Topic: Darkest Roleplay [WEALD 2]

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This topic contains 713 replies, has 9 voices, and was last updated by relishness oblivion relishness oblivion 1 year, 8 months ago.

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  • #241676
    Blade
    Blade
    Participant

    Nasuada/Tris had decided to fall back in the line, letting Mithra go ahead of her, just so she could talk to Tony.

    “Is the item in the crate destroyed? Did you make sure?” She asked, her tone holding extreme curiosity.
    ——-
    Mithra was consent to keep silent, enjoying the rain that fell which was clearing some of her exhaustion and blood from her body. She was kind enough to allow Tony and Nasuada/Tris not to have branches smacking them in the face by holding them long enough.

    #251814
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The path slowly began to widen, the branches that snatched onto every loose thread and fibre of the trailblazing party slowly let up their onslaught, as the rain continued to fall; finally seeming to shift its intensity.

    Albeit, for the worse, as the rain began to fall harder, beginning to soak through the thinner fabricks of the person’s involved in the rescue operation. Their hair would begin to matte against their scalp, least, if there was ‘aught hair on their scalp at all.

    The path began to solidify; a notable red silk ribbon tied to a branch again, seemed to bring forth a comforted sigh from the Deserter Jean.

    Regardless, he didn’t pause, and kept on the way; finally stopping when the path abruptly opened up to a modest clearing.

    To the recent compatriots, the clearing, with the rotted fungal corpses and almost-distant foilage was all too familiar:
    This was where Obitus had first shown his presence.

    Indeed, there were still glints of iron, rusted as they were, poking out from the mud. Perhaps it was the unfond memories, but one could almost see where the void had been made manifest through the horrors in their minds.

    Yet the only noise and terrors were that which were hidden in the shushing of the rain and shadows of the Weald’s gnarled and twisted boughs.

    Jean huffed and rolled his shoulders.
    stepping into the center, he eyed the three fungal corpses with some distaste and worry; they laid lifeless in the mud, what had once been slowly hardening fungal chitin was now getting soaked with rainwater; becoming more porous and spongelike.

    /Jean/

    “Ah… right.” He said softly, barely audible to those at even the fore of the group.

    He placed confident hands on his hips as he stooped over to inspect the corpse, before righting himself up and looking about the clearing; his hair wet against his brow, he looked every bit the romantic sailor boy.

    He muttered idly to himself for a few moments, before taking a knee at a tree… Then rose and went to another tree, wherein he romped through the thorns, closer to the trunk.
    Jean’s rifle came unslung as he began to poke about the base of the tree, before taking a knee again, vanishing beneath the brush.

    //

    /Tony/

    He offered no response to Nasuada, besides a grunt and a roll of his shoulders as he pressed on the rear guard; essentially forcing the group to either risk getting their attire cut to ribbons by the thicker thorns of the Weald, or to enter the grizly clearing.

    //

    /Taas/

    “Oh you ‘aught to hear my singing voice… When I sailed the Black Sea, followin the path of Odyesseus, I sang Sirens to sleep.” She nodded with gusto, before she entered the clearing proper-like swinging her ax up and onto her shoulder, as she looked about this clearing; getting the lay of the land before turning her head to keep an eye on her comrades.

    “Y’know, I think when I get back to the Hamlet, I’ll have a proper cockmunch; not right away, mind but… given some time.” She said with a sighing tone as she idly followed Jean over to where he’d crouched down at the base of a tree. Despite her motions, she kept a knowing eye on the group; watching them expectantly as she let her wet soppish hair rest on the quilted shoulder pad on her left facing…

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #251863
    Blade
    Blade
    Participant

    “I’ll be glad just to make it there, might just fall asleep as soon as I walk in.” Mithra said jokingly, readjusting her hood that she had put on when the rain had started getting worse. It protected her hair enough from the rain so it didn’t annoy her, but the rest was being busy having a shower which was still not a bad thing.

    Her lightened tone soon grew silent as they entered the clearing, the damnable site from which this whole thing started at. Anyone would easily see the fear in her face, along with her knuckles turning white as she gripped her glaive incredibly tightly.
    ———
    Nasuada/Tris didn’t appreciate when Tony didn’t give her a straightforward answer to her question, and was even more annoyed when he pretty much forced her into the clearing.

