[size=+3]BROKEN ROADS, BROKEN BEGINNINGS[/size]
[size=+1]“I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known.
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone.”[/size]
[size=+2]- Green Day, 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams'
[size=+1]I'd like to tell you how the world ended.
Really, I would.
But I can't. No-one can.
It's not because we don't to. It's not like we don't wish we could. There's not some big fucking conspiracy out to keep you in the dark that everyone's a part of. There's not a day goes by when I wish I could sit anyone down and let them know precisely why we're all up shit creek and missing a paddle.
No, the answer's far simpler than that.
No-one can tell you why Iwaku's broken because no-one remembers.
Our past is a riddle to which we are forever denied the answer. We can see the relics of it in the broken world around us, in the few facts of our history we cling to. But we cannot recollect it, no matter how hard we try.
Most don't know why this is. Most have given up caring, abandoned it as a lost cause and moved on to more pressing matters like surviving and staying alive. Can't say I blame them; when you have the scarcity of food, the rarity of water that won't kill you, the threat of disease claiming you and the danger of some raider fuck killing you for the clothes on your back you don't really have time to grapple with the issue of why the past remains a mystery to us all. Especially when you have no idea why it's gone in the first place.
But I do.
I know why we're trapped in ignorance, why we're doomed to repeat the past over and over.
And what's more, I think I know how we can fix it.
All I need are the people to make it happen, and the tools we need to do it.
That is what has brought me to Rift Town, the port built on a small fragment in the northern region of Iwaku...[/size]
Life in Rift Town is easier than it is in some of the more isolated regions of the world.
Not that this is saying much.
One of the few hubs of the fledgling trade routes of the new broken Iwaku, the town enjoys the goods, talents and experiences of people from many corners of the world. The trade has led to the establishment of a basic infrastructure. There are shops, warehouses, and a functioning dock where airships can make sail from.
That's not to say it's a bastion of morality and civilisation amidst a wasteland, however.
Far from it.
Those who've profited from the trade routes are few, and those who've toiled to see Rift Town get to where it is now are many... and they've seen little reward for it. Poverty, disease and sickness are common in many of the dingier parts of the town. As is petty crime.
Yet for all it's flaws, Rift Town remains a far safer place to call home than most places in this shattered world. And for that reason people flock to it; for all the expanding slums are grim, the diseases deadly and the crime a risk, it sure as hell beats living out in the wastes, at risk of bandit raids, attacks by mutated creatures and the lack of food.
Soon she drifted back into consciousness to find herself on an air ship. The only thing on her person was her clothes. Everything, even her necklace was gone. A pang of panic shot through her heart. She didn't know why, but she felt like above all that necklace was most precious to her. The dim dungeon within which she was trapped smelled vaguely of decay, the scuttling of small creatures she dared not provoke breaking the despairing silence of the place. Dang, I really got myself into trouble this time.
The caged bird flitted to and fro in her cell, surveying her confines. She was in a cell about 5x5 meters, and there were 5 cells on each side, separated on all sides by bars spaced about half a meter apart. Acqua couldn't help but smirk before checking around to make sure there weren't any guards on standby. With little struggle she managed to slide between a pair of bars. Escape Cell. Check.
Now that she was free of her cell, she began to notice that piled up at the end of the make-shift prison was a pile with numerous spoils, most likely gained through shady enterprises she would otherwise have no awareness of. Acqua noticed a pink glimmer among the pile, her satchel open, her necklace intact. Momentarily she rushed forth, her shoes kicking in as she fluttered across the prison's hall and to the pile. She quickly retrieved her satchel and turned, advancing back to a door that led upward. She put her ear close to the door to make sure no-one was there before she opened the door without going forward. Light flooded her vision as the sound of several rounds pounded her ears. She was now awake
Acqua snapped out of her dream, the sudden light coming through the window of her cabin in an airship. She stared out the window, the port of Rift Town just a few minutes away, the rest of the place fading into monotonous forms. She couldn't believe that she was actually getting off that bandit-infested island she had been trapped on since she had first came to. She really thought she was safe now, or at least she hoped so, for she had paid for the cabin with all the money she had managed to grab from the petty bandits that had troubled her in the past months. Sadly, part of her knew that this was just a delusional fantasy of hers, and that the hard times would continue, so her indigo eyes still refused to brighten, her lips still failing to curl into some sort of smile.
She felt around her neck, grabbing at her necklace until her fingers tugged on it, reassured that it had not been taken from her in her sleep. She got up from the small bed given to her and got dressed. After gathering whatever possessions of hers were lying around the room into her satchel, she took the key to the room and left. She ascended a series of stairs up to the deck where she met several elements old and new to her. The chilly air was something she was not accustomed to during the day, the cold only plaguing the nights of her arid "home." The sunlight was all too familiar, yet much more gentle. The sun that once beat most into submission those who dared to bask in it too long now welcomed the land with a light embrace. It's cold but I guess I can get used to it.
Soon the ship came to a halt, docking in the port with a few others. After handing over a key to a guard at the exit, she hastily went off, ready to seek something more than mere survival, than mere existence in this shattered land.
Summary: Acqua wakes up from a bad dream and enters Rift Town from an airship.
Skye looked out over Rift Town from her perch on the roof of a smaller building, her brown eyes scanning the desolated city, a dry wind brushing through her long hair, yet it was better than her last home in a small encampment out on the wastes, it hadn't been a prolonged situation, only a necessary thing to do before reaching the safest city now a days. The group she'd travelled with had already scattered for the wind, they had only been working and living together out of necessity, to be safer out in the wilderness. Skye had to admit that so far Rift Town was safer and more structured than her last home in place barely worthy of being called a town, sure she had no job and no money but stealing didn't really bother her as it was either that or starvation. Her gloved fingers played absently with her necklace, in the simple silver design a sapphire was kept safe and snug, she'd always had this necklace, Skye couldn't remember why or how she'd gotten it but it helped her with her powers so she kept it, and the gnawing feeling deep inside that it was something important from the past she couldn't recall.
