Chapter 1: Small Beginnings

Silvertongued

Silvertongued

Yes, this is dog
This was it. Time to make your mark on the map. This would be your territory. Sure, it was't much but a bunch of rundown warehouses close to the old trainyards, but goddammit, everyone has to start small. Besides, some of the homeless folk who lived around here weren't all that bad.


The only real blight was these guys. They'd camped out pretty much in the center of things, surrounding the open end of one of the warehouses with an assortment of pick-up trucks and jeeps. A burning trashcan blazed between them, and someone was blaring some sort of cowboy ballad out of tinny speakers. If the horrendous country music wasn't enough, the surrounding graffiti, and the colors of white, red, and black, they could easily be identified as Tikkers.


From what you could gather in intel, the warehouse was mostly full of stolen merchandise and whatever drugs they managed to hoard. Take this out, and you'd be dealing a heavy blow to the redneck bastards. Good way to make an entrance on the city stage.


Now all you were waiting for, from your various vantage points, was the order to move in...


@Grey@PixelWitch@Jaye@Blackadder@Lamladaz
 
As I waited for Balor's signal, I gave my small army another once over. I'd been preparing all week for this - putting the final adjustments on my pets as well as bulking out my army. Around me was mostly an assortment of constrictor snakes. Or, more accurately, that's what I'd styled them after. They had hollow sections inside, perfect for putting bricks of drugs inside while their concrete or steel bodies where sturdy and packed a punch if I told them to attack. But they weren't the main fire power. The main fire power I was bringing was my Rabbit. Rabbit represented days and days of research about the most powerful animal I could think of - a jaguar. It included metal for the claws and teeth as well as a more durable body. Most of the research, in the end, had been educating myself on how jaguars moved and how to mimic that to make my beast silent yet deadly.


I squinted through the trucks. The Tikkers were an old mark of mine - of mine and Cherubim's, too - and I suspected it was going to feel nostalgic hitting them with the new team. I had a good idea about their tactics and style, but what we were about to do was so much more than what I'd done before. I was used to doing hit-and-runs. I or I & Cherubim would hit them and then we'd run from the aftermath - hopefully, with loot in tow. I'd often spend some preparation time sending my more disposable minions in, ferrying out what loot I could until they caught on that they were being stolen from.


But the goal here wasn't theft or messing with them. The goal here was to drive them out for good. To mark this whole place as ours. The spray paint I'd stashed away nearby would help with that, if Balor let me. If not, I was just glad to have the Trainyards so close.


((Just flavour text, mostly FYI - I didn't mention it, but Pygmalion does have Polly - a surveillance minion - if the team want to use that for... surveillance. Polly has spy cams set up in it's eyes - only Pyg can control where it goes, but someone could be watching via a wireless feed to a phone or tablet or something.))
 
Penchant leaned against the blue quasi-rusted metal of a shipping container. A slight tension in his knees enabled him to come off and spring forward when the assault began, but otherwise he was relaxed. For once, before the start of an operation. The True Imperial Knights were thugs, racists and utterly despised. A trinity to reassure Penchant he wasn't doing any real harm. Except to the Tikkers. But again, not real harm. He could feel the collective anticipation of his new team. 

To claim territory. To establish their pack. A hunting band. Penchant drew it in, and could bring in a measure of the wolf, the lions. His muscles strengthened, his balance felt easier and his senses felt sharper... At the price of making him grind his teeth a bit more at the irritation of the Western song and smoking garbage.
 
She'd sacrificed three fingers for this.


These hicks weren't worth it, but if it was a shock and awe campaign they were going for, you didn't bring a knife to a gun fight.


Not that it mattered much, she could already feel the bones growing back inside the gloves of her bodysuit, like having the insides of the fabric gently poured back with slightly damp sand. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, more like bad pins and needles when the nerves started working again. Nah, losing them first was always the worst part. Still stings like a bitch.


She petted her new creation with her remaining digits, skritching behind it's... ears? Guess we'll call them ears. It kreens softly, despite the fact she pretty sure they never have vocal chords, or anything in their bizarre anatomy that resembles one. Ones she dedicated any flesh or bone to she liked to nickname "Crowned" as the flecks of cartilage and marrow almost looked like glittering jewels against it's liquid flesh.


