JustClom

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    A country that was once part of the European Union. People like to laugh at me about it, but those are the same people I can retort with: "You have a cheeto for a president."
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  1. Post a meme a day thread

  2. The curse of the eastern isle

    This took time. A god awful, extreme, amount of time. Chapter III has been quite a long one, and it's finally reaching its end. This chapter I must admit is extremely long, but that's not going to be a common occurrence. It was going to be split into two without a choice, but sticking them together just seemed easier. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “I will stay here with you and the clerics.” You didn’t need more than a moment to make up your mind; there were enough of the clerics and paladins heading back to town to protect the townspeople. “It is best to have as many people as we can on standby, just incase that structure brings a second invasion.” As you are speaking, footsteps tap beside you. An ashen-haired woman, draped in a long cleric robe, walks shyly past you. You can faintly smell herbs and medicine on her robes that make you wonder if she is here to take care of Addilyn. The head cleric turns to give the ashen-haired woman a smile before turning back to you and nodding in agreement. “Come, all of you.” He speaks to the townspeople. “If you all have your possessions, we should prepare to move.” The crowd begins to murmur, and in a single motion, they all begin walking toward the door with their possessions. It’s almost like watching a single mind move a group of bodies. A black haired girl clings to her mother’s arm. “Mama? Where are we going?” “Home, little one.” Her mother forces a smile. She picks up a sack of belongings and makes her way up to the church with her child. You watch a sea of shallow faces make their way past you, up toward the church, all with their belongings and loved ones clutched in their hands or pressed safely by their sides as they slump their feet across the stone. You stand behind Alexandr, hiding the shame of your soiled greaves in the shadows until the last of the townspeople leave. “I dread to see their reaction when they are forced to look upon the church.” There is sadness in Alexandr’s voice. “This is the right thing to do, yet it doesn’t ease me.” Margo removes her hat and shakes her hair, a few specks of stone fall from her pigtails. “They were bound to see it eventually.” You realize that to these people, the church had become their home. They were packing up and leaving behind their home for a second time. Three months on this island must’ve felt like a decade, and now they were given the chance to return to some semblance of their old lives. Some, not much. This, the praying, the cowering, it must’ve felt normal to them now. A routine forged from fear. You wonder if this is really is for the best. These people, whether they were hardened eastern people or not, were still civilians. Wolves and bandits could not compare to demons and the invading forces of hell. The last of the townspeople make their up to the church. Margo prepares to leave with Alexandr, but before she does, you see her turn to A267 and whispers something into the android’s ear. She points in your direction and the android nods. When she is finished, she passes you with Alexandr by her side. She isn’t injured, thankfully, walking without a limp or any sign of damage from the fall. A267 walks over to you with the same warm smile she always has. “Mother...noticed you didn’t have your coat.” She takes off her tattered brown jacket and lifts your arms up to the side. “Is it ok if I-?” You nod, though you’re not really sure why this was necessary. The android slips your arms into the coat, humming to herself as she does. “M-Margo a-asked you?” You respond as the android puts the coat on you. You’re taken by surprise that Margo had thought about you for even a moment. “Mother noticed you didn’t have your coat. If you’re going to stay up here and help, you can’t do it in just a shirt.” She calls Margo mother, yet it’s the android that speaks with the soft concern of a caring mother. “Done!” You take a few steps to get a feel for the new jacket. It’s thicker and heavier than your own coat, but also warmer. There is a rip in the back that was clearly intentional to allow her wind up key to stick out. “Tell Margo I appreciate the goodwill. And thank you.” You nod to android. “I’m not done yet.” Her smile grows as she reaches into her large rucksack and pulls out a spare set of greaves, and a clean pair of white knickers. You feel your cheeks grow warm. You didn’t even know Androids wore knickers…or were they Margo’s? They couldn’t be, surely her knickers were smaller and...no, you didn’t want to think about the little engineers undergarments, or whos knickers the android was offering you. They were dry and that was all you cared about. Hells, as the cold set in, you’d wrap a towel around your crotch as long as it was dry. “We noticed your...accident earlier. Your legs will drop off if you have to stay in the snow with wet clothes.” You