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.
Sorry, Rosch. Stocke had gotten himself mixed up in shady business all over again. It was almost a knack.
(That said, it wasn't Heiss's world-destroying brand of shady business, so that was an improvement, right?)
The shade didn't say much, just a silent nod of acknowledgement over his shoulder when Rosch reassured him he'd be able to see, tendrils flickering up and down - in the dark, more suggestions of unnatural movement at his back than dinstinct limbs. It wasn't until Rosch said 'It's like they're afraid of us or something...' that Stocke hesitated. He didn't quite have enough time to answer, choosing words, before the man was asking about the native's protective borders, falling behind to stare at them - and the monsters' responses, more recently. Since Rota...
"'Man-eaters' was no exaggeration," the shade said, quiet, when Rosch caught up once more. And - "They're warding us off." But if Rosch was going to say anything about that, it'd have to wait, since apparently they'd gotten to wherever they were headed - 'Devil's Nest,' words emblazoned above the door exclaimed, soft red light spilling it through the windows and cutting through the evening's gloom. Noisy, too - business was starting to pick up with the night's coming, chatter and a pulse of music and maybe the ocassional yell spilling out into the street.
Stocke slipped through the door, holding it open behind him for Rosch to grab, then scanned the bar floor, the counter. Whoever he was looking for didn't seem to be around - his eyes fell on the twisting spiral staircase past the bartender, jagged, narrow iron.
(Some of the patrons inside turned their heads to look at the door as the two entered, greeting Rosch with a full array of spider-eyes, glimmering scales, mussed feathers. One flicked a wolf-like ear in his direction, then turned dark, canine eyes on the Gauntlet and finally on Rosch's face. The monster nudged another seated next to him - one wrapped around the stool rather than on it, with nothing but a giant snake tail for a lower body.)
(All seemed careful, suspicious - at least until spotting Stocke. There they relaxed - evidently, the shade was a familiar face around these parts, and trusted enough to bring in someone who didn't have any obvious monster traits at first glance.)
Stocke cut across the floor to the bartender, catching their attention. Tonight: young, almost - until you saw the flash of red eyes, the glint of sharp teeth when she spoke, fangs far longer than a human being's. "Is Greed here?" Stocke asked her, arms crossed over the wooden counter; she answered in the negative, and the shade's tendrils gave a small, resigned wave.
"Pass on a message?" The bartender nodded, and they swapped a few more words - a matter of seconds - before the shade trailed back over to Rosch and motioned towards the door.
Man-eaters. Right. Stocke had mentioned that before. If that was the case, you'd think the townsfolk would be using more than simple candles to protect themselves. It seemed silly and useless in Rosch's mind, but he wasn't going to question it, not now, anyway.
As they approached the entrance, Rosch craned his neck to read the crude sign painted in gaudy colors. Devil's Nest, huh? He shot Stocke a questioning look that clearly said, Are you serious? before catching the door and ducking inside. (Incidentally, he didn't have to duck that low, it was almost as if this establishment was used to receiving patrons of his general height and girth...)
Of course, the moment he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by several monstrous visages, and it was with surprising restraint that he managed to bite down on the yelp of surprise that threatened to escape. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, his hair prickling against his scalp. A guy with the face of a wolf made eye contact, and Rosch struggled to think of an appropriate response. If he held eye contact, was that considered a challenge? Dammit, he didn't speak wolf!
Before he could do anything, the wolf-guy looked away, nudging his buddy, and Rosch felt his lips peel back in a nervous grin. There was a part of him that wanted to reach over and throttle Stocke. The least he could have done was warn him that this so-called "Devil's Nest" was filled with honest-to-goodness monsters!
But Stocke had already crossed over to the bar, and all Rosch could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, and hoping that his friend hadn't suddenly gone turncoat and was planning to throw him to the wolves. Literally.
Fair warning, Stocke: There are Going to Be Words, and a lot of them, probably shouted at maximum volume once this is all over.
It took a moment for Rosch to register that Stocke wanted him to follow. He made his way toward the door, doing his best imitate Stocke earlier and somehow compact his bulky frame as much as possible. Noah help him if he accidentally bumped into one of these monsters, or stepped on someone's tail by mistake...
"What the hell are you trying to pull, Stocke?" he growled beneath his breath. "You trying to serve me up on a silver platter or what?"
Stocke tosses his friend a startled stare over his shoulder, then a dry look - of the very 'what were you expecting, not a place full of transformed people?' variety - but waited until they were free of the monsters' den with the door shut behind them before answering.
"You think I'd let anyone but me eat you?" With a dead serious tone. Not unusual - Stocke certainly had a tendency of hiding teasing behind a straight face, leaving people guessing whether he was serious or not - but what was odd was the moment of vertigo Stocke experienced when he realized even he wasn't... completely, one hundred percent certain he wasn't being serious right now. He didn't want Rosch eaten, period, obviously. But as icing on the cake, something was rubbing Stocke wrong about the thought of specifically other monsters considering it...
Right. Rather than worry about that right now, he added, "Nobody in there would have touched you. Not unless they wanted to answer to me, and then to Greed and the rest of us." And especially not when Stocke was right there - there was, Rosch might note, a sword strapped to his red-clad friend's side, even if the sheath looked shorter, was shaped differently than it would have been for the longsword Stocke had favoured back on their home continent.
To Rosch's potential relief, the way the shade was leading now quickly spilled out into larger streets, rapidly emptying of people - or at least, people travelling alone - now that night was truly falling. Absently, the shade dodged around patches of light cast by streetlamps - not with any particular urgency, but as if out of habit.
