecting with her gaze, his smile faltered and his laughter ceased. His eyes narrowed; he glared at her for daring to defy him. She didn't wait for him to say anything. She closed her eyes and found his mind. It wasn't shaped like those of the living. His was a parasitic mind, with tendrils and feeders and probing spines. It didn't have a source. For a second, she was confused; then, she blinked her eyes open. The fire, the blaze, these were her memories. It was already inside her mind. His must be elsewhere, with his tendrils and probes latched on to all three of them. All she had to do was cut it off from her.

    All at once, she raised her defences and seized the tendrils of his mind. He fought her, of course, but his attention was divided three-way and hers was not. She grappled with him, a silent battle of mental resiliency. The forest flickered around her. The flames, the trees, various landscapes and houses and sceneries all flashed through her focus as their fight went on. She felt him winning, putting more effort and focus into beating her. She gritted her teeth, straining against him...

    His mind pulled back. She blinked her eyes open, gasping at the sudden retreat. She was back in the crypt. Her mind felt like putty. She took a minute to collect herself, slumping down to the floor and resting her head in her hands. It was still morning, but she felt exhausted. She pressed her fingers to her temples. Gods was she sore...

    Fragments of though gradually combined until she had some sort of idea of what just happened. The ghost was centuries old. She didn't beat it by herself. One of the others must have demanded its full attention, and her eyes came to rest on which one it was. She blinked, then smirked. "What an enjoyable little nap."

    Nispa groaned. As if Lilieth wasn't awesome enough... Nispa fancied herself a bit of a mental warrior, but Lilieth hardly appeared fazed by the whole ordeal. She didn't have the energy to be wary. Instead, she simply lowered her head in respect.

    She pushed her hands against her knees and hoisted herself upright. Yaropolk, too, followed suit. Like her, he appeared shaken but otherwise unharmed. Nispa turned instead to Lilieth again. She tried to speak. Her voice cracked and no sound came out. She tried again, louder. "H-how long has he been here? And why is he here?" The questions continued to trickle into her mind, but she wouldn't ask too many. She was beginning to think that this expedition was a bit over her head, and that getting involved in the first place was a bad idea.
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