    “How close are we to the Hamlet?” She asked Jean, raising an eyebrow as he inspected the fungal corpses.

    #252409
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    “We’re close now… I remember this fucking spot…” Villon grumbles bitterly as he notes the circular blackness in the middle of the area. He sways his head over to the fungal corpses, raising an eyebrow at them, before he remembered the fungal infested corpse when they had first set out.

    “Oi. See them bastards?” Villon gestured his axe over to the corpses, his axe head glimmering in the air as stale blood of carrion fiends and other odd creatures alike had gathered onto the blade, “You reckon they’re like that first fucker we found? The one we burned and left? Might be still alive.” Villon notes as he turns his form over to the clump of corpses, exhaling sharply as he braces his axe by his waist.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #257610
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The rustling beneath the twigs and thorns intensified, it was almost appreciated having tangible sounds in the dark.

    Soon enough, though, the deserter Jean popped out from the bush, crawling out from the thicket; pulling something behind him as a few thorns caught on his jack and hair. A few thorns drew blood on the man’s ear, and his valiantly golden strands of hair could be seen hanging from the winding fibres of plants and thorn alike.

    But, perhaps most pointedly to the mercenaries at hand, was the chest that almost sweat with untold treasures. It was heavy, square in shape with steel glimmering across the wooden planks. A black lock shaped like a raven kept it closed: the keyhole set in its open beak.

    /Jean/

    He huffed, looking up to the group as he sat on his haunches, exhausted, or at least making a show of it before he stood up and flourished to the crate.
    “There we are, mon amis!” He chuckled and kicked the chest: it didn’t budge, but Jean winced, pulling his toe back before poking it into the cool mud.

    “Ahah, your… reliques? And my key to salvation, non?” He bubbly intoned with a confident swagger as he eyed the three women and singular, curious man.

    He let his rifle slip a tinge, tapping the butt of it against the top of the chest.
    “Though, it is quite heavy… Like boulders! It might slow you down.” He intoned with a veil of thoughtlessness, he discarded it with a flourish of his hand,
    “It is why we left it behind. Very heavy.” He nodded, tapping his brow as he motioned to it emphatically.

    “Ah, and the road to the Hamlet is… Not too far, less than an hour. But the trek back will take us some time; maybe one day, two days. But the monsters could make it weeks.” He humm’d, looking down at the chest with a tinge too much theatre behind to be earnest.

    We should be able to make it to the Hamlet in one day; passing off the chest between four of us, using our secret roads.” He nodded, affirmingly with a grin.

    //

    /Tony/

    He stepped strictly into the clearing, and not a step more, as he kept his eye on Villon, then Nasuada. Before snapping back to Villon.
    “Those are our mates, let them rest in peace; not slander their name, or think about burning their bodies.” He spat curtly, his rifle resting uncomfortably ready in his arms.

    //

    /Taas/

    “Won’t we all, Stripes..? Though I’ve more a mind to pass out with a song in my heart an’ drink in my hand.” She chortled grossly, snorting at the potential delight.

    She was a tinge spooked for a moment, as Jean popped out of the brush, before she realized it was he and Taas settled back into some ease; looking to her compatriots with a tinge of worry, she waved her hand casually, waving towards the ground with a shrug as she rolled her eye, looking to where the trail continued its cramped manner, before drifting back to Jean.
    “Aye, looks proper ‘eavy…” she agreed, nodding as she stepped up beside Jean, the man only a hair taller than Taas herself; but still wiry enough to seem smaller.

    “… You got the key tae’it?” She queried with a dagger’s curiosity, as she looked down to the chest, then back up to Jean who shook his head.
    She huffed, a bit deflated before she stepped away and motioned for her compatriots to rally to her; waving her hand in lazy loops as she rubbed her jaw with the butt of her ax.

