Yu-Gi-Oh! Of Monsters and Myths [IC/R-16]

[BANZAI!!!!]

~Bainhill: A fortress that was once the last line of defense for an ancient kingdom, now home to a prosperous town in the heart of the Shan Empire. Nestled comfortably in the hills but a week's ride from the capital, it is known as a peaceful, if lively, place. That is, until the hordes came.

 

No one knows where they come from, or what their motives are. A virtual army of the undead, led by vile goblins, has been raiding the town nightly for the past month. Even an entire battalion of Shan's finest, led by Bainhill's own captain of the guard: Rhaimundos, has been unable to repel them. Now, Bainhill resembles a ghost town. Its residents, or at least those who remain, live in fear.

 

And yet, there are those who would brave the danger, be it for glory or gold: Millenian's Adventurers. In desperation, Rhaimundos has sent out a call for aid, and, whether drawn to Bainhill by the message or some twist of fate, five individuals have arrived. Little do they realize that this fateful meeting with have consequences that will ripple out across Millenian.

 

And this is where our tale begins.~

 

 

 

 

First Adventure: The Bane of the Hills

 

BGM

 

The Golden Arrow: Bainhill's most prosperous tavern. On evenings like this one, it was often packed with travelers and locals alike, and in spite of recent events, this was no different, save for the lack of the majority of the guard, who were faithfully standing at their posts on the decaying walls of the old fort that encircled nearly the entirety of the town. As a result, the atmosphere was a bit rowdy; the patrons drinking their recent sorrows away with little-to-no authority figures present to reign them in.

 

The interior of the establishment was rather roomy. Within a large hearth located on the eastern wall, a fire raged, and the tables around it, where the most warmth could be felt, were largely empty on account of the warm summer air both inside and out. Along the north wall of the room was the bar, behind which two lively (and rather lovely) elven maids were busy preparing drinks. The stools, save for a couple vacant ones here and there, were filled by local miners just off of work, though there were a few unknowns as well, perhaps travelers. One of them, a lanky man with brown spiky hair who wore a long black coat, seemed to have, by virtue of his presence alone, emptied the stools on either side of him. In contrast, there was another: a burly orcish gentlemen clad in scaled armor (though most definitely not one of Orva's brutal giants of the same persuasion), around whom several patrons were gathered. He seemed to be regaling them with tales of a faraway land, and his adventures therein.

 

The west wall, by which the only staircase to the lodging on the floor above was located, was packed with more patrons, though many of them were more focused on their hot meals (or the tavern maids who served them) than they were on one another, which was a situation that was bound to change for the worse as soon as the more intoxicated individuals at the bar made their way over. The only guests of note seemed to be a pair of city guards, as well as an unassuming, three-eyed demon eating by himself in the corner. Most of the guests were undoubtedly aware of his presence, but he seemed to purposefully be avoiding any trouble for the time being.

 

The main attraction, however, was the Golden Arrow's claim to fame: a nymph, known to the locals as Serene, who would nightly serenade the establishment with her lute and her lovely voice. She sat on a stool in the center of the hall, currently between songs and chatting idly with the owner: an attractive young man with a goatee who was rather anachronistically dressed in a modern suit and tie.

 

It was, by all accounts, a rather typical night, even if it was almost certain that Bainhill would come under siege once again in a few hours. As a result, few present paid any mind when the door opened up once again, and someone altogether unfamiliar stepped through.

[Hakima]

---

Solomon absolutely, positively, wasn’t lost. Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. The quaint little town hadn’t been mentioned in any of the geographical books that he had studied, and he had been lead to believe that a large fortress should have been where the settlement was, but that was due to a small oversight on his part. The geographical books he had studied before he set out were more than a hundred years old, so the information was simply outdated. All that he had to do was ask a few locals for information that was a bit more current and he would be back on the fast track.

 

The Book Of Toon was especially heavy as he stood on the outskirts of Bainhill, tucked under his arm, a physical reminder that the fate of his home rested on his thin shoulders.

 

Solomon drew a runic circle in the air in front of him, and then stepped into it and disappeared into thin air. The only trace left behind was the lingering stench of dark magic, still thick in the air for several hours afterwards.

