• Graded • Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Two dumbasses fight for a corpse. (Neronim)

Rising from the stony plateau overlooking the rivers and plains of the western continent, and growing wealthy from the gem stones pulled from this same rocky soil, Etzos is a bastion of independence, eagerly spreading its belief that man should rule Idalos, not be servants of the vain Immortals who nearly destroyed it. But can the different factions set aside their agendas long enough to see this through?

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• Graded • Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Kovic » Fri Jan 20, 2017 6:05 pm

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62nd of Zi’da, 716
22nd Break


It seemed that poor old Blob had finally perished.

As Paplo loomed over his corpse, a noisy finger came forth, poking the male’s backside in hopes of getting any sort of response – which, of course, did not come. What had once been a smiling old man was now another meal for the Mortalborn, whom arched his eyebrows whilst he stared at the laying frame of the deceased. His poke desisted, and his hands now formed nets, which quickly frisked the pockets of the male to find, as expected, nothing save dust. The clothes themselves seemed unusable, especially once Paplo noted how they glued to the dead man’s body, held together by accumulated sweat and muck. Looting the homeless was not a very rewarding vocation, he thought. Looking over his shoulder, Paplo fell quiet, and listened to whatever sounds were present.

The Etzori Underground was as silent as usual, especially at night. The infinite tunnels and clandestine locations had plenty of space to be spread out, and so said cavernous – and rather occult – location was given soundtrack by occasional water drops coming from somewhere, a disturbingly proximate screech of some sort, or the faint sounds of cracking stone, which did nothing but state how the tunnels lacked any sort of maintenance. Footsteps, light sources, or even fresh breeze were rare, and so was any visitors to the enormous and well-guarded Etzori secret. One’s imagination faltered were they to imagine what sort of locations existed beneath the Etzori ground, and even Paplo struggled to resist the temptation of venturing within the dark every so often. At the least, he could find something that called his attention. At best, he could find a meal. This seemed to be his lucky trial, considering his meal laid just before him.

The suited and well-fashioned male stood up with a sigh, glancing for the last time at the pitch black tunnels that awaited past his torch light. The torch itself roared fiercely, as if the flames were fueled by farts accumulated within the tunnels – something that would be imaginable considering the foul smell of these passages. The logistics of transporting the body for its consumption were still somewhat unclear, yet the Mortalborn blindly trusted in optimism; perhaps a conveniently freshly-abandoned bakery awaiting for some fodder, its furnaces lit and roaring for the next delicacy. If that was not possible, then a comfortable corner or a sewer would suffice, too. Eating the poor was not something one could find pride in, yet the option seemed far more viable than spending three trials of wages in one lunch. Teaching orphans was the worst. Plus, they would be more useful if Paplo were to ingest them.

Taking the dead man by its foot, Paplo began dragging him through the stone floor. His torch was kept high, illuminating his path forth – or it should’ve, as Paplo could barely advance. It seemed whatever muck the dead man had sweated was indeed some very powerful glue, for Paplo couldn’t drag the body. As he looked towards it, he saw a trail of blood having been left behind by the individual’s face, which had been badly scraped against the rough stone below. The food was being contaminated! Letting go of the foot, Paplo would ponder. Carrying the body on his shoulder would be efficient but unwise, as his suit needed not any improper muck or smell on it. For his meal to be halted for such a petty detail spoke greatly of how ambitiously stupid his Paplo Ynush role was.

“Great,” said the man to himself, now leaning down and taking a hold of both dead feet. Their smell was far from appealing, but regardless, Paplo began yanking the body. It moved indeed, sliding down the tunnels like a sled down a slope. It slid, and it slid, until the reindeer Paplo apparently played had exhausted himself from the effort. The realization of the ridicule he was performing came to him at last, and so the man finally let go of his act. By doing so, the male began undressing himself, folding his suit nicely on the cleanest nearby spot he could find, eager to just consume the corpse right here and right now. Nobody would come, anyway, least they were foolish enough to venture in the underground at night.