    Taas’ feet took her to Villon first, as she took a few steps away and looked to them expectantly.
    “Whaddyou think..?” She asked with a hushed whisper, bowing slightly as she chewed on one of her nails, glancing to Jean and Tony,
    “… stick’em?” She asked simply. Then pressed on;

    “I could maybe pry open the chest with… well, me assets, y’know?” She shrugged a tinge uncomfortably,
    “But… But I kinda don’t want to… Don’t like doin that, an’ we still gotta talk about it. An’ we got these deserter blokes what tied me up ann’a like… Don’t like them neither.” She groaned, quietly, perplexed as she looked to Villon for some deciding opinion…

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #257748
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    Villon looked upon Taas, glancing at the other two momentarily before he returned his gaze back toward Taas, portraying a worried expression, “…Yes.. stick em, but do it quietly.. and don’t get hurt more than you already have.” Villon said in the same hushed tone, before he replaced it with a faux jolly expression.

    “Oh stop worrying Taas, you’ll be back at the Tavern in time to get your kicks!” Villon chuckled heartily before he moved past her, giving her a knowing wink before moving toward the Chest. He stood by one of the bandits, eyeing the lock warily, “Hmph.. unless you want to try and blast that lock off, or if yah have a key… I don’t think we’ll be able to get that bastard off the ground, yah see.” Villon said as he took another step toward the chest, pointing his axe toward one of the curved bits of metal instead of the actual base of the lock, “Should probably try and shoot it here if yah don’t have a key, probably get through this bit of metal shite.” Villon advised before he stood again, moving back a bit and shouldering his axe as he looked upon Taas, staring at her with worry before he threw his gaze toward the fungal corpses.

    “If they fucking rise again, I’m gonna fucking bollock you two.” Villon grumbled harshly, his fingers tapping against the shaft of his axe with an itch.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #257752

    Mithra didn’t hear their conversation, but knew it was only a matter of time until they decided to kill the two deserters so they could grab their reward and leave. She stood there relaxed, but ready to move if the need arised.
    ——-
    Nasuada/Tris was about to say something about letting the deserters tell them if they had the key or not before trying their barbarish act of murdering these two deserters.

    But since Villon and Taas had already done so, she didn’t have much objection to ending these two and moving on towards the hamlet.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #259163
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The clearing remained drenched in rain, the mud slicking under foot; there was even a growing puddle at the center of it, where the two corpses were at, that was quietly rising in height.

    It was a considerable downpour, but it began to lighten. The obnoxious noise of it settling to a subtle hiss.

    Breath misted in the air, a slight chill carried on a breeze rolled through the clearing.

    The chest was settled a fair meter and half from the corpses, inbetween the two paths to the clearing.
    Jean and Villon stood next to that heavy and locked chest, Taas two meters south of it.

    Mithra, with her fair share of wounds, stood nearest to the path the group had entered upon: Tony stood at the mouth of it, rifle in his arms. Roughly three meters from the chest.

    Lastly was Nasuada, who stood inbetween Mithra and the chest, a meter and a half between both.

    The rain began to subside, the harshest of the downpour seeming to pass, as rain drops dripped from the overhanging boughs, the clearing cast in spottings of milky moonlight, illuminating the area with a blue haze; the only speck of otherworldly light came from Taas’ eye, as well as the bloody glimmer of Nasuada’s…

    //

    /Jean/

    While lackadazy, initially; he chuckled at Taas’ words, hearing them now that the rain passed by. Though he found himself a bit antsy, as she asked to convene with her comrades. His hand went up to the veritable barbed thumb-sized bombs along the bandolier of his chest, quietly pushing one out and slipping it inbetween his thumb and index finger as his other grabed the sparker in his coat pocket casually.

    His brows furrowed for a moment, before the innocent smile flashed about his face; as the party seemed to spread out; Mithra and Nasuada seemed ever grim, though Villon seemed to join them… a morbidity coming about him that was to be expected. Albeit, his previous jubilant manner only served to rouse some more suspicion.

    Taas posturing doubly had him set his hand more properly about the sparker, hidden in his pocket.

    “S-so, what’s it to be then, my friends? We go to the Hamlet and… And we get pardoned and we go our separate ways, non?” He nodded as he flashed his teeth, looking to Tony for some reassurance that peace could be had: only to see him readying himself as well.

    “Err… We can always hel–”

    His hands flew with wild initiative: his hands sparking the bomb’s fuse and flinging it towards Villon as he dove away, towards the corpses, behind the chest.