take the spare greaves and knickers with some reluctance. “Again. Thank you.” You don’t look up to meet the androids gaze, instead you stare blankly at the “gift”. You felt guilty treating such an unexpected kind gesture with a cold appreciation, but never had you been offered a spare pair of knickers and greaves in your life. Although, that was mostly because you had your own spares. You felt like an imbecile for packing so lightly, but thankfully A267 was here to rectify your mistake. A267 lifts her shoulders and smiles. “You’re welcome.” She grabs her rucksack and heads for the stairs. With A267 gone, you are now the last one here, save for Nymeria and cleric who are off in another room. You stand alone, with only the wind for company, holding a spare pair of knickers and greaves in your arms. You needed somewhere private to change, knowing you couldn’t just strip down to your bare legs in the middle of the living quarters. Nymeria steps out from the paladin quarters and slams down two large chests. She pays you no mind and returns to the quarters. Seeing her reminded you there was a cleric’s quarters. Surely, you’d be able to have some privacy while you changed. You find the clerics quarters on the opposite side of the corridor the paladins quarters are located in. You open the door slowly, wondering if there is anybody inside. The quarters is empty. The ashen haired cleric was elsewhere. She must’ve come down to relieve herself at the drain, or based on the faint herbal scent she gave off, she was the cleric tending to Addilyn. The quarters was almost identical to the paladins, a simple neat room with beds lined up on either side. You close the door and prop a chair up against it to allow you some warning should somebody come knocking. You slip off your boots and unbuckle your belt. Your greaves still pose a struggle to pull down, but you manage, slipping them off and throwing them down by your side. The stench of piss isn’t that strong, which would explain how you had not drawn much attention to yourself. The incense most likely covered it. You stand completely naked from the waist down. Your bare slender legs uncovered. It’s cold in the quarters, but you ignore the chill against your bare legs and the near unbearable chill that runs against the cheeks of your arse. You waste no time putting on the dry knickers and greaves. They are warm for some reason, and you can only think, and hope, that is because they have been in A267s rucksack. It feels good to finally have a set of dry knickers on, you feel far better below the belt now. You smile, allowing yourself one second to enjoy the feeling of warm, dry knickers before shoving your soiled gear into your rucksack to deal with later. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Items added to inventory Piss-soaked greaves Piss-soaked knickers __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ You enter the living quarters, taking in the uneasy air. The room felt far larger with nobody around, and more welcoming without a crowd of townspeople. You prepare to head up to the church until you hear footsteps behind you, accompanied by a quiet muttering. You turn around to see Nymeria emerging from the quarters with Addilyn, who is still wrapped in your coat, on her back. She’s murmuring in her sleep. The cleric who had passed you earlier walks alongside her, carrying a small leather sack of possessions. “I hope you weren’t planning on forgetting this one.” Nymeria sits her down on the floor, resting her by a pillar. She doesn’t stir once from her sleep. The tonic was must’ve knocked her out cold. “Being the kind and caring person I am, I “found” her another dress to wear.” The cleric by Nymeria’s side doesn’t look much older than yourself, but her sleep-deprived eyes, and pale skin add at least a decade to her looks. Her hair is ashen coloured, almost like Lucina’s, tied up in a messy knot behind her head. “I noticed...she had some issues using ze chamberpot I provided…” She sighs like she knew there would be a problem. “Maybe using a lighter tonic vould’ve been better. But people underestimate ze long term effects of untreated stress or mental strain, especially in ze long run.” Her accent wasn’t Serkainian, but she had a calculating tone to every word she said, like she was always thinking. “But yes, I changed her soiled attire...again. Thankfully the accident vasn’t as severe...nor as messy.” Suddenly, the cleric takes note of you and stops muttering to herself. “Ah, apologies. Ve have not met. I am Karlien Van der boor. I am responsible for taking care of our wounded and sick.” She offers her hand. You accept the cleric’s handshake, noticing how soft her hands were compared to your own ragged and blistered palms. “Franziska Audenviel. Mercenary...I guess…” You weren’t sure how to introduce yourself beyond your name. Introducing yourself as a sword of the Selkava did not feel like a wise move to make. With the formalities over, you look down to the unconscious bard propped up by a pillar. “Will she be okay?” Karlien shakes her head. “She vill be fast asleep for a vhile. It was a powerful tonic I gave her, it’s strong enough put a dire wolf to sleep. She vill