And if they came, they’d be a good dessert.
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Neronin » Sat Jan 21, 2017 5:35 pm

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It was a tedious process for the most part, gathering the supplies for his dark hobbies. Neronin found a body maybe once every twenty times he was down here in the dark cesspit of the Underground. But, always the chance of a find was worth the improvement to his dark skills. The necromancer grimaced slightly as his wheelbarrow lurched and dark water whose contents were questionable at best splashed over his boots. The thing creaked and rattled faintly, the wheel protesting the use. The Etzosi had brought with him the Marrow, now a pile of bones, as he had taken to doing now when moving through the Underground. Having the thing gave him comfort and a sense of security. Now it lay in a pile of mundane bones in his wheelbarrow, covered by a cloth sack.

It was not uncommon to pass people in the Underground. Though most of those one found were not the type one would stop and chat with. Neronin did stop though. The necromancer leaned over the wheelbarrow, his fingers tightening around the worn wooden handles as he did so. His eyes thinned into slits as he watched the man stripping his clothes, very fine clothes, from his body. This was, as Neronin came to realize, only the beginning of the oddity of the situation. Below the man lay another, a muddied and grimy corpse. Neronin had seen enough of them to know it by sight even at this distance.

The necromancer's lip bent down in a profound grimace of disgust. What was this man intending to do to that corpse? For a moment Neronin contemplated leaving. Surely anyone who stripped naked in the Underground willingly was insane, perhaps dangerously so. But the corpse was worth the trouble in the end. Besides, Neronin hadn't exactly been stealthy in his approach, and was sure the man had heard him.

"Ah, what are you doing?" Neronin asked, pushing the wheelbarrow closer. He was more aware of the skeleton laying in waiting under the old, dirty sack as they approached. He wanted to give enough space to be able to animate it if the need arose. "I'm here collecting bodies... to, ah, keep the sewage clean." The necromancer could not keep an edge of claim out of his voice, a hint of a challenge. He wanted the body.

To practice necromancy was an challenge logistically as well as socially. The restraints of secrecy and the risk of discovery were only the beginning of it. The simple logistics of trying to acquire suitable specimens was a whole new challenge in itself. It was such a challenge, in fact, that it leant a sort of bravery to Neronin's challenge of this man's claim. Was he a necromancer, practicing in secret and clinging to shadows as Neronin did? That would not explain the lack of clothing. Neronin let his gaze drift over the peculiar scene with a bewildered look. Perhaps his interests were more... carnal.

The torchlight flickered and Neronin found the man's face surprisingly soft of features. He was muscular, that was obvious. The man seemed to be more of a physical threat than Neronin. Perhaps this wouldn't come to blows though.
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” - Lovecraft
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Kovic » Sat Jan 21, 2017 8:29 pm

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Caught with his pants at his ankles, Paplo looked back with surprise towards the stranger. It wasn’t often that Paplo dwelled within the underground, something that may explain how violently disrupted he seemed to be, blue eyes wide agape as they stared towards the silhouette. The Mortalborn froze, the first thrills of the meeting between the underground dwellers being quenched in an awkward silence. It wasn’t until the male’s hands loft up his pants and covered his brightly pale rear underneath the fine fabric that the tension was not dispelled. Turning towards the stranger, the male scratched the side of his bearded cheek.
“Ugh… Hello,” greeted the Mortalborn in return, his voice soft and modulated. “What a coincidence. I am also tasked with the collection of this cadaver.”

Unlike the stranger, whom possessed actual tools for the labor, Paplo could not use the same excuse to explain this particular situation. The idea of simply forcing an erection and pretending to be a necrophiliac could perhaps dissuade this individual from pushing any further interaction, especially now that Paplo’s stomach growled lightly. Nonetheless, said idea was pushed aside – for the moment. Bending down, the male would arm himself with his own torch, raising it before him.
“Without stating the reason for its collection, allow me to state the reason why I was undressing was for mere hygiene. You must feel his pestilence, do you not?” Paplo chuckled. As he readjusted the flame he carried, his blue eyes locked with that of his possible opponent, and proceeded with a preliminary analysis.