Stocke kept himself slow, made sure to fall back to walk at Rosch's side instead of leading him. Now that it was getting darker - and now that they were out of a part of the city where Stocke could guarantee good behavior, and would be setting out across uninhabited parts of the peninsula as soon as they cut through Vandare - he wanted to stay extra close.
Rosch's brain stutters along at a snail's pace. While there's a tiny part of him that's secretly pleased at the prospect of Stocke acting so possessive, the bigger, more rational part of his brain (which sounded suspiciously like Sonja...) was beating him over the head with a wrench and screaming at him: Don't you dare entertain such thoughts, mister!
The pause lasted only a few seconds before nervous laughter bubbled up, and Rosch slapped his thigh with one hand. "Ah, you almost had me there for a minute!" he said, wagging a finger in Stocke's direction. The laughter became a little more genuine, but he still couldn't say that he was a hundred percent certain that Stocke wasn't entertaining the idea...
The laughter died down. Stocke's demeanor had returned to its default stoicism once again. Not that Rosch minded, really. "So, you're kinda like the second-in-command or something?" He nodded his approval at the short sword hanging from his friend's hip. "Good call. I'm not too keen on traveling without a weapon in my hand, but it's not like we've got any money, and I haven't seen a single armory in this whole damn town."
Though, now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen any soldiers in this town, either. And, aside from Stocke, no one else was walking around carrying weapons. Were they prohibited in the city? Or was this country operating under some sort of non-aggression treaty? Whatever the reason, the whole thing felt odd to him.
Thankfully, they were making their way out of the claustrophobic back alleys and onto the main streets once again. Night had fallen, but the streets were well-lit with several gaslamps, which served as a comforting reminder of home. Rosch followed along, taking note of the way Stocke seemed to swerve around each pool of light cast by the streetlamps, almost unconsciously. Did he really... not like the light? What the heck did he do when the sun came up? Hole up in some dark, musty corner somewhere, like a rat? He didn't... really want to think that that was the case.
"How long's it gonna take for us to get to... where ever it is we're going?" Rosch asked. He was used to hard travel, no complaints there, but it'd be nice to have a rough idea of how long they were gonna be on the road. Especially since there was a woeful lack of provisions on their part...
'Second-in-command' gave Stocke pause; it'd never been stated, not aloud, but sometimes it did seem he and Greed were falling into that kind of dynamic. He didn't answer one way or another, though - instead, as Rosch mentioned money, the shade reached toward his side. Claws struggled with a tight knot at his belt for a few seconds; finally, Stocke let his claws simply slit through it, catching the small leather pouch that fell free. He tossed it in Rosch's direction, towards the un-Gauntleted hand - it'd jingle on impact, heavy. Not an extravagant amount, but no meager sum either.
(He'd just have to pickpocket a few more rich natives to make it up later. They'd hardly miss it.)
"You won't find an armoury," the shade confirmed. "Not unless you're looking for firearms like Eruca's - and even then, they don't use mana as she does. Knives, perhaps..."
Speaking of which - the shade let one knife slip free from where it was strapped to the inside of his boot, this time unknotting it with telekinesis, and kicked it up into his hand. (It flew a bit too straight, too true for such a casual toss with the side of one foot - as if guided.) This he offered to Rosch hilt first instead of throwing. Hardly a substitute for Rosch's usual long reach, but better than nothing. "We'll sharpen your Gauntlet while we're repairing it."
At the rate he was lending out daggers, Stocke added to himself absently, he'd need to start carrying around far more of them. Not that it was a bad idea - never hurt to have an extra knife...
"A few hours. This peninsula's not even a fraction the size of Alistel." Faster if he could carry Rosch, levitating; Stocke gave his friend an oddly eerie look, white eyes glowing speculatively.
Rosch caught the pouch easily, surprised at its weight. He gave a low whistle. "Well, I guess that solves one of our problems, at least!" He manages to loop the severed ties around his belt with some difficulty (basically being rendered one-handed makes it difficult, but he manages well enough).
"Firearms? That don't use mana? Huh." Rosch rubbed at his chin in thought. "Guess they're a lot more common here if they're just selling them in armories. Normally you'd have to have something like that custom made..."
Not that Rosch was keen on acquiring one. Too fiddly and unreliable for his tastes. Put a lance in his hand, and he could face down any foe!
But for now, he'd settle with a knife. There's a bit of a wry grin and a quiet, "Show off," as Stocke pulled the knife free and offered it to Rosch. (The movements had been too quick for Rosch to realize that Stocke was pulling some kinda trick with the telekinesis, but he was used to his friend's sleight-of-hand techniques that he didn't think to question it.) It looked ridiculously small in his grip, but a small weapon was better than no weapon at all. And even with only the use of one arm, his prodigious strength was certain to make any attack guaranteed lethal. He shoved the knife into the top of his boot, and the cold steel pressing against his calf is a welcome reassurance.
"Good. That means we won't have to bunk down for the night or anything. And I can wait until we get there to find something to eat..." he trailed off, noticing the eerie look Stocke was giving him. The taller soldier's hair prickled at that pointed look. "B-But if you're getting hungry we can... we should probably take care of that sooner rather than later, right!?"
"Haven't been here this many months for nothing," Stocke lobbed back, tendrils swishing once, amused. (Teeth flashed as he spoke, corner of his mouth slightly up - pointed to match Rosch's, though in Stocke's case those were far newer.) Sober as the implications of that were - months of not returning to Alistel, months of being a monster - surely Rosch didn't expect him to have sat around without some way of covering the basics?