be incapacitated for the night.” She shakes her head. “Not desirable ve already have enough injured…ve need every hand ve can get.” “How is it up there? Now that everything has settled.” You feel it best to change the subject. The ashen-haired cleric frowns. “You vould’ve thought ve vould’ve had a moment to collect our thoughts. But no. Catia has us vorking ragged to ensure all those corpses are burnt as quickly as possible. Ve have clerics preparing the spells for the silver fire and others preparing the holy oil for the pyres. Ve have injured paladins and clerics that need tonics and treatment. Our numbers are too short, the paladins are too inexperienced vith these skills and to make it vorse ve’re all vorking on full bladders and empty stomachs.” You are not surprised they are overworked, or that they were working in such uncomfortable conditions. You were not sure of the casualties against the main force that had attacked the courtyard, but it can’t have been a A handful of clerics and paladins, some injured after the invasion, were working against the clock. They had much to do, all while the lingering structure of the chain of D’Yavol loomed over them like a pendulum. Corpses had to be burned, the injured had to be taken care of, and the townspeople had to be safely escorted. When it came to the church and burning the undead, the routine was always to cover the corpses in holy water and set a torch alight with an old religious incantation for holy light. You remember the cleric on your way into the church now, reading from a spellbook. They must be preparing the spells in advance npw, using gems or some other form of catalyst so a spellbook ritual wouldn't be needed for each pyre. Nymeria chimes in as she rummages through a chest. “Dexter will not allow any of the clerics or civilians beyond the courtyard without paladin presence. Same for coming back down here. Which is why Karlien is here with me.” She runs her hand through her blonde hair, adjusting it to cover the scaly side of her face. "If only you had seen the fight out there. Haha! I'm proud of my paladins, twelve of us and we could murder a thousand of them!" Nymeria strikes her armour in a display of proud dominance. "A few tonics and dressing for their wounds and we'll be good to go." Your thoughts are distracted as a metallic clang rings in your ears. Karlien pulls out a metal jug from a small storage room. “Ah...perfect…” She sighs. “At least I vas able to excuse myself to come get the supplies.” Karlien also grabs a few sheets of cloth and suddenly it becomes clear what her intentions are with that jug. “Is that jug for making the tonics?” You hide the curious tone of your voice, knowing damn well what the cleric’s intentions are. Karlien goes red at the cheeks. She adjusts her glasses and stares down at her boots. “Like I said: Ve have been working on full bladders and empty stomachs. There is nothing more detrimental to focus than these things.” Of course she wasn’t going to openly declare it. But her tone and her expression say plenty along with her words. “You’re not going to use the drain?” You ask, lifting a finger in the direction of the sewers. Karlien shudders at the thought. “D’yavol himself vouldn’t use that drain. The germs and bacteria festering around zat filthy place.” She vanishes into the dining hall. You hear the slam of a door. You sigh. I have seen or heard too many girls pissing in containers tonight. You think to yourself. Nymeria begins picking up the chests and sacks she had been moving the entire time the cleric was talking. She hoists two of the chests up onto her shoulders, balancing a couple of sacks atop them. “And they said I needed help.” She chuckles. “She was with you earlier, and you were the only one visiting her just now.” You lift up the sleeping bard in your arms. “I guess at this point, I’m an older sister.” Saying those words for the first time stirred something in you; a pleasant feeling that made that feel right. “I can carry her out.” As you are speaking, two paladins emerge from the staircase. Assistance for Nymeria no doubt. They are without the heavier bulk of the paladin armour, revealing a long set of white robes and chainmail. “Ha! Bjornson and Veralldi! There you two lazy bastards are!” Nymeria’s voice booms through the staircase. “I have all our stuff. Better get to collecting the Cleric’s pantaloons! Last one out has to carry the dirty laundry!” It was time to get back up to the church. You would’ve offered a hand, but you had Addilyn to carry on your back. You bend down lift the bard onto your back. You bend forward slightly to stop her from falling backwards. She couldn’t grab onto you for support, so you were forced to stay with your back arched. You head up the narrow staircase, encased in the sickly sweet scent of the incense. Carrying Addilyn on your back, it felt like you were carrying a child. Her featherlight figure didn’t help you think any differently. As you ascend the stairs with Addilyn on your back, you can’t help but think about her personality. In some aspects, Addilyn seems so childlike; she has an almost endless font of optimism, she falls starry-eyed at the mention of heroic