Humanoid, male, young, average height, possibly average weight. Pale features, irritated eyes, dark and functional clothing. Hair and eye color were impossible to distinguish from the distance and adverse lightning, yet the individual’s poise seemed somewhat crooked – detail ruled as an optical illusion for the time being. Armed with tools, dwelling the underground at night, a more or less clear tone of voice and understandable signs of doubt under the oddity of the situation implied a slight discomfort. His statement seemed legit.
“Perhaps I will no longer have to carry this pestilent creature on my bare back, for you possess the tools I require for its transportation. Would you contemplate the idea of a mutually beneficial relationship?” Paplo smiled widely, a hand sweeping his jacket and shirt off the ground, unable to dress them just yet. The Underground didn’t felt that cold, as apparently the city’s farts not only gave a light aroma to the tunnels, but also a damp and disturbingly present warmth. “I am certain my employer would reward you for aiding me in this rather… err… peculiar task. May I ask your name, fellow night-shift employee?”
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Neronin » Sun Jan 22, 2017 4:28 pm

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The story seemed flimsy at best. Neronin narrowed his eyes and glanced down at the corpse before returning his gaze to the man. His voice was oddly smooth and quiet in a subtlety unsettling way. Neronin watched as the man bent and picked up the clothes he had so recently laid upon the stone floor. He was here tasked with clearly bodies? Neronin had the suspicion that this stranger had simply stolen his own pathetic lie. Where was his equipment? Why would he wear such nice clothing to do the task. At least Neronin had a wheelbarrow to back up his own story. The mage's curiosity flared as Paplo mentioned this mysterious employer. He watched the man speak, carefully observing. Neronin was dubious that some corpse remover had an employer who would reward Neronin for the help, if that was indeed what he was.

Neronin got the feeling that they had both given up that facade though. Any task that's required a corpse that wasn't the simple defense of community hygiene was probably illegal. It could be lucrative. Neronin approached slowly, the wheelbarrow squeaking slightly. He felt a sudden pull, a tantalizing draw as he approached. It was a subtle thing, a beckoning that was just past the edge of his senses. Neronin blinked, the feeling was emanating from the man standing before him.

He shook his head, refocusing on the man's face. "Look, I don't think you are here simply to remove corpses. Why would you wear such nice clothing, and have no tools for the job." Neronin gestured at him in general. "So whatever you are doing, I can only guess, is not legal." Neronin emphasized the last word. He held up his hand to stop any words Paplo might say. "I don't care about legality, but that means I can hardly trust you. So, now that we've established that, I have a few questions." Neronin decided on the spot to leap at this, whatever it was. Perhaps if that urge, subtle and foreign, had not been there he would have just turned and left, cutting his losses. But he found that he could not do it now. But the man could still be dangerous, perhaps it meant he was more dangerous.

The dark passage was deserted but for these two unlikely acquaintances. Neronin glanced suspiciously around, carefully making sure they were alone before continuing. He leaned forward over the wheelbarrow and gazed deep into Paplo's eyes with his own light hazel ones. The bags under them making the brightness of the color all the more vivid. "Who is this employer and what is this task? If you are hesitant to tell me, I'll admit that my task is less than legal as well." Neronin had said it without thinking. He tried to keep his face neutral after that last admittance. "I am... uh, Ron." He said after a moment, knowing it was barely believable.

Neronin straightened, hands falling to his sides from the wheelbarrow. He was at home in the Underground for the most part, having spent countless breaks walking it's tunnels. This was, he surmised, the oddest thing he had seen down here. Walking away would have been safer, but less interesting. Neronin knew that his ends were achieved through risk, and this one might just pay off.
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” - Lovecraft
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Kovic » Sun Jan 29, 2017 12:48 pm

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Well, that was quick.

Paplo kept both his frame and smile immobile whilst the wheelbarrow driver approached. The imagery of an undertaker approaching in the name of Death came to mind whilst the individual's funerary features slid through the shadows. On the other hand, Paplo's features showed nothing but trust and amicability, despite only recently being found pants down next to a filthy body. Were the scenery somewhat different, his perfect smile would've been beautiful and welcoming rather than morbidly inappropriate - or creepy, for that matter.
"Legality is a rather loose term, is it not? One must specify which law is one currently obeying, for laws and doctrines exist in the same quantity as flowers. There exist the law of the land, the law of the settlement, the law of nature and one’s personal law,” replied Paplo, his tone friendly and educated. “One is bound to interfere with one law or the other with almost every action. This, I’d say, is what makes all actions in life illegal in some regard, don’t you think?”

Paplo apparently needed not too much effort to establish a link of dialogue between the two, for the mentally incapacitated male was already voicing his immediate concerns. Lacking the insight to answer one’s own questions was an easy way to be led into the path of lies, though Kovic, whom offered nothing but a minor nod and listened carefully. His appearance and general attitude attempted to be far less threatening than it really was.

