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Fantasy World of Gea: The Greatest Adventure [IC] [CLOSED]

Sub Genres
  1. Adventure
  2. LGTBQ
  3. Magical
  4. Supernatural


Professional Argentine

• Player Turn •

While the cultists had their vigorous zeal and the power of the Chort, the present members of the company kept pushing them back valiantly. Gawain lead the fight, casting a freezing spell upon the cultists that were encroaching him. (1d10 = 3 | Failure.) Gawain casted his spell sucesfully but something went wrong, while his Mana flows strong in his body, the druidic magic casted by Sera and the mere presense of the Chort and Grunde was draining the magical essense in the air. He watched his spell turn into what he could describe as a light gale instead of a powerful freezing spell. "Your little slime friend and the Tuatha are absorbing too much Mana." said the voice of Edgar in the back of his head. "Try a magical missile next time, it uses your own Mana instead." He said in a rather condescending tone, almost as if Gawain was a magic student like Syllannan.

With his spell being a failure, Gawain watched as a cultist charged at him with one of those strange wicked blades, he shouted some heretical gibberish before attempting to strike the sorcerer down. However, Gawain watched as the soul he had shackled to the form of Wraith had disobeyed his orders of attacking the Imp. Instead, it returned to its master to protect him. Perhaps due to sheer instinct, Gawain watched as the wailing wraith charged at the cultist (1d10 = 8 | Success! | 1 damage.) (Cultist HP: 16/25) Gawain watched with morbid fascination as the wraith's incorporeal form started to engulf the cultist. The man started to shout desperately as he dropped his weapon, twitching uncontrollably, Gawain could hear the sound of cracking bone twisting flesh as the cultist's eyes glow bright blue under his ragged hood. The cultist screamed for mercy and upon seeing this cruelty, the human constable that was near Gawain wacked the dying cultist with her billyclub, killing him. "B-bloody Hel, don't do that ya bloody monster!" she shouted while giving Gawain a disgusted look. Still, his new creation had managed to kill something, but had to rest to regain a semi-corporeal form again. Gawain's Wraith is temporarily unavailable.

Meanwhile, near the fight with the Chort, Sentry had enough of this creatures attempts to intimidate her, or that's what she thinks it's trying to do. One never knows with demons. She lifted her heavy sword and charged towards the demons, swing it with full force. (1d10+1 = 7 | Success! | 2 damage.) (Chort HP: 13/25) The Chort did not attempt to block the attack as Sentry attacked him, the warrioress shouted as her blade made impact with the creatures torso, the demons rib cage did an excellent job at stopping her blade from cleaving right through the creature, she even wondered if she had done any damage at all as the creature did not express any pain, but she knew she did damage as she watched the creature's wound was bleeding profusely, dripping dark blood on the ground beneath them. The wound was regenerating, but at a much slower pace than the one she made previously.

Next in the fight against the Chort, Gsera was still protected by the summoned roots and was now trying to use her Druidic powers against the vile demon leading these people. Using the language of nature, she started to gather the attention of various insects in the area, primarily of flies, fruit flies, mosquitoes and bees. Not the most dangerous of insects but they could certainly distract the creature. She watched as the horde of insects started to fly above her, catching the attention of everyone around her, such magics were not a common sight and was shocking to witness, specially for the constables. With a thunderous shout, the druid ordered the insect swarm to distract the Chort. She watched as the insects swarmed the creature, the flies clogged its eyes, the mosquitoes bit its hardened skin while the bees sacrificed themselves, injecting their venom into the demons flesh before dying. But then, she watched in horror as the Chort licked the flies off its eyes before swallowing them whole, the mosquitoes fell to the ground, convulsing and dying. (Chort's are immune to nearly all negative effects or statuses.) "Í̷̲s̸̯̈ ̴͈͛t̸͇̕h̴̡͘a̸̭̽t̵̺͠ ̶͙̅à̴̫l̸̳̉l̸̗̀ ̶̥́y̵̯̿o̴̯͘u̵̧͒ ̵̯̋g̴̘̉o̵̧̅ṱ̵̆,̵̜̓ ̷̜́c̷͙͗ḩ̵̈́i̵͈͒ļ̷̅d̴̥͋ ̸̝̀ő̵̯f̷̳̌ ̴̨͑G̸̓ͅȃ̷̞i̸̲͒a̵̮̒?̴̛̩" It said in a strange language that was painful to hear for most, but Gsera knew what it said.