The shade bumped his shoulder lightly against Rosch's arm at the accusation, a 'look who's talking' - and that was another odd bit of contact, a reverse of how it usually went. Had there been someone, maybe multiple someones, wearing away at Stocke's hesitation here? Or was it just thanks to being away from Heiss's influence for long enough?
(Either way, it helped that he'd always been comfortable around Rosch. The man'd been a friendly constant in all of Stocke's life, from when the young amnesiac had shown up in Alistel's military - the memory loss at first attributed to a disease that attacked mana and the mind - up until the very end, when he'd been standing there, giving his farewells, ready to act as Sacrifice. The few timelines where he'd lost Rosch's friendship - or worse, the man's life - had been agonizing.)
It was keeping the shade from growing grim at the mentions of his hunger now. Stocke gave a little shake of his head. "I won't need to..." Trailed off. "Not for another week or two." Nevermind that he was getting slightly concerned about how the time period was shrinking - it'd been a month, now it was getting closer to three weeks before he felt his hunger tugging at the limit. (And also nevermind that he'd nearly forgotten that Rosch would need to eat something besides bits of human. The things you got used to...)
Instead Stocke took one short step back, one to the side to end up behind Rosch, hopped lightly into the air, and looped claws under Rosch's shoulders. And prepared to be shouted at for doing it without warning.
Conclusions: he could levitate with Rosch, but it was incredibly wobbly, far more than carrying someone closer to Stocke's size. Twinges at Stocke's shoulders suggested it'd be far more tiring, too, even with the gravity-cancelling effects of being almost-a-ghost.
i see your headcanon, and raise you more headcanon
Admittedly, the breaking down of that stoic facade was a little strange, though definitely not unwelcome. Usually, it was under very specific conditions when Stocke would allow himself to almost act like a normal human being around the rest of the brigade; and that usually involved a not insignificant amount of alcohol and plenty of cajoling from his fellow soldiers. Even then, it still felt like he was holding something in check...
Rosch couldn't help but smile at the gesture. He could definitely get used to seeing this side of Stocke more often. He always felt proud of being one of the privileged few who got to experience that quiet warmth, and it probably would never have happened had he not received the Gauntlet in the first place. They'd befriended one another in the hospital, the sick amnesiac and the crippled soldier undergoing intensive physical therapy, and Rosch couldn't say that they would have opened up to one another had they not been struggling to come to terms with their own wounded selves.
"Th-that's good! Just... lemme know if it starts getting bad, okay?" Rosch really didn't want to think about his friend having to rely on eating people just to survive, and now he had at least another week or so before he'd be forced to confront that fact. He shoved the thought aside to avoid indefinitely address later. Right now, they had more important things to worry about. Like, how were they going to travel safely through the dark wilderness to reach this other town...
The last thing he expected was Stocke sidling up behind him and hooking his claws beneath his arms. "H-hey! What're you—!"
The rest of his words were choked off in a keening little whine of indignation and utter disbelief. His feet were slowly rising from the ground, and it was with restrained effort that Rosch didn't immediately start flailing to free himself, though the urge was there and screaming at him very loudly. Stocke might not be aware of it, but his claws were dangerously close to the one unprotected area of the Gauntlet. Any place requiring a full range of motion couldn't be adequately armored, and the spot beneath the arm was one of those places. One wrong move, and those claws would slice right through the synaptic wiring and myomer cables, and then Rosch's arm would be well and truly crippled.
And so huge soldier was forced to do his best impression of a helpless kitten and let his body go limp in Stocke's grasp. How utterly undignified! "Put me down, right now! Are you insane? This is ridiculous!"
Stocke knew well enough which parts of the Gauntlet were dangerously vulnerable - hard to watch someone's back without being aware, though with the exception of one particular time, Rosch had done well enough in defending the prosthetic himself. A less generous estimation would've said that the shade knew what he was doing and was taking advantage of Rosch's forced reaction; truthfully, though, Stocke had just decided he had more control of his claws than that.
Now the shade carefully lowered the man back to the street, twisting one-eighty degrees and floating around Rosch in a single motion to end up in front - as fluid as if he were swimming. He stayed there, at the man's eye level, drifting backwards. (You'd think he'd float into something, but somehow he avoided it - often by short margins, just when those tendrils started to pass through whatever it was.)
"We'd get there faster if I could carry you," he explained, though that seemed to be off the table for now - unless Rosch suddenly shrank. Or he carried the man bridal style? Stocke considered this for a moment, head tilted, then decided - no, no that wasn't going to work. It just wasn't.
A small huddle of natives passing nearby gave the two odd looks, then quickly hurried around a corner and into the spreading grounds of an apartment building. Stocke cast a glance over his shoulder, then swerved to the right - buildings were starting to grow sparse, once again dingier at the edges of town. The road that they'd curved down simply kept going, off into the Ryslig wilds - to Rosch's left, grasslands eventually faded into forest, deep and foreboding. Behind them, but in the same direction and some distance from the town, a lighthouse cast flashes of illumination over the sea.
It's a good thing Stocke decided to set Rosch down when he did, because the prospect of flying over rooftops threatened to throw the huge soldier's brain on a repeating loop of displeased cat noises.
The moment his toes touched solid ground, Rosch slumped forward, hand and Gauntlet awkwardly pressed to his knees, and drew a shuddering breath. Oh, praise Noah! He really dodged a bullet there!
Raising his head just in time to catch Stocke floating gracefully in front of him, Rosch glowered. "You gotta warn me when you're gonna pull crap like that, okay!?" He straightened, regaining some of his composure. "I've seen you pull some pretty weird stunts in the past, but this is totally different!"