“This employer of whom I spoke, and whom now holds the gist of your question is a most respectable man, with a brilliant mind and a heart kinder than words can describe. That man is, of course, a servitor here present.” Paplo offered small bow, blue eyes fixed upon Ron. “I hope you do not feel tricked by said confession, as I am truly a freelancer in my trade, and yet the delusions of a business venture have invaded my mind like a plague - or like the smell of this particular individual which we fight over.
“Doctor Dragoon is my business identity, Mister Ron,” said Paplo, offering a handshake towards the individual. “And my task is no other than to profit with the unfortunate fate of the soulless and vacant individual you see on the ground.”


Paplo did not need to look about to realize they were alone. In truth, his focus was on attempting to abstractly calculate the chances of neutralizing the individual to steal the wheelbarrow. Said task was almost impossible, for the Mortalborn had never learned about numbers, and so calculus of any sort was instead a conglomerate of assumptions and guesses. He guessed the wheelbarrow was far more useful than the corpse. It offered a means of transportation for the deceased, a tool for the acting trade, and a save of not only time but hygiene, which was necessary in order to avoid damage to his fine clothing. Plus, this corpse did not look like an appetizing meal. Butchering a sheep or two in the Outer Perimeter would be far better - and easier, if one had a wheelbarrow.

That wheelbarrow needed to be his.


“You see, I run a small but profitable business venture which specializes in subtle but effective disguise of cadavers, planted adequately and precisely in order to implant emotional distress within fellow citizens, and using said emotional cataclysm as a leverage to exchange redemption and profit in return of peace of mind.” Paplo went quiet for a moment. Beneath it all, he was unsure of what he had just said. Improvising was not that easy. He abstained from explaining further. “If you would agree to share this poor fellow’s mortally-wounded vessel for his temporary use within my trade, I would be willing to share a part of the profits with yourself in return - and the posterior giveaway of said cadaver to your own mysterious and unknown needs. How does that sound?”

He smiled.
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Neronin » Mon Feb 06, 2017 7:38 pm

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He was feeling less confident about the decision as he approached the man. Something was off about him, not including the fact that he had a peculiar night time habit. Neronin had a peculiar night time habit as well, albeit not one that required him to take his pants off. It was something else, nothing Neronin could put his finger on, simply a feeling of unease. An instinct of danger. He could not focus on it however, because Dragoon was talking once again. The man's words were soft and quick and Neronin found his mind racing to follow the verbal assault. He stared at the man.

"You want to use this body to instill emotional distress?" Neronin asked, uncertain of what was meant. He glanced down at the corpse. Was this corpse worth tangling with someone who was clearly insane? Should he just command his Marrow to leap out and devour the madman? That plan had merit, but it also allowed for the chance of discovery. Neronin drummed his thin pale fingers against the handle of the wheelbarrow. "What kind of profit are we talking about here. I feel that, as the man with the most means, my task should take precedence." Neronin gestured down at the wheelbarrow. He could, of course, use magic to restore the corpse after whatever this Dragoon needed it for, but was it worth it? Neronin knew that he would have to make a decision soon, the Underground was a desolate place, but being immobile with a dead man was just asking for discovery. The mage turned and glanced back the way he came.

"Let's talk this over as we walk." Neronin said, gesturing for Dragoon to help him lift the corpse into the wheelbarrow. Neronin pulled the sack off the top of the wooden thing and revealed the bones below. "Do not break any of these bones whilst we transfer this cadaver." Neronin emphasized to the man. He did not bother explaining the bones as that would have complicated things further. He simply relied on Dragoon's mutual need for discretion.

Neronin bent down and grabbed the corpse's feet and stared up at the man expectantly, waiting for him to help. If Dragoon did help, they would transfer the corpse into the wheelbarrow, where it would almost fit, though a few limbs would hang over the edge haphazardly. Neronin felt a bit uneasy as he opened himself up to being vulnerable. He took heed in the fact that he now had two minions at his disposal, no matter who claimed the corpse. The dead were his domain.