As Sera stared at the demon while being covered by heavy roots, Kastalli jumped into the fray despite her somewhat weakened state. Seeing their current situation, the bard had the brilliant idea of using her music, and the Mana that flows with it, to affect the enemy cultists. With a deep breath, the half-Raksasha swinged her bell to make sharp, ear piercing sound. A discomfort for her companion and allies but a deafening sound for some of the cultists. (Dissonance: When striking a sharp tune with her bell, the intended target are put into a state of confusion.) (1d10 = 10 | 10 Cultists are temporarily stunned, giving them a temporal -2 points to the next attack roll.) Nobody really understands how Mana is used in music and dance or how Bards are so efficient at using it in their art without having trained in magic, Kastalli was no exception, she swinged her bell several times, the ear-piercing sound sent various cultists to their knees as they covered their ears, she had managed to stun most of the cultists! "Amazing performance, Kastalli!" Shouted Alberto as he parried the attack of a conscious cultist.

After that performance, it was time for Syll joined the battle effort and deal with these bastards by using the mace end in his axe. (1d10+2 = 6 | Success! | 2 damage.) (Cultist HP: 14/25) He charged towards the few conscious cultists, he swinged his attacks to the nearest but the female cultist blocked several of his strikes, he then kicked her in the chest before swing his mace, hitting her on the side of the head, due to the lack of armor and powerful strike, Syll heard a loud crunch as his mace hit the cultists head. She then fell to the ground motionless. The other cultist then charged Syll, lifting his wicked blade high up to swing it down on the Hobálfar, but Syll was faster than the cultist, evading the upcoming strike before swinging his weapon back at the cultist, delivering a strong blow to the head and knocking the cultist unconscious. "Good job lad!" Shouted Alberto as the cultists began to realize that the odds were stacking against them.

"Master, what do we do?!" shouted a panicking cultist as he attempted to help those stunned by Kastalli's magic. "Keep fighting, we need their souls, Nyarlaexedum needs souls!" shouted another cultist. "Give them Hel, lads!" said the Sheriff in response. Using the opportunity to push the enemy back, Grunde attempted to cast that powerful gust of wind again. (1d10-1 = 3 | Failure!) Sadly, just as Gawain was unable to cast his spell, the sentient slime was unable to gather enough ambient Mana essence. Luckily, they knew that Cécilia and the rest were getting closer.

While a bit confused by his visions and its meaning, Calocis was ready to lend some aid to the woman involved in his vision. Using his theological knowledge as cleric of dark deities, he began to chant some incantations. Asking for a blessing of Shadows from Arzhang, Sibzu or Gecadre, but most importantly, Bhenulli the Shadow Queen. (1d10+2 = 10 | Critical Success!) His chants started to become louder and louder as he made communion with his dark deities. The cultists recognized some of the words he spoke, as Dokkálfar uses several words of "Demon Speech". Enough for the Chort to turn his gaze at Cal. The clerics eyes were now pitch black as dark shadows surrounded him, boosting his abilities even further. However, he was not able to use the full potential of this Godly boon, as the streets of Waterham are very well lit, and even if he casted it from the darkness of an alleyway, he wasn't able to summon the dark servants of Bhenulli. (Calocis' spells and actions gain +2 bonus if cast from shadow. This bonus is doubled at night, or while in total darkness.)