    //

    /Tony/

    He sensed, in only Blood brothers could sense, the actions of Jean; moving almost in sync with the man as he kicked off and away from Mithra. His boot digging into the dirt, as he flung himself a good three meters north of Mithra.

    His rifle came up to his chest and he fired a quick shot that snapped in the air like a snapping branch, as a lead bullet flew out and towards Mithra’s gut.

    He landed heavily, with a grunt, prone with his back in the mud; already making to slide another pellet into the musket.

    //

    [Keep actions in 6 second bursts, roughly: feel free to push it a little? Run your post by me thru Discord or some other PM beforeposting]
    [[Initiative:
    Jean, Tony, Mithra|Nasuada [You choose who goes first], Villon, Taas]]

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #259303

    Mithra had already been prepping herself to move towards Tony once it was time to attack, so she had also been keeping an eye on him too. Once he had flung himself backward, Mithra had flung herself towards him, diving to the ground since she knew he could shoot and hit her from wherever he wanted and was prematurely dodging. This caused the shot that was fired to miss her, flying through the air and hitting a tree which caused bark to fly.

    Wounds stinging as mud found its way to most of her front sided wounds. Giving Mithra one last rush of adrenaline to finish this once and for all. Hearing the shot above whiz past her, she had started to get up so she could charge towards Tony.
    ———-
    Nasuada/Tris was surprised when the deserters attacked first, not thinking they would do so. Which was very problematic to her, wanting to learn what was in the crate that didn’t involve barbarish methods.

    She knew, or at least thought, that Taas and Villon could handle Jean. It was Tony with his gun that seemed the biggest threat, even thought he missed his first shot.

    Now though, that there wasn’t anything stopping her, other than her own energy and mind, Nasuada tried to use her magic no matter what might happen afterwards to her own body. She began conjuring tendril’s from below Tony, near his front, her goal to have them snap upwards and grab his gun and try to rip it from his hands or mess with his aim. Possibly even making him unable to reload or misfire if it happened fast enough.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #259418
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    Villons eyes widened suddenly, and he saw the flicker of sparks fly toward him. The small grenade would tap against his attire and fall to the dirt, still burning at an alarming rate. Looking at where the bandit had dove to, he vaulted over the chest, away from the bombs with axe in his left hand; sprinting like a rugby player toward the man.

    “Ain’t getting away from that one, yah wee fuck!” Villon barked viciously at the man as he moved toward him at a rapid pace, the sound of his footsteps quaking the earth slightly could be heard by Jean as he moved toward him quickly, practically sprinting at him even though his bulk slowed him down, but he was moving as fast as he could. Once he was within striking distance, Libourg brought his axe blade close to his chest, moving his hand up near it, and he would dive ontop of the man in order to potentially kill him via the axe blade sinking down due to Villons weight being pressed against the back of it, and to get low to the ground so he would be less at risk of being hit by any sharpnel.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #260322
    VanityPirate
    VanityPirate
    Participant

    Taas:
    The burned woman began a rush forward as she saw both friend and foe fall on the opposite side of the chest, into the mud. While the day and the day before’s exertions were tiresome, Taas cut cleanly through the mud, a rough terrain her boots knew well.

    She neared the two, on the ground, axe poised to strike at the downed Jean.

    What she was unaccustomed to, however, was the flash and the boom of a bomb meeting its fuse…

    The Ambusher’s Path:
    A common law of physics observed by researchers and scientists pertains to mechanical pressure: pressure is directly related to the amount of gas in that enclosed space. Gas at high pressure will try to move to a space with low pressure, and in the case of this bomb and its rapidly increasing pressure as a result of the fuse, this movement happens violently.

    The bomb that had hooked onto Villon’s clothing, after the executioner had leapt on and pushed the axe’s blade uncouthly into Jean’s shoulder– splitting the skin and cleaving a nasty cut– burst and spewed metal flecks of shrapnel, like countless razors, into the flesh of both Villon and Jean.

    For both of the affected, the metal would embed dangerously in the muscle that stretched across the ribs. Excessive movement, however, would surely be the cause of more trauma to the area, so precariously close to the lining of the lungs.

    No doubt, it would also be tremendously painful to move, cough, or breathe, but it was not immediately fatal– at least, within the day.