"You go first, watch for people. I'll push my wheelbarrow." Neronin would say pointedly when they managed to get the corpse in the wheelbarrow. Neronin would make sure the man was beside him if not in front of him before continuing on down the Underground. "I need the corpse for my work. I don't know what exactly you plan to use it for, but if it is going to be damaged in any way I'll be seeking repayment with another corpse..." Neronin would eye the man levelly. "I-"

"Halt, what you got there, eh?" Came a voice from ahead.
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” - Lovecraft
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Kovic » Wed Feb 08, 2017 11:21 am

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Perhaps the male that had suddenly renamed himself as a ‘doctor’ had used a language too formal for Ron. Sometimes the Mortalborn overlooked the amount of peasants the world held, even if he was one of them. Whatever the cause, Dragoon now chuckled as both men worked into laying the corpse within the wheelbarrow. Ron kept expressing his doubts as the scene grew adverse to Dragoon’s somewhat fiendish motives, for his acquaintance had taken control of the wheelbarrow with those selfish hands of his. Before he could even explain his somewhat somewhat extraordinary improvisations, the pair was already on the move.

The underground was a mysterious place as much as it was appealing. Endless corridors, unmapped, lying beneath a popular city. Every passage was different, new, and as unpredictable as whatever laid in the darkness past it. Few things reached the heights of this mysterious place, in which curiosity and knowledge stretched into infinity, perhaps as much as the various routes one could take. Furthermore, the lack of guards, citizens, and of general society guaranteed encountering only the most obnoxious individuals. Doctor’s eyes flew towards his current companion, which surely fell within that category as well.
“My purpose with this cadaver requires not it’s harm. Instead, quite the opposite. I bathe them, change their clothing, and groom them until they look quite live. Then, I pretend for them to be related to myself in some way, perhaps through---”

Dragoon’s own speech was interrupted by a powerful voice from ahead, to which he halted. The voice itself extruded confidence and authority, something that Dragoon noticed but did not acknowledge on his features. The torch he carried did not reach far enough into the darkness to reveal the individual, which added to the mystery the goons found themselves in. Footsteps approached, and the intruder soon revealed itself.

It was hard to spot the intrude, indeed, for a midget breached the shadows faster than Dragoon could realize. The subject in question, although heavily crippled by his miniscule height, had apparently found way to compensate for his handicap, as his muscle size was incredibly voluminous, and the fact that his facial hair almost broomed the floor beneath. Perhaps the most surprising fact came from the lack of a light source within the male’s hands, for instead he carried nothing but an oversized battle axe, which Dragoon immediately imagined capable of incredible damage.

The midget’s confidence was absolute, for what he lacked in size he compensated in spirit. His poise was so firm and tall that the path forward seemed to be blocked by an unmovable boulter, whose crazy eyes stared nonchalantly towards the two individuals. His fur clothing, which allowed his oversized arms and overdeveloped chest to be witnessed, was topped off with a complete lack of shoes, thus concluding that the Underground was, indeed, a place of many wonders.
“What’s that you’re carrying?” asked the midget, his voice quite obviously attempting to sound deeper.
“My, you scared us, fellow citizen,” replied Dragoon, who stepped forward with his kind features and soft voice. “What we transport is the sleeping body of one of our colleges, for he just suffered an incident between a working female’s legs which concluded in his fall within unconsciousness.”
“What kind of accident?” the midget asked, quircking an eyebrow. His suspicion was obvious to the eye.
“Premature ejaculation,” replied Dragoon immediately. “It appears as if the service he had hired did not include said feature, for once the working female discovered the released seed, she demanded monetary compensation our good friend lacked. Thus, she proceeded to, repeatedly, strike him in a hammer-fist style of attack before throwing him into the adjacent sewer pipes.”
“How would she throw him to the sewer pipes if she’s a woman?” Inquired the midget, stepping forward and giving Nero and his wheelbarrow the stink eye. He closed his fists with strength.
“Big woman,” nodded Dragoon. “The well-built type. One could say she’s been bending steel beams from her childbirth, yet I would judge said example as insufficient for her physique.”
“Really?” The midget, whether out of suspicious or out of pure envy towards the Mortalborn’s increased height, slammed his fist against the suited croch.
Dragoon immediately fell to the ground, hands gripping his genitalia as everything in his frame, be it either movement or breathing, was paralyzed from the pain.
“How does that feel?” asked the midget. His eyes set upon Nero, and a finger pointed towards the necromancer quite menacingly, walking towards the barrow shortly after. “What do you have to say, huh?”
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Neronin » Sat Feb 18, 2017 3:35 pm