Alberto watched as the Cleric's dark aura grew around him. He was still trying to remember if they had hired an individual with such powers before but he couldn't remember. Still, he seemed to be helping and stood close to Kastalli, so he decided to trust the Dokkálfar. "Looks like your minions keep falling, you vile creature!" spat Alberto as he turned around to face the Chort, but of course, the demon was unimpressed and continued to give Alberto an uncanny smile. "Do your worst then, liar knight." It said in a surprisingly clear tone before charging at the knight, in retailation, Ser Alberto trusted his spear forth, aiming to the Chorts neck. (1d10 = 8 | Success! | 2 Damage.) (Chort HP: 11/25) Despite the fact the rampaging demon approached Alberto with deadly intentions, the knight was able to perform a masterful thrust to the demons neck. The Chort made a few steps backwards, removing the spears blade from its new deep wound. "I'll not let you hurt anyone under my protection!" shouted Alberto as the Chort eyed him. "...I know your Sins... but do your friends? know of them?" Alberto didn't respond, he just raised his shield and prepared for another strike.

• Enemy Turn •

Cultists of Nyarlaexedum.png
• Cultists of Nyarlaexedum •
Cultists: 14/25 HP
• Special Ability: Unnerving Fervor, for each downed enemy, the cultists gain 1+ bonus to their attack roll. This bonus is cancelled when 50% of the cultists are dead.
Imps: 5/10 HP • Special Ability: Avaricious Hunger, Imp's can use a turn to mark an enemy and in the next turn they'll be able to attack twice against said enemy.
Chort: 11/20 HP
• Special Ability: Tool of War, they receive a natural +2 bonus points to their attack roll. Chorts are completely immune towards invasive status effects.

With most of their members dizzy or somewhat unconscious, the remaining four that were capable of moving looked at one another before letting out a zealous shout as they charged towards Calocis, a female cultist shouted "TRAITOR!" before swinging a rusted blade against the cleric. (1d10-2 = 6 | Success | 2 Damage.) (Calocis HP: 7/9) Calocis felt the cold iron cut through his thick leather clothing and into his flesh, making a deep cut on his left arm, still, he had the protection of the Queen of Shadows and was otherwise not intimidated by the cultists. Based on their clothing, they worship the Great Dark One with savage zealousness instead of studying the Dark One's rebellious nature with theological interests. Disgusting. Meanwhile, the surviving Imp looked about the battlefield with a single thing in mind, try kill someone and feed from their flesh. After a few seconds, it's eyes locked with Syll. (Avaricious Hunger, Imp's can use a turn to mark an enemy and in the next turn they'll be able to attack twice against said enemy. Syll is now marked.)

The Chort had sustained various grievous injuries by now. From a strategic standpoint, the demon knew that if reinforcements didn't come soon, this mission would be over soon. Regardless of its analysis over the situation, it had one task at hand it was going to perform it to the best of its abilities. It looked at Sentry, hidden underneath her stone carapace with Alberto standing next to her. Sera on the other hand was alone, protected by roots but alone, but the closest to the little dragon lady was an annoying little pest, the Sheriff. Indiferent to the Hobs as a whole, the Chort understood that if they took care of these pests, it'll be easier for them to take care of the bigger targets. It charged past Sentry and Alberto and attempted to kick the Sheriff. (1d10+2 = 8 | Success! | 2 Damage.) (Sheriff HP: 3/5) Gsera watched as the Sheriff was kicked with full force by the Chort, sending the small woman flying against a wall. The Sheriff then fell to the ground, taking a deep breath before spatting some blood. "T-tsk... f-fuck off ya bloody mongrel!" She shouted as she pulled out her flintlock pistol.

• Allied Turn •

• Constables of Waterham •
The Sheriff: 5/5 HP
• Special Ability: Callous Defender, the Sheriff does an extra +1 bonus damage against enemies that downed/incapacitated/killed an ally.
Constables Bolby & Sandra: 7/7 HP

The Sheriff slowly got back up, gun in hand and ready to fire upon the creature that wounded her. (1d10+2 = 10 | Critical Success! | 4 Damage.) (Chort HP: 6/25) The party watched as the Sheriff took the shot, the bullet making a sizeable hole right on the Chort's left lung. The creature did not flinch, but it was now twitching and dripping blood. "Gonna put yer fookin' head on a plate, mate!" said the Sheriff bitterly as she threw her pistol away, lifting her fists to scrap with the demon if need be.

