Noko

"So..." Riha leaned backward, resting her chin in her hand as she sat in the silence trailing Obsidian's story. Her gaze drifted off, thoughtfully-- dark lashes narrowed around twin lavender eyes that sparkled with curiosity and consideration as she tapped her full lips with one bright, red nail. Abruptly, she leaned in toward Obsidian, her eyes darting toward Ruby. "Can I just ask-- why? If she's so capable as to be your partner, to assault a wizard's lair and legions of guards, with swords and spears and.." She sounded wildly overwhelmed, her words running atop each other as the heft of the story took hold. "I don't mean to be rude, it's just... " Said everyone, ever, who was about to say something rude. Her lips pulled upward and she reached for him, tentatively, then slipped her hand back. He was so foreign, it wouldn't be right, but it was easy to see that her nature was to draw company to her -- to chat, to be social and curious, and it didn't seem like whatever faux pas was coming was malicious, but... "It's just, you seem like someone I can talk to... I just wonder, it's still so strange to me," she murmured. Again, her light eyes flit toward Ruby. "...I mean," She spoke, watching Obsidian's eyes for signs that she'd wildly overstepped, then continued, "..if she's a warrior, why is she like this? Is she a prisoner? A trophy? Is this her choice?"

Claymores. No, just kidding. Sabres, probably. Something smaller and one-edged.

Like, if I wanted to archive a thread -- basically, beyond clicking through every page and saving it, is there an easy way to do that?

I'd be disappointed if it weren't! 😆

Same!

@Voldemort Talia Boer Several years ago, being an 18-year old woman unsatisfied with her life, Talia ran away from her engagement and the prospect of spending her next few years having kids and farming grain, and joined the 'Mad Wyverns' pirate crew. Now, in her early twenties, she is strangely very good at being a pirate. She's strong from a lifetime spent farming, and dexterous, and over the last few years with the Wyverns has become quite a skilled dual-sword fighter. She's in this random town now on 'shore leave', so to speak, and inclined to help the town beat back this other group of pirates whom the Mad Wyverns have had quite a few scuffles with.

Yeah, same. If I go to Waffle House, it better be 2am and there better be a drunk there waiting to fight.