Flipping her brown hair over her shoulder the young woman rose up, stretching her lithe limbs before making her way down the outside of the building, grabbing hold of windows, rough edges of the wall and other small hand holds and with an elegant jump she landed in a dirt filled alley. Leisurly she strolled out of the alley, all too used to the life on the streets and she weaved in and out of the crowd, her light brown and beige clothes added with her brown hair made it easy for her to melt in with the background and Skye was not below exploiting that to her benefit. Walking into a store she checked around to see what she wanted but soon walked out and as soon she'd gotten outside she broke into a quick jog and turned several corners until she could see the docks beyond the buildings ahead of her. Opening her messenger bag Skye picked out her free food and gulped it down quickly, that was a thing she'd learned, if you want to keep your food it while you still have it in your hand or else it will feed someone else that day.
This wasn't a life in her eyes though, there must have been something more in the world before the shattering if only there was a way to remember what caused this miserable excuse for a world, Skye glared at a stone wall as if it was the cause of all things gone wrong, it didn't budge or apologise or fixed anything not that she'd expected anything but sometimes she wished it was that easy. That those guilty would just fix their wrong doings and then mend the scars and all would be well again. Of course it was a foolish wish, nothing in life were that easy, her life, what she could recall of it had tought her that, but Skye wished that for once the reward would be worth the troubles but that didn't seem to happen anytime soon.
Kicking a rock with a booted foot Skye stuck her hands in her pockets and continued her aimless route through the town, her hair gently billowing behind her in tact with her steps, the gun on her hip, the sapphire against her skin and the knowledge inside her was a comfort and with that thought the young woman mingled with the other inhabitants of Rift Town always on edge if someone stpid enough to try and mug her were to make a move.
The donkey drawn carriage train was rumbling through the streets of a new place. Rift Town. It was a center for trade and what little industry there was this side of the dunes. Everything could be bought, sold, or gambled away here. Drugs, guns, food, water, people, lives, animals, secrets. It was all a matter of knowing the right person, and he had paid for his passage by having a gun and the traders wanting as many of those on their side as possible.
"Right, thanks for the ride, I'll get off here."
The very fact that anything and everything was a commodity here was exactly why Raziel had come here. If his long search was to bare fruit then there was a good chance it would do so here. But he wouldn't run off immediately to information brokers, one needed contacts in a place like this, maybe doing a couple of jobs would give him some and a reputation. The money wouldn't hurt either.
The Runaway wasn't the best place to get a drink and a meal, but it was a good place to find work and word, he had heard about it even before coming to Rift City from the same merchants he had traveled with. It also had a back room with just the kinds of chemicals Raziel needed.
Inside was dingy and grimy and no one gave him more than a second glance as he walked strait to the bar ignoring the cards, the drifter, the "company" for hire, he was running low.
"Painkillers, anything stronger than the crap they sell outside, now."
Already his hand was starting to hurt and he raised it, watching it shake as he clenched and unclenched it. The bar man looked at him and Raziel looked back his hand reaching out to slip the weigh of a few coins into the man's pocket. "And a drink, Thank you."
"A'rite keep yer hair on." He said reaching into his back pocket and placing a bottle on the counter.
Raziel smiled and lifted the bottle as the man turned to go into the back another employee stepped forwards to take his place. Ugh.. the drink here were strong but tasted like puke, little more than liquified bread it both nourished and got you drunk, a bust have for shithole towns everywhere.
"Ere we go."
The barman was back and placed a syringe on the counter, but seeing it Raziel did not pick it up.
"What is this..." he pointed to the syringe. "Its cracked, the seal is broken. Not watering it down are you?"
Maybe he shouldn't have spoken so loud as a hush fell over the bar.
Coming up from the southern entrance, Curiose clung to a piece of rubble that protruded from the rubble outside of the town ahead. Tucked carefully in the crook of her arm was her umbrella, opened fully to block the sun from her eyes. She had stared at the Shroom looking thing that she had tied to her waist for safe keeping. It was a frail piece of rope she had found through her travels that, despite its crude appearance, would have to suffice for now. Even as much as the Deity had whined to her about how Gods shouldn't have to be treated in such a fashion.
The woman never questioned the words her mushroom had said to her, the possibility of fame, of power... of knowledge. In all good time, she knew that the Prophecy will be completed and she would have been the hand to make it happen. She would have been the one to give the Will of the Mushroom to all of Iwaku, to make everyone believe in him, in his abilities, and most of all, to destroy that evil cult that worshipped the Shroom's nemesis: The Tomato Cultists. Those evil heretics who used her beloved fungus, who brough him up, brought him to such great heights and then, out of nowehere, dropped him like a bad habit. It was infuriating, and her hatred grew ever more each day. They will be the first to go in t he new beginning. Yes, they will be erradicated... each and every one of them. Like flies on a rotting carcass, they are numerous! But they will ALL find their end!
With an eerily impish cackle, and a swift closing of the umbrella, Curiose crawled up the piece of rubble and jumped down it, running towards the entrance.
She had not had the deity with her for very long. A few days, if any. Yet, in those few days, Curiose was able to learn great things from it. It had stories, hundreds and hundreds of epic tales that captivated her, that made her wish to share them all. It just took a proper audience in order to do so. Finally, she made her way to the one place where people would listen.
The bustling of people, of commerce, rumors and lies flooded her ears. Thoughts buzzed like angry creatures. They spawned everywhere, in every crevace of her mind. She slowly began to think of jsut what she would shout to the people of Rift City. She laughed again, maniacly, and quickly untied her God from her waist so he could get a view of everything around them. A wide smile brimmed across her face as she listened to the thoughts of her accomplice, who also began formulating things to say. Happily, she swung him round and round. The movement ended up unbalancing Curiose, and she fell, completely misplacing her God and umbrella as he tumbled out of her hands into the street before her. With a scream of awful dread, Curiose watched while a passerby spotted the Mushroom and pocket it. With a twitch and a quick pick up of her umbrella, the woman marched over to the man who eyed her warily with suspect.