Meanwhile, right after Calocis was cut by the cultists, the Dokkálfar watched as the woman who struck him received a strong blow to the head by the human constable. Both Bolby and Sandra started to push the cultists surrounding Cal and Kastalli. (1d10 = 6 | Success! | 2 Damage.) (Cultist HP: 12/25) Both constables fought bravely, as Sandra continued to strike the cultist that had attacked Cal, eventually knocking her out with her bill club, Bolby on the other hand had managed to kill a cultist by striking them on the kneecap with their shield before bashing their shield against their skulls repeteadly. "Bloody zealots! Always worship the Big Mother!" said Sandra as the remaining two cultists backed away.

But there were no longer just two cultists, Gawain could feel it with his power, the corrupted but unmistakably human essence marching towards them. In a matter of second and rather unexpectedly, thirteen more cultists came running down the street. "No signs of Birkenhead, Acolyte!" shouted a cultist towards one of the cultists. "Who cares about that Hob?! We have bigger problems here!" She said while pointing at the enemy and the dying Chort. "Jean-Claude! You know what to do!" shouted the lady Acolyte at a male cultist, who turned around and ran away from the scene as fast as they could. Two of the newly arrived cultists then charged towards Sentry, weapons ready to strike her down. She parried one of the attacker with her sword while Alberto blocked an upcoming strike heading to her side.

"DIE UNBELIEVER!" Shouted the cultist as they lifted their sword again, ready to attack Sentry. But before they could do so, Sentry watched as the cultist's head popped in a fountain of gore and viscera. A surprised Petrocles stood in front of her now, looking at his bloodied mace and the cultist he just killed. The other cultist that had attacked Sentry looked in utter shock at his dead comrade before being knocked out unconscious by Korzhev. "W-we... *gasp* ...c-came as... f-fast as we could!" shouted Cécilia as Petro, Korzhev and Abasi got into combat positions. The Party is complete and can fight together again. The Constable that led them there and Paulin soon joined the other constables in their fight against the cultists. The Constables gain 3 more HP (10/10).

As the scene became more chaotic, Cécilia noticed the Grunde moving about on the ground and snatched them as fast as they could without getting stabbed by a cultist. "H-here!" she shouted as she squeezed both Grunde's between her palms. Grunde's magical powers are no longer limited. However, things were still not done. Ten new cultists join the the surviving ones (22/25). "We are all together now! And I'm sure Ser Waylond will bring even more reinforcements soon enough!" Shouted Alberto as he approached the cultist. "These worshipers of Hel deserve nothing but the death they so desperately crave for! They abandoned decency in a pursuit for dark power, do not forget that... and if they want Hel, we will give them Hel! CHARGE TOGETHER MY FRIENDS! FIGHT AS ONE!" He said while pointing his spear at the enemy.


the writer
Gsera's call for aid from the insects had worked and brought about a swarm to hinder the Chort's advance, and it seemed to have worked as the insects stung, bit and crawled all over the demon... until she quickly realized in horror that it had no effect as they simply died or were gobbled up by the monster like it had been nothing. And then came its taunt that she was the only recipient of that nearly caused her to completely panic again. H-how could it not work? she thought as her mind raced and her heart thundered in her chest, What can I do!? The chort then closed the distance which made her flinch in preparation of an attack, but realized that the blow went to the sheriff instead who was flung back by the sheer force of the impact. She didn't want this, for any of this to have happened. She didn't want someone else getting hurt because of her, she didn't want to fight... but she had no choice in this scenario.

It was likely that the Chort would turn its attention to her next and so she turned herself to face the demon in front of her, blood trickling down her face from the blow she had received on her head earlier. It was here she had to make her stand for if she could not protect herself, how could she hope to protect her friends? The sight of the sheriff being in visible pain made her feel, for the first time in a long time, nothing but anger as she bared her teeth at the Chort: "Hi fen ni ahraan di fahdon." she spoke in the harsh tongue of dragons, before pointing a lone finger to the skies above. She recalled the magic that had been taught to her by the Fir Bolg of the Eonach Coillite and the technique to summon it: to be able to call upon the fury of the storm down upon an enemy. Though she never had to use it before against someone else, this was now the time to do so.