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What a savage little man, Neronin found himself thinking as he watched Dragoon fall to the floor. "Hey, hey. You can't just hit people!" Neronin said as he raised his hands and shuffled behind the wheelbarrow, keeping the corpse-laden obstacle between them. Neronin felt a pulsing of fear as the little man approached him. His eyes kept flickering to the ax the man held. Neronin felt the energies surge within him, his dark magic coming to his defense almost without conscious thought. Neronin raised his hand and tried to ignore the nervous shaking in the limb. "I'll do worse than kill you. Get-get away from me!" Neronin said with a shaking voice.

The small man grinned a lopsided, wicked visage. His teeth were black where then met and yellow everywhere else. He hefted the ax menacingly and then laughed as Neronin lurched backwards. The mage felt a creeping anger at the mocking way the little beast menaced him, but mostly he felt a terror. A battle ax would cut through his flesh with ease. The man was too close to him. The mage hadn't been in this eminent of danger in a long while. There was only one thing for it.

Neronin let the magic erupt from his hand, his arm flickering with the witchbrand light and shriveling to it's eerie undead state. He watched the dark black cloud spiral forward and slam into the man with all the hateful wrath Neronin could muster. The midget fell to his knees and dropped the heavy battle ax. His fists lashed out though, attesting to the strength of will of the man. He was still fighting even when entrapped by Neronin's rather powerful Sap. The mage stumbled backwards against the wall to avoid the fists. He kicked over the wheelbarrow on top of the little man as his Sap waned.

The corpse rolled onto the attacker and the bones scattered around him. Neronin did not even spare Kovic a glance as he raised both hands and began the magical process of tethering the corpses to his will. Any distraction would be detrimental at this stage. The light of the passage flickered as Neronin worked his magic. Any nearby occupants would hear the muffled fight and the crash of the wheelbarrow, but no one came as Neronin and Doctor Dragoon seemed to be fighting for their lives.

Neronin did not know the man, but he was an ally now. Common cause had at least united them for the fleeting moments between life and that battle ax. The necromancer had no idea if Dragoon had recovered or not, but he was preoccupied with the reanimation he was trying to conduct. Neronin felt his will slide into the corpse more easily than the Marrow. He watched the thing struggle as the dwarf-man attempted to push it off of himself. When he realized it was no longer a mundane corpse, the little man yelped in horror. He managed to get his legs under it and shove it off of him. "Magic! Foul magic!" The little man shouted.

Neronin's face was screwed up in his attempt to gather more magic for a second Sap. The Marrow was gathering itself, pulling bones together to form it's body while simultaneously clawing towards the dwarf-man with the all-consuming hunger. But he hadn't yet noticed this last adversary. The little man was hefting his ax now as the Husk was trying to regain it's footing. The little man let the blade fall, sinking inches into the Husk's shoulder. The thing's arm fell loosely to it's side, but it still stumbled forward, grabbing at the dwarf with it's good arm and gnawing its teeth hungrily.

"Get up, fool! Kill the damnable creature." Neronin finally hissed at the man Dragoon. He needed help. This fight was too close-quarters for Neronin's taste.

The dwarf shoved the Husk away from him, unbalancing the thing and causing it to fall back over the wheelbarrow. As he turned to face Neronin, hefting his ax again, the Marrow stepped forward. The skeletal minion lashed out with both flaw-like hands. The dwarf stared in stunned disbelief as the bony creature shredded his chest with it's phalanges. Tunic and skin ripped and blood sprouted from where the Marrow ripped. The skeleton reached down and bit into the dwarf's neck. Blood flew against the wall, turning the grey to crimson as the skeleton tore into him and flung bits of gore with it's hands. Neronin gasped and let the magic of the sap drain out of him.

There was a faint rasping of metal on stone as the ax fell from the dwarf's now limp hand. He fell to his knees, leaning forward into the Marrow. The skeleton followed him down, it's hunger encompassing the thing's full awareness. Neronin always found the savage hunger the most unsettling part of his work. He waved off his control over both undead and watched the bones fall apart mid-attack. The corpse slumped against the wall and fell slowly to the ground again. It had barely managed to right itself by the time the Marrow had killed the dwarf.