Turning invisible? Fine. Floating around like some specter? Not fine. There were limits to even what Rosch could accept in the span of a day. He heaved a sigh. At this rate, he was going to start going grey prematurely... "You know, I think I'd rather keep both feet firmly planted on the ground at all times, even if it does mean we'll be traveling a lot slower than you'd like."
He spared the natives a slightly annoyed look before trailing after Stocke. It was a little weird, truth be told, seeing his friend floating through the air as though he had been born for it, but he put the thought from his mind. The more alien Stocke's behavior, the more Rosch was determined not to let it bother him. This was his friend, his best friend, after all, and Rosch was willing to put up with whatever amount of weirdness Stocke decided to throw his way.
They traveled in silence for the most part, Rosch having always been comfortable in Stocke's quiet presence. They'd been friends for so long that he could enjoy the companionable silence, even if his mind was still filled with questions.
But as they approached a rather creepy looking forest, Rosch asked, "So, where exactly are we going, anyway? I don't think you actually said other than it's the next town over."
"It's a city known as Bavan. Most populated place on this peninsula, and most advanced - if this place weren't so fragmented around its gods, I'd call it the capital. As it is, it doesn't speak for the other towns."
Which merited a question - why wasn't Stocke there instead? Not that Rosch would have to guess all that much, not after seeing the Nest. Stocke might... flagrantly ignore the letter of them sometimes, if he thought it better, but he took the spirit of his obligations seriously.
"A well-renowned lab in the city was run by a man named Liewen - when he vanished, one of my acquaintances employed there took charge." Rita wasn't quite a friend, though Stocke'd formed some modicum of respect for her; he'd probably owe her a favour. Still, knowing what he'd seen of her, she'd spend it on asking him some more questions about Vainqueur's magic, and he could spare that easily enough.
Liewen, now... that name came with a few stories of its own. In fact there were quite a few tales Stocke would need to share, though he'd do it in gaps as they traveled - after figuring out how to phrase each as almost a report, and leaving out some of the ones that didn't matter anymore. (Rainsford, that first monster hunter before the Rotans and far more professional - he was dead now. Whatever had caused that parasite fog - it hadn't cropped up again. The burning festival, though...? That had made hints of happening yearly. And Liewen - both Liewens - were something Rosch needed to know about.)
The shade drifted lower as they entered the woods, enough so that you'd almost think he were walking if his feet were moving. (Rosch, meanwhile, might have to start ducking under unruly branches. Perils of being giant Gauntlet-wielding monoliths.) The forest itself bustled with all those quiet clicks, chirrups, and rustles a forest at night made - though there was more than its fair share of eerie howls.
"Stick to the path," Stocke warned quietly. He seemed wary, though not quite the same way he had with the natives in Vandare - there, he'd acted as if he knew he could handle what they threw at him, and wasn't truly thinking them antagonistic, but couldn't help but expect an attack anyway. Here, he wasn't half-bristling, constrained, but he turned attention to every unusual noise anyway - and he looked far more concerned for Rosch's sake than his own.
"So... it's kinda like Alistel?" he asked, hoping that was the case. Admittedly, all Alistelians were spoiled to some degree with the advent of thaumatechnology, and Rosch was no exception. It'd be nice not to have to give up certain modern conveniences, even if he was trapped in a strange land. "And this Liewen guy is, er, was, kinda like Fennel? So that means your friends is kinda doing what Sonja does, right?"
Sorry for all the comparisons, Stocke, but that's just how Rosch's brain works. Latch on to what's familiar and try to translate it into concepts he can understand. It might be slow going, but he'll figure it out. Eventually.
He listened as Stocke filled him in on the situation, and only interrupted when absolutely necessary. He didn't want to break the narrative thread so often that it became lost completely, and for the most part, a lot of the questions he did have were probably unimportant in the grand scheme of things. The important thing was figuring out who were allies and who were enemies, and it sounded like the hostiles far outweighed the non-hostiles...
And... they were actually going to have to go through the creepy forest. Swell. He swatted branches out of his face, envying his more nimble friend's smaller stature. The eerie howls were definitely not helping matters at all. Rosch could feel the hair on the nape of his neck standing at attention.
Stick to the path, Stocke warned. As if Rosch would be dumb enough to try his luck in the deep, dark forest with only a tiny dagger for defense. At least he had Stocke around to watch his back—
A noise, not far from their current position. Rosch's ears pricked up as he heard a low growl, and his nose quivered with the scent of animal musk. "Something's out there, Stocke, I can smell it..."
Hopefully, Stocke wouldn't doubt the huge soldier's senses this time. Because Rosch had a very bad feeling about this...
"Yes, though you're still not likely to see steam." Or true thaumachinery. The second half, on the other hand, had Stocke shaking his head - then pausing, reconsidering. Close enough, he supposed, even if they didn't build suits or moving machines. (And it wasn't like he wasn't guilty of appending the thau- prefix to Ryslig's machinery himself, before.) "If anyone has tools that'd work for thaumachinery here, it's her," the shade said finally, as a compromise.
Something's out there...
Stocke's metaphorical hackles rose; that last noise'd been near enough that he wouldn't even have needed Rosch's muttered warning. One of his tendrils reached for the man, the tip brushing lightly through Rosch (cold, the sensation of someone having walked over your grave) as a reassurance that Stocke's friend was still there. Meanwhile, the shade let the rest of his tendrils spread out, testing the static in the air. Nothing close enough to sense as a soul, but that was hardly saying much, with the small distance Stocke could 'see' - better to rely on more human senses.
Such as sound - the padding of something that no longer sounded like feet (or... not human feet) over the forest floor, a quiet rustle of leaves and the soft creaking of bent summer branches. Too dark to see anything, too much undergrowth in the way, but Stocke slid in between it and Rosch with a quiet, 'Keep moving," his blank eyes suddenly colder.