The skies crackled and the clouds directly above the ddraig began to gather and swirl with intensity before she lowered her finger straight at the chort and snarled: "Dar los dii suleyk." she spoke before letting loose the fury of the storm onto the demonic being.


Nitpicker of swords
Syll delivered a powerful and deadly blow to the first cultist, even if he had turned to the least lethal side of his weapon, his attack was fueled by wrath, the deep resentment he had for the cult of Nyarlaexedum and their knack for corrupting the lives of the decent folk. Another cultist tried to attack him on the back but he was too slow, the elf easily dodged the attack and retaliated with another swing of his own. Syll stood in place, not minding the sweat that ran down his face. The adrenaline of battle was keeping him at optimal performance, and then he noticed that the second imp looked at him intensely, its sickening grin never growing dimmer even at the sight of its fallen allies.

"So it is a fight that you want, you foul fiend? then by all means, allow me to grant you that deathwish!"

Syll flipped his weapon once again and concentrated, the rune chiselled into the hammer end started glowing in a bright lavender color, he then rushed to the imp. Once he was in proper range he swung his axe, but just as the swing started, the back of his weapon exploded in a lavender burst of magic, the force of the explosion adding to the raw strength of the attack, making it considerably more powerful.

Syllannan uses Runic Cleave on the Imp


Big loaf supreme
The infernal bastard just refused to die and gloat, but Sentry refused to listen to him. Before she could prepare for another strike, the enemy cultists made their move against her and Alberto. The attacker didn't make it as his head was turned to mush by Petrocles. The barbarian let out a cheer at the sight of their party now joining the fray. The battle was not going the creature's way. Spurred further by the knight's commands, she prepared for another strike at the demon.


Sautekh Nemesor
Gawain cursed beneath his breath as his spell fizzled out due to a lack of available mana to draw from, the sheet of ice he created quickly evaporating into a puddle before he could focus its shape into deadly spikes. A magic missile is not going to do any good against a Chort, Edgar. he replied in his head, suddenly shuffling to his feet as one of the deranged cultists charged at him. Reacting as quick as he can, he began to back step yet almost tripped from his center of gravity being off. Fortunately his wraith came to his aid to pick up the slack, dispatching the cultist in a most agonizing manner.

When the constable openly criticized him and his minion he gave a light shrug. "Tormented spirits are hard to control it seems. I wanted it to go for the Imp." the undead mage explained. "Still, I am thankful for its intervention through defiance."

Chaos continued to rage around him as the battlefield was populated with more reinforcements on both sides, cultists filling in the ranks of their dead while more constables were drawn to the commotion. With the addition of more bodies on their side to fight the rabble, Gawain knew that his talents were better spent on dealing with the greatest threat on the field. Alberto gave a thunderous war cry and the mage began to stride forward, spreading his arms to his sides as they began to twitch and ignite with purple and blue flames. They traveled and coated his arms as he kept walking, focusing his intentions on the Chort yet again. "I have grown tired of listening to you and your horrible language, creature." Gawain spat, gesturing with raised fingers while quickly crossing his arms just to swipe his hands through the air.

Beneath the demon a circle of those arcane flames began to rage, and overhead an enormous boulder coated in those scalding licks of magic began to descend from the heavens upon the monster! Not affording any more mistakes caused by lack of mana, the wizard was using his own essence once more to cast the spell!

Special Rule: Catalytic Casting


Chaotic Trainwreck
The fight had been raging on for quite some time, since by the time their party made it to the scene, several cultists were already dead, their bodies scattered on the pavement. There was the demon whom the little Sheriff and the constables had managed to wound quite a bit. There were also enemy reinforcements on the way, which the frogman immediately directed his attention to.

Once the two cultists that were about to attack Sentry were taken care of, Korzhev raised his hand in a brief greeting to hers and also as a sign of his understanding of Alberto’s words. Fight together with the company he will and fight for them he will. He swiftly turned towards the approaching cultists, preparing his staff once again, but this time, to cast another of his curses. He quickly got to work, shifting his staff to hold it with both of his hands, chanting a prayer to the patron.