 

~~~

 

Brad was a sturdy built man of nearly thirty-seven years, with greying black hair, a salt-and-pepper goatee, and the spindly fingers of a talented musician. He was a man of many talents; the best card shark in Bain Hill (which had gotten him barred from The Golden Arrow and most other taverns), a dutiful husband and father, and the most talented trumpeter this side of Millenial, to name a few. What he most definitely was not, however, was a soldier, which raised the question of how he had wound up in the position he was currently in.

 

Posted on top of the crumbling wall around the city, clutching a spear in one hand, bored out of his mind. He had joined up to protect his woman and his little girl when the undead raids had begun, but he was a terrible fighter and not even close to the bravest man around, so he was often left out of the fighting. That was how he found himself perched on top of Bainhill’s wall, half-asleep, when the magician that was soon to be the thing of legends appeared out of thin air.

 

Brad was rubbing his eyes, trying to physically moosh the sleepiness away, when a child wearing a magician’s robes popped out of thin air. “What in the--WHAGH!” Brad lurched awake suddenly and jerked forward to level his spear at the newcomer, but swept his own legs out from under him and stumbled off of the back of the wall.

 

The child produced a huge tome out of nowhere that snapped open, and from the pages sprung a drawing-come-to-life of a jack-in-the-box hand that wrapped around his ankle before he fell far. He dangled there for a moment, held aloft by the odd hand, before the child’s small head appeared over the ledge of the wall. “Are you alright?” he shouted down, and once again Brad was shocked to find that the voice coming from the child was that of a grown man.

 

“I will be once you pull me up!” he shouted back, not wanting to get on the bad side of the manchild with the magic powers, but terrified by the potential drop and feeling queasy because all the blood was rushing to his head.

 

The springy cartoon hand retracted, dragging brad back onto the top of the wall and then vanishing into the huge book that it had come from. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you. My name is Solomon, and I’m a magician. I was attempting to teleport into the center of town, but…” he smirked, the action sharpening his features in a way that made Brad shiver a bit. “You can see how that went. Hopefully you suffered no lasting damage?”

 

Far beyond uncomfortable, Brad nodded, hoping to end the encounter as fast as possible. Solomon stunk of ink and very old paper, the way a library would. “Fine, fine, just… uh… shook up.”

 

Solomon nodded, tucking the huge book underneath his arm. “Excellent. As it stands, I’m a tad off the beaten path. Actually, I’ve little idea where I am. Could you help me with that?”

 

Brad flattened his shirt down, dusting himself off. “Well, this place is called Bainhill. Used to be a fortress, but history isn’t my strong suit, so… Maybe try the Golden Arrow. It’s usually busy this time of day, and a lot of learned folk visit there. I’m just a guard.”

 

“Bainhill…” Solomon nodded. “Thank you for the information. Could you give me the directions on how to get to this tavern?” Brad gave him the information swiftly, then turned around to pick up his spear, and by the time he turned back around again the magician was gone.

 

“Bloody magicians…” he muttered under his breath, not for the first time regretting his choice to enlist in the militia. He wasn’t cut out to be a soldier.

 

~~~

 

Solomon teleported just outside of the Golden Arrow this time. The tavern was surprisingly busy, especially when he compared it to the rest of the ghost town that seemed to be Bainhill. The magician brusquely straightened his robes and fixed his hair for presentation's sake, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

 

The atmosphere inside was lively, but comfortable. Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever experienced anything quite like it, but he wasn’t one to waste time on idle chit-chat. He noticed that the center of attention was a beautiful woman seated in the center of the hall, chatting up a well-dressed man, but both seemed too busy to be bothered.

 

Solomon set his sights on a man in a long coat, seated at the bar alone, isolated. “Pardon the interruption, sir, but could I talk to you for a moment? I’m in need of a bit of information.”