The noises didn't stop, though they paused momentarily whenever the two of them talked, as if someone was holding one foot (paw? hoof? something else?) in the air to listen in. Their owner didn't attack either - but then, not many minutes later, it was joined by another stalker on the other side of the road.
Rosch shuddered when one of the tendrils brushed through his arm, and he just barely managed to stifle a yelp of surprise. That was cold, dammit! But there would be time to scold his friend later. Right now, they had more important things to worry about...
...like the fact that an ambush was pretty much unavoidable at this point, but at least they could try and prepare themselves for it. Rosch nodded once as Stocke signaled to him, his eyes growing less human than they once were. The huge soldier slid the knife out of the top of his boot and scanned their surroundings, pricking his ears up for the slightest noise. Stocke could probably see in the dark far better than his less-than-monstrous friend, but there was no way that Rosch was going to just let Stocke take care of the threat all on his own!
He tried to catch Stocke's eye again, signaling with two quick jerks of his head. Two foes, one on either side. A flanking attack, probably.
Unfortunately, neither of them were prepared for the threat from above. Rosch caught the sound of rustling leaves a split-second before an ear-piercing shriek assaulted his senses. He whirled, and managed to shout "Above you!" before some massive scaly winged creature descended, claws extended for Rosch's throat.
It was rather fortunate that his Gauntlet had locked up somewhat in a curled fist, because his first instinct was to punch that screeching hellspawn in the face! His left-hook sure packed a wallop, because he knocked the gargoyle right out of the air and sent it skidding through the leaf litter.
"The hell was that!?" Rosch shouted, bracing himself from another attack, either from that scaly monstrosity, or from the two other unknown creatures flanking them.
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graveyardsmash2015-05-23 05:28 pm
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(That said, it wasn't Heiss's world-destroying brand of shady business, so that was an improvement, right?)
The shade didn't say much, just a silent nod of acknowledgement over his shoulder when Rosch reassured him he'd be able to see, tendrils flickering up and down - in the dark, more suggestions of unnatural movement at his back than dinstinct limbs. It wasn't until Rosch said 'It's like they're afraid of us or something...' that Stocke hesitated. He didn't quite have enough time to answer, choosing words, before the man was asking about the native's protective borders, falling behind to stare at them - and the monsters' responses, more recently. Since Rota...
"'Man-eaters' was no exaggeration," the shade said, quiet, when Rosch caught up once more. And - "They're warding us off." But if Rosch was going to say anything about that, it'd have to wait, since apparently they'd gotten to wherever they were headed - 'Devil's Nest,' words emblazoned above the door exclaimed, soft red light spilling it through the windows and cutting through the evening's gloom. Noisy, too - business was starting to pick up with the night's coming, chatter and a pulse of music and maybe the ocassional yell spilling out into the street.
Stocke slipped through the door, holding it open behind him for Rosch to grab, then scanned the bar floor, the counter. Whoever he was looking for didn't seem to be around - his eyes fell on the twisting spiral staircase past the bartender, jagged, narrow iron.
(Some of the patrons inside turned their heads to look at the door as the two entered, greeting Rosch with a full array of spider-eyes, glimmering scales, mussed feathers. One flicked a wolf-like ear in his direction, then turned dark, canine eyes on the Gauntlet and finally on Rosch's face. The monster nudged another seated next to him - one wrapped around the stool rather than on it, with nothing but a giant snake tail for a lower body.)
(All seemed careful, suspicious - at least until spotting Stocke. There they relaxed - evidently, the shade was a familiar face around these parts, and trusted enough to bring in someone who didn't have any obvious monster traits at first glance.)
Stocke cut across the floor to the bartender, catching their attention. Tonight: young, almost - until you saw the flash of red eyes, the glint of sharp teeth when she spoke, fangs far longer than a human being's. "Is Greed here?" Stocke asked her, arms crossed over the wooden counter; she answered in the negative, and the shade's tendrils gave a small, resigned wave.
"Pass on a message?" The bartender nodded, and they swapped a few more words - a matter of seconds - before the shade trailed back over to Rosch and motioned towards the door.
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As they approached the entrance, Rosch craned his neck to read the crude sign painted in gaudy colors. Devil's Nest, huh? He shot Stocke a questioning look that clearly said, Are you serious? before catching the door and ducking inside. (Incidentally, he didn't have to duck that low, it was almost as if this establishment was used to receiving patrons of his general height and girth...)
Of course, the moment he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by several monstrous visages, and it was with surprising restraint that he managed to bite down on the yelp of surprise that threatened to escape. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, his hair prickling against his scalp. A guy with the face of a wolf made eye contact, and Rosch struggled to think of an appropriate response. If he held eye contact, was that considered a challenge? Dammit, he didn't speak wolf!
Before he could do anything, the wolf-guy looked away, nudging his buddy, and Rosch felt his lips peel back in a nervous grin. There was a part of him that wanted to reach over and throttle Stocke. The least he could have done was warn him that this so-called "Devil's Nest" was filled with honest-to-goodness monsters!
But Stocke had already crossed over to the bar, and all Rosch could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, and hoping that his friend hadn't suddenly gone turncoat and was planning to throw him to the wolves. Literally.
Fair warning, Stocke: There are Going to Be Words, and a lot of them, probably shouted at maximum volume once this is all over.
It took a moment for Rosch to register that Stocke wanted him to follow. He made his way toward the door, doing his best imitate Stocke earlier and somehow compact his bulky frame as much as possible. Noah help him if he accidentally bumped into one of these monsters, or stepped on someone's tail by mistake...