The battle raged; Shikai fought like a dervish, but he was a step slower, and the wings, and claws, and teeth began to catch up with him. Phoebe fought back the darkness. For the first time since entering the Glen, it was quiet in her head-- maybe the voices had been knocked just a tad more unconscious than she had. Maybe the Glen had forgotten about her. Either way, all the better. Dumb. That was her first thought, once the ringing stopped and the taste of iron swelled, and she could think again. It had been monumentally dumb to hit a stone gargoyle with a wooden stick and expect it to have an impact... it's just.. she had been so angry. Too angry to think. She could feel the water lapping at the backs of her arms as she lay in the swamp, seeping in above her belt and slipping down her pants until she and the swamp were one. It wormed its way into the half-healed stab wounds the banshees had levied, cooling the pain and introducing uncounted legions of bacteria. She was going to need a monster course of antibiotics after this. Propped up on her elbows, she let her head fall back and stared at the darkened treetops as they slowly whirled, and spun, before she turned and spat a mouthful of blood out into the fetid waters. "He's a threat." The voice came from beside her, from the tiny, dark-haired child curled up next to her, arms wrapped around her bony legs. "Oh good, you're back. You should get up," spoke the First, "you're going to catch a cold." Except she's not real. The Mindgorger finally exerted itself fully, cleaving division between Phoebe and the Glen, and seizing precious space for the woman-- space in which she could think, and reflect, and realize, as her energy began to rebuild. "Wait, that's right," she continued, "You're not real." "Neither are you, Mommy." "I feel real," countered Phoebe as she tongued at her back right molar, working the tip around its base and wincing as she found it loose. Again, the taste of metal and swamp was overwhelming, and she pushed herself up to her elbows and spat the mess out again. A net of blue-white energy flared, setting the ends of her nerves on fire as the remnants of James Elfonte twisted the abilities she'd stolen from him, corrupting the healing into a painful, slow torture. Her expression twisted into a grimace, stuttering through temporary rictus. "It wouldn't be a good trick if you didn't." Phoebe closed her eyes and let the pain pass, then shrugged; it was true, it wouldn't be a good trick if she didn't feel real, still... "You haven't been real in years." Also true. "You don't even know who you are anymore." "You're really reaching," she countered mildly. Maybe, maybe not, but as Phoebe and the Mindgorger rewove themselves, they continued to push the Glen out inch by inch until its words had only the force of words and the weight of air. Time, finally, was on Phoebe's side. "He's a threat." "So am I," she answered back. In front of her, the war continued to play out-- she looked in no hurry to join and continued sitting, just a mop of wet, dark hair above two cold, examining eyes, content to watch, and catalog, and track the weaknesses Shikai exposed in the guardians... and those ones the guardians exposed in him. "He'll be exhausted at the end of this." Her daughter watched as well, then turned to look at Phoebe, resting her head on the top of her knees. "It would be easy to teach him a lesson for dar--" "Stop." The girl fell silent, her large, deep brown eyes drifted back to the battle, darting back and forth as she followed its ebb and flow like it was a game. She looked like Phoebe in so many ways and, even in truth, held far more of her mother's tendencies than those of her father-- from the calm stillness to her unending inquisitiveness, she was enough her mother's daughter to summon both pride and horror, wonder and worry. Mykur's metal clashed on stone, sending sparks into the air as Shikai chose to dance through the attacks instead of taking the opportunities which arose and ending them without the flourish. He took blows he didn't need to, and Phoebe watched his flesh rip, and part, leaving bloodless gashes across his outer limbs until finally, as he neared exhaustion, she drew her legs in and stood. The water poured off of her frame as a thought ripped the Mindgorger from the swamp, calling it back to her hand. The child stood. They watched together, but for different ends. The guardians' were an even match, but they were immortal, and Shikai was not, and a foolish whirl had lopped off one of their tails but brought him between their towering masses. A nudge here, a distraction, and she could pick her winner and end it all.. The Glen agreed. "Your timing is.." Phoebe readied her strike, psionics dancing at the tickling edge of her Will as she waited for the single, perfect moment to end this. Amazing. In front of Shikai, claws flashed; behind, teeth and tail lashed. He was pinned. She struck. The force that hit Shikai was massive, simply overwhelming-- a wrecking ball of psionics that stretched from ankle to head, driving into his shoulder and propelling him out of the guardians' path, timed precisely, perfectly, as their blows struck and each hit the other instead of Shikai. Stone on stone, a series of sharp cracks split the air and granite limbs, ancient and immutable, split as chasms erupted at the onslaught each gargoyle was struck with. They weren't down, but crippled-- with so many spidering cracks in their forms that attacking would be a fatal endeavor. At her side, the child curled its fists and turned, screaming in open-mouthed fury as the Mindgorger wove the last thread in place and shut it out. Abruptly, the phantasm disappeared, and Phoebe was finally left in peace.

Sleeping Dogs was so underrated.

Yes, also @Voldemort -- do you want sheets? I was just going to roll a good old-fashioned martial artist with spear or sword, no sheet necessary.

Combatant! 🙂

Sorry! I should've provided this at the start. I'll play a protagonist, if that works.

Oh heck, I'll play.

"I meant to ask ye, art ye a Slayer?" Though she had been looking down, Marina's light green eyes darted up at the question, watching Velindrel's expression through the slats of her dark lashes. A small smile tugged at the edge of her lip, curling it upward as if she bit back embarrassment, perhaps at being called out so directly. For once, she was quiet, and the stillness was unsettling on her, like the sun without its churn. "Ye doth not have to respond to the question." She lifted her hand and threaded it beneath her thick dark hair to scrub at the back of her neck, and shrugged a little when Velindrel said she didn't have to answer-- wasn't not answering its own answer? "Of a sort," she finally answered a moment later, after initially hesitating. "I do my part. Not counting Damian here, I'd take a match to the whole lot of them, but, you know..." Laws. She set her jaw, anger tightening her pretty features into a half-sneer that reflected the ill-will she bore them. It hadn't been long; she could still remember her life leaking out onto the street. The memory of it kept her quiet until Velindrel filled the silence. "The...metal you were able to produce leads me to think ye art connected, and well I might add ye see?" He said and continues. "Such connections would benefit me and mine employers quite well..." "I have friends," she said simply, "We could probably work out something more regular, depending on what it is that you need. We could barter, or do straight deals." She glanced down, then back up to smile at the Smith. "We have access to a lot of things... but, also, sometimes some odd needs..." The suggestion lingered, waiting for Velindrel's response.