fables, and she seems to idolize fighters like yourself and Lucina as if she was a child looking to the brave knight of a story. But at the same time, and this was what really made you wonder, she could be so calm and composed. You never did stop properly thinking about the way she acted in Portar; calm, collected, a certain measure of leadership in her actions, she was a fighter. Before you know it, you’re back up in the church. The ruins feel fresh in your mind as you look around, taking in the destruction with your own eyes once more. Fallen corpses, holy ruins, and an uneasy tension in the air that told you this was only the beginning. It had begun to snow, white flakes fall through the large hole in the ceiling and a cold chill fills the church. A267’s coat keep you warm, at least. It makes you wonder why in the hell's an android would need such a warm coat. Margo is making herself useful, tending to a few of the abandoned gun turrets with a small short haired man who strangely looks to be one of the townspeople. The little engineer sits down beside one of the old guns with her goggles over her eyes and her hat by her side. You assume she is working with the man to dismantle the parts and take them to town. Quickly, you head on over toward Margo and Alexandr, doing your best to avoid the miserable sight of the townspeople. Margo and the man are discussing the guns, not that you understood what any of the terminology meant. The brown haired man speaks with an accent similar to Karlien’s. Listening to him doesn’t help you as you struggle to think where that accent comes from. Alexandr notices you first, giving you a friendly nod as your eyes meet. You feel an awkward rumble in your stomach as you think about how Alexandr had seen you in such a shameful position; shitting over a drain. You don't let it bother you, there were far more important issues to worry about. “Franziska. I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting our resident engineer.” Alexandr nods in the direction of the man working beside the gun with Margo. You take a moment to seize up such a peculiar figure. He looked exactly like you’d expect of a engineer, short, skinny, and with a short moustache on his upper lip with a weak reddish face. He is dressed formally, with a light brown waistcoat and dark tight fitting trousers. A man who made you think he relied more on intellect and ingenuity than brawn and brutality. The man takes note of you and introduces himself, giving you a rather formal bow. “Ludwig Zain.” The man speaks with a polite yet stern tone, the edges of his moustache twitch as he gives you a welcoming smile. He doesn’t not offer his hand, almost instantly, he turns back to the gun as Margo accidentally drops her wrench. “Be careful! The steam has yet to be vented! You’ll burn yourself!” He screams to Margo, as if scolding an apprentice who disobeyed his order. Margo looks up toward Ludwig, her goggles catching the lantern light. “Your design is as simple as they come. You don’t need to lecture me.” She replies calmly before delving back into the guns metal belly. You do not recall the...finely dressed gentleman being present in the quarters. A man dressed so exquisitely would’ve stood out among the tattered, scruffy masses of the townspeople. “You weren’t among those downstairs…” You cross your arms and stare toward Ludwig. Ludwig shakes his head, chuckling as the thin strands of hair. “Oh please, like I would be caught engaging in such primitive worship.” Ironic that this church seemed to hold people that would mock religion. “No. I was busy working in one of the back rooms. I had the pleasure of meeting your, I shall assume ally, while she was nursing some bruises.” He gazes at Margo with a smile on his face. "It was refreshing to meet somebody with an understanding of automated weaponry." Margo and Alexandr look to you, and then to the bard sleeping soundly on your back. Neither of them say a word. “It’s good to see you weren’t hurt, Margo.” You say politely to the little engineer. You consider thanking her for the kind gesture, but given the state she seems to enter when tinkering, you save it for another time. “None of the structures actually fell atop us. They merely trapped us. The clerics were able to pull the stone off us, and I was able to deal with my own injuries.” She keeps her words short while she works, speaking over the sounds of metallic clanking and the turning of a wrench. Margo pulls out a few scraps of metal and chucks them by her side. She takes off her goggles and looks up toward you, her eyes lingering on Addilyn. What Margo said next was something you would’ve never imagined the engineer to say. Not just the words, but the weak tone in her voice that is hard to spot. “She...Addilyn...will be okay, right?” She points to the bard. The air falls silent. That, and the her previous gesture she had the android perform...It made you wonder if perhaps Margo was softer in the heart than you previously thought. Maybe she didn’t like the thought Addilyn was in grave danger. The bard did not look beat up or damaged, but from Margo’s angle in the fight with that wicked beast, she wouldn’t have seen the whole thing