"What the hell are you trying to pull, Stocke?" he growled beneath his breath. "You trying to serve me up on a silver platter or what?"
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"You think I'd let anyone but me eat you?" With a dead serious tone. Not unusual - Stocke certainly had a tendency of hiding teasing behind a straight face, leaving people guessing whether he was serious or not - but what was odd was the moment of vertigo Stocke experienced when he realized even he wasn't... completely, one hundred percent certain he wasn't being serious right now. He didn't want Rosch eaten, period, obviously. But as icing on the cake, something was rubbing Stocke wrong about the thought of specifically other monsters considering it...
Right. Rather than worry about that right now, he added, "Nobody in there would have touched you. Not unless they wanted to answer to me, and then to Greed and the rest of us." And especially not when Stocke was right there - there was, Rosch might note, a sword strapped to his red-clad friend's side, even if the sheath looked shorter, was shaped differently than it would have been for the longsword Stocke had favoured back on their home continent.
To Rosch's potential relief, the way the shade was leading now quickly spilled out into larger streets, rapidly emptying of people - or at least, people travelling alone - now that night was truly falling. Absently, the shade dodged around patches of light cast by streetlamps - not with any particular urgency, but as if out of habit.
Stocke kept himself slow, made sure to fall back to walk at Rosch's side instead of leading him. Now that it was getting darker - and now that they were out of a part of the city where Stocke could guarantee good behavior, and would be setting out across uninhabited parts of the peninsula as soon as they cut through Vandare - he wanted to stay extra close.
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Rosch's brain stutters along at a snail's pace. While there's a tiny part of him that's secretly pleased at the prospect of Stocke acting so possessive, the bigger, more rational part of his brain (which sounded suspiciously like Sonja...) was beating him over the head with a wrench and screaming at him: Don't you dare entertain such thoughts, mister!
The pause lasted only a few seconds before nervous laughter bubbled up, and Rosch slapped his thigh with one hand. "Ah, you almost had me there for a minute!" he said, wagging a finger in Stocke's direction. The laughter became a little more genuine, but he still couldn't say that he was a hundred percent certain that Stocke wasn't entertaining the idea...
The laughter died down. Stocke's demeanor had returned to its default stoicism once again. Not that Rosch minded, really. "So, you're kinda like the second-in-command or something?" He nodded his approval at the short sword hanging from his friend's hip. "Good call. I'm not too keen on traveling without a weapon in my hand, but it's not like we've got any money, and I haven't seen a single armory in this whole damn town."
Though, now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen any soldiers in this town, either. And, aside from Stocke, no one else was walking around carrying weapons. Were they prohibited in the city? Or was this country operating under some sort of non-aggression treaty? Whatever the reason, the whole thing felt odd to him.
Thankfully, they were making their way out of the claustrophobic back alleys and onto the main streets once again. Night had fallen, but the streets were well-lit with several gaslamps, which served as a comforting reminder of home. Rosch followed along, taking note of the way Stocke seemed to swerve around each pool of light cast by the streetlamps, almost unconsciously. Did he really... not like the light? What the heck did he do when the sun came up? Hole up in some dark, musty corner somewhere, like a rat? He didn't... really want to think that that was the case.
"How long's it gonna take for us to get to... where ever it is we're going?" Rosch asked. He was used to hard travel, no complaints there, but it'd be nice to have a rough idea of how long they were gonna be on the road. Especially since there was a woeful lack of provisions on their part...
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(He'd just have to pickpocket a few more rich natives to make it up later. They'd hardly miss it.)
"You won't find an armoury," the shade confirmed. "Not unless you're looking for firearms like Eruca's - and even then, they don't use mana as she does. Knives, perhaps..."
Speaking of which - the shade let one knife slip free from where it was strapped to the inside of his boot, this time unknotting it with telekinesis, and kicked it up into his hand. (It flew a bit too straight, too true for such a casual toss with the side of one foot - as if guided.) This he offered to Rosch hilt first instead of throwing. Hardly a substitute for Rosch's usual long reach, but better than nothing. "We'll sharpen your Gauntlet while we're repairing it."
At the rate he was lending out daggers, Stocke added to himself absently, he'd need to start carrying around far more of them. Not that it was a bad idea - never hurt to have an extra knife...
"A few hours. This peninsula's not even a fraction the size of Alistel." Faster if he could carry Rosch, levitating; Stocke gave his friend an oddly eerie look, white eyes glowing speculatively.
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"Firearms? That don't use mana? Huh." Rosch rubbed at his chin in thought. "Guess they're a lot more common here if they're just selling them in armories. Normally you'd have to have something like that custom made..."
Not that Rosch was keen on acquiring one. Too fiddly and unreliable for his tastes. Put a lance in his hand, and he could face down any foe!
But for now, he'd settle with a knife. There's a bit of a wry grin and a quiet, "Show off," as Stocke pulled the knife free and offered it to Rosch. (The movements had been too quick for Rosch to realize that Stocke was pulling some kinda trick with the telekinesis, but he was used to his friend's sleight-of-hand techniques that he didn't think to question it.) It looked ridiculously small in his grip, but a small weapon was better than no weapon at all. And even with only the use of one arm, his prodigious strength was certain to make any attack guaranteed lethal. He shoved the knife into the top of his boot, and the cold steel pressing against his calf is a welcome reassurance.
"Good. That means we won't have to bunk down for the night or anything. And I can wait until we get there to find something to eat..." he trailed off, noticing the eerie look Stocke was giving him. The taller soldier's hair prickled at that pointed look. "B-But if you're getting hungry we can... we should probably take care of that sooner rather than later, right!?"
