Welcome to Ryslig's test drive meme! If you're considering apping here, this is where you can try your characters out in the game's setting. A few things to note:
You can only app ONE character per round so choose wisely.
We now have a Quick Game Facts that simplifies the basic information about the game. Good if you want to see what the game is at a glance!
Lots of people have asked good questions on the FAQ, so do take a look.
The reserve date has been announced (it was changed to the 30th to allow a maximum number of people compared to a Friday).
Test drive meme threads can be used for your roleplay sample!
NEW! Players with characters already in the game can earn up to a maximum of 3 coins by replying to potential character threads! You will need to have your normal 20 comment AC in the game. You cannot use this to go over the bonus 10 coins per month total, but you can use it if you are missing some threads to reach that coin total. Same rules as normal bonuses apply.
Sample scenarios:
SCENARIO ONE: So you've just arrived, fresh out of the hospital, and already the natives are trying to get on your good side. Offers of food, shelter and other luxuries in return for hoping you don't eat them. They even have some helpful pamphlets to share with you. "How To Deal With Changes", "Alternatives to Human Flesh", "What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster)" are all great pamphlets. There's even some detailing certain monsters, and the changes they go through.
Among these however, are some... not so helpful ones. "Bunnyipyips And You", "Axe Thief Axehounds," and "So you're becoming a Fur Bearing Trout" among others.
SCENARIO TWO: You've become hopelessly lost in Lager Woods. Paths don't seem to lead where you remember them leading, and you feel as if you're going around in circles. Childlike giggling can be heard from no direction in particular. Suddenly, you stumble upon another character, who seems to be just as lost as you! Perhaps you can find a way out together. Or maybe they want you for lunch...
SCENARIO THREE: You've heard about the fog, but you've never seen it before. Now, the mist surrounds you. Barely able to see before you, you need to get home - and fast. It's far too dangerous in this situation.
SCENARIO FOUR: The time has come and you've found yourself becoming a monster. Is the change instant, or gradual? Are you familiar enough with monsters to know what's happening, or is it a complete shock? NOTE: Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.
Rosch awoke in a strange hospital bed that definitely was not in Alistel's infirmary, and he was attended to by a doctor who was most certainly not Sonja (who was his dear beloved wife and sole thaumatechnician on duty). He was covered in bruises and scratches he had no memory of sustaining. Even his Gauntlet had suffered quite a bit of new damage, most notably what appeared to be four parallel lines gouged across the vambrace protecting his lower arm... Claw marks, maybe?
And that wasn't all... it looked like someone had been tampering with the Gauntlet while he was knocked unconscious! His fingers were oddly jointed and no longer resembled deadly knives, honed to razor sharpness. The armor plating against his shoulder was missing, too, leaving only the bare chassis to cover the complex arrangement of synaptic wiring and actuators.
The roar of anger and frustration at having someone other than Sonja futzing around with his Gauntlet could probably be heard halfway across the hospital.
"DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU BUNCHA QUACKS!" Despite being divested of his armor the (now slightly less bulky) lieutenant still towered over the entire hospital staff, and as such, no one was willing to admit to who actually did tinker around with the Gauntlet. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY GAUNTLET?"
So it was that the townsfolk were greeted with a seven-foot-mumble burly blond soldier with a strange automail knockoff mechanical arm bellowing at the top of his lungs like an angry bear awoken from hibernation. Some of the doctors tried to persuade him to return to the hospital, but to no avail.
"Leave off, you bastards!" Rosch swung his left arm at one of them, hoping to ward them off, but the movement elicited a decidedly angry screech of metal grinding against metal. The huge soldier groaned and slumped over as the Gauntlet went limp and dropped to the pavement with a resounding clunk.
"...What the hell?" Rosch tried to move his left arm, but it wouldn't respond. The servos made a few pitiful whirring sounds, but everything below his elbow had locked up. "Move, you hunk of junk! MOVE!"
Of course, it refused to budge.
Dammit...
SCENARIO TWO
He must have been walking for hours. At least, it felt that way. With the interlacing canopy of branches, he couldn't even get a clear look at the sun. How the hell was he supposed to find his way out of here if the path kept zigzagging all over the damn place?! And... didn't he pass that same squirrel sitting on an old stump at least six times already?
"Dammit all, this is ridiculous!" he roared, loud enough that several startled birds took flight from a nearby tree. "I just wanna go home already, is that so much to ask?!"
In answer, someone giggled softly in the distance. Several someones. It sounded like a group of children hiding in the bushes, though Rosch didn't notice the eerie echoing quality of their laughter, not right away. "What's so damn funny, huh?"
Rosch lumbered toward the bushes, swiping them aside with his Gauntlet. To his surprise (and slowly mounting horror) there were no children hiding in the bushes. The laughter started again, louder this time, from somewhere behind him.
"A-All right..." he said as he slowly took a step back, eyes searching desperately for the source of the laughter. "Joke's over. Come on out, if ya know what's good for ya!"
By this point in time, Stocke had stopped expecting any of those he knew from Vainqueur to show up with Ryslig's tide. He'd chalked it down to a fluke in being the time traveler among them, cut loose from the continent's natural progression of history, or maybe some side effect of being half-souled, almost going through with the Sacrifice... But with Heiss - ...gone - he'd thought he wouldn't be seeing anyone from home. Not until he returned (if he deserved to return, by the time he finally found a way).
He'd been wrong.
The shade stood frozen just past the corner from the hospital, sheltered from the sun by an overhang. That shouting voice sounded familiar, tantalizingly so, and it was taking him a few seconds to make up his mind and slink the last several meters. He hoped it wasn't Rosch; bad enough that the friends he'd inadvertantly made here were going through the same thing he was, he didn't want his best friend stricken by the same curse.
(At the same time, he hoped it was. Selfish of him, came the passing thought.)
A short, quiet breath - hardly noticable even to the natives passing by - and Stocke rounded the edge of the street. His first look was more than enough to confirm; even with Rosch's Gauntlet mangled, his signature armour gone, Stocke would recognize the man anywhere.
It was drawing close to evening; long-stretching shadows sheltered the monster from the glare of sunlight as he drew closer behind the other's back. For all his worries about gods and curses, he temporarily forgot that he might not be greeted with recognition himself - blank eyes, inky aura, dark claws and darker tentacles sprouting from his back. (Or maybe he knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be enough to make him a stranger. Not to Rosch.)
It was almost comical, how easily the shade fit within the confines of Rosch's shadow, almost as though he were merely seeking shelter from the sun.
Maybe it was years of instincts honed on the field of battle, but as the shade drew up behind him, Rosch felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck--a sure sign that an enemy ambush was imminent--and whirled just as Stocke called out his name. The Gauntlet might be little more than dead-weight now, but without his armor or lance, it was the only defense left to him. Better to have an improvised shield than no shield at all.