"Curi would like her Mushroom back, please!" She stated it with bright confidance, motioning to the man's now bulging pocket. The man, whom didn't want to get rid of his precious dinner, only pushed the newcomer out of his way and went on his way.
It was like watching a mass of killings: Horrifying. The one thing that she needed to survive was walking away, would be desicrated after being mutilated, and only then feasted upon. That, she could not allow to happen. Her beloved Shroomy will NOT be dinner tonight, or any other night! No sir-ee! Not with Curi there to stop it!
Swiftly, the weapon locked inside the umbrella slipped free from its wooden sheeth and appeared to be a slim sword, just small enough to be tucked inside the umbrella's handle. Then, as Curiose once more marched over to the man, she tapped his shoulder. As he spun around, there was a look of annoyance. "Oh, you again. I thought I--" And with that, he was cut off. Literally. The head rolled passed the perpetrator's feet as the body slumped to the side. Curiose dug inside the carcass' pockets for her God, and wisthdrew him proudly, snuggling against the soft texture of its cap. She promised she'd be more careful, and went onward to seek out the perfect place to say her speech.
Behind her, others stared as she walked away, puzzled, and worried about what just entered Rift City.
Cressen walked out of a shop with clean clothes on his back. He had been in Rift Town for just over three days and couldn't wait to leave. Even though a lot of the ghosts had said that the population of the town wasn't very big, it was stilll to croweded for him. He would have avoided the town, if he wasn't in need of clean clothes, considering when he came into town, his clothes were battered and ripped as well as made him smell like the walking dead. Now theres a paradox, an undead caring about how he smells to the rest of the world, when he hates crowds. Holding his sword in his right hand and his travelling sack in his right, Davos turned right and started to walk down the broken down street, keeping a light grip on his sword, in case he needed to defend himself. It felt normal to Cressen having a sword in his hand and the spirit blade tucked in his left sleeve invisible to the world, what felt strange was that he couldn't remember how he obtained either of them.
Yet he had used both of them, and every move he made felt natural and fluid. It was weird not knowing much about himself, the only things he could remember was that he was able to see, talk and hear spirits since he was a kid, he was the one to place the binding circle on his tongue. Yet the important events were the ones he couldn't remember, like who killed him, how did he acquire his sword and the spirit blade, which he had heard rumours about being a very rare and valuable weapon. It was answers to this kinds of questions that he was looking for and would go to any means to find.
Continuing down the road, Cressen's purple eyes darted back and forth looking for a place to buy his food, even though he hardly got hungry anymore and could go weeks without food and sleep, yet there was always something about having a warm meal that satisfied Cressen. Finding a place not as run down as the others, without reading the sign, Davos walked into the bar called The Runaway. Walking into the building, the first thing he noticed was the lack of light, which was better for his eyes and was able to make out the details of almost everyone inside. The next thing he noticed was the large crowd in a small building. "Fuck" was all Davos said. Why did this place have to have so many people crammed into a small space. It seemed no matter where he went over the past few days, every nook and cranny was occupied by at least two people. Deciding to suck it up Cressen started to shove his way past the crowds and slowly made his way to the bar at the other end.
Finally making it to the other side, Cressen sat down on a bar stool a couple of seats down from Raziel and pulled a couple of silvers out of his jacket, slaming them on the bar counter. "A hot meal and a beer please" he told the bartendar as the silvers were taken away and replaced by four copper coins. While waiting for his meal, Cressen turned around on his bar stool and pretended not to be afraid and paranoid of the massive crowd, while playing with his skull handled sword and looked around, finding every exit and memorizing everybody's place in the bar.
This was merely a stopping point for now, a place to take a rest from the wandering. There were more shops and more information around here than anywhere else, for the most part. Save for the one or two towns like this one, that is. This one seemed to be the most important, however, and whether it was because of an auspicious location or some other reason beyond fathoming, this place got the most interesting news and things seemed just a little more alive here.
For her part, Na'ava had just gotten into town a few hours ago and had proceeded to the bar to get her hands on something to eat and perhaps a bit of alcohol to drink. Alcohol was better than water, so much better, and that meant that the bar was the place to go. Now, sitting over the remains of a hot meal and some questionable but undeniably strong alcohol, she felt at ease again. In these poor times, they often made you pay before you got served so that they knew you were good for it and that meant that she could relax and no one would come bother her for her coin. This gave her all the luxury to watch the other patrons, especially the one who seemed like he might be causing a bit of a fuss.
Her ears were instantly perked by his words and her eyes trained on him at once. Na'ava liked fights, she liked something to do and some skulls to crack, one of the things that made her father proud of her. Especially now, feeling thick and a little drunk, she was interested in the prospect of a fight. She didn't know what it was about, but she was more than happy to participate. No swords in a good old fashioned bar fight, but she could throw a punch to send them reeling and seeing stars, even without her gauntlets. Edging to her feet, Na'ava let her gaze wander lazily over the man who seemed to be instigating it. She was just waiting for an in, a chance to get involved in something.
"Please, stop shouting. There is no reconstructive effect to vocal expression, you are making it difficult to amputate."
"N-n-no! Don't! NOOO!"
"Don't? Do not? Do not what? Do not amputate or do not speak? I could understand the latter, my bedside manner is perhaps suffering from my current annoyance at your excessive noise, but the first is ludicrous."
"Yes you stupid quack! Don't...Don't amputate!"
"How foolish, however will I cure your infection if I do not remove the infected flesh and bone?"
"Antibiotics? Medicine? Please, anything, I need my leg."