With it he hoped to freeze the approaching enemies in place, their blood to freeze within their veins to dry up, enough for the more physically gifted of their company to finish them off for good. He continued to picture it in his mind, a morbid view of a slowly darkening leg as the sensation fades abruptly fades away.

Far too absorbed in his task, Korzhev continues to chant slowly in prayer, awaiting for his one and only god to hear.

Elenion Aura

One Thousand Club
Cal hissed as the deranged cultist’s blade bit into the flesh of his arm. He staggered back, clutching his wound with his good hand, fearful that another blow was soon to come. Savages. He cursed them and their banal understanding of the Gods they professed to serve. They were unworthy to call themselves True Believers. Unworthy to behold His dark gifts. And yet they had the gall to call him traitor? To mark him as a heretic? Fools. Dead fools, the lot of them. He released his wounded arm, his hand now stained with his own dark blood.

Before he could counter, however, help found him in the form of two strangers. One cultist fell, then the other. For a moment Cal winced, expecting one or both of them to turn their weapons on him. When they didn’t, he took a breath to steady his mind… Under different circumstances, these two would likely be his enemies. And yet, here and now, they fought by his side. Ineffable. Even so, they would not hear words of gratitude pass his lips.

The battlefield had grown, with new combatants arriving to and fro. And yet there was no denying the creature that occupied its epicenter… The Chort—the devil-beast whose gaze had found Cal briefly even amidst the chaos, chilling the blood in his veins… Wounded though it may be, Cal knew the Chort still presented a far greater threat by its presence alone than any one cultist. It had to be eliminated.

And, as the Dark Ones willed, it seemed that Cal was not alone in reaching this conclusion. Wild magic swirled around the creature, a storm of fire and lightning which crackled with the potential to decimate it utterly… But the Servants of the Shadow Lords ought never be underestimated. At once, Cal knew his next move. He flung out his arms, wincing as pain lanced up his wounded arm like a shard of ice, fingers clawing the air.

Sluden d'asrogg. Kus nuij tarthe!

This gambit, to end the Chort once and for all, could not fail. It would not. To that end, Cal beseeched the Twilit God for the power to shackle the Chort in fetters of Unlight, stripping it of any magical or unholy protections that would otherwise impede the dual spells from banishing the filth of it from this corporeal plane.

Emperor Sagan

Lord Commissar
Petrocoles did not waiver after slaying the first cultist. While he had been startled to run into them, a single swing with his hammer was all that was needed to put them down. They had finally caught up to their friends - and what a battlefield it was. Corpses littered the street and the air was thick with the skin-crawling sensation of arcane and holy magic crackling back and forth. The demonic Chort filled his vision as he sighted the dark creature, and his instinct told him to charge the foul beast and hit it with all his strength. Indeed, a charging bull with a hammer could put down even a strong oak. He'd occasionally joined the younger minotavurs in such ridiculous games to show off their strength, though as children, none of them could truly put down a tree except shake some branches.

There was too much magic around the Chort. He could not safely attack them without getting in the way of their spellcasters, and while he did not want to harm himself, he also did not wish to put the burden of harming a friendly onto the shoulders of his friends. Tucking his head low, Petro hefted his hammer and focused on the nearest rampaging cultists.

His muscles tensed as he reaffirmed his grip on the hammer, and he charged ahead at some of the cultists with the intention of smashing them all into lifeless dolls.


ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ
Grunde watched as their spell flickered out of existence, barely forming a soft breeze. Now is not the time to mess up. Luckily, the other members of the company arrived soon after, carrying the other part of the slime. Grunde felt the pull of wanting to be whole again, and quickly made their way towards Cécilia. It was a little disorienting at first but Grunde quickly regained focus on the battlefield with more than enough mana in their disposal.

Their party may be reunited but it appeared that more cultists joined the fight as well. The situation quickly escalated, with both groups crowding the area. Everywhere Grunde looked, someone was fighting something. The slime directed their focus towards the cultist, their sheer number can be overwhelm the rest of the party if not taken care of. Though with the help of Kastalli's tune, most of them were incapacitated making them an easy target to hit.