    Jean:
    Jean leapt and slid a ways into the rain-slicked mud in his effort to avoid the weighty Villon, now in vain as it appeared the man followed his feint. Seeing the man soar, a shaking hand moved to draw a dagger out from his jacket.

    There was a thud, and a collision; he was dazed, his hand fumbled with the knife. He registered faintly the metal of an axe in his shoulder, but a tank of woman making determined strides with an axe raised to strike made his eyes widened.

    He outstretched a hand, his eyes wide as he looked to Taas. “Non–!”

    Unfortunately, Jean had made another fatal mistake: in his hurry to prevent an unfortunate beheading , he had neglected to take action against the bomb he had thrown. Some part of him hoped that his aim had missed.

    He gave a scream of pain, and then regretted that painful use of his lungs, too; he felt the metal stretch along his sides.

    Tony:
    The tentacles butted troublesomely up against the bottom of the musket’s barrel, which he jerked away, using his heels to propel him a slight distance away from the tentacles.

    But as Mithra approached, a jolt of adrenaline shot through him. He brought the mouth of the musket forward as she ran forward.

    The musketeer waited for his cue– until he saw the whites of her eyes as she came close enough– and thrust the musket forward at a frighteningly close distance as he pulled the trigger, blasting lead at her belly at a dangerously distance in a bid to halt the warrior in her tracks before she could swing a blade at him.

    My characters-
    "I'd sneak into your burrito." --Bloodtrailkiller
    "you'll never quote me" --Relentless Oblivion

    Spoiler

    "All flesh fails, in the fullness of time."

    Tilly: Grave Robber
    HP: Healthy
    Stress: 30/100 [Neutral]
    Gold: 4585

    Florence Novel: Plague Doctor
    HP: Healthy
    Stress: 15/100 [Relaxed]
    Gold: 75

    [collapse]

    #260324

    The bullets burrowed painfully into the woman’s lower abdomen, a move that stopped Mithra in her ferocious charge. She kneeled, clutching her stomach in pain as blood slowly poured from it.
    The bleeding was a very time-sensitive issue, but the wounds were not fatal if the party found a medice very shortly. Otherwise Mithra would be dead in the day, just like Villon and Jean.
    —–
    Nasuada cursed as her magic failed it’s purpose, seeing Mithra fall to her knees. She looked over at the wounded men on the ground, explosive residue and shrapnel around them.

    She hoped this wouldn’t backfire but it was the only thing she could do without getting shot at.

    “Truce! We call truce before we all kill each other!” She said, yelling as loud as she could so everyone in the clearing could hear her.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #260340
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    As the bear of a man landed upon the other with such ferocity and anger, adrenaline seemed to run through his veins that lay beneath that thick hide of skin and muscle.

    However, the snap and crackle of the bombs dying fuse could still be heard in Villons ears, and in immediate response, his skin paled and eyes widened before the bomb had actually gone off,

    “Shi-!” Villon yelped, his words cut off as the explosion shuck him down… along with the addition of horrific sharpnel. Either out of concidence or sheer luck, the main force of the explosion seemed to have taken to focus on his leather jerkin, along with some sharpnel that ripped across the surface, tearing it up and ruining it. With the sharpel being directly on his body however, the damage was still rather severe. Shrapnel sunk and split through the fabric of his side and right arm, hitting through the flesh and drawing blood from his pores. Muscle was cut like wet parchment, skin was parted as if it were nothing but air.

    He heard the bells toll from yonder, not of the physical world, but of the mind.

    Death was knocking, but the knocking was slow, quiet as it beated its etheral hand against the none-existent wood grain. Villon tried to scream, he tried to cry and shout, to relieve his pain in both the mental and physical world but he choked. Flashes of memories seemed to strike across his eyes once again like a strike of a match across a tinder box, the blurred memories of unpleasant and bloody past cut at him deeper than any weapon or form of shrapnel ever would. He heard the cries, the wailing and crying of those he had loves… begging him to stop… and all those memories came flooding because of those simple words the bandit had murmured.

    ‘Non!”