"Rather greedy of you, born with two and unwilling to part with one...but very well. If you have the appropriate monetary value, I can treat your infection without the loss of your leg."
"Anything, Gods, anything. Just please...please."
"Very well, very well. Are you certain? It would be far easier to simply continue sawing and-"
"No! Gods! Are you insane? NO!"
Doctor Surgeon sighed, replacing the bone saw within the inside of his coat. People were certainly confusing. In their need to be healed they felt they had the power to tell him how best to do his work. Were they a surgeon? No. Were they a doctor? No. If they were, they would have healed themselves and saved him the trouble. Not that he was complaining, well, not really. If the man wanted his infected leg, that was all the same to Doctor Surgeon. Certainly there was no shame in a prosthetic, and travel by hopping not only invigorated balance, but also lent a presumably comedic entertainment to companions. To Doctor Surgeon, the loss of the leg far exceeded the benefits of keeping it.
The pirate, irate, dumped a pile of gold Engels to the floor and thrust his gangrenous leg up toward the physician. So impatient, so impatient. He had at least two more days before the infection would be irreversible, why the hurry? Sighing again, cocking his bird-headed mask to the side, Doctor Surgeon retrieved a syringe and tapped the end of it. The application of the antibiotic was quick, piercing flesh and depressing the plunger before withdrawing and replacing the syringe in a pocket. He took the gold as well, vanishing into his uniform as he deftly removed bandages and a splint, wrapping the leg in a matter of moments.
"There you are," Doctor Surgeon commended, bringing up both hands and pointing out his index finger, inverting them against each other to form a smile beneath his beak, "You will need to take a week off of general movement, allow the leg time to heal." He nodded, tapping the mask's forehead, "And remember not to apply rusty blades to the infected area...or perhaps any area in particular for the rest of your life. Such would invite a relapse." The pirate stared at him, dumbfounded, but Doctor Surgeon was already standing and dusting off his uniform. "I am Doctor Surgeon, Doctor Surg for short, Doc for shorter, and ____for shortest. Thank you for your patronage and tell your friends I offer Diagnosis Wednesdays on Fridays and Sundays now." He paused, finger out, as though about to finish the thought with a farewell, thought better of it, and turned on his heel. Goodbyes implied he would not see the other again and certainly with that fellow's lifestyle, it was all the more likely he would see him again.
The Runaway was a respectable bar, or at least someone had told him that once. It was strange. How does one respect a bar...or barring that, how does a bar respect you? The conundrum hadn't been explained and so Doctor Surgeon had simply filed it under enigmas left to be solved. He paused at the door, adjusting his mark and stretching. Stretching was important, it invigorated muscles and prevented cramping. It was a wonder more people did not pause for periodic stretching these days. Perhaps if they did they wouldn't be as injured.
Ah! There was the rub of it! If he told them to, it might deplete his business. Doctor Surgeon was an excellent doctor and surgeon, but he routinely gave bad advice in hopes he would be called upon to use his skill again. With nothing in his past but disjointed memories and a whole lot of empty space, it seemed he had been put on Iwaku for the purpose of putting it back together. Without that purpose, what was he really? A strange man in a coat that jabbed people with needles, that's what. And Doctor Surgeon rather didn't like the idea of stabbing people with needles that did not need needles stabbed within them. It was the principle of it.
Stepping into the bar, he caught the tail end of the conversation. Of course the patron should complain if the seal was cracked. What sort of medical professional would EVER sell such dangerous chemicals to a customer? The act alone was enough to wind the Doctor, and he put a hand against the wall to steady his sense of monumental shock.
Not only did the bartender not immediately apologize and provide a cleaner replacement, but he asked the customer to leave! What a strange bar!
"Rather unrespectful people to associate with." The doctor whispered conspiratorially to the wall he leaned on, hoping the 'respectful' bar would understand. Doctor Surgeon didn't blame it. Sometimes it was hard to measure the character of an individual. It didn't respond to any ailment and could not be accurately measured without extensive and dangerous work to the brain. Not that Doctor Surgeon discounted that possibility, but people seemed to take offense when you opened their skull to measure personality...not medically viable, maybe.
Recovering from his shock, Doctor Surgeon stepped forward and took the Syringe from the counter, examining it. Taking the needle he plunged it into his own arm and depressed the plunger, cocking his head to the side twice, regarding both of them.
"I am afraid your customer is correct," Doctor Surgeon revealed with what almost seemed a hint of choked emotion. He added that himself...people always said he didn't sound emotional enough. "This chemical is mixed with Saline, common salt compound and I'm afraid would not yield the results your customer seeks." He would have frowned, but it was lost with his mask. So instead he placed the plunger down on the table, brought up both his hands and stuck out his index fingers, inverting them in an upside down V beneath his beak. "Allow me to remedy the disparity...for taking your product, bartender, allow me to replace it with a serviceable one. Perhaps, in this manner, we may all benefit from mutually beneficial medical addictions." He inverted the fingers up into a smile before reaching into his pocket and replacing the cracked syringe with a full syringe.
But wait...if they fought, they would have need of his assistance. Perhaps this altruistic approach would yield more harm than benefit! Doctor Surgeon paused, hand on the syringe, indecisive. He had already offered to replace it, and all eyes were on him and his strange attire. Doctor Surgeon only liked to be the center of attention when being praised. This was uncomfortable. That and the way some of the customers eyes the syringe gave him the impression they wanted more.
He certainly hoped they did not think he would give everyone a syringe, they were hard to make these days and he needed all that he had.
Gingerly he left the syringe on the table, taking a step or two back. "Well, yes, there you are...and may I suggest, sir or madam, that in the future you check the viability of your products. Why, had your initial compound been mixed with anything else, you might have killed your customer...certainly a result you were not looking for." He used his finger smiles before taking a seat, retrieving the broken syringe from his coat and beginning to dissemble it. The glass was useless, but perhaps the needle and other parts could be scavenged. As far as Doctor Surgeon was concerned, he had done his good deed for the day. If a fight broke out in such an establishment, well, all the better.