This one looked slender, the blood filling the space it held with sweeping curves. Dragonlike, maybe a bit of greyhound/borzoi mixed in there. It had no eyes. They never had eyes, just the impressions of ones, lining every broad surface of it's constantly shifting mass. Along with many, many mouths that moved, and swarmed and reformed in illogical places, only to seal and reform in places no living biology would allow. Any space not occupied by seething maws and unblinking eyes was taken up by random growths, which couldn't make up their mind whether to be malformed wings or wilted flower petals.


She sat braced against a carriage, steadying herself with her staff. Standing for long lengths of time still took it's toll on her legs, and she'd need all her strength to make an impression when the time came to strike. Despite her body's protesting already, her mask remained that impassive white half-smile that all renaissance style little angels did.
 

BALOR
​


 
​


No one is looking at him.  He knows this, because he sees through their eyes.  He knows where everyone in this den of vileness is.


Perfect time to awkwardly check his cloak isn't going to come free in the wind - it's ideal if some clever sod tries to grab him, but it can rob a situation of some gravitas if it just flies away. 


His map is incomplete; four Tikkers having a barbeque, about six patrolling the warehouse (at least one is looking at his gun a lot but the others seem to have patriotic baseball bats), one in a portaloo.  There's two more in burnt-out carriage close to Penchant, but Balor is confident they're not going to be a problem for a while.


No read on the far side of the warehouse, though. He'll need to get closer, since only the patrollers come into range. Come out from behind this storage shed and... left, left, right, up to the wall without being seen. Better to have some cover before he moves, though.


A tap on the bluetooth earpiece and he's linked to the team. 


"This is it. We've practiced, we've planned, and now we're going for the throat," he says. "You can do this," he adds, before giving enemy positions. Cherub is closest to the BBQ, which is less than ideal for shock and awe but might be a good place to set an ambush once the bait has shat itself in terror. 


"Before we go ahead, remember the plan is maximum impact.  We don't just steal the goods, we scare them. Circle 'round and lets try to hit the warehouse from all sides."
 
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I was practically vibrating with excitement, amusement at our planned assault shuddering through me. I tried to calm myself - be a little professional - but it wasn't working out. Balor's voice talked directly into my ear;


"This is it. We've practiced, we've planned, and now we're going for the throat," he says. "You can do this," he adds.


Fuck yeah. I agree, within the safety of my own head. More productively, but still within the confines of my head, I turn my attention to Rabbit. It's time for my creation to hunt down some Tikkers. Find a patrolling one - attack them, quietly.


Rabbit moves off, it's limbs smoothly moving into that fluid motion I'd carved out. Belatedly, I tapped the Bluetooth and reported;


"Bunny is going to go hop on a patroller. The rest of the horde can start heading into the warehouse - perhaps they'll get lucky and find a rat on their way."


I turned the talking feature off, only to tap it back on again not a second later. She should be fine, but there was no harm checking...


"Unless they should head closer to the bonfire, Cherubium?"


I was hoping to raise the fear level - be the bogeyman in the night. Bunny would quietly take out the patrollers, either silently or with only their frightened screams. The constrictors would silently move in, hopefully adding another layer of inevitable terror. The I - and the others - would bring up the rear.


I felt the fear mongering begin. I couldn't see my Pet, Rabbit was out of my sight especially in the dim light, but I could sort of feel them. I always knew where my automatons where, once I turned my attention to them. I felt as Rabbit silently stalked one of the patrolling Tikkers and felt them leap forward and knock the man prone. With one paw on the man's windpipe, keeping him from shouting without tearing out his throat, Rabbit's jaws lower and crunched, then opened and crunched on something else. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I thought I could hear a strangled sound echoing in the night.


Either way, Rabbit stopped - the task was complete. I commanded it a second time Find a patrolling one - attack them, quietly. And I felt them prowl away to repeat the process. Two more crunches, one more casualty.


The third time, I amended my orders. Find a patrolling one - attack them. Once they're helpless, let them scream.


Sure enough, not long after, came the panicked screams of an isolated Tikker, trapped under the weight of my Bunny as my beast broke bones. Three of the mob was down and the alarm had been called.

Oh no do the Pets use Pyg's stats? Zir stats were not designed with that in mind <_> anyway. Rabbit/Bunny I guess is trying to Take Down a mook patroller. Here's a roll for that? Sorry, still muddling my way through this. Also, not sure what I add - do I add Pyg's stats for pets? Maybe I could just give them all their own Stat tables? Also I'm assuming it's the Maneuver stat for Rabbit here - Rabbit is being sneaky/stealthy/quick after all.