"I said don't touch--!" But the words died in his throat, the battle fury in his eyes replaced with dread.
The creature standing in his shadow resembled something that had been twisted by the Black Chronicle, a core of darkness encased in human flesh. Rosch staggered back a pace, his mind scrambling for a means to defend himself. He tried to raise the Gauntlet, but the action caused him to overbalance. He sprawled backward, growling in anguish as the Gauntlet fell uselessly to the ground, sparks popping and fizzling from the actuators in his elbow. Pain lanced into his shoulder. He must have really screwed something up internally if he was receiving that sort of feedback from the Gauntlet...
Dammit! If those loony doctors hadn't been messing around with it, he might be able to do something instead of just sitting on his arse and hoping this monster won't decide to eat him or whatever!
But... how did the monster know his name? Rosch had only just come to that realization now. Battle-fury tended to blind you to little details like that. Including the flash of a red scarf hidden within the writhing shadows. Something niggled in the back of Rosch's mind, but he couldn't seem to grasp it. "Who... Who are you? What do you want?"
Stocke pulled his tendrils in tight against his back - bit too late for that now, they'd already been seen and it wouldn't make much difference, but it did make them less... distracting. Enough for the the rest of his monstrous features to remain; at least he still had a more human shape than some others, arachnes and gargoyles among them.
"Rosch. It's me." With that particular flavour of deadpan Stocke had been so often reliant on. Come on, Rosch, who else did you know so completely slathered in bright red? Besides, well, you.
Stocke leaned over the larger man, glow in his eyes flickering with concern. "What happened to your arm?" Arm, Gauntlet - it was synonymous, with Rosch. Stocke stuck out his own hand to help the other up, hesitating momentarily at seeing the black claws on his fingers - if Rosch was already reacting by freaking out, that might... really not help, not without recognition. But he kept his arm there; the important thing here was to have confidence.
The creepy-shadow-monster-thing appeared to draw back into itself, like a spider going into a defensive posture. Rosch blinked in confusion. It... wasn't going to attack him?
That deadpan voice though...
No...
It couldn't be...
Blue eyes widened in slow recognition as the cogs started turning in Rosch's brain, desperately trying to make sense of the crazy situation. The figure was clad in red from head to toe and covered in an assortment of belts and pouches. Only one man Rosch knew possessed such a... striking sense of fashion.
"You... You're..." Clearly, his mouth was malfunctioning as badly as his Gauntlet if he couldn't even spit out a single name. The fear that had stiffened his posture was beginning to ebb. He looked less like a cornered animal and more like a bewildered man. "Stock...? Is that... Is that really you under there?"
He continued to stare, dumbfounded. Eyes that were once cornflower blue now glimmered with a preternatural light. But even so, they didn't look so... threatening now. In fact, they almost looked concerned. Rosch shook his head, shifted his weight so that he was sitting in a more upright position. The Gauntlet whirred softly. It wasn't sparking anymore, so that was something, at least. But he still couldn't get his fingers to uncurl and his elbow was locked in position, but he could still use it to lever himself up.
"I dunno... Those crazy doctors must have loosened a wire or something when they were poking around..." His voice was practically a growl. "I bet not a one of 'em has any training in thaumatech repair. This is a sophisticated piece of equipment, dammit! You gotta treat it with respect!"
Hopefully, Stocke won't mention the hypocrisy of that statement. Rosch himself could be pretty rough with the Gauntlet, and he wasn't above using the blades to shave in the morning. Sophisticated indeed...
Reaching for the creepy-shadow-monster-thing's his friend's hand, Rosch only paused for the briefest of moments before taking hold. His grip was firm, friendly, even. How often had Stocke offered that same steady hand each time he managed to best Rosch in a sparring match?
Once Rosch was on his feet, he gave Stocke a cursory glance. "Honestly, I think the more important question is: what happened to you? I thought you were..."
He bit down on the words, refusing to utter them, lest it confirm his worst fears. Stocke wasn't... dead. Not really. But he wasn't alive anymore, either. This wasn't a result of his sacrifice... was it?
Something in Stocke's expression went softer as he was named; inadvertently, his tendrils relaxed, unfurling. They didn't look threatening, somehow - the pattern they wove through the air behind the shade's back was equally gentle.
"About time." It should've been said expressionlessly, but even Stocke couldn't quite muster that right now; there was a bit of relief, but mostly an unobtrusive, subdued happiness.
The shade's eyebrows raised at Rosch, of all people, grumbling about being careful with the Gauntlet; who here'd bashed the thing about countless times before? Still, he let the grousing pass uncommented as he pulled the other up. It was hardly important to tease Rosch right now, and the man wasn't wrong - no one on this peninsula had the slightest clue about how to work with thaumachinery, Stocke included.
Instead, he finished Rosch's sentence for him, quietly. "...gone." Not exactly dead, but just as out of reach of the world, and Stocke hadn't expected there to be anything left of him. He... he had some explaining to do, didn't he?
And... maybe apologies to make, later. If the same choice was put in front of him now - sacrifice himself, or let Vainqueur perish - he'd make the same exact decision. But he'd regret just as much what he put his friends through.
A short pause, Stocke's eyes dimming to a far less bright white. "Heiss. At the last moment, Heiss intervened and sacrificed himself in my place."
And Stocke... it'd been more than half a year, since then - (for once, he's sure of the time, now that he's been locked in a linear timeline like a normal non-time-traveling person) - and Stocke still didn't know how he felt about it. His... uncle (a title begrudgingly granted, in acknowledgement of the man's sacrifice, if nothing else) had saved the world in the end, had found enough empathy to become a candidate for Sacrifice. But he'd still intended to destroy it at first, caused needless suffering on the path there, and it wasn't Stocke he'd harmed the most. He'd destroyed Ernst, wiped away Eruca's real brother (in the shade's thoughts, anyway), slaughtered Marco and Raynie's old partners, been behind the war between Granorg and Alistel. It wasn't up to Stocke to forgive. Just remember.
He refused to let himself dwell for more than a few seconds, continuing with, "I meant to return, after - but as I was leaving Historia, I found myself here." With no White Chronicle in tow - he'd sorely missed its presence more than once since then.
The bit about monster transformations he left out, for the moment - Rosch would have enough to absorb, probably questions to ask. (And maybe he was delaying for another reason - explaining about the transformations would mean explaining about feeding on humans, and what sort of excuse could he ever offer for eating souls? It'd seemed pragmatic, surrounded by other monsters - better then losing control and slaughtering larger numbers - but faced with someone from home...)