Grunde placed their hands on the ground and focused on the distracted cultists, careful to not hit Petrocoles with a stray spell. The slime willed flames beneath the cultists to bust forth, engulfing them in fire.


The Demon Fanatic
Devereaux's night had been a rather uneventful one after the grand feast of the leading party. He stuck to entertaining, as he usually did, as there were not enough chairs for everyone to sit at the table. Especially with the two new arrivals of Malthara and Cassandra. An interesting pair! And he certainly wasn't going to barge in and interrupt while the others spoke of important topics. This vile 'Red Cap' creature needed to be caught, and it seemed that they were planning accordingly. Some of the female members of the group were planning a girl's night out. Fancy! And the later sight of Gawain and his strange wraith follower was certainly interesting. Perhaps someone managed to upset the undead necromancer enough for him to turn them into a wraith? Devereaux was across the tavern when they had made their entrance and spoke with the others, and he hadn't heard much of their conversation over activity around him. None of the group seemed to need Devereaux's assistance, so the harlequin continued his rounds around the tavern. Entertaining with his lute and singing tunes to please the patrons.

But now, he spent his evening sitting on the edge of a human-sized corner table, adjusting the strings of his lute. It seemed a bit out of tune during some of the songs he had played earlier in the evening. And that just wouldn't do! Out of tune instruments were the bane of entertainers and musicians! He adjusted the tension in each string, and gently plucked them till he was satisfied with their sound, before moving on to the next. And eventually, he was finished. "Marvelous!~" he said to himself, strumming the strings for a moment before setting it beside him on the table. Now... what to do? Explore Waterham a bit? Despite having been through Waterham a few times in the past, he never genuinely experienced the nightlife of the city.

But soon, he heard the bells. A rare thing indeed for the city, as they were only used during emergencies. It certainly grabbed his attention, and his curiosity. Just as much as that individual earlier when he first met Abasi. He did wonder where they went, but that was a thought for another time. "Things have certainly grown more interesting by the second around here!" he said to himself as he slid off the table. He moved over to another shorter table nearby, where he had laid his other personal items down, and gathered them up. His bow and arrows were the most important at the moment. As a young hob walked by, he glanced over his shoulder briefly. "Young one, be a dear and hold on to my lute. If you would be so kind, of course! I'll return for it later!~" he said, before holding the instrument out to the hob child.

As soon as the boy took it, Devereaux spun about. And out of the tavern he darted, remarkably quickly. Heading straight for the sounds of battle on the other side of the city as they reached his ears. Perhaps he could find some...elevation along the way? One must always hold the high ground when engaging at range!


The Bean
Performing her disorienting melody, Kastalli’s tail puffed up slightly with pride at the sight of her success. However, now was not the time to pat herself on the back as one of the cultists managed to stabilize themselves and run straight for her! Wait a second - as she gripped her spear tightly she realized she was not the intended target but the Dokkálfar who had closed her wounds earlier. Kastalli twisted her body, wanting to react quickly to defend the man that had kindly helped her when she was bleeding out before. Unfortunately, the sudden movement was too much for her current injuries as she winced in pain, bringing a hand to her lower torso. The split hesitation was enough to leave her new ally undefended as she watched one of the cultists swing a blade at his arm. Luckily for the two of them, they had plenty of other allies to back them up as two of the constables rushed in to fight off the cultists surrounding them.

“Are you alright?” Kastalli breathed heavily as she looked at the Dokkálfar in concern. However, it seemed he was far from finished as she watched him retaliate with a spell of his own. This display inspired her, especially with the arrival of more cultists, she would continue fighting even with her the pain she was experiencing. Holding her spear tightly, she charged at a nearby cultist, thrusting her weapon forth.


Bust :(
Like many times before before abasi started dancing wildly between the cultists his moves confusing and sometimes entrancing some of them as he used the momentum to slash and stab all around him with his curved dagger he seemed to ignore any slashes that cut open his skin and continued his dance of blades not targeting a single oponent but moving between them hitting and "running" never stopping for a moment , he knew that to stop dancing would mean grave injury or death , he always knew that.

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