For now, however....he had Doctor stuff to do.
And that always seemed to take primary importance.
It varies a lot depending on my schedule, unfortunately.
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
I perched on the balls of my feet atop the rubble, shoulders hunched, the high collar of my faded jacket jutting up stiffly like a sportsman's face-guard over my bared teeth. My eyes glowed faintly in the gloaming under the spastic street lamp as my gaze skittered between shadows. Rift Town was a wrecked heap of lost memories and doubts, a monument to uncertainty... but three things I knew in my bones: My name was Chanter, a name summoned up from the scattered fragments of my scrambled past. This place was Iwaku, a wasteland of long-gone glory. And there was something- someone?- that I was meant to find.
And so I would hunt.
Blowing a strand of straggly dark hair out of my eyes, I jumped down into the alley behind the bar. The Runaway, as the sign proclaimed. What was a name, though? Nothing. You couldn't touch it, couldn't eat it, couldn't glean any real answers. Hissing quietly, I pried open the back door of the grubby establishment with my nails, slipping in through the kitchen and ducking between doorways. Food... I needed food. Cheese, maybe, or black beans. Salmon, if I was very lucky. Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the scents of the bar, nose stinging with alcohol and scant cooking meat. There was something... Something...
Head snapping in the direction of the citrus aroma, I scampered over to the hanging basket of fruit, swiping one and crouching down to tear into it. My nails scrabbled at the peel; cursing under my breath, I tapered them to a point, sharp claws that bit easily into the hard shell. I popped a slice into my mouth, chewing ravenously.
I could hear voices through the wall. Unfriendly tones, the sort that heralded a fight. My hackles rose, and I hastened to eat the rest of my pilfered prize before things took a turn for the worse.
After quickly exiting the port and surveying the hustle and bustle of the streets, Acqua soon caught on that the crowd would be less than friendly. If they're anything like the people I know back at that dump of a place, I should keep my stuff covered. Acqua quickly grabbed the wild back of mane, doing the best she could to braid her unruly mess of hair. Giving up on the back, she managed to make two loose braids on either side of her head which fell to her chest. Her necklace was now out of view from the sides but what about the front? She quickly pulled up the shirt covering her tank top to cover it. She tried to take whatever she could of her hair from the back that had not been braided and pulled it so that it fell frontward. The exotic bird, serenely emotionless as her countenance was, was unnerved by her environs.
Despite her taking the precautions she could, she was still a target. Her bright pink skirt and fair hair distinguishing her from those of more modest presentation, she knew well that it was only a matter of time before someone would try to mug her or even do worse. Still, her eyes betrayed the cold calculations occurring in the depths of her mind should one have dared to do so. Exotic birds aren't nearly as tame as those silly parakeets one sees imitating the speech of those who feed them. If provoked they'll fly like no domesticated dimwit could possibly do. Do note, though, they're quite ferocious when cornered, really. This one's never killed, but she sure has clawed up quite a few unskilled hunters; handle with caution.
Luckily for those on the hunt, none decided to chase her today, failing to see her possessions through her hair. She speedily made her way further into town, looking for a place to eat. Encountering The Runaway she glanced at the sign through her peripheral vision. She quickly followed an unusual figure with an eccentric mask. So it turns out I'm not the only unusual one here.
Witnessing the beginnings of a possible altercation, she soon felt that staying at this place was not such a good idea. Also, the smell of alcohol, a reminder of some of the more comical bandits she had encountered before coming here, was not the most welcoming scent. However, the sheer bulk of the crowd was a difficult thing for her to have navigated through without a few others having pushed through before her, and she was quite hungry, so she decided to stay, thinking quickly about how she would handle herself if a bar fight broke out.
Summary: Acqua hides her assets with her hair and shirt and after walking for awhile follows Doctor Surgeon into The Runaway only to notice that a bar fight is gonna break out soon.
Adventure stories! They can be fantasy, modern, sci-fi, all kinds! Give me some good world travel stories and I'm all over it! I also enjoy romance stories and even though I tend to play females I love playing gay men.
How long had it been since he had come here? Since he met...what were their names? How long since he was trapped in those tunnels? The other world? The castle? How long had it been since he had found the crown resting gently on his head? How long since it all fell apart, literally and figuratively? How strange it was for Zypher to be floating along all on his own in the broken tower of the castle that once stood at the head of Iwaku City. It was a comfortable stay for however long he was there, there was a bed, a small larder and a balcony that he could look out over the vast expanses of...nothing. Every once in a while he saw parcels of land floating by, nothing close enough to escape to, nothing that looked welcoming anyway.
How long had passed before he made a crash landing next to the docks of Rift Town, bringing his fate-imposed vacation. By the time he had figured out that he could get down to the angry people yelling at him for nearly destroying their docks it could've been days, even years. Slowly Zypher makes his way amongst the populous, his jacket zipped up, his pistols in their holsters as he wanted. A curious, almost childlike expression on his face as he picks his way past the rubble of his crash landing and towards the heart of this little floating shard of land.
He took in the sights, whatever they may be, run down and crummy. He was taken by his ears towards the sounds of what could be a promising scuffle, in all honestly Zypher was just happy to hear other human voices! He adjusted the crown that rested on his head and he made his way towards the commotion, but pausing just outside, wondering if it would even be a good idea to go inside, after all it wasn't every day that the Regent of Iwaku appeared. Would they respect him? Hate him? Blame him for the state of the world? It's possible that they wouldn't even recognize him as a leader. Wonderful, first day meeting new people and I'm already doubting myself. Well, at least I might make a friend. He smiled, an indomitable smile full of pride and maybe a twinge of ignorance to the situation.