It was strange, really. Nothing about Stocke's appearance had actually changed but for some reason... he looked less monstrous and more well, like Stocke, as Rosch continued to stare at him. Even the weird wispy shadowy tendril things looked... peaceful. Like seagrass dancing in the tide.
"Never said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, you know?" He grinned sheepishly. "Thought a smart guy like you woulda figured that out by now."
Yeah. Same old Stocke, pointing out his dumb mistakes with alacrity. It felt just like hundreds of other conversations they'd had before, and that familiarity was a reassurance. Truth be told, Rosch was beginning to wonder why he'd been so afraid in the first place. He mentally kicked himself for acting like such a stupid idiot, to his best friend, of all people.
His brows furrowed, lips quirking into a slight frown when Stocke finished his sentence. He shook his head. "Gone, but not really gone... right? You said so yourself. You said you'd live on everywhere in the land, watching over us..."
Rosch swallowed hard. There were no words (or, more likely, he simply lacked the eloquence) to describe the agony of waiting for someone who meant so much to him. It felt like losing his left arm all over again.
No, it was worse than that. He'd have given up half his soul without a second thought if it meant Stocke would come back.
"Heiss? Heiss?" His voice was edging dangerously close to maximum volume. "You mean that bastard...? He...?" Rosch barked laughter. "I don't believe it! He really..."
From the first moment he laid eyes on the man, Rosch knew there was something a bit sinister in Heiss' demeanor. And there was a part of him that always resented the fact that Heiss had "lured" Stocke away to join the shadier side of Alistel's military.
For several moments, Rosch was uncharacteristically silent, gaze fixed to the pavement. His jaw worked as he struggled to come to terms with Heiss' actions. "I guess... I should be grateful. But don't expect me to forgive him. Not after everything he's done." He met Stocke's glowing eyes--now somewhat dimmed--and his expression softened. "Not after everything he's put you though..."
It was a lot to take in. Stocke was alive, here, right in front of his eyes. Sure, he was sporting a few new additions, but Rosch wasn't one to judge, especially since Stocke never once looked at him askance for bearing a massive piece of thaumatech instead of a left arm. He'd be the worst sort of hypocrite if he quibbled over something as inconsequential as little snaky tendrils of pure darkness...
"I waited for you," Rosch said suddenly. "All this time." His voice softened to a low rumble. "I never stopped believing that you'd come back to us. And all this time you've been stuck here... like this?"
The huge soldier sniffed. His eyes burned with half a year's worth of unshed tears, and like hell he was gonna cry in front of his best friend, not after they'd just been reunited, dammit!
Stocke shook his head. "Not forgiven. But he's not here now, and the rest of us are." A very metaphorical here, sweeping both Ryslig and Vainqueur, but they were alive, and what remained of what Heiss had done even the White Chronicle couldn't change, with his own nodes. Odd as it might be for Stocke to say it, maybe it was better not to dwell in the past. Not to forgive, but to move on.
More dryly - "Besides, most of what happened to me was my own fault." And he was sticking to his guns on that one. Any bad timelines he'd gone down - those were due to his own choices. Anything else - Heiss had put others through it just the same as him.
The shade paused as Rosch's eyes started to glimmer, stepped forward and reached up (and up, and up, with Rosch's height) to put a clawed hand on his friend's shoulder. He opened his mouth, about to say something - but there weren't words to say what he wanted to, either. Or rather, by themselves they were lacking.
Usually, Rosch was the one to initiate a bear hug, or toss an arm over Stocke's shoulder; Stocke was too restrained, the need to hold back strong emotion drilled deeply into him at SpecInt. But useful as that had been sometimes, he didn't want to let Heiss's shadow hang over the rest of his life. He wouldn't let it. (And maybe his time as a member of the Devil's Nest here had helped him unwind, a little bit.)
Stocke hesitated a long moment, two, wavering. Then he reached both arms out to wrap around Rosch, holding tight, head only just above Rosch's shoulder and even that only because the shade was now floating. "I'm sorry." Soft and sincere, the shade's eyes closed. "I've been trying to find a way home..." he trailed off, replaced it with a, "I've missed you."
'Missed all of you at home,' he didn't add. Rosch would know, and Rosch was the one here now.
When the shade finally leaned back (potentially after having to disentangle himself, if Rosch decided to give him a rib-crushing hug back) his expression was far more solemn. But now Rosch was trapped here with him, and that wasn't a fate Stocke would have wished even upon Hugo. The shade's gaze fell on Rosch's Gauntlet again as he asked, "...what did the medics here tell you, when they pulled you out of the water?"
(Maybe a bit unsettling, that he already knew what'd happened without Rosch telling him. Or maybe not; he'd been here for a while, after all.)
[1/2] you know what? i didn't need that heart anyway...
His eyes widened at that gentle touch. It wasn't that he was surprised exactly at the contact, but usually it was Rosch throwing a companionable arm (or Gauntlet) about the smaller man's shoulders, as Stocke generally didn't initiate physical contact.
He wanted to say something—anything—just to fill the void of all the things that had been left unsaid lying between them now like a chasm. But before he could even begin articulating his scattered thoughts, those slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he felt Stocke's face buried against his neck.
Rosch drew a shuddering breath. This was a dream. It had to be. He was back home, lying in bed beside Sonja, and at any moment now, he was going to wake up, and Stocke would be gone, and Rosch would stare at the ceiling feeling bereft and forlorn, and angry at himself for daring to hope...
To hell with it! If this was a dream, then he'd better enjoy it while it lasts!
Instinctively, he bent lower, not realizing that Stocke was having an unusually easy time negotiating their differences in height, and threw his arms despite the Gauntlet being held in a slightly awkward position around his friend's body with such force that it was a wonder Stocke's ribs weren't creaking beneath the strain.
Rosch closed his eyes and felt the tears he'd been desperately trying to hold back finally slip loose and roll down his cheeks. He didn't care. All he cared about was holding on to his dearest friend for as long as this dream would allow. He'd commit every detail to memory: the soft hair against his stubble roughened cheek, the warm breath against his neck, the press of those arms against his shoulders...
But most of all, he'd remember those words, and the emotion behind them. He'd remember it all and, maybe, it would sustain him for a little longer...
When Rosch opened his eyes, he truly thought that he would be waking up in his own bed.
Except he wasn't. He was holding fast to Stocke as though he thought the smaller man might disappear if he dared to loosen his grip. Luckily, Stocke had the wherewithal to struggle free, and Rosch awkwardly relinquished his hold. Grunting, he quickly averted his face and scrubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand.
Ah... Well. This definitely wasn't a dream then. Um...