properly. “She’s just tired. She will be leaving with the rest of the townspeople.” “I will have A267 carry her back to the town.” Margo was just overflowing with kind gestures. Maybe an hour in this church had softened her up. “Once she is done dismantling the remaining guns.” You turn away and look toward Alexandr. “Wanna explain why I was watching a two man pissing contest?” You glance down to the little engineer hidden away beneath the brim of her hat. Alexandr watches on as the townspeople take in the destruction of the church, just like you had. They gather around the fallen ceiling that littered the centre of the church, awaiting the head cleric. “Me and Denis have our disagreements. When this whole thing started, many didn’t think to retreat to the church. Many stayed with me in the town and helped to defend it. We took in the wounded from other places, we took in those who fled Portar or other towns, and we helped the paladins with patrols. One night, we were...attacked by an onslaught of undead. When I say attacked, I mean a full assault...perhaps even rivalling tonight's attack.” His words grow heavy. You can see in his eyes that Alexandr remembers that night too well. It is engraved among his memories. “Following the attack...and the loss of...a few people, Denis began calling for people to retreat to the church. To the comfort and warmth of the Apostates light.” Alexandr glares as Denis looks over at the three of you, the two stare each other down until Denis finally submits and turns away. “He isn’t a cleric, or some paladin, but he is as religious as they come.” Seemingly curious herself, Margo joins in the conversation. “So people just followed him up to the church?” Her voice echoes in the stomach of the gun placement. “Many trust Denis more than they trust Dexter or Catia. He is the closest we had to a town leader. When he preached that the church would be our sanctuary and our shield, many believed him.” Alexandr watches as Denis gathers two young boys and a young mousy haired girl. “His wife was one of them lost when the undead attacked.” You shrug at the first thought. “He sounds like how any religious man would act; seeing the church as the almight shelter from all.” “Clearly only Denis thought that.” Margo points to the mechanical innards of the destroyed gun now scattered across the floor. “People didn’t have complete faith, they relied on weapons and the might and skill of the paladins.” Margo also stares toward the group of people. “They were quick to change their opinions of the church once you told them the paladins and clerics would be setting up shop in the town.” Alexandr nods and then shrugs. “Like I said: His word holds bigger weight in town than the clerics or paladins. His rants and callings for retreat to the church were all most people needed. Especially when many were still fearful of another assault.” “So why did you stay?” You ask. “You have an elderly grandmother and a young sister to take care of.” He doesn’t look amused with the glance you give him. “It wasn’t out of spite if that is what you’re thinking. No. There were still people who came to our gate, people who needed help, and on top of those, I wouldn’t let the undead overrun our town. If somebody didn’t watch our gate, we’d have thieves, undead, wolves, monsters, crazies who fell to the dark magic here, all manners of hell coming for us. Where would we run once we lost Minevorska and had only the church as our last stand?” He picks up his rifle and loads two bullets. “Dexter told me you were staying.” The barrel of the gun hits the floor with a thud, cracking the stone. Margo takes off her goggles and shakes her head. Ludwig begins packing up the pieces in a small sack. You nod. “Better I’m here in case we have more demons to deal with.” “You should get out there then. The clerics and paladins are running themselves ragged. Karlien and her clerics are trying desperately to make an adequate amount of fire for the corpses and potions for the wounded. And Catia’s paladins are doing their best to move the bodies.” He rubs his chin. "That assault on the courtyard left most of the paladins wounded. Clerics are running ragged to get them in some form of fighting shape." “Couldn’t you be out there helping them?” Alexandr shakes his head. “Myself and Margo offered to stay watch for the harpies. They dispersed during the fight, but they don’t fly far.” He grimaces, clutching at his arm as if in pain. “Not to mention, I am in no condition to be doing heavy lifting. That fall did more damage than I want to admit.” He sounds ashamed to be in pain. “We are waiting just until the paladins give us the all clear to start moving. Until then we’re taking what we...or more specifically, Margo, can work with.” Ludwig glares at Alexandr, furious he was not included. “Ludwig too…” Alexandr shrugs. “Do not give me that look, Ludwig, these turrets were hardly operational until Margo stuck her fingers in them.” Ludwig scowls. He didn’t look to be kind who took criticism with warm regards. “I was not given much to work with. I would consider it a great feat that these things even function with what I had on hand.” CLANK! Margo drops a handful of rusted