"I'll go in when they quiet down..." He nodded to himself and waited for the voices to be calmed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall next to the entrance.
Rift Town was just the way she remembered it...wait. Liana stopped in her tracks in the middle of the street. That was already a bad thing. A woman with golden and ruby attire and a matching necklace standing stationary in the middle of a run down street? Liana's mind was too lost for her to pay attention to consequences of her actions. She had thought she remembered Rift Town, but it turned out she hadn't. Or had she? Nothing those days had a solid answer anymore. Why were most of the buildings on their last legs? Why was that man in the corner with the ragged beard scratching himself in that manor? Who left their shoe lying on the ground waiting for someone to scoop it up. How the hell did she even get there? Where was she going?
Out of the corner of her peripheral, a sign creaked in the distance reading 'The Runaway.' Liana established that sign to the answers to all of her questions. The buildings were on their last leg because The Runaway was the most successful run down bar in Rift Town. The bearded man proceeded to scratch himself because The Runaway was too expensive for him to afford an antidote. The shoe was lying on the ground because a fight was soon to break out in The Runaway....Alas! It had all came back to her, well, most of it. Liana woke up to a vision of a fight and that vision moved one foot after the other towards that store.
Which brought her to her next inner question: What was she going to do about it? It'd be death if she tried to stop it. Oh, no. She was going to let it happen. The entire fight didn't play off in her eyes, only a few words, grunts, and shouts. That thought sprouted the next inquiry: What was worth fighting over in that bar? Did someone demand an item and wasn't willing to pay for it? That deserved a swift punch to the face in her opinion. As curious as she was, Liana was not going to throw herself into a brawl. No. Not for free at least.
But who would honestly pay a coin for her services these days? The last thing the people in Iwaku needed was a Seer. If it was the past she could see, Liana would be rolling in thousands, maybe millions. Liana licked her lips. Hell, if she had a simple pear she'd look as far into the past as she could. That wasn't her forte, though. Her eyes only looked forward, not behind. Liana paused when she reached the entrance of the bar. Plan: Enter, duck, and ask for a pear. Her multi-colored eyes looked behind her and planned out an escape route if she had to steal the pear. That pear wasn't going to be the death of her. Oh, no. Not over a pear. If it came down to that, she'd kill every last one of those bastards in there for a pear. Repeating the enter-duck-ask plan Liana waited by the door for the right moment.
The threat upon her beloved was over, the heretic had been dealt with. Curiose was now able to spread the word of Shroomy with little to no fear. Well, just so long as he didn't slip from her tiny hands again.... Either way, she will deal with the thieves as they come and go. No one will ever get their paws on the deity. No one but herself, anyway. To carefully make sure she wouldn't drop it, she tucked it in her dress shirt. Surely, it should be fine there.
She gazed all through the city, keeping an eye on where people were coming and going. They all went to various places; different shops, corners, bars. The different groups of people were fairly obvious. Those human, those not, and those who'd kill to make a living. She shuddered. Death is such an awful thing, she thought to herself. Why must those kill, when they can be salvaged by the belief of her God? After pondering the thought some more, she scuttled over to a busier part of the city, watching as people both entered and exited a place she read as "The Runaway." Her head cocked to the side with curiosity, questioning why such a building would be named as such. With greater query, Curiose stood on her toes to try and see above the masses of heads who blocked her vision. Being short had its uses, but at this point in time, it was just an annoyance.
"EXCUSE ME!" She yelled, as she stamped her foot to try and see past a random body that stepped in front of her. In retaliation she opted to kick the person in the back of the knee as hard as she could before finally getting the sight she wanted. Yes, that would be the perfect place to go preaching. Lots of people, lots of traffic, and no doubt would there be plenty of substance for her to eat! Oh goodie.
Being just a hop and a skip away, that is exactly what Curiose did. A hop and a skip out of eagerness to both please Shroomy, and to make herself some new friends. If not that, then some followers would do. What is the difference? Follower, friend, they both started with an "f." Her head quirked with excitement while she slipped into the bar as another passerby exited. To her excitement, she was right. There were a lot of people here, and they all looked as though they would be the perfect targeted audience for her speech. Her left hand swung the umbrella to her right, using the former to open it completely. Like a parasol, she used it to balance herself while she hopped on a table irregardless of whose drinks or food were on top. She squealed happily at the idea of finally being able to share, growing an obnoxious smile. Slowly the woman began to compose herself, ignoring the grumbled patrons beneath her who cursed at the loss of their drinks. She coughed, clearing her throat one last time as a deep breath was drawn into her lungs.
"I have come to tell you great joy! Yes, you heard me right. Great joy. I have traveled the lands far and wide and I have come across a strange, yet magnificent creature who has told me great and awesome things." At her introduction the 'shroom was brought into light from her shirt. "He may not look strong, he may not look like a God, but he is -my- God. This fungus, this strange looking object that I have in my hand here, states we can find salvation! I come to recruit people for His cause, to fulfill a prophecy that he has told me.
"Long ago, this mushroom was weak, and insolent-- Sorry, Shroomy, you know it's true-- but now, he has grown strong. Strong and wise enough to lead people to a place where they shall be free, where they shall be rid of all human worries! Back then, those who worshiped him before the war did not believe him. They thought he was useless, they thought he was incapable of it! But now, with my help, with your help, we will be able to make his wishes come true. Such is the will of Shroomy, the Mushroom God. You may not hear him, but I do. I hear what he speaks, I know of this so called land. It is mystical, it is awesome. It is awe-inspiring. What do you say, will you all join me? Join us in our quest?"
Throughout the speech there was still talk and chatter as people went along their business. Some did stop and pay attention to what she had to say, how she waved her arms with passionate fervor. Her tone was saintly, it sounded of truth. It sounded of hope. Curiose remained at her pedestal-table watching the expressions of the people around her, waiting for someone, anyone, to speak up.