After a moment or two, Rosch has composed himself as best he could. Now he could answer Stocke's question without his voice cracking with emotion. "Hell if I know. I got out of there as fast as I could, after those loony doctors started messing with the Gauntlet. They kept trying to get me to go back, but they've caused enough damage already!"
It was with an almost surprising amount of reluctance that Stocke had finally pulled himself free. Or maybe not that surprising; but there were still things he had to explain. He waited patiently for Rosch to rub at his eyes, averting his own, the corner of his mouth quirking up fondly for a moment before the expression faded.
He kept near. Maybe it was just to stay in the shelter of Rosch's shadow, but... probably not.
Stocke'd have said something deadpan about learning to listen to doctors from Sonja, messing with the Gauntlet or not, but this wasn't really the time. Nothing about Ryslig was especially funny. Instead, he gave a short nod, started in somberly.
"We're trapped here. You aren't the first to wash up on this peninsula," obviously, since Stocke was here, but it was worse than that, "- it's been happening for nearly a year, regularly. None of us can leave; attempting to sail or swim beyond a distance where the peninsula is still visible turns you back towards it. And we've no access to our own mana, I'm sure you've noticed - it's sealed." Sealed, not gone, Stocke still believed - otherwise they'd be nothing more than sand by now. But it was inaccessible either way.
"All this is supposedly due to a group of beings calling themselves gods." Here Stocke paused, for a second - this was already more talking than was usual for him, though it wasn't that odd, for reporting or brainstorming battle plans. "One of them... set a curse on those of us that aren't native to here."
It wasn't hard to guess what kind of curse. But he was still stalling, and he knew it, so Stocke looked up to meet Rosch's eyes. There wasn't any one particular thing that left the impression, but the shade suddenly appeared tired. "We're transformed into man-eaters."
Trapped... And no means of escape. Normally he'd argue, insist that no, you're just not trying hard enough, of course there had to be a way to leave—
Except this was Stocke they were talking about. He would have exhausted every possibility before... resigning himself like this. "Trapped like rats..." A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest. "And rendered powerless..." His gaze settled once more on the Gauntlet. He was beginning to wonder if those doctors had purposefully sabotaged it, now. He wouldn't put it past them. His mana, on the other hand...
"Uh..." He glanced away, looking shamefaced, scratching his cheek in distraction. "I hadn't noticed, actually..." Compared to the others, especially spell-slingers, like Raynie and Stocke, he didn't really have the sort of sensitivities they must have possessed. And he hadn't actually tried drawing on those reserves of power within himself, but considering that thaumatech relied on mana for power... "Wait! Maybe that's part of the reason the Gauntlet is so screwed up! You think it's because my mana is sealed or whatever?"
Well, that might have answered one question. But there were plenty more knocking around inside Rosch's head. The problem was deciding which one to ask first.
"Gods...?" He tilted his head in confusion, and a stray lock of hair settled across his nose. "So they're just going around, snatching people up, stripping away their powers, and just dumping them here?"
He listened to the rest of Stocke's explanation, his expression clearly telegraphing the the slow realization of impending horror.
Rosch's throat went suddenly dry. "We're..." He paused, swallowing hard. "They're gonna turn us into... monsters...?" Lips skinned back from teeth in an anguished growl. "But why?! What's the point?! Just what are these bastards trying to accomplish, huh?!"
In fury, Rosch swung the Gauntlet to one side (luckily avoiding Stocke in the process) and slammed it into the nearest object (which, unfortunately, happened to be someone's nicely plastered facade), burying his fist up to the knuckles. Cracks radiated outward, and a few chunks of plaster fell loose and toppled to the pavement. Rosch's teeth were bared canines oddly sharpened, for a human... and roared his frustration over the sound of the servos in the Gauntlet screeching in protest at the abuse.
Gods. Did he have to? This blustering buffoon sounded like more than a pain. And also, Rezo didn't raise no fool; Zel distinctly remembered being in situations like this before. Spooky voices, chance encounters, a migraine...
Far too late, of course; he was already there, just a stone's throw away with just brambles and branches as barrier. He sighed, dragging the heel of his hand down the side of his face.
"I'm not speaking for the other weirdo floating around here," he said, "but no thanks. That sounds troublesome."
wow, rude, i was waiting with jamba juice this whole time
"Who said that?" Whoever it was, definitely wasn't a little kid, that's for sure. In fact, the guy sounded somewhere around Stocke's age... "I know you're hiding around here, so just give it up already!"
The voice was coming from somewhere around those brambles. Not that a bunch of prickly bracken would deter Rosch. The Gauntlet could be pretty useful outside of combat, and this was definitely one of those times. Lumbering closer, he swept his metallic fingers across the bracken, easily tearing aside the feeble barrier.
Lying just beyond was treeline was a huge lake how the hell had he missed something like that?! and a small campsite situated on the shoreline. So, some hermit was living out here? Someone like that would definitely know their way around! Maybe Rosch could find his way out of this godforsaken place after all!
He approached the campsite, still unable to locate the person speaking to him earlier. "Hey! You live around here? You must know the way out of the forest, right?"
By now, Zel ought to have a pretty sweet setup by the lake at this point; a lawnchair would be nice. It could've enhanced the level of absolute acceptance of how stupid it was to be out there in the first place, at least, instead of him just lingering around his stuff like a weirdo.
With the new weirdo getting far too close to his things for his liking, Zel stepped around one of the bushes into plain view, looking barely interested with a side of none-too-pleased.
"Did you amble off without bothering to grab a map," he asked flatly, his arms folding. "Are you stupid?"
You'd think after seeing his best friend become some sort of creepy shadow thingie that Rosch would be kinda over the whole, "Wow, this place is full of monsters!" but nope, he still has to fight down the urge to yelp in surprise.
Granted, this is his first time encountering one of the many aquatic denizens of Ryslig, so you'll have to forgive the slightly less than friendly greeting here. Especially since Zel decided to start off with that jab at Rosch's intelligence.
The huge soldier visibly bristled. "For your information, I didn't need a map. My friend knows this forest pretty well, actually!" Of course, said friend is nowhere in sight. "But... we got separated and I couldn't find my way back to the path. Has anyone else wandered through here?"
After the immediate petulant glare at that reaction (Yes, fine. He was hideous. Except no one was allowed to react to that or accept it more than him.), Zel rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"That's hardly any of my business. Especially if you're the brilliant one who can manage allocating all the actual work of trekking out here to someone you're not able to keep tabs on; I would gather you'd have some knack for finding them again."
Wow. Just. Wow. This guy is really asking for some serious hurt, isn't he? The metallic fingers of the Gauntlet twitch in response, but Rosch is pretty sure that punching the fishman in the face isn't going to help him find Stocke any faster.