Sorry D&D was the last thing I played, this'll take me a round or two <_> Um and in case it wasn't clear, Pyg's standing back and letting zir pets run off, for now.


EDIT! I added the results of the roll. I left it a little vague - three patrollers where certainly taken out (as per WiP stuff) but as for how they were taken out - I wasn't entirely sure if clamping down on their legs and breaking their femurs was too far. And... I don't quite have time to research that right now. For the record the first 'crunch' should be their weapon and/or hand being obliterated and the second is... some kind of physical injury.
 
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For a construct of concrete, the "bunny" is remarkably silent. It creeps around the sides of the warehouse in that manner of the predatory cat it was modelled off. None of its targets saw it before it was upon them. Hardened jaws splintered wooden bat and unwary fingers alike, while the sheer weight pressed down on the first two targets left them both breathless and in need of a hospital visit.


The third target goes down face forwards, landing on his front just as Bunny steps on the center of his thigh. The resulting crunch is solid enough that some of you venture you can feel it. His shrieks of pain and terror echo across the tracks. They're unheard by the barbeque; the blare of pop western and the general hubbub of conversation drowns it out.


The remaining three patrollers jerk towards the source of the sound, and after a moment of worried looking about begin converging on that location.
 
With those three drawn in, Penchant began to lope in from behind the shipping container. The first Tikker patrol received an impressively hard knee to his back before he even knew what was happening. Immobilized by the blow, he dropped, feeling more than enough pain to prevent more than a whimper. The next one was alert enough to see Penchant coming, he shouted out a half-alert to his comrade before trying to swing the bat.


Penchant yanked it away from him, then countered with a swing to the abdomen. The wood snapped in half from impact. The last one came up, and he had a gun. Penchant straightened up and simply stared at the Tikker coldly.

A few seconds later, the barbecue was interrupted when the redneck guard went soaring into the trashcan on fire at the center of the festivities.

TAKE DOWN


Smash: 2D6+1 = [6, 3]+1 = 10

Taking out all three of the patrol.
 
Cherubim


Taking the cue of the obliterated trashcan scattering its contents and the initial angry and confused response, her 'angel' tucked itself under her thighs, hoisting her sidesaddle onto its back and clambering onto the roof of the carriage she had been hiding behind.


She looms over the bewildered men below as her creation coils lazily over the roof edge, the fire's glow making her mask underlit and the smile all the more prominent.


"Leave,"
 
The scene is rendered an eerie red as the flaming barrel sprays sparks and embers across the festivites. The tikker who crashed into it, immediately starts rolling and screaming, cradling his arm all the while. The resulting uproar instantly dims to a whisper as Cherubim crests the truck, the crimson glow beneath throwing her in hellish relief.


"Leave,"


Not yelled, nor whispered, simply stated. Tikkers scatter into the night.
 
With a thought, I learn that there aren't anymore patrolling Tikkers to deal with - or none that Rabbit can sense. It's a round about way of obtaining information: I tell Rabbit to go do something and Rabbit tells me that they can't, for lack of a target.


It's nice having teammates. Or it's useful, at very least.


There's a commotion from the direction of the bonfire and I see Cherubim make her stand. It's a little impression, even after having worked with her, to see her work her skills.


I figure it's time to move into the main warehouse. I command each of my little pythons to start slithering inside the open front door. They aren't as quite as Rabbit as I hadn't spent time fine-tuning them and their concrete bellies scrape along the ground as they head inside. I don't think the sound will be too much of a problem, though. or if it is, it will just be an interesting challenge to overcome.


I lift up my arm and let Polly lift up and flap towards a window near the top of the warehouse. Now getting Polly to work had been a difficult project - I'd never realised how much work went into aerodynamics. Polly headed up, perching on the high up window.


I opened my phone, concentrating on the grainy picture that Polly was sending me. It was not good quality at all - she was used to daytime surveillance. Hopefully the snakes would tell me a bit more as I ordered them to scout out the warehouse.


A little belatedly, I clicked on the communicator in my ear;


"The snakes are in the nest. Trying to get a lay of the land now."





Examine Move roll: My Roll +2 from Investigate


Also side note, I thought it was 3d6 and rolled this. I could not make this up if I tried. «paws at the two sixes» And coyote was down for me, hence this new roller.