[Asriel Dreemurr]

There was another figure of note seated at the bar, currently deep in the coldest drink that he had been able to purchase. Dressed in a suit of half-plate armor, beneath which was an obviously well made set of thick padded clothing for extra protection and comfort, with a finely made, and over-long, sword hanging from his hip a heraldic shield depicting a golden twin-headed eagle on a purple field, differentiated from his half-brother’s by the white bar across the top, strapped to his back and generally looking every part the Noble Knight he was, Medraut currently felt very much like he was dying. His normally well kept head of light blonde hair was practically glued to his scalp with sweat, his thickly padded and ornate clothing bore several slowly drying spots, and his breathing was obviously labored. Even so, he was far too dignified to let himself stoop over the bar however much he wanted to.
 
“Pam fod yn rhaid iddo fod yn anialwch?” He muttered to himself, in the sing-song language of his homeland, before taking another drink. “Rwy'n siŵr, mae Laundsallyn yn ceisio fy lladd cyn i mi gael fy nwylo ar ei wddf cyfreithiwr.” Not that he really believed that. In all likelihood the traitor didn’t even know he was being hunted. Though that the rumors of his passing seemed to coincide with those of every potential mythical curative Medraut had come across gave him pause. “Ydy e'n ceisio canfod ffordd i'w wneud yn addasu ei hun?” He couldn’t have that, now could he? Though there was the somewhat depressing knowledge that Laundsllyn’s trail had gone cold before he had even reached the town. He’d been hoping that the man leading the town’s defenses had seen something, but…
 

---

 
“No, I can’t say we’ve seen anyone by that description.” The enormous lizard-man with the fiery sword had said after being asked about Laundsallyn. Though he was a proud man, Medraut had hardly been able to suppress the obvious disappointment. “What’s so important about this man? Is he-”
 
“A traitor to the crown of Albion.” Medraut had interrupted Rhaimundos before he got the wrong idea. Even speaking the common tongue his voice still had a certain lyrical quality to it. “I suppose that is my business concluded, so allow me to ask after yours. I have heard that this town has come under attack in recent days. By chance would you need any assis-”
 
“That will not be necessary.” It was Rhaimundos’s turn to interrupt. “I have plenty of able-bodied soldiers,” he paused to look the man before him over, “and you look like you’re about to drop dead where you stand. Get yourself to the tavern and rest up, boy, and maybe I’ll have a use for you.”
 

---

 
It was around this time that Medraut’s concentration was interrupted by what he first thought to be a child marching around in wizard’s robes, but he was rather quickly able to identify them as...something else. He did not know as much about the many and varied realms of Millenian as he would have liked, but he was certain enough that he was not looking at a human child. Especially considering that a grown man’s voice came out of them as they spoke to the other obvious magician in the bar. Curious, and not quite able to hear what they were saying over the sound of the tavern, Medraut slipped down to an open seat a bit closer where he could actually hear.

[Yui]

---

"It is a town ripe for the taking," Ceri heard a voice say. To any human ears, a good term for the voice would be "otherworldly". A low and rumbling voice resounded through the speaker on the summoner's trusty Hell Phone; a device she held up to her ear as she looked to the horizon. Over there, there was a town called Bainhill. "The reward you could gain for defending the town is meager and insufficient, next to what you stand to gain by taking it."

 

"I'm a conjurer, not a conquerer. You've told me enough about this miserable little fortress. Goodbye." Ceri hung up. As willing as she was to deal with any number of demons when she summoned and commanded them, communicating with them while they had free will of their own was... inconvenient. They were all "pillage this" and "murder that", never really seeming to care about anything else besides death and destruction. They were far too bland for Ceri's liking. She'd argue that the company of the undead was far better, but demons were more efficient overall, and if Ceri was being honest, her favorite type of company was none at all. However, she needed a place to rest for the night, and although she didn't want to get tied up in its problems, Bainhill was the best bet. If everything in her call was true, and it was a town under continued attack that would reward defenders, then no doubt the reward would be easily enough to stay for the night, get some food, then get the hell out.

 

Ceri didn't trust the information at all. Although they were the majority of her co-workers, Ceri never did trust demons.