"Hey! I've got no problems keeping tabs on a guy that dresses all in red in a freaking forest," Rosch said, his voice rumbling with frustration. "But we were attacked, and Stocke ended up acting as a decoy." The anger in Rosch's eyes dimmed a bit. "Told me to run in the opposite direction, so I did."
Dammit... He was in no shape to be fighting monsters, but leaving his best friend behind, even at his behest... It just didn't sit well with Rosch. At all.
"Please..." Rosch's tone was slightly more contrite now. "If you've seen him, you've gotta tell me! I'm not leaving the place until I find him!"
Whoa, wait now. Zel blinked a few times, his head shaking with the little startle that namedrop caused. While Rosch was busy trying to be nice, Zel went from looking surprised to downright exasperated.
"Stocke dragged you out here? Why?" In this direction, what else was there but the lake? And-- His eyes narrowed: "You do know he can just pass through trees and things at will now, and he's a pretty useless guide for that, right? He's kind of an idiot, too."
"We're headed to, uh..." Crap, he'd forgotten the name of the town already. "To go get this checked out." Rosch rolled his left shoulder, flexing the Gauntlet awkwardly. Something rattled inside, like a loose bolt rolling around in a tin cup. The huge soldier's brows knit in a brief look of worry. Well, uh... that was something new. "It's been on the fritz ever since I got here, and I'm pretty sure those looney docs are to blame."
And... Zel's comment immediately put him on the offensive again. "Stocke is not useless and he's definitely not stupid!" Rosch drew himself up to his full height of seven-foot-something and practically loomed over the lanky fishman. "He's ten times smarter than me, and a hundred times braver to boot, and I'm not just gonna stand here and listen to some smelly fishman insult my best friend in front of my face!"
Unfortunately, Rosch had no idea the danger he was potentially putting himself in, considering that he wass getting up in the face of a merman mere feet from his preferred element. The one thing he's got going for him is his height and bulk, meaning it would be pretty difficult for Zel to wrap his fingers around the huge soldier's throat if he had a mind to do so...
Zelgadis was not familiar with neon signs, save for what lighting floats around the cities proper (not much, probably), but there's one drawing itself out on Rosch's big forehead: Moron.
...Granted, a tall one, but none the more outright intimidating. Zel's had noisy goons under his employ before, and more and more he's reminded of beastman Dilgear. Or...or perhaps that dumb lug Valgaav had fawning over him -- what's-his-face. Whatever. Look, the point was that all Rosch was missing was being some shade of green.
Also? Say it, don't spray it. Zel blinked and gave his head a little shake to get the hair Rosch yelled into his line of sight out of the way.
Jeez. Best friend? Some weirdo from where Stocke came from? Great. At least he seemed pretty unbearable, so Zel wasn't going to have to give him much thought once he got him out of his face.
"I didn't invite you over here," he pointed out, staring up sourly at him. "You're free to leave any time you want."
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graveyardsmash2015-05-23 05:28 pm
Rosch | Radiant Historia | will match format
Rosch awoke in a strange hospital bed that definitely was not in Alistel's infirmary, and he was attended to by a doctor who was most certainly not Sonja (who was his dear beloved wife and sole thaumatechnician on duty). He was covered in bruises and scratches he had no memory of sustaining. Even his Gauntlet had suffered quite a bit of new damage, most notably what appeared to be four parallel lines gouged across the vambrace protecting his lower arm... Claw marks, maybe?
And that wasn't all... it looked like someone had been tampering with the Gauntlet while he was knocked unconscious! His fingers were oddly jointed and no longer resembled deadly knives, honed to razor sharpness. The armor plating against his shoulder was missing, too, leaving only the bare chassis to cover the complex arrangement of synaptic wiring and actuators.
The roar of anger and frustration at having someone other than Sonja futzing around with his Gauntlet could probably be heard halfway across the hospital.
"DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU BUNCHA QUACKS!" Despite being divested of his armor the (now slightly less bulky) lieutenant still towered over the entire hospital staff, and as such, no one was willing to admit to who actually did tinker around with the Gauntlet. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY GAUNTLET?"
So it was that the townsfolk were greeted with a seven-foot-mumble burly blond soldier with a strange
automail knockoffmechanical arm bellowing at the top of his lungs like an angry bear awoken from hibernation. Some of the doctors tried to persuade him to return to the hospital, but to no avail."Leave off, you bastards!" Rosch swung his left arm at one of them, hoping to ward them off, but the movement elicited a decidedly angry screech of metal grinding against metal. The huge soldier groaned and slumped over as the Gauntlet went limp and dropped to the pavement with a resounding clunk.
"...What the hell?" Rosch tried to move his left arm, but it wouldn't respond. The servos made a few pitiful whirring sounds, but everything below his elbow had locked up. "Move, you hunk of junk! MOVE!"
Of course, it refused to budge.
Dammit...
SCENARIO TWO
He must have been walking for hours. At least, it felt that way. With the interlacing canopy of branches, he couldn't even get a clear look at the sun. How the hell was he supposed to find his way out of here if the path kept zigzagging all over the damn place?! And... didn't he pass that same squirrel sitting on an old stump at least six times already?
"Dammit all, this is ridiculous!" he roared, loud enough that several startled birds took flight from a nearby tree. "I just wanna go home already, is that so much to ask?!"
In answer, someone giggled softly in the distance. Several someones. It sounded like a group of children hiding in the bushes, though Rosch didn't notice the eerie echoing quality of their laughter, not right away. "What's so damn funny, huh?"
Rosch lumbered toward the bushes, swiping them aside with his Gauntlet. To his surprise (and slowly mounting horror) there were no children hiding in the bushes. The laughter started again, louder this time, from somewhere behind him.
"A-All right..." he said as he slowly took a step back, eyes searching desperately for the source of the laughter. "Joke's over. Come on out, if ya know what's good for ya!"
1, SLAMS IN
He'd been wrong.
The shade stood frozen just past the corner from the hospital, sheltered from the sun by an overhang. That shouting voice sounded familiar, tantalizingly so, and it was taking him a few seconds to make up his mind and slink the last several meters. He hoped it wasn't Rosch; bad enough that the friends he'd inadvertantly made here were going through the same thing he was, he didn't want his best friend stricken by the same curse.
(At the same time, he hoped it was. Selfish of him, came the passing thought.)
A short, quiet breath - hardly noticable even to the natives passing by - and Stocke rounded the edge of the street. His first look was more than enough to confirm; even with Rosch's Gauntlet mangled, his signature armour gone, Stocke would recognize the man anywhere.