    Breathing shakily back into reality, from whence pain became more pronounced and the sensitivity of his wounds was increased ten fold could be felt; Villon seemed to shed silent tears out of burrowed emotion, running down his face. He would’ve said something, however his eyes seem to fall onto the bloodied blade of his axe. It was he was known for, back then when life was ‘normal’… and yet, he still carried that reminent of the past with him. That… dreaded title that made him feel strong… but alone at the same time for what weight it had carried.

    The Executioner.

    “-o more! N-no more!” Villon blundered loudly with a lazy, pain stricken voice, his fingers loosening on the shaft of his axe, slipping slow from his hand, the blood speckled oak grain of the shaft fell from his palm; thudding against the dirt that soon seemed to pool with blood. His adrenaline seemed to fail as he came to grips with reality, and his face went from that of solemn sadness to that of sheer pain. His face cringed and scrunched up, and he bit down on his teeth hard, a loud, pain filled growl emitted from his throat as he doubled over, falling off the man and to his side. Villons lengthy arms made to wrap round himself, but he was only meeted with a… scared whimper that escaped his lips.

    Eventually Death will seek to open a window… crawl inside, and introduce him in his own, special way. To part the soul from physical body, as if cutting a string that was held upright: One part is left dangling in the breeze… whilst the other falls to damnation.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #260486
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /Taas/

    She was blown back, almost literally, by the blast; though it was purely reactionary to the sudden pop of noise and respective flash of blinding light. A few heavy impacts pressed into the fabrics and metal of her apparel, no doubt damnable shrapnel; she knew the device, with uncomfortable closeness.

    Thankfully, the damage was little more than frayed linings; to her at least.

    To her immediate comrade… She was willfully blinded to the wound, the flash sending dark spots in her vision. But she made out enough to know that the slaying was done with Jean, so she dropped her ax a bit unceremoniously into the dirt that greedily pulled it into its mushsome embrace.

    Her hands reached out and grabbed Villon by the shoulders and roughly hauled him away from Jean; the sinew and blood of both stretching like jelly between two slices of bread slowly pulled apart, as she dragged him through the mud a fair meter and some away.

    However, the damage only appeared terrifiying, at least. As Taas set Villon on his back, falling onto her hindquarters with his head set against her thigh; she brought her hands about to her satchel and rummaged through the supplies before eventually finding a roll of bandages.
    “A’ight, you got blown to bits but that’s jus’ fine chum, hold still, hold still…” She muttered listlessly, indifferent to her surroundings as she numbly tore a bundle of treated burlap into a quarter of a square and began dabbing the blood where it bled worst.

    //

    /Jean/

    His blond hair was charred and singed, and his braid was frayed; though his chest was worse. He’d never felt the pain of a wound, besides knicked fingers from playing with knives and reloading his rifle, and the sensation was all too overwhelming.

    The exclamation was the last thing he could recite, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his throat making a gasping, gurgling sound as he brought his arms up weakly, stiffly to claw at the air and feel the blood rushing out from where the bomb had detonated.

    If there was more to his mind than sheer shellshock, he would be thankfull the other bombs hadn’t detonated.

    For now, his existence was bloody torment.

    //

    /Tony/

    Training and discipline alone kept the man’s head on his shoulders. Seeing the barbarian fall, and the restraining tendrils retain their tension, he resorted to reloading.

    It was only at the end of this action that he heard Nasuada’s shouting, and he looked to the voodoo girl with the wide-eyes of a fight-or-flight animal. His gaze flicked to Villon, then Jean behind the chest; whose groaning was the only salvation he could recognize for his dear, sole comrade.

    “Parley!” He agreed, nodding his head, with unbecoming eagerness to such a stalwart man.

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #260506

    Mithra’s vision blurred, she felt no pain, she was numb and even her hearing was gone as white noise filled her head. She barely registered her surroundings and felt the bullets in her stomach, resting there inside her gut.
    ——-
    Nasuada/Tris was glad, everything was calm now, her breathing heavy as she retracted her magic before it drained her dead. She started walking foward, towards Mithra, knowing the woman was near dead by her standards.

    She saw her pale face, and her hands on her gut, her eyes glossy and empty. Gently, Nasuada brought Mithra to her side, going to remove the bullets one by one. “We’re going to need bandages.” She called out, her own voice weak and shakey.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

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