---

With some time and enough walking, Ceri got to Bainhill without any real trouble. Some asking around pointed her to the Golden Arrow. The name came off as pretty gaudy to her, but taverns were far from her field of expertise. It seemed to be the place to go if anyone wanted to learn something, though Ceri sincerely doubted that a tavern would be the place to go for that. As she entered the establishment, her eyes glanced around at the numerous patrons. Two sorcerers, a knight, a demon over in the corner, and in the center of it all, what seemed to be a bard. Ceri scoffed internally as she passed the woman and the men occupying themselves with her. Everyone else besides the sorcerers, the knight, and the demon didn't seem all that interesting. Demons weren't the sort Ceri figured were trustworthy, and her hunch told her those two sorcerers at the bar wouldn't have much to teach her about summoning. The knight could wait too. Ceri had a goal in this town, and she planned to see it done so she could get an easy place to sleep tonight, and some breakfast tomorrow. Having to work hard and push her magic to get by in life was much more preferred to Ceri over just staying home, dealing with gaudy parties and frustrating politics. She actually almost enjoyed this adventurer's lifestyle.

 

Almost.

 

Ceri made for the bar, making sure to put the knight between herself and the other magicians. She wasn't sure how it was regarded here, but Ceri knew from experience that not all zones were keen on people that summoned demons and twisted the bodies and souls of the dearly departed. It was better not to risk anything stirring up between her and other magicians in a public place. Instead, she turned her attention to the barkeep once she was seated.

 

"I'll just have a glass of water," she spoke up. "And if you happen to know anything about it, I've heard talk that this town has some trouble with raiders or something; who would I talk to about that?"

---

[Mr. Hyde]

 

The forest that occupied these hills were very dense, but he was somehow making his way through the tangled weaves of greenery with ease.  His gears were whirring with purpose, willing him to keep moving forward.  He would find this gathering of heroes, and hopefully find his way to this 'tavern'.  What that was, and what he would find there, he had not even the slightest inkling of a clue.  But anything that would lead him closer to his goal of activating his kind would surely be of help.  Organics, so far, had been to his general liking.  A thought ran through his processing units.  What if they thought him to be the enemy emerging from the woods?  It was getting dark soon...maybe they would think of him as some sort of intruder.  No matter.  If worse came to worse...he would slaughter them all.  

 

Using his mechanical eye, he tried to scout for a road of sorts that would lead him to the town easier.  Maybe he should have taken the advice of the kindly organics from the last town.   

[BANZAI!!!!]

Indeed, as the crickets began to chirp with Orva's setting sun something was watching Rust as he tore his way through the thick brush in the hills outside of Bainhill. It was hard not to notice a seven foot tall metal knight, after all, and with each crunch as he stepped, each scraping of his lance on tree bark, he drew more attention to himself. For a time, they studied him, making note of the gears that kept him moving, until finally they decided on their move. 

 

As the mechanical man entered a small clearing, they struck. First with thrown javelins; normally a useless tactic against a foe like Rust. The watchers, however, were a clever bunch, and though most of them missed or bounced harmlessly off of Rust's chassis, one found its mark, embedding itself between the teeth of the large gear in his right shoulder. While it did no actual damage, as the gear rotated, it snapped the head from the javelin, ejecting the wooden pole a few feet away and allowing the fractured head to fall into Rust's body, where it summarily got caught on his inner machinery, disabling the motion of his right arm for as long as it could remain intact against the driving force of the jammed gears.

 

The second phase was much less tactically astute, as Rust's assailants revealed themselves by stepping out into the clearing in front of him. Four armored foes, each armed with club and sword. The real threat, however, revealed itself a moment later. At first it appeared to be some sort of magical beast, but then it spoke, revealing its true nature. If he had the capacity, it might have sent shivers down Rust's spine.

 

"This one's not like the others..." It spoke in common tongue, but in a wet, sickening hiss. "Lets capture it alive. He may want to pick its brains before we dispose of it. The goblins obeyed their orders, one of them drawing a net from its pack while the other three surrounded their target and closed, clubs drawn.

 

 

----

 

“Pardon the interruption, sir, but could I talk to you for a moment? I’m in need of a bit of information.”

 

The man turned his head to face Solomon very slowly, laboriously, even, like he had rusty clockwork gears in his neck. His eyes, which were both slightly bloodshot and actually red in color, had large black and blue bags underneath, and his skin, or at least the skin that Solomon could see between the pointy hat, red scarf, and high collar of the man's coat, was unhealthily pale and oily, made to look ever so slightly worse by the contrast with his dark clothing. In short, the man looked like he hadn't slept in days, and judging by the slightly annoyed look on his face, he didn't seem to be in the best of moods, either.