metal by her side. “These things are rusted. It’s not that they were poorly made, it’s that they were poorly maintained. The only great feat to consider is how I was able to get them working after they’ve been left to rust so carelessly.” She stares up at Ludwig, judging the engineer's shoddy handiwork. “Anyway, as much as I would love for us to chat, you are needed elsewhere Franziska. Why don’t you leave Addilyn here. She is safer with us. I’ll remind the little one to have her metal friend carry her back to town.” Alexandr was right, you had offered to stay and help. The bodies had to be burned, and you needed to be on alert for another invasion. You nod to the sniper and conclude your conversation. “Hold up.” Alexandr grabs your shoulder as step forward. “You are going to want to take this.” He reaches for his coat pocket and pulls out a long scarf. “Even holy fire doesn’t make a thousand rotting corpses smell any better.” The scarf smells strongly of roses and lavender. It’s nothing special, no magical properties or practical purposes. It’s a simple scarf that has been infused with sweet scents to keep the vile stench of the rotting undead from upchucking your stomach. You say your thanks and cover your face, the strong smells momentarily distracting you from the ruins. It was like sitting in a the garden of a royal palace, infused into a scruffy old scarf. You make your way outside, passing the townspeople as you walk past the debris. Several of the townspeople watch you, judging you with each step you take. It was like a dagger of ice against your back. You were a stranger to them, and after the night...and the last few months they’ve endured, it was only right they look at you with a judgemental gaze, but that does not make you feel any less uncomfortable. The injured had been brought in from the cold, relieved of their armour, and left to rest. There were at least a dozen paladins when you first met Nymeria out on the bridge, and at most ten clerics when you had come inside. Now the greater part of those numbers lay before you, injured and writing in pain. There had been an army before you had ran for the church. A handful of paladins holding off a legion of shambling corpses and demonic soldiers. It is lucky a few wounds is all they bear. The few clerics on hand are running around blindly, doing their best to deal with the injured. A few stand around a small alchemy station working quickly You ignore the sinking feeling in your heart as the injured call out in pain. You walk past, clenching your fists as you know there is nothing that can be done. This was not an unfamiliar sight, but it was one that didn't get any easier to look at. You head out through the doors, feeling the cold against your thighs as you step outside. These were not the warmest greaves, but at least they were dry. The courtyard is alive, but much like a corpse brought from back from the dead, just barely. Many of the undead have been dragged together and thrown onto a large pile, the silver flames rise up into the nights sky. Thankfully the scarf and herbs Karlien had provided you staved off the soul stench of burning bodies. All you could smell was an overwhelming scent of lavendar. They are burning the brutes first. Large corpses line the pyre, as do a small number of the hellhounds. That was a wise move, eradicating the larger undead first. You see Lucina on the far side of the courtyard, standing out among the paladins in her dress, aiding with moving the undead and doesn’t look too out of place in her work. There are only three paladins, plus Lucina, working to pile up the undead. Even in the snow, you can still there are more bodies to be piled up. One lone paladin is stood just beyond the courtyard, beside the barricades. To your left there are a small number of clerics hunched over a small portable alchemy lab. They must've been working on the oil for the pyres, and the medicine for the injured. Five clerics working on such a monumental task, it's stressful just watching them work faster than their bodies can allow them. Catia and Dexter are out on the steps, overseeing the work in the courtyard. You catch a glimpse of Dexter and Catia’s conversation as you approach. "I can't afford to send even one paladin, Dexter." Catia speaks. She sounds frustrated. "Especially when our priority is to make sure all those undead do not rise again.” "You know it is a great risk, Catia. They could be waiting in the shadows." Catia sighs. You can't help but feel this debate has been going on for some time, and it looks to be taxing on them both. "Should there be any dangers, I have one of my paladins stationed just beyond the courtyard." She looks down toward her boots and back toward Dexter with a stern glare. "You think they are just going to let us walk out of here with fifty innocent people? They are toying with us Catia. The idea that demons and undead are mindless beasts is fiction. They are intelligent, they strategize, and we both know they will not let us walk out without a fight. We are risking lives moving them now.” “We are risking lives leaving them here, Dexter!” Catia’s voice grows more frustrated. She spits. She lowers her voice