It was drawing close to evening; long-stretching shadows sheltered the monster from the glare of sunlight as he drew closer behind the other's back. For all his worries about gods and curses, he temporarily forgot that he might not be greeted with recognition himself - blank eyes, inky aura, dark claws and darker tentacles sprouting from his back. (Or maybe he knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be enough to make him a stranger. Not to Rosch.)
"...Rosch?"
HI-FIVES
Maybe it was years of instincts honed on the field of battle, but as the shade drew up behind him, Rosch felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck--a sure sign that an enemy ambush was imminent--and whirled just as Stocke called out his name. The Gauntlet might be little more than dead-weight now, but without his armor or lance, it was the only defense left to him. Better to have an improvised shield than no shield at all.
"I said don't touch--!" But the words died in his throat, the battle fury in his eyes replaced with dread.
The creature standing in his shadow resembled something that had been twisted by the Black Chronicle, a core of darkness encased in human flesh. Rosch staggered back a pace, his mind scrambling for a means to defend himself. He tried to raise the Gauntlet, but the action caused him to overbalance. He sprawled backward, growling in anguish as the Gauntlet fell uselessly to the ground, sparks popping and fizzling from the actuators in his elbow. Pain lanced into his shoulder. He must have really screwed something up internally if he was receiving that sort of feedback from the Gauntlet...
Dammit! If those loony doctors hadn't been messing around with it, he might be able to do something instead of just sitting on his arse and hoping this monster won't decide to eat him or whatever!
But... how did the monster know his name? Rosch had only just come to that realization now. Battle-fury tended to blind you to little details like that. Including the flash of a red scarf hidden within the writhing shadows. Something niggled in the back of Rosch's mind, but he couldn't seem to grasp it. "Who... Who are you? What do you want?"
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Stocke pulled his tendrils in tight against his back - bit too late for that now, they'd already been seen and it wouldn't make much difference, but it did make them less... distracting. Enough for the the rest of his monstrous features to remain; at least he still had a more human shape than some others, arachnes and gargoyles among them.
"Rosch. It's me." With that particular flavour of deadpan Stocke had been so often reliant on. Come on, Rosch, who else did you know so completely slathered in bright red? Besides, well, you.
Stocke leaned over the larger man, glow in his eyes flickering with concern. "What happened to your arm?" Arm, Gauntlet - it was synonymous, with Rosch. Stocke stuck out his own hand to help the other up, hesitating momentarily at seeing the black claws on his fingers - if Rosch was already reacting by freaking out, that might... really not help, not without recognition. But he kept his arm there;
the important thing here was to have confidence.no subject
That deadpan voice though...
No...
It couldn't be...
Blue eyes widened in slow recognition as the cogs started turning in Rosch's brain, desperately trying to make sense of the crazy situation. The figure was clad in red from head to toe and covered in an assortment of belts and pouches. Only one man Rosch knew possessed such a... striking sense of fashion.
"You... You're..." Clearly, his mouth was malfunctioning as badly as his Gauntlet if he couldn't even spit out a single name. The fear that had stiffened his posture was beginning to ebb. He looked less like a cornered animal and more like a bewildered man. "Stock...? Is that... Is that really you under there?"
He continued to stare, dumbfounded. Eyes that were once cornflower blue now glimmered with a preternatural light. But even so, they didn't look so... threatening now. In fact, they almost looked concerned. Rosch shook his head, shifted his weight so that he was sitting in a more upright position. The Gauntlet whirred softly. It wasn't sparking anymore, so that was something, at least. But he still couldn't get his fingers to uncurl and his elbow was locked in position, but he could still use it to lever himself up.
"I dunno... Those crazy doctors must have loosened a wire or something when they were poking around..." His voice was practically a growl. "I bet not a one of 'em has any training in thaumatech repair. This is a sophisticated piece of equipment, dammit! You gotta treat it with respect!"
Hopefully, Stocke won't mention the hypocrisy of that statement. Rosch himself could be pretty rough with the Gauntlet, and he wasn't above using the blades to shave in the morning. Sophisticated indeed...
Reaching for
the creepy-shadow-monster-thing'shis friend's hand, Rosch only paused for the briefest of moments before taking hold. His grip was firm, friendly, even. How often had Stocke offered that same steady hand each time he managed to best Rosch in a sparring match?Once Rosch was on his feet, he gave Stocke a cursory glance. "Honestly, I think the more important question is: what happened to you? I thought you were..."
He bit down on the words, refusing to utter them, lest it confirm his worst fears. Stocke wasn't... dead. Not really. But he wasn't alive anymore, either. This wasn't a result of his sacrifice... was it?
so much dang introspection, i'm so sorry
Something in Stocke's expression went softer as he was named; inadvertently, his tendrils relaxed, unfurling. They didn't look threatening, somehow - the pattern they wove through the air behind the shade's back was equally gentle.
"About time." It should've been said expressionlessly, but even Stocke couldn't quite muster that right now; there was a bit of relief, but mostly an unobtrusive, subdued happiness.
The shade's eyebrows raised at Rosch, of all people, grumbling about being careful with the Gauntlet; who here'd bashed the thing about countless times before? Still, he let the grousing pass uncommented as he pulled the other up. It was hardly important to tease Rosch right now, and the man wasn't wrong - no one on this peninsula had the slightest clue about how to work with thaumachinery, Stocke included.
Instead, he finished Rosch's sentence for him, quietly. "...gone." Not exactly dead, but just as out of reach of the world, and Stocke hadn't expected there to be anything left of him. He... he had some explaining to do, didn't he?
And... maybe apologies to make, later. If the same choice was put in front of him now - sacrifice himself, or let Vainqueur perish - he'd make the same exact decision. But he'd regret just as much what he put his friends through.
A short pause, Stocke's eyes dimming to a far less bright white. "Heiss. At the last moment, Heiss intervened and sacrificed himself in my place."
And Stocke... it'd been more than half a year, since then - (for once, he's sure of the time, now that he's been locked in a linear timeline like a normal non-time-traveling person) - and Stocke still didn't know how he felt about it. His... uncle (a title begrudgingly granted, in acknowledgement of the man's sacrifice, if nothing else) had saved the world in the end, had found enough empathy to become a candidate for Sacrifice. But he'd still intended to destroy it at first, caused needless suffering on the path there, and it wasn't Stocke he'd harmed the most. He'd destroyed Ernst, wiped away Eruca's real brother (in the shade's thoughts, anyway), slaughtered Marco and Raynie's old partners, been behind the war between Granorg and Alistel. It wasn't up to Stocke to forgive. Just remember.
He refused to let himself dwell for more than a few seconds, continuing with, "I meant to return, after - but as I was leaving Historia, I found myself here." With no White Chronicle in tow - he'd sorely missed its presence more than once since then.