The patrons of The Runaway are more than a little confused by the series of steadily more unusual new individuals entering the bar.
The barman, however, isn't confused. He's just pissed.
A vast, thick-necked man with arms the size of tree-trunks and a reputation for sampling the product he sold under the table, he does not take kindly to someone wandering into his bar and insulting his product. And he particularly doesn't appreciate manic street preachers thinking they have the right to peddle their bullshit in here.
Time for a bit of shotgun diplomacy.
With a growl, he gives a nod to the trio of Shapeshifter bouncers who stand at various points around the bar. Heavily-built and muscled, clearly chosen for their size and intimidation factor, they look like beings uncomfortable in their current skin, like something beneath their flesh is just waiting to come bursting out. The barman himself reaches under the bar and withdraws a heavy sawn-off, levelling it at Raziel. “Don't think you heard me, friend. Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Bar.” I motions with his weapon to Curiose. “You as well. Get the fuck out of here. You wanna scream about your new god? Do it in the goddamn street.”
Simply put, things were about to get interesting in The Runaway...[/size]
Slow day today. There wasn't any needed work for him so he took it as a day off. Sitting in the corner of the bar with a bottle of foul tasting alcohol he sighed. He liked to watch the people pass by going about their business having a good time. They should. Their lifespans were so short. Too short in his opinion. How they could simple live out a few decades of life and then die, with little to say for themselves was disturbing, yet they made the best of it, or ruined it depending on their everyday whims. He however, he had been around a while. Even he couldn't remember how long he had been alive, but he suspected he had been around for a few centuries at least before the Shattering. First thing he could remember was waking up in a destroyed world, no recollection of anything before this. He twitched. He couldn't remember anything. Not even the Shattering itself, even though he must have lived through it. "Damned it all to the seven layers."
Suddenly he was pulled from his thoughts by the barkeep.
Frowning he realised he had missed the first part of the conversation. "Blast." Well now weapons were drawn. This would turn out fantastically. His normal attire would not fit well in the upcoming situation so it was time for a change. Trying not to attract any attention to is dcark corner of te bar he softed slowly, thought painfully. His general body size increased. His eyes were on the bouncers taking a stock of their size and mimicking it for himself. For attire However he went with something simple. Loose fitting jeans with not a few tears in the fabric. Tucked into the back of the jeans was a revolver. Six rounds already loaded. Ah yes a shirt, what to do for a shirt... For a shirt he stuck with someting local. A simple sleevless shirt which zipped up in the front. Weapons were present, so maybe a bit of armour would do. Over his left soulder, which was the side facing the rest of the bar formed a sort of plate. From his shoulder down to his elbow, then it extended further along so that the bottom was about level with the seat he sat upon. A helmet was upon his head, as well as kneepads on his knees. All of this was faded and looked old and used, but he hoped that would help him fit in, yet be ready for whatever needed doing.
An empty bottle sat on the table in front of him, his fingers wrapped around its base and tapping out a steady beat on its side. "Let us see what happens next...."
And all the patrons look on with apprehension, aware now that any wrong move could lead to sudden and brutal pandemonium.
It's not a patron that causes it all to go horribly wrong, however. Well, not really; as they move to forcibly eject Curiose out onto the streets, one of the shapeshifters accidentally knocks into a patron carrying several dented mugs of drink. The alcohol goes flying, as does their former holder, the vast size and stature of the 'shifter sending him sprawling into another table.
For a second, there's a final moment of calm, as it dawns upon everyone what is about to occur.
And then, chaos.
The mugs spill across the heads of patrons, the thrown drinker knocking over the table he landed on. Angry voices begin to howl with fury. Mugs are thrown. Chairs brandished. Violence begins to ensue as the first punch is thrown at the bouncers by a friend of the man they knocked over. A mug, the drink still spilling from it, hurtles across the bar and past Raziel's head, smashing into the barman.
The shotgun-brandishing owner collapses backwards, his weapon discharging into the air and only adding to the panic. Seeing the bar now unmanned, some of the more enterprising patrons decide that now is an excellent time to loot the bar of anything of worth.
In the midst of the chaos, the Shapeshifters throw off their jackets and burst into their true forms. Skin tears open to reveal thick, matted fur, hands bursting open to reveal claws, mouths widening with vast, pointed teeth. Werebears, here to keep the peace by busting heads and taking names.
The brawl had well and truly erupted in The Runaway.[/size]
Well things had gone from bad to confusing to worse, but hell, some guy had just put down painkillers on the counter, sure he was wearing a mast that frankly Raziel would feel better about if it was further away from him but that didn't change the fact that this syringe was sealed.
"Thanks mate." he said scooping it up and ducking just in time to avoid the drink that knocked the burly barman over. With his prize tucked away where it wouldn't be easily broken he began making for the exit but didn't make it far before he was completely hemmed in by the brawl.
"You're alright, but you also obviously have things on you worth taking." He said to the doctor. "And two of us have a much better chance in here together than alone."
he had barely finished talking when a hand grabbed his coat and he was pulling into a large fist that slammed into his face. The world spun but there wasn't time for his to afford himself the luxury of disorientation. His hand felt along the bar as the face of the man holding his came into view, the barman, back on his feet.
"This is your fault boy and I'm going to enjoy making you pay for my bar."
Raziel's hand felt something, something heavy. Without hesitation he grasped it and brought it crashing into the side of the man's head, glass shattered and alcohol spilled over both of them. Then Raziel without a moment's hesitation vaulted over the bar and ducked behind it as more bottles and tankards flew overhead.
"This way Doc, though the back."
Hunched over keeping his profile low he moved towards the rickety looking door that looked like it headed into a store room that might contain a back exit. Pushing the door open and not looking to see if the Doctor followed her slipped inside and paused to lean against a wall the sounds of the fight still deafening through the thin wall.