Neronin turned back to Dragoon. "You okay? That man was a complete savage." He didn't know what else to say. The sudden and gruesome violence left the mage stunned. The mage slumped down the wall and sat, leaning his aching head back against the cold stone. He looked at Dragoon and wiped sweat from his forehead. "I'm a necromancer." He said, stating the obvious. "Hey, now we both have a corpse to use." What a savage little man, Neronin found himself thinking as he watched Dragoon fall to the floor. "Hey, hey. You can't just hit people!" Neronin said as he raised his hands and shuffled behind the wheelbarrow, keeping the corpse-laden obstacle between them. Neronin felt a pulsing of fear as the little man approached him. His eyes kept flickering to the ax the man held. Neronin felt the energies surge within him, his dark magic coming to his defense almost without conscious thought. Neronin raised his hand and tried to ignore the nervous shaking in the limb. "I'll do worse than kill you. Get-get away from me!" Neronin said with a shaking voice.

The small man grinned a lopsided, wicked visage. His teeth were black where then met and yellow everywhere else. He hefted the ax menacingly and then laughed as Neronin lurched backwards. The mage felt a creeping anger at the mocking way the little beast menaced him, but mostly he felt a terror. A battle ax would cut through his flesh with ease. The man was too close to him. The mage hadn't been in this eminent of danger in a long while. There was only one thing for it.

Neronin let the magic erupt from his hand, his arm flickering with the witchbrand light and shriveling to it's eerie undead state. He watched the dark black cloud spiral forward and slam into the man with all the hateful wrath Neronin could muster. The midget fell to his knees and dropped the heavy battle ax. His fists lashed out though, attesting to the strength of will of the man. He was still fighting even when entrapped by Neronin's rather powerful Sap. The mage stumbled backwards against the wall to avoid the fists. He kicked over the wheelbarrow on top of the little man as his Sap waned.

The corpse rolled onto the attacker and the bones scattered around him. Neronin did not even spare Kovic a glance as he raised both hands and began the magical process of tethering the corpses to his will. Any distraction would be detrimental at this stage. The light of the passage flickered as Neronin worked his magic. Any nearby occupants would hear the muffled fight and the crash of the wheelbarrow, but no one came as Neronin and Doctor Dragoon seemed to be fighting for their lives.

Neronin did not know the man, but he was an ally now. Common cause had at least united them for the fleeting moments between life and that battle ax. The necromancer had no idea if Dragoon had recovered or not, but he was preoccupied with the reanimation he was trying to conduct. Neronin felt his will slide into the corpse more easily than the Marrow. He watched the thing struggle as the dwarf-man attempted to push it off of himself. When he realized it was no longer a mundane corpse, the little man yelped in horror. He managed to get his legs under it and shove it off of him. "Magic! Foul magic!" The little man shouted.

Neronin's face was screwed up in his attempt to gather more magic for a second Sap. The Marrow was gathering itself, pulling bones together to form it's body while simultaneously clawing towards the dwarf-man with the all-consuming hunger. But he hadn't yet noticed this last adversary. The little man was hefting his ax now as the Husk was trying to regain it's footing. The little man let the blade fall, sinking inches into the Husk's shoulder. The thing's arm fell loosely to it's side, but it still stumbled forward, grabbing at the dwarf with it's good arm and gnawing its teeth hungrily.

"Get up, fool! Kill the damnable creature." Neronin finally hissed at the man Dragoon. He needed help. This fight was too close-quarters for Neronin's taste.

The dwarf shoved the Husk away from him, unbalancing the thing and causing it to fall back over the wheelbarrow. As he turned to face Neronin, hefting his ax again, the Marrow stepped forward. The skeletal minion lashed out with both flaw-like hands. The dwarf stared in stunned disbelief as the bony creature shredded his chest with it's phalanges. Tunic and skin ripped and blood sprouted from where the Marrow ripped. The skeleton reached down and bit into the dwarf's neck. Blood flew against the wall, turning the grey to crimson as the skeleton tore into him and flung bits of gore with it's hands. Neronin gasped and let the magic of the sap drain out of him.