Between my snakes, Polly and my own investigative mind I case the joint - specifically looking for key points of interest. What does it look like inside the warehouse? How can we approach this and how can we benefit?


Anything I might steal - for the team - before the fighting takes over? My pythons have hungry mouths, after all.
 
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Cherubim


She giggles to herself under the mask, watching the Tikkers flail and squeal like stuck pigs.


A hand brushes her ear, tapping the com under her hair, "Balor, my lovely,  if you wanna let the 'door' hit them on the way out, now's your chance~"


@Grey
 
Balor


Balor casually descends from his perch, moving to cut off the fleeing Tikkers with easy strides.


He stares at them, impassive, and watches through the eyes of one in the back as he uses the cover of his friends to conceal a cooking fork he neglected to drop. Balor looks right at him.


"Don't even think about it," he says, levelly, "and remember, tell your friends - I know where you live." 


Without even looking at them again, he walks right past.  When they're out of 'sight', he taps his comm. 


"Into the warehouse - we wipe the last of them and see what we've got."


He'd praise them, but it isn't good work until they're done. 
 
The Tikker watches Balor as he speaks to him, eventually letting his hand drop. The fork bounces once with a clink, before settling on the concrete with a high pitched rattle. Men freeze as the caped man approaches them, only daring to let out a relieved sigh in confirmation of his passing. Several quick glances backwards, content that he is indeed letting them go, they continue their mad dash to freedom, dropping out of sight, both normal and otherwise.


As quickly as it had come, Penchant's vicious strength, the sprouting claws and lengthening fangs, the savage urge to crush and terrify, they begin to diminish as the Tikkers flee. Out of sight, out of mind, he feels his flesh shrink back to normal. Only memories remain, at least for the moment.


The warehouse is eerily quiet. A lone light illuminates the main foyer, flickering on and off in that flourescent, migraine inducing manner. Everything beyond is hidden beneath a blanket of darkness, indistinct in the gloom. Pyg's servitors, the serpents, they can tell there's several trucks, things beneath tarps on pallets, and no small about of trash and debris. Despite their self proclaimed "crusade of purity", cleanly these knights are not.


Cherubim's children stand by her side at the entrance, drooling and gibbering, teeth bared in anticipation of protecting their master.


There are people in here. Either eyes shut, or just staring into the black, Balor cannot tell. But he knows their rough placement, in the same way one knows the location of a limb without looking. Without their sight though, it is hard to discern where one person ends and another begins, clustered together as they are. Exact positioning suffers similarly.
 
"Copy that!" I broadcast, not unaware of the sheer glee in my tone.


Balor's final order is all the permission I need. Honestly, this entire exhibition was delightful. It was going smoothly and simply and by the end of it we would have an entire fucking hideout. Incredible.


Polly, sadly, was little help. Though I had suspected that. The picture she sent back to my phone was a horrible flicking quality though I couldn't quite guess if that was from a light or the feed itself. The snakes are more useful in letting me know what's inside.


I decide on two points of attack - because attack is the only option I really consider. As I stride towards the side of the warehouse (intending to walk around to the back) I send out mental commands to each of my automatons. To about half my snakes I tell them to find tailpipes and to slither right into the engine and fuck shit up. I tell the other half of the serpents to attack whomever the first people they encounter are. These automatons are dispensable; I just need them to cause as much damage as possible while they're still functioning.

Here's the roll result and even with Pyg giving a +1 for Smash holy fuck these snakes are useless. Why was ze recruited like holy fuck.


Then again I'm not entirely sure what Move is being triggered here. Maybe nothing? Unsure.


Anyway Pyg's snakes are useless. Moving on.



Bunny I bring to me, though I can feel that they're approaching from the opposite direction. Bunny will wait for me at the back of the warehouse. Once the full-charge is in, I'll send Bunny in to help.


@PixelWitch @Blackadder @Silvertongued @Grey
 
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Cherubim


Walking is hard. Her feet light and tentative in their steps, like a baby who only just figured out the whole locomotion thing. But enemies don't need to know that. Keeping the illusion of strength is as important as actions. Staying mounted is always the best way to maintain the effect.


Her 'child' curled itself under her and she mounted it's back. It was only the size of a large dog, but the effect was there. She was tiny enough.


She and her little kin pads to the warehouse.