The bit about monster transformations he left out, for the moment - Rosch would have enough to absorb, probably questions to ask. (And maybe he was delaying for another reason - explaining about the transformations would mean explaining about feeding on humans, and what sort of excuse could he ever offer for eating souls? It'd seemed pragmatic, surrounded by other monsters - better then losing control and slaughtering larger numbers - but faced with someone from home...)
ugh, this art is so cute, i am unworthy /)_(\
"Never said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, you know?" He grinned sheepishly. "Thought a smart guy like you woulda figured that out by now."
Yeah. Same old Stocke, pointing out his dumb mistakes with alacrity. It felt just like hundreds of other conversations they'd had before, and that familiarity was a reassurance. Truth be told, Rosch was beginning to wonder why he'd been so afraid in the first place. He mentally kicked himself for acting like such a stupid idiot, to his best friend, of all people.
His brows furrowed, lips quirking into a slight frown when Stocke finished his sentence. He shook his head. "Gone, but not really gone... right? You said so yourself. You said you'd live on everywhere in the land, watching over us..."
Rosch swallowed hard. There were no words (or, more likely, he simply lacked the eloquence) to describe the agony of waiting for someone who meant so much to him. It felt like losing his left arm all over again.
No, it was worse than that. He'd have given up half his soul without a second thought if it meant Stocke would come back.
"Heiss? Heiss?" His voice was edging dangerously close to maximum volume. "You mean that bastard...? He...?" Rosch barked laughter. "I don't believe it! He really..."
From the first moment he laid eyes on the man, Rosch knew there was something a bit sinister in Heiss' demeanor. And there was a part of him that always resented the fact that Heiss had "lured" Stocke away to join the shadier side of Alistel's military.
For several moments, Rosch was uncharacteristically silent, gaze fixed to the pavement. His jaw worked as he struggled to come to terms with Heiss' actions. "I guess... I should be grateful. But don't expect me to forgive him. Not after everything he's done." He met Stocke's glowing eyes--now somewhat dimmed--and his expression softened. "Not after everything he's put you though..."
It was a lot to take in. Stocke was alive, here, right in front of his eyes. Sure, he was sporting a few new additions, but Rosch wasn't one to judge, especially since Stocke never once looked at him askance for bearing a massive piece of thaumatech instead of a left arm. He'd be the worst sort of hypocrite if he quibbled over something as inconsequential as little snaky tendrils of pure darkness...
"I waited for you," Rosch said suddenly. "All this time." His voice softened to a low rumble. "I never stopped believing that you'd come back to us. And all this time you've been stuck here... like this?"
The huge soldier sniffed. His eyes burned with half a year's worth of unshed tears, and like hell he was gonna cry in front of his best friend, not after they'd just been reunited, dammit!
[1/2]
More dryly - "Besides, most of what happened to me was my own fault." And he was sticking to his guns on that one. Any bad timelines he'd gone down - those were due to his own choices. Anything else - Heiss had put others through it just the same as him.
The shade paused as Rosch's eyes started to glimmer, stepped forward and reached up (and up, and up, with Rosch's height) to put a clawed hand on his friend's shoulder. He opened his mouth, about to say something - but there weren't words to say what he wanted to, either. Or rather, by themselves they were lacking.
Usually, Rosch was the one to initiate a bear hug, or toss an arm over Stocke's shoulder; Stocke was too restrained, the need to hold back strong emotion drilled deeply into him at SpecInt. But useful as that had been sometimes, he didn't want to let Heiss's shadow hang over the rest of his life. He wouldn't let it. (And maybe his time as a member of the Devil's Nest here had helped him unwind, a little bit.)
Stocke hesitated a long moment, two, wavering. Then he reached both arms out to wrap around Rosch, holding tight, head only just above Rosch's shoulder
and even that only because the shade was now floating. "I'm sorry." Soft and sincere, the shade's eyes closed. "I've been trying to find a way home..." he trailed off, replaced it with a, "I've missed you."'Missed all of you at home,' he didn't add. Rosch would know, and Rosch was the one here now.
[2/2]
(Maybe a bit unsettling, that he already knew what'd happened without Rosch telling him. Or maybe not; he'd been here for a while, after all.)
[1/2] you know what? i didn't need that heart anyway...
He wanted to say something—anything—just to fill the void of all the things that had been left unsaid lying between them now like a chasm. But before he could even begin articulating his scattered thoughts, those slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he felt Stocke's face buried against his neck.
Rosch drew a shuddering breath. This was a dream. It had to be. He was back home, lying in bed beside Sonja, and at any moment now, he was going to wake up, and Stocke would be gone, and Rosch would stare at the ceiling feeling bereft and forlorn, and angry at himself for daring to hope...
To hell with it! If this was a dream, then he'd better enjoy it while it lasts!
Instinctively, he bent lower, not realizing that Stocke was having an unusually easy time negotiating their differences in height, and threw his arms
despite the Gauntlet being held in a slightly awkward positionaround his friend's body with such force that it was a wonder Stocke's ribs weren't creaking beneath the strain.Rosch closed his eyes and felt the tears he'd been desperately trying to hold back finally slip loose and roll down his cheeks. He didn't care. All he cared about was holding on to his dearest friend for as long as this dream would allow. He'd commit every detail to memory: the soft hair against his stubble roughened cheek, the warm breath against his neck, the press of those arms against his shoulders...
But most of all, he'd remember those words, and the emotion behind them. He'd remember it all and, maybe, it would sustain him for a little longer...
[2/2]
Except he wasn't. He was holding fast to Stocke as though he thought the smaller man might disappear if he dared to loosen his grip. Luckily, Stocke had the wherewithal to struggle free, and Rosch awkwardly relinquished his hold. Grunting, he quickly averted his face and scrubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand.
Ah... Well. This definitely wasn't a dream then. Um...
After a moment or two, Rosch has composed himself as best he could. Now he could answer Stocke's question without his voice cracking with emotion. "Hell if I know. I got out of there as fast as I could, after those loony doctors started messing with the Gauntlet. They kept trying to get me to go back, but they've caused enough damage already!"
continues cackling unabashedly
He kept near. Maybe it was just to stay in the shelter of Rosch's shadow, but... probably not.
Stocke'd have said something deadpan about learning to listen to doctors from Sonja, messing with the Gauntlet or not, but this wasn't really the time. Nothing about Ryslig was especially funny. Instead, he gave a short nod, started in somberly.
"We're trapped here. You aren't the first to wash up on this peninsula," obviously, since Stocke was here, but it was worse than that, "- it's been happening for nearly a year, regularly. None of us can leave; attempting to sail or swim beyond a distance where the peninsula is still visible turns you back towards it. And we've no access to our own mana, I'm sure you've noticed - it's sealed." Sealed, not gone, Stocke still believed - otherwise they'd be nothing more than sand by now. But it was inaccessible either way.