There was a faint rasping of metal on stone as the ax fell from the dwarf's now limp hand. He fell to his knees, leaning forward into the Marrow. The skeleton followed him down, it's hunger encompassing the thing's full awareness. Neronin always found the savage hunger the most unsettling part of his work. He waved off his control over both undead and watched the bones fall apart mid-attack. The corpse slumped against the wall and fell slowly to the ground again. It had barely managed to right itself by the time the Marrow had killed the dwarf.

Neronin turned back to Dragoon. "You okay? That man was a complete savage." He didn't know what else to say. The sudden and gruesome violence left the mage stunned. The mage slumped down the wall and sat, leaning his aching head back against the cold stone. He looked at Dragoon and wiped sweat from his forehead. "I'm a necromancer." He said, stating the obvious. "Hey, now we both have a corpse to use."
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” - Lovecraft
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Neronin
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Kovic » Sun Apr 23, 2017 6:35 pm

Image
The Mortalborn had laid on the floor, squirming in pain at first, and squirming in faked pain afterwards. Being an avid protester against violence, he was terrified of even moving, just in case he attracted either the attention of the blood lusting dwarf or the suspicious stranger that had the occasion to betray him – or both scenarios at the same time. When the stranger displayed his magic, however, Dragoon was absolutely certain he wanted not to interfere, even if one of the two fighters fell against the other.

As such, he watched, and only when the dead had fallen, he dared to move. Panting and cupping his crotch, Dragoon slid against the wall opposite Nero, and imitated his sitting stance. His soft hands moved to wipe away the thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead, or the one he pretend to have, at least.
“I’m fine,” he’d confirm. He then thought of the perfect way of not becoming an immediate threat to the mage. “I… I owe you my life.”

Dragoon pondered on how to approach the situation. It was obvious that Ron valued his secrecy, and Dragoon was a witness to what he had done. Were it the other way around, there would be no question in the suited man’s mind; he would’ve eliminated the witness. His cold approach was difficult to grasp for mortals, however, and so he could still have a chance to not provoke the mage. Those initiated into the arcane, despite being drawn to him, were a mystery, and so were their abilities. Ron’s ability to animate the dead like puppets was all the more terrifying for someone like Dragoon, who made new bodies every few trials. To think Ron could make them confess as to what the Mortalborn did with the dead…
“I collect bodies to carve them up and sew them back together. I’m trying to become a surgeon,” he lied, hoping to establish a bond of secrecy between the two. “They won’t accept me into the academy, so I’m self-educating myself.”

Idly he patted his suit, trying to remove any muck collected on the cheap but fancy-looking clothing, yet he remained tense, watching the necromancer with the corner of his eye, prepared to jump and run were he to detect any threat.
“That thing you did, I’ve… Wow… I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, scoffing and shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. He then laid his torch-lit eyes upon the necromancer. “It was beautiful.”
“I’d ask you if you could teach me, but that’d be rude, as I am the one in your debt.” Dragoon stood up now, looking over at the corpses that had piled up in the duo’s wake. It was as if corpses followed wherever he stepped. After patting through his suit, he moved towards the necromancer and offered a hand. “These corpses are all yours, my friend. I will help you carry them if you need the assistance. If you don’t mind another set of eyes, I would love to give them a look – whether they are still or not so much.”

As an incentive, the self-proclaimed Doctor mentally closed his Ether Lure as much as possible, hoping the necromancer was as exhausted as he looked, and not strong enough to turn the Mortalborn into a walking skeleton. He certainly didn’t want the necromancer feeling strong enough to make yet another corpse.
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Kovic
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Let the Bodies hit the Flour

Postby Andráska Venora » Tue Aug 15, 2017 10:04 am

Kovic: Please resubmit this thread for a grade if you are interested and come back to ST.

Neronin:

Skill Points:
    15/15
    These points may be used for magic. :)
Knowledges:
    Necromancy: Finding a nice corpse
    Necromancy: Using undead to distract your enemy
    Appraisal: Judging the merits of a stranger
    Deception: Hiding one's purpose
    Location: Etzos: Underground
Loot: N/A

Overstepping:

    All clear!
Notes:
    Always great to see how PCs interact with one another and the repertoire between Kovic and Neronin was very interesting. Wish I could have experienced these creeps personally in thread. ;) Great job, and sorry for the terrible delay. Life, man.
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