The thought they might be armed crosses her mind. it's brief and it's dismissed just as easily. Gunshots didn't bother her in slightest. She could walk them off within minutes after all. Heck, getting floored after the enemy empties an entire clip into you, only to get back up, was normally the quickest sure fire way for them to run like scalded cats.


"Come play, friends~" she calls, voice light and musical, and strangely warped behind her mask.
 

BALOR
​


 
​


Balor leans against the wall of the warehouse, thoughtful, sidling around to the section closest to that knot of people.


"I have a feeling this is going to get complicated," he says, lightly, "because now it's either human traffic or hostages."


He pauses.


"Or worse."


He picks a door and readies himself.


"Cherubim, make an entrance on your side.  Penchant, you follow.  Pyg, what do you see?  Something in there is fuzzing up my sight."
 
My earpiece buzzed and relayed Balor's words. That's... not good. What could be fuzzing up his sight, of all things? For that matter - does that mean his ability is 'fuzzed' or the sight he's receiving his fuzzed? It could be drugs, messing with perception or, worse, parahumans messing with perception or..-


Getting my train of thought back on it's tracks, I tap my comm back on.


"Polly's having a hard time, like I guessed. The snakes are giving me, uuhhh, impressions? A few trucks, a couple'a pallets with tarps over them. So much rubbish, everywhere. I didn't mess with the pallets but as soon as I can get my nest god damn cooperating I'm gonna mess so hard with those trucks."


Concentrating again, I try to get my snakes under control. This time I try just one command - it's hard trying to flip between all of them. I concentrate on a small bunch, less than ten of them, and order them again to go for the truck's tailpipes and wiggle right up inside.

Gawsh~~ Well they almost did something this time. It is rolling 2d6, right?



Here's the roll, plus Pyg's Smash, that's giving them a 6. It's not quite the 7-9 needed, but perhaps I can use a six to obtain just one of those effects? Reduce the mob by one or impose a single Minor condition?

My preference is that at least one of the trucks get's messed up. If more get messed up, I'm pretty happy for Pyg to not get away scott-free? «shrug»



 @Silvertongued @Grey @PixelWitch @Blackadder
 
Penchant


Penchant followed up on Cherubim's pets. The powers, as often, had been easy come, easy go. Such was how he found they'd worked out. But yeah, something interfering with Balor's parahuman sight wasn't exactly promising. He'd better have something to give him a good source of stimulus to trigger more power.
 
Cherubim


Make an entrance, huh?


That could interpreted a number of ways... guess I'll go for the most theatrical~


As her steed lopes lazily into the foyer, she pulls back the black fabric glove encasing her hand, and raises the staff she carries. There is a soft click when she applies pressure to its top. Inside, concealed within, is the thinnest of blades. A sword cane. But instead of unsheathing it, she simply presses it to her wrist, the edge biting into the soft skin, and bright candy red welling at the touch.


Fingers. Claws. Climb. Small. Subtle.


The words, thoughts, feelings, all pour into her new creation. What she needs her child to be. To become. What she needs it for, and to to shape it when it is born.


Dexterity. Quickness. Short lived. Singular.


Her blood dances away from her flesh, billowing and forming a new shape. A thing alive, twisting and jerking, pouring itself into its mothers desired shape and purpose.


It settles on a form not much larger than a squirrel, and about as wiry and fidgety. Limbs much longer and multi jointed however, with the usual spattering of eyes and malformed wings all her children possessed.


She cradles her newborn, wound already knitting itself shut as her sword is removed from view, "We need light, my baby, find the switches,"


Her creature obediently skitters off into the darkness beyond to perform its literal life's work.


With that, she spurs her steed onward, into the gloom, standing pride of place a few feet beyond the doorway. Perfect meat shield distance. I really hope they don't put too many rounds into me, those burn like a sunnvabitch.


She can sense when her minion has reached its task, and throws on the blazing overheads with almost explosive force.


You wanted an entrance. Theatrics now...


She throws her arms wide, cape fluttering dramatically, "FOUND YOU!"
 
Surging light crashes into your eyes, forcing a squint from even the most stoic, a crash of white against your vision.


There's a few trucks in here, some of them bearing squirming shapes wriggling up tailpipes. Vans too. Pallets are lined up, half covered in tarps, their contents mostly hidden. Most of all, the warehouse is cluttered. Not the kind of growing clutter that occurs with abandonment, but the sort that gathers around people, living in house. Discarded food wrappers, empty bottles, scattered newspapers, shards of glass.