"All this is supposedly due to a group of beings calling themselves gods." Here Stocke paused, for a second - this was already more talking than was usual for him, though it wasn't that odd, for reporting or brainstorming battle plans. "One of them... set a curse on those of us that aren't native to here."
It wasn't hard to guess what kind of curse. But he was still stalling, and he knew it, so Stocke looked up to meet Rosch's eyes. There wasn't any one particular thing that left the impression, but the shade suddenly appeared tired. "We're transformed into man-eaters."
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Except this was Stocke they were talking about. He would have exhausted every possibility before... resigning himself like this. "Trapped like rats..." A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest. "And rendered powerless..." His gaze settled once more on the Gauntlet. He was beginning to wonder if those doctors had purposefully sabotaged it, now. He wouldn't put it past them. His mana, on the other hand...
"Uh..." He glanced away, looking shamefaced, scratching his cheek in distraction. "I hadn't noticed, actually..." Compared to the others, especially spell-slingers, like Raynie and Stocke, he didn't really have the sort of sensitivities they must have possessed. And he hadn't actually tried drawing on those reserves of power within himself, but considering that thaumatech relied on mana for power... "Wait! Maybe that's part of the reason the Gauntlet is so screwed up! You think it's because my mana is sealed or whatever?"
Well, that might have answered one question. But there were plenty more knocking around inside Rosch's head. The problem was deciding which one to ask first.
"Gods...?" He tilted his head in confusion, and a stray lock of hair settled across his nose. "So they're just going around, snatching people up, stripping away their powers, and just dumping them here?"
He listened to the rest of Stocke's explanation, his expression clearly telegraphing the the slow realization of impending horror.
Rosch's throat went suddenly dry. "We're..." He paused, swallowing hard. "They're gonna turn us into... monsters...?" Lips skinned back from teeth in an anguished growl. "But why?! What's the point?! Just what are these bastards trying to accomplish, huh?!"
In fury, Rosch swung the Gauntlet to one side (luckily avoiding Stocke in the process) and slammed it into the nearest object (which, unfortunately, happened to be someone's nicely plastered facade), burying his fist up to the knuckles. Cracks radiated outward, and a few chunks of plaster fell loose and toppled to the pavement. Rosch's teeth were bared
canines oddly sharpened, for a human...and roared his frustration over the sound of the servos in the Gauntlet screeching in protest at the abuse.(no subject)
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...tosses in some headcanon, tosses self out
i see your headcanon, and raise you more headcanon
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/resurrects this thread from the grave
29 yrs later, not even with starbucks
Far too late, of course; he was already there, just a stone's throw away with just brambles and branches as barrier. He sighed, dragging the heel of his hand down the side of his face.
"I'm not speaking for the other weirdo floating around here," he said, "but no thanks. That sounds troublesome."
wow, rude, i was waiting with jamba juice this whole time
The voice was coming from somewhere around those brambles. Not that a bunch of prickly bracken would deter Rosch. The Gauntlet could be pretty useful outside of combat, and this was definitely one of those times. Lumbering closer, he swept his metallic fingers across the bracken, easily tearing aside the feeble barrier.
Lying just beyond was treeline was a huge lake
how the hell had he missed something like that?!and a small campsite situated on the shoreline. So, some hermit was living out here? Someone like that would definitely know their way around! Maybe Rosch could find his way out of this godforsaken place after all!He approached the campsite, still unable to locate the person speaking to him earlier. "Hey! You live around here? You must know the way out of the forest, right?"
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With the new weirdo getting far too close to his things for his liking, Zel stepped around one of the bushes into plain view, looking barely interested with a side of none-too-pleased.
"Did you amble off without bothering to grab a map," he asked flatly, his arms folding. "Are you stupid?"
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Granted, this is his first time encountering one of the many aquatic denizens of Ryslig, so you'll have to forgive the slightly less than friendly greeting here. Especially since Zel decided to start off with that jab at Rosch's intelligence.
The huge soldier visibly bristled. "For your information, I didn't need a map. My friend knows this forest pretty well, actually!" Of course, said friend is nowhere in sight. "But... we got separated and I couldn't find my way back to the path. Has anyone else wandered through here?"
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"That's hardly any of my business. Especially if you're the brilliant one who can manage allocating all the actual work of trekking out here to someone you're not able to keep tabs on; I would gather you'd have some knack for finding them again."
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"Hey! I've got no problems keeping tabs on a guy that dresses all in red in a freaking forest," Rosch said, his voice rumbling with frustration. "But we were attacked, and Stocke ended up acting as a decoy." The anger in Rosch's eyes dimmed a bit. "Told me to run in the opposite direction, so I did."
Dammit... He was in no shape to be fighting monsters, but leaving his best friend behind, even at his behest... It just didn't sit well with Rosch. At all.
"Please..." Rosch's tone was slightly more contrite now. "If you've seen him, you've gotta tell me! I'm not leaving the place until I find him!"
not here
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zel
you don't have to call yourself names like that ok
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"Stocke dragged you out here? Why?" In this direction, what else was there but the lake? And-- His eyes narrowed: "You do know he can just pass through trees and things at will now, and he's a pretty useless guide for that, right? He's kind of an idiot, too."
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And... Zel's comment immediately put him on the offensive again. "Stocke is not useless and he's definitely not stupid!" Rosch drew himself up to his full height of seven-foot-something and practically loomed over the lanky fishman. "He's ten times smarter than me, and a hundred times braver to boot, and I'm not just gonna stand here and listen to some smelly fishman insult my best friend in front of my face!"
Unfortunately, Rosch had no idea the danger he was potentially putting himself in, considering that he wass getting up in the face of a merman mere feet from his preferred element. The one thing he's got going for him is his height and bulk, meaning it would be pretty difficult for Zel to wrap his fingers around the huge soldier's throat if he had a mind to do so...
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...Granted, a tall one, but none the more outright intimidating. Zel's had noisy goons under his employ before, and more and more he's reminded of beastman Dilgear. Or...or perhaps that dumb lug Valgaav had fawning over him -- what's-his-face. Whatever. Look, the point was that all Rosch was missing was being some shade of green.
Also? Say it, don't spray it. Zel blinked and gave his head a little shake to get the hair Rosch yelled into his line of sight out of the way.
Jeez. Best friend? Some weirdo from where Stocke came from? Great. At least he seemed pretty unbearable, so Zel wasn't going to have to give him much thought once he got him out of his face.
"I didn't invite you over here," he pointed out, staring up sourly at him. "You're free to leave any time you want."
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