"He's not much of a looker - but if you want my leftovers, have at it." The Lady was a rumbling storm, a force of nature that whirled between emotions with the alacrity of early-spring, parting morning skies with the warm touch of sun before dumping two feet of ice by noon. The blistering shift might have set the uninitiated back on their heels, but as the shore adapts to the waves, Phoebe adapted to the Lady, and her foul mood crashed against a languid grin with all the bluster one could hope for, only to disappear into her laugh. The First slipped her shoulders and wove through the churning bodies with a flexibility in her spine that she earned every morning and lifted her hands to wave a companionable peace at the warrior. "No, no -- please, by all means. I'd never dream of separating you two.." she said with a laugh, smoothing the wrinkles in her shirt as she straightened and reached back to catch Aidan by the hand. The atmosphere rose with her humor, building and swelling toward a far-off crescendo that could only be realized in a bacchanal that would raise notice, far too out-of-place in a city like Mageside, so she let her lids drift closed to shade her emerald glint, and turned her focus inward. As the crowd began to quiet and the revelry settled, she interlinked her pinky with Aidan's forefinger and tugged him along through the bodies toward the ever-so-recently returned Lady Caderyn, with only a ghost of her mischief remaining. "No? Shame." Cadeyrn was saying as she put the head away, "This is all that's left of the bastards that jumped me earlier today. There were 6 of them, Orcs that is. And here I am, having crossed to hell and back to bring you such a juicy and delicious gift all out of the goodness of my golden heart....and you have to go an insult me. I think I look damn good for having gone through what I did to bring this to you." "Only six?" teased Phoebe as she and Aidan exited the crowd. Now in casual conversation range, she winked back at him, offering, "Thanks for the dance," before dropping his hand to focus on the bloody woman in front of her. "Maybe I won't share after all." Caderyn pointed what remained of the knuckle at Phoebe, "But if you apologize, I might change my mind and forgive you..... Don't forget to include what a beautiful and wonderful person I am while you do it too." "Oh, simmer down, it's good to see you, but neither of us is the other's type," commented Phoebe as she sidled up to the bar, hips pressed flat to its front as she gripped the rail and lifted one hand, looping her finger. The movement caught the server's eye, and he glanced at the three of them, then back to her eyes for an approving nod. He'd keep it coming; her tab was wide open tonight. "Well, Cade, I for one, think you look pretty good for having orc guts and whosoever's blood splattered all over you.", commented Aidan. "I don't think you have to work that hard.." Phoebe spoke casually, not looking toward Aidan or Caderyn as she flashed the server a broad grin, prompting him to drift over. Her lashes lowered, mockingly demure as she took a drink from him that she hadn't ordered, but he offered, accompanied by a pressed coaster that he slipped over with a particular quirk to his deep brown brows. He was tall, dark on dark on dark, and built like a man who ran stairs all day carrying boxes of liquor. There was a brief, silent consideration as their eyes met-- a look held too long to be nothing. She flipped the coaster and flicked a glance at its scrawl, her broad grin curling sharp. Even for the Dead, it was impossible to know what transpired -- it's not unusual for Phoebe to know the waitstaff, or to know the waitstaff, or neither, or both. Her web was cast far and wide across the globe, and like the old saying went, she had a port in every town. Their conversation went on for a fair minute or two-- that coaster passed back and forth a few times, a pen had been summoned from somewhere, only for Phoebe to slip it back into the server's front shirt pocket as they came to some sort of flirtatious accord and the First finally pulled away, casting one last look toward his beautifully carved lips, before she dragged herself back to Aidan and Caderyn. "Where were we," she wondered on approach, flipping through the this-and-that of the last few minutes in search of that elusive memory, that fragment of business that she was here for, and not whatever had just happened with the server. "Oh, right," she snapped her fingers, stopping in front of the Lady as she unfurled the snap to a point, which she aimed at Caderyn, "I'm here.." "I'm here because I'm a sucker for a pretty face, even yours." It was true, and while the First squinted at the deja-vu, her words went on with only a brief slowing as she teased the other woman, seeking the familiarity and camaraderie they'd shared so many years ago. "And because you wanted help for a job, so, let's hear it."