 

He stared at Solomon for exactly 11 seconds, unblinking, before he turned his head away, just as slowly as he had done before, and took a long, hefty set of gulps from a tall glass of what looked and smelled like hard liquor. A few seconds more passed, and at the instant just before Solomon was likely to turn away, he finally spoke. "What might I possibly help you with, old man?"  Surprisingly (or perhaps not), he did not sound inebriated at all, even in spite of the now three empty glasses on the bar in front of him. Instead, he spoke abundantly clearly; deliberately annunciating all of his words and taking on a tone that indicated both his disinterest, but also the fact that he was bored enough to unironically engage in this particular conversation anyway.

 

"I'll just have a glass of water. And if you happen to know anything about it, I've heard talk that this town has some trouble with raiders or something; who would I talk to about that?"

 

The barmaid gave Ceri a friendly smile. "The water isn't so good in these parts, so how about one of these instead?." She went to the tap and poured the girl a watered down ale.  "Here, this one's on the house. And while we appreciate the help, I can't imagine there's much a young lady like yourself could do to assist us, though I'm sure if you make your way to the barracks on the wall, our Captain could use extra hands tending to some of the wounded."

 

"Nazza, quit patronizing the girl, would ya?!" The booming voice came from the Orc at the other end of the bar, who had stopped speaking to eye up the young girl as she walked in, and had been listening. "A wizard's a wizard, even if she is a pretty lil' thing." He got off his stool  and made his way over, covering the entirety of Ceri's shoulder and bit of her collar with his massive hand. "Lookin' fer work are ya lass? Tell ya what, after we're all done here, I'll take you over to the Cap'n myself. Us 'venturers gotta stick together, amirite?!" The man was clearly inebriated, and Ceri could smell the alcohol on his breath. The rest of the patrons at the bar, and indeed a few in other corners of the room could hear him too, though most didn't pay him too much mind.

 

 

 

[Hakima]

---

Solomon paid no heed to the magician’s abrasiveness, if he noticed it at all. “Just a touch of cartography, and some information. I’ve been holed up in my tower for so long that my books seem to have become a little out of date, and it has been quite a pain in the rear.” His feet suddenly left the ground and the bottom of his robe fluttered from the pressure of some unseen force as he was lifted into the air, levitating up until he was eye-to-eye with the other magician, and then lifted the Book of Toon up and dropped it onto the bar with some effort. It was so heavy that it shook the bar and nearly knocked the glass the man was drinking out of over, and made such a 'thud' that it caught the attention of several nearby patrons.

 

“As you can see here,” Solomon opened the book to a blank page, which slowly filled out to show an old map in a process that resembled ink fading into paper played in reverse. “I have a map of the area, but it still displays the fortress that this town was obviously built on top of. Do you think you could assist me in updating it?" The corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. " Don't worry. All you have to do is envision the corrections in your head, and the map will change to match it.”

[Mr. Hyde]

 

He had been trudging through this forest of green for so long, that he was starting to regret his decision for doing so instead of taking the beaten path.  However, when he finally made it into a clearing, he nodded to himself.  This was indeed progress.  His gears whirred proudly, but the sound was intercepted by the noise of metal singing through the air.  They were sharp pointed objects, not something you would see randomly flying through the air at this hour.  They harmlessly bounced off of his exterior armor, hardly leaving a scratch upon his armor.  His shoulders rose up and down, as if he were silently chuckling.  That arrogance of his soon wore out, as an arrowhead pierced the divots in his right shoulder's gears.  The metal that had struck had gotten caught in between the teeth, halting the gears movement's.

 

His right arm went limp, completely useless, as a small squadron of monsters surrounded themselves around him.  Goblins, and strange purple being now encircled him, staring him down with their weapons. 

 

"This one's not like the others..." It spoke in common tongue, but in a wet, sickening hiss. "Lets capture it alive. He may want to pick its brains before we dispose of it."