to avoid upsetting the civilians. "I can understand your concerns...but we cannot leave people here. Bodies need burning, and we all need to be out of here." You hadn’t thought the head cleric and head paladin could disagree. Since meeting them they seemed to be on equal footing regarding most things, but now, they stood, staring each other down as they each tried to stress the importance of their own worries. Catia wanted the civilians out of here, Dexter wanted to be certain they would be safe. They were both looking out for the injured and the civilians, though in their own way. They both fall silent when they notice you walking past. It takes a moment, though you knew it was coming, before Catia beckons you over to her side. “Franziska! I would say after tonight, you’ve shown your worth. Please help us settle something. Time is of the essence.” “Best make it quick then.” You reply, impatient yourself. You had hoped moving civilians and burning bodies would’ve gone smoother than this. You pull the scarf down from over your mouth, you weren’t going to need it yet. “You seemed awfully determined to move these people earlier, head cleric.” The sudden change of mind was unnerving. “Why the change of heart?” Dexter does not say a word. Everything he needs to explain, he can do without a single movement of his tongue. He lifts a trembling hand and points up to the night’s sky. You see it all for yourself; along the rooftops around the courtyard, a murder of crows as black as the night watch from the shadows. Higher above them, swirling around in the starless sky, you see crooked wings flapping mercilessly. The harpies, circling around the church, as if they were watching, waiting for something. “An omen if I ever saw one.” Dexter speaks with a tremor. “Dexter is concerned there is something waiting in ambush beyond the courtyard. We are held here while the clerics patch up the injured. We'll move the civilians and the wounded together. Unfortunately, our injured will also be the escort." “Can’t paladins and clerics sense unholy presence just like I can?” You had always known anybody within the ranks of the church to possess a similar power to yourself. They were holy servants, it was to be expected that they could root out dark or unholy powers just as the Selkava could. Catia shakes her head. “Our ability isn’t as refined as a Selkava. We can sense unholy powers or demonic entities, but we can’t tell how powerful it is. Especially after what has happened tonight. There is unholy magic everywhere.” Even though Catia defends her stance with fierce determination, you can take nothing away from Dexter. The head cleric, at least in your own experience, was right to have his worries. Demons were not mindless beasts. They were smart, they could form strategies, and they knew when to exploit an enemy weakness. "It is my understanding harpies do not stray far from their commander. They could be scouting, waiting for us." The head cleric was right, and showed some impressive understanding of lesser demons. They may not be mindless, but they always followed the command of a greater demon. They were the perfect creatures for scouts. The moment they would see the unarmed townspeople, guarded by the small number of unwounded paladins, their screeches would shatter the air, and whatever was commanding them would know it was their time to attack. However, if all that remained were a few of the harpies and the undead, there was nothing to fear surely. Their numbers would not be large. Leaving the remnants of the first invasion without burning them though, if the chains reactivated, they’d be bring back every unburnt demon or undead back along with a second invasion. Suddenly, an idea forms in your mind. If the paladins and clerics couldn't truly see what was out there, you could. Demon's Gaze would find anything lurking out beyond the church and help to understand its power. If the head cleric was just clinging to the fear of omens however, you would be burning yourself out channeling your dark magic in such a way, especially with so much dark magic already around you. What do you wish to do? >Agree with Catia, burning bodies is the priority >Agree with Dexter, scouting the surrounding area > Use “Demon’s Gaze" to scout the outside of the church.
  3. One thing I have learned playing Guild Wars 2: The Asuran's are the cutest little things I have ever seen and I want to hug them and love them.

    1. Ronyo

      A few of us from here play, should join us o,o

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  5. Eastern Isle update later today.

    Potentially. Probably. Maybe. There will be. I'm just finishing up.

    Edit: Tomorrow.

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  8. 3fmlLfu0WA3COu9b18Mq0An8UZe9es6PrxZ8gO1nbAI.jpg?w=624&s=ed54f145ea36a829ef5d927ee8b0f12d

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    2. Lisk

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    3. JustClom

      Fuck...I broke Lisk.

      Sorry Lisk.

    4. Lisk

      Loli maids are the miracle of the universe 

  9. Basically when people get a hold of my writing notes.

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