He groaned putting his finger to his nose feeling the dampness of blood before reaching down and taking out the painkillers that he had just started this whole mess trying to get. Pulling the cap from the needle he pushed the metal onto his skin on his forearm and pushed the plunger immediately feeling the pain in his hand ease, the nose however would take a little longer.
Raz thanks the doc and escapes into a back room and sates his addiction not seeing the orange thief, chanter, who is already in the room.
As if by instinct, the spilling of the drinks made her once emotionless eyes light with alarm. She immediately ducked under the nearest table as pandemonium erupted forth. The animals soon lost all control, flinging chairs and bottles at each other, claws and talons out for all to see. The Shapeshifters assumed the guise of ferocious werebears, bearing the claws and jaws that they soon put to deadly use. The more "civilized" creatures drew their weapons and magic forth, causing the chaos to erupt into a violent cacophony under which Acqua calculated her next moves, noting the more opportunistic ones who quickly seized the chance to loot the bar. Among the shards that fell around the table, a couple were parts of bottles still recognizable to her. She plucked one up quickly, arming herself against the peril she was to face.
The crunch of bone stood out suddenly among the blaring din as an unfortunate body fell to the floor, dead. The bird timidly remained in her hiding place, not daring to make a peep until she noticed the presence of two more corpses. The bird tensed, readying her wings; there was no way she could claw her way out of the lions' deadly den. It was certain, she could take off at the right moment and fly, or react poorly to the situation and die. Her voice, however powerful it may be, could not penetrate through even a small amount of this chaotic tumult. Handle with caution.
Swiftly Acqua found an escape route, noting a person trying to lead the man in the strange mask from earlier to a door that led to a different room. She glanced to the front entrance, noting how jammed it was, and reiterated in her mind the large number of people surrounding her table. When she finally got a grasp of the spacial situation, she realized, to her dread that the three cadavers within her view were no longer there. They were loyally serving a man with grotesquely porcelain flesh and hair in a shade paler than her own. The seemingly morbid necromancer was busy creating more slaves for his use. The crowd seemed distracted well enough between him and the Shapeshifters. A click of her boots and she felt her already dainty frame become lighter.
As if this weren't enough of a signal for her to go, the loud bang of a misplaced swing of one burly man's weapon sent the table covering her flying to the side. She stomped the heels of her feet on the floor, leaping off as if flying to the door. When the bird made her landing, she quickly hopped into the relative safety of the storage room/kitchen with an odd girl possessing discolored skin and stitches all over her body and a brown haired man with a sword and revolver on his person. She found it odd that she was less nervous around these people; for they could have been just as deadly as the crowd roaring on the other side of the thin wall. She quickly looked around her to make sure there was nobody waiting to jump out of a corner and attack her before she backed up a bit, away from the door, adjusting herself and throwing her hair in front of her chest again to further cover the necklace. The bird remained tense, but softened her silent gaze upon the the others in the storage room as if to tell them that she had no intent to harm them, for her voice would have been too weak to convey this in words over the deafening din. Her keen eyes then caught sight of a door and her fingers swiftly pointed it out to the others. Handle with caution.
Summary: Acqua hid under a table until someone knocked it over. She then proceeded to use her cool shoes to leap to the storage room door and roll in there. After doing so she points out a door that's probably the back entrance to the others in the storage room/kitchen, unable to speak over the really loud fighting.
It was a peculiar arrangement he had with what passed as the authority of Rift Town, anytime a stray beast, be it monster or daemon, wandered too close to rift town they sent him to deal with it. He didn't resent the arrangement much; they provided him with food, shelter, and enough supplies to keep his equipment in a barely passable state of repair, and in turn he plied his craft when the town was threatened.
This time it was a daemon; it was by no means powerful, at least by his standards, but it was enough of a problem for him to be called in to deal with it. That was the way life had been these past few years, a far throw from the glories of life among his fellow Astartes. He brought the beast's head in as proof of the kill, it let the townspeople feel safe he supposed, but the codex was firmly against any form of trophy collection for good reason. Afterwards he retired to The Runaway.
Or so he hoped, Upon entering he first noted the anarchy, then the Necromancer and his newly risen servants making their way to the door an instant afterwards. out of the corner of his eye he saw figures huddling in the storage room. "ENOUGH!" His roar shookThe Runaway to it's foundation, biomantic alteration adding extra edge to his shout. Everyone turned to stare at the newest addition the their impromptu arena, A Space Marine eyes white and burning with faint azure. A chair flying towards his head was the closest thing he'd get to an answer.
GMK arrives and he's not happy about the whole shenanigans.
Despite what the barkeep said, the woman stayed planted on her table, waving her mushroom. When the bouncers had made their way to Curiose, she had watched with curiosity and almost with excitement. To her, it seemed though they were coming to worship their new deity. It was not until havoc broke out that she put a finger to her lip and pondered for a moment what to do.
"Welp! Curi go bye bye now!"
She hopped off the table, attempting to duck and dodge everything while she tried making way for the door. Her umbrella, still being fully opened, caught on the table ripping free from her hands. With a grumble and a pained sigh, Curiose scuttled back. Instead of being directly out in the open, the girl hid under her table. The fight ensued with alcohol spilling everywhere, people gaining bloody noses and black eyes. It just became more chaotic by the minute. For protection, Shroomy was tied with the rope once more.
It was as she scanned the happenings, the true forms of the shape shifters, the bodies flying everywhere and the shouting, that she saw bits of shiny things on the ground. She was not sure what they were, but crawled out from under her table to try and see what it was. Right as she got to her object, and picked it up for examining, it flung out of her hands from a flinch caused by the booming voice of someone who had just entered.
"Dang loud person..."
Curiose found and unwelcoming entourage, and took chance to leave the bar. Being caught by her umbrella, she remained and found herself some shiny things to keep her mind preoccupied. At the arrival of the new person, she thus lost her shiny.