...tosses in some headcanon, tosses self out
The shade bumped his shoulder lightly against Rosch's arm at the accusation, a 'look who's talking' - and that was another odd bit of contact, a reverse of how it usually went. Had there been someone, maybe multiple someones, wearing away at Stocke's hesitation here? Or was it just thanks to being away from Heiss's influence for long enough?
(Either way, it helped that he'd always been comfortable around Rosch. The man'd been a friendly constant in all of Stocke's life, from when the young amnesiac had shown up in Alistel's military - the memory loss at first attributed to a disease that attacked mana and the mind - up until the very end, when he'd been standing there, giving his farewells, ready to act as Sacrifice. The few timelines where he'd lost Rosch's friendship - or worse, the man's life - had been agonizing.)
It was keeping the shade from growing grim at the mentions of his hunger now. Stocke gave a little shake of his head. "I won't need to..." Trailed off. "Not for another week or two." Nevermind that he was getting slightly concerned about how the time period was shrinking - it'd been a month, now it was getting closer to three weeks before he felt his hunger tugging at the limit. (And also nevermind that he'd nearly forgotten that Rosch would need to eat something besides bits of human. The things you got used to...)
Instead Stocke took one short step back, one to the side to end up behind Rosch, hopped lightly into the air, and looped claws under Rosch's shoulders.
And prepared to be shouted at for doing it without warning.Conclusions: he could levitate with Rosch, but it was incredibly wobbly, far more than carrying someone closer to Stocke's size. Twinges at Stocke's shoulders suggested it'd be far more tiring, too, even with the gravity-cancelling effects of being almost-a-ghost.
i see your headcanon, and raise you more headcanon
Rosch couldn't help but smile at the gesture. He could definitely get used to seeing this side of Stocke more often. He always felt proud of being one of the privileged few who got to experience that quiet warmth, and it probably would never have happened had he not received the Gauntlet in the first place. They'd befriended one another in the hospital, the sick amnesiac and the crippled soldier undergoing intensive physical therapy, and Rosch couldn't say that they would have opened up to one another had they not been struggling to come to terms with their own wounded selves.
"Th-that's good! Just... lemme know if it starts getting bad, okay?" Rosch really didn't want to think about his friend having to rely on eating people just to survive, and now he had at least another week or so before he'd be forced to confront that fact. He shoved the thought aside to
avoid indefinitelyaddress later. Right now, they had more important things to worry about. Like, how were they going to travel safely through the dark wilderness to reach this other town...The last thing he expected was Stocke sidling up behind him and hooking his claws beneath his arms. "H-hey! What're you—!"
The rest of his words were choked off in a keening little whine of indignation and utter disbelief. His feet were slowly rising from the ground, and it was with restrained effort that Rosch didn't immediately start flailing to free himself, though the urge was there and screaming at him very loudly. Stocke might not be aware of it, but his claws were dangerously close to the one unprotected area of the Gauntlet. Any place requiring a full range of motion couldn't be adequately armored, and the spot beneath the arm was one of those places. One wrong move, and those claws would slice right through the synaptic wiring and myomer cables, and then Rosch's arm would be well and truly crippled.
And so huge soldier was forced to do his best impression of a helpless kitten and let his body go limp in Stocke's grasp. How utterly undignified! "Put me down, right now! Are you insane? This is ridiculous!"
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Now the shade carefully lowered the man back to the street, twisting one-eighty degrees and floating around Rosch in a single motion to end up in front - as fluid as if he were swimming. He stayed there, at the man's eye level, drifting backwards. (You'd think he'd float into something, but somehow he avoided it - often by short margins, just when those tendrils started to pass through whatever it was.)
"We'd get there faster if I could carry you," he explained, though that seemed to be off the table for now - unless Rosch suddenly shrank. Or he carried the man bridal style? Stocke considered this for a moment, head tilted, then decided - no, no that wasn't going to work. It just wasn't.
A small huddle of natives passing nearby gave the two odd looks, then quickly hurried around a corner and into the spreading grounds of an apartment building. Stocke cast a glance over his shoulder, then swerved to the right - buildings were starting to grow sparse, once again dingier at the edges of town. The road that they'd curved down simply kept going, off into the Ryslig wilds - to Rosch's left, grasslands eventually faded into forest, deep and foreboding. Behind them, but in the same direction and some distance from the town, a lighthouse cast flashes of illumination over the sea.
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The moment his toes touched solid ground, Rosch slumped forward, hand and Gauntlet awkwardly pressed to his knees, and drew a shuddering breath. Oh, praise Noah! He really dodged a bullet there!
Raising his head just in time to catch Stocke floating gracefully in front of him, Rosch glowered. "You gotta warn me when you're gonna pull crap like that, okay!?" He straightened, regaining some of his composure. "I've seen you pull some pretty weird stunts in the past, but this is totally different!"
Turning invisible? Fine. Floating around like some specter? Not fine. There were limits to even what Rosch could accept in the span of a day. He heaved a sigh. At this rate, he was going to start going grey prematurely... "You know, I think I'd rather keep both feet firmly planted on the ground at all times, even if it does mean we'll be traveling a lot slower than you'd like."
He spared the natives a slightly annoyed look before trailing after Stocke. It was a little weird, truth be told, seeing his friend floating through the air as though he had been born for it, but he put the thought from his mind. The more alien Stocke's behavior, the more Rosch was determined not to let it bother him. This was his friend, his best friend, after all, and Rosch was willing to put up with whatever amount of weirdness Stocke decided to throw his way.