The central point here, however, in the tents and pallets in the far off corner, reeking with the stink of sweat, now murmuring with the noise and the light.
 
Penchant


Once Penchant shook off the change in lighting, he quickly became grateful that the enhanced senses of his power-up had faded away. This place was a sty-hole. Not a pig-sty, because Alex had been the occasional summer hand at the regional farms and knew pig muck never really got as bad as this.


"Doesn't seem like trafficking." Penchant chipped in over the comms. "More like a caravan the Tikkers brought with this."
 
I get some vague feedback from the snakes, letting me know that the lights had probably just been flipped on, though I could glean that just by looking up at the back windows. There's some sound from inside but it's all muffled beyond my comprehension. I try getting the snakes in one last time:


"Oh okay. Once more, with style." I mutter to myself.

Roll: 2d6+1=7



This time I feel the snakes gain some purchase inside the tailpipes and they wiggle up into the engine. It's interesting, actually, the feedback I get from my little minions as they wiggle on-wards. They're clearly going right through the tailpipe, along the underside of the trucks, and I can feel as they enter the engine. From there it's almost as if I can feel how the engine is structured. It makes me itch for an engineering book or five.


But they have a job to do. There's no chaos if there are no results. I let them go crazy and feel as their simple bodies get destroyed. The loud explosions from inside give me my other clue. Two or so of the trucks have exploded. I reckon that will add some dramatic flair to whatever Penchant and Cherubim are up to.


And now that the lights are on, Polly would probably be giving me a better idea of what's-what. Opening my phone, I see that that's the case. Nothing that my teammates couldn't see from just looking inside, but at least I know too without having to ask. It's the tents surrounded by pallets in the corner that catches my eye.


I look to Bunny, at my side from our vantage point of the back of the warehouse.


"Go get'em." I tell my pet.


Obediently, Rabbit prowls away and heads for higher ground so as to look for a way to come down on top of the biggest tent inside. After a few moments I hear a commotion and some shouts from inside - a glance at my phone gives me an image to put to the sounds.

Take Down for Rabbit: 2d6+1=8


Now I don't know who, exactly, is in the tent but I'd like to request either a "reduce mob by 1" & "Impose Minor condition [on a cape]" OR "reduce mob by 2" (if no capes) OR "Take away an Advantage" (if that would be useful?)


I figured since Pygmalion didn't specifically order Rabbit to attack any capes, any conditions imposed should just be a minor one (instead of the full moderate one).


OR, I suppose, if there are two viable capes in the tent that Rabbit pounced on: "Impose Minor condition [one on two capes]"?



Rabbit's landed right on top of the tent, taking the opportunity to tear into those closest. Just one step can break people's bones and just one bite or scratch can tear out a debilitating chunk of flesh. I can't help but let a giggle shake my shoulders. Oh this is always fun.


@Silvertongued @Grey @PixelWitch @Blackadder @Lamladaz 
 
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@Grey@Jaye@Blackadder@PixelWitch


The heavy cement simulacrum lollops onto the largest tent with a sickening crunch, followed by a brief, high pitched scream of agony. People roll out of the tent, stumbling away from the monster, their movements sluggish and unbalanced despite the panic. The other tents stay strangely docile, save for the murmuring within some, though furtive movement can be seen inside, quickly stilled.


The young woman that Bunny landed on is still shrieking, clutching a shin that's bent in the middle, the angle already turning an ugly shade of violet. She's dirty, reeking of sweat, clothes disheveled. Hollowed eyes rove frantically beneath dark greasy hair, and her face wracked with pain. The others are trying to huddle out of your sight, all young men and women, all just as thin and as matted as the howling girl. They look at you with fear and confusion, those that look at you at all.

Penchant:

Their fear is like a ramrod into your guts, a spike of vicious hunger, slavering for cruelty. Your body aches to grow, to tower over them, to loom like some pale, grinning monster.


@Lamladaz


Screaming wakes you. Your dreams were hazy, your waking even more so. Your head pounds with the sound, with the light streaming in the tent flaps, with the pulse of your own heartbeat. Each moment, a fresh spike of pain doubles behind your eyes, and the nausea claws at your throat.
 
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The twisted fear and urges, Penchant clamped down on. Hard. This was one of the occasional downsides of his powers - that and having a harder time reading people. "Pygmalion, stop! They're too afraid to do anything, let alone attack us!"
 
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