 

The others?  Like him?  Or were these just common thugs looking to harvest his metals.  Either way, they would not leave this clearing alive.  He prepped his left arm, swinging it to the side to catch all the goblins that drew too near to his body with the rusty teeth of the shield.  He looked to the other goblin, drawing the net from it's pack, and rushed it with his shield in front of him.  

 

"Gear Charge!"  The gears of his mouth managed to utter in a robotic rhythm.  If there was one thing that the strange creature had said that rang true, it was that he in fact was different from the rest.  And underestimating a proud soldier of the Ancient Gears would surely prove fatal.  

[Asriel Dreemurr]

So far it seemed the conversation between the two wizards was not going to be especially interesting, though the smaller one's levitation was certainly a trick worth making note of. Something to consider, should he have to rally them to assist in defending the village. The girl on the other side of him, just as apparently a wizard as the other two, was far more interesting, and he did not mean her attire. Though he felt a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered a time during his days as a squire when Laundsallyn had done...truthfully very much the same as the big orc who was currently speaking to her was doing. This presented an interesting opportunity to him. A fair moment to assess the abilities of this as of yet unknown girl, who he could tell was also from Albion just from her accent, and to see if the unimpressive exploits of the big man did not speak fairly of his. The more he could learn about what those in this town had at their disposal, the better he would be prepared to lead them in the event that his assistance was in fact required. On the other hand, perhaps he should intervene and prevent either the girl ending up in a compromising position or the orc being embarrassed. Then again, perhaps there was a middle ground he could find.

 

"Ghazghul," he began, his voice cracking from the still dry state of his throat as he tried to speak louder than a low mumble, "you are far too deep in your cups to be consorting with young maidens. Sit down and rest the ale off before you do something you might regret." He kept his tone friendly throughout his statement, so as to sound more like he was simply giving advice than threatening. Of course he did check to make sure his trusty sword was where he expected it to be, just in case things turned violent. Not that he felt he would need it, but it paid to be prepared. Meanwhile, he did his best to divide his attention between Ghazghul and the girl and the two other obvious wizards in the room. He did want to be aware of as much that was important as he could.

[Phantom Roxas]

Rahz was a long way from Laustmillen. Although he could have brought a whole force of soldiers to follow him, Rahz preferred to take the trip to Bainhill by himself. It's not that he underestimated the threat that the message had described. Far from it, in fact. Rhaimundos was a captain of the guard, and Rahz respected a man who could claim such a position. If Rahz had brought too many of his own people, he would be bringing them too far from Laustmillen, and would Rhaimundos see an offer of help, or just someone trying to profit off the situation?

 

Rahz preferred a hands-on approach, and wanted to watch the locals. Best to keep quite for now. Some of the customers were rowdy after one too many drinks, but were ultimately harmless. Besides, Rahz's own station was meaningless here. As far as any authorities may have been concerned, Rahz was a foreigner. No need to overextend himself if an incident did arise. Even with a demon sitting within the tavern, it seemed fairly harmless. If it wasn't going to start a fight, then neither would Rahz.

 

While the nymph's song was lovely, she could hardly compare to Aqueria. Perhaps that was a little unfair, but Rahz listened to the music for what it was, whereas some of the other patrons were more concerned with hooting and hollering. It was a pretty woman who was singing; it didn't matter to them what she was singing. Still, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and where was the harm in that?

 

Unfortunately, an orc was enjoying themselves a little too much, approaching a young girl with the offer to find her some "work". Rahz's hand immediately went to his sword, though he pulled his hand back. There were ways to resolve this without resorting to the blade. Most of the other patrons seemed to pay the orc no mind, few even bothering to raise their voices. Either they were too drunk, or they simply did not care.

 

Before Rahz had even left his seat, another knight approached the orc, speaking the name "Ghazghul" as if he were well acquainted with the orc. Rahz relaxed his hand from his sword, approached the gathering group, forming a small crowd around the magician. "Fellows, there is no need for threats. Ghazghul, was it? If I may, you seem to be a little out of sorts. Perhaps you should take a rest for the night."

[Yui]

---

"The water isn't so good in these parts, so how about one of these