They traveled in silence for the most part, Rosch having always been comfortable in Stocke's quiet presence. They'd been friends for so long that he could enjoy the companionable silence, even if his mind was still filled with questions.
But as they approached a rather creepy looking forest, Rosch asked, "So, where exactly are we going, anyway? I don't think you actually said other than it's the next town over."
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Which merited a question - why wasn't Stocke there instead? Not that Rosch would have to guess all that much, not after seeing the Nest. Stocke might... flagrantly ignore the letter of them sometimes, if he thought it better, but he took the spirit of his obligations seriously.
"A well-renowned lab in the city was run by a man named Liewen - when he vanished, one of my acquaintances employed there took charge." Rita wasn't quite a friend, though Stocke'd formed some modicum of respect for her; he'd probably owe her a favour. Still, knowing what he'd seen of her, she'd spend it on asking him some more questions about Vainqueur's magic, and he could spare that easily enough.
Liewen, now... that name came with a few stories of its own. In fact there were quite a few tales Stocke would need to share, though he'd do it in gaps as they traveled - after figuring out how to phrase each as almost a report, and leaving out some of the ones that didn't matter anymore. (Rainsford, that first monster hunter before the Rotans and far more professional - he was dead now. Whatever had caused that parasite fog - it hadn't cropped up again. The burning festival, though...? That had made hints of happening yearly. And Liewen - both Liewens - were something Rosch needed to know about.)
The shade drifted lower as they entered the woods, enough so that you'd almost think he were walking if his feet were moving. (Rosch, meanwhile, might have to start ducking under unruly branches. Perils of being giant Gauntlet-wielding monoliths.) The forest itself bustled with all those quiet clicks, chirrups, and rustles a forest at night made - though there was more than its fair share of eerie howls.
"Stick to the path," Stocke warned quietly. He seemed wary, though not quite the same way he had with the natives in Vandare - there, he'd acted as if he knew he could handle what they threw at him, and wasn't truly thinking them antagonistic, but couldn't help but expect an attack anyway. Here, he wasn't half-bristling, constrained, but he turned attention to every unusual noise anyway - and he looked far more concerned for Rosch's sake than his own.
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Sorry for all the comparisons, Stocke, but that's just how Rosch's brain works. Latch on to what's familiar and try to translate it into concepts he can understand. It might be slow going, but he'll figure it out. Eventually.
He listened as Stocke filled him in on the situation, and only interrupted when absolutely necessary. He didn't want to break the narrative thread so often that it became lost completely, and for the most part, a lot of the questions he did have were probably unimportant in the grand scheme of things. The important thing was figuring out who were allies and who were enemies, and it sounded like the hostiles far outweighed the non-hostiles...
And... they were actually going to have to go through the creepy forest. Swell. He swatted branches out of his face, envying his more nimble friend's smaller stature. The eerie howls were definitely not helping matters at all. Rosch could feel the hair on the nape of his neck standing at attention.
Stick to the path, Stocke warned. As if Rosch would be dumb enough to try his luck in the deep, dark forest with only a tiny dagger for defense. At least he had Stocke around to watch his back—
A noise, not far from their current position. Rosch's ears pricked up as he heard a low growl, and his nose quivered with the scent of animal musk. "Something's out there, Stocke, I can smell it..."
Hopefully, Stocke wouldn't doubt the huge soldier's senses this time. Because Rosch had a very bad feeling about this...
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Something's out there...
Stocke's metaphorical hackles rose; that last noise'd been near enough that he wouldn't even have needed Rosch's muttered warning. One of his tendrils reached for the man, the tip brushing lightly through Rosch (cold, the sensation of someone having walked over your grave) as a reassurance that Stocke's friend was still there. Meanwhile, the shade let the rest of his tendrils spread out, testing the static in the air. Nothing close enough to sense as a soul, but that was hardly saying much, with the small distance Stocke could 'see' - better to rely on more human senses.
Such as sound - the padding of something that no longer sounded like feet (or... not human feet) over the forest floor, a quiet rustle of leaves and the soft creaking of bent summer branches. Too dark to see anything, too much undergrowth in the way, but Stocke slid in between it and Rosch with a quiet, 'Keep moving," his blank eyes suddenly colder.
The noises didn't stop, though they paused momentarily whenever the two of them talked, as if someone was holding one foot (paw? hoof? something else?) in the air to listen in. Their owner didn't attack either - but then, not many minutes later, it was joined by another stalker on the other side of the road.
/resurrects this thread from the grave
...like the fact that an ambush was pretty much unavoidable at this point, but at least they could try and prepare themselves for it. Rosch nodded once as Stocke signaled to him, his eyes growing less human than they once were. The huge soldier slid the knife out of the top of his boot and scanned their surroundings, pricking his ears up for the slightest noise. Stocke could probably see in the dark far better than his less-than-monstrous friend, but there was no way that Rosch was going to just let Stocke take care of the threat all on his own!
He tried to catch Stocke's eye again, signaling with two quick jerks of his head. Two foes, one on either side. A flanking attack, probably.
Unfortunately, neither of them were prepared for the threat from above. Rosch caught the sound of rustling leaves a split-second before an ear-piercing shriek assaulted his senses. He whirled, and managed to shout "Above you!" before some massive scaly winged creature descended, claws extended for Rosch's throat.
It was rather fortunate that his Gauntlet had locked up somewhat in a curled fist, because his first instinct was to punch that screeching hellspawn in the face! His left-hook sure packed a wallop, because he knocked the gargoyle right out of the air and sent it skidding through the leaf litter.
"The hell was that!?" Rosch shouted, bracing himself from another attack, either from that scaly monstrosity, or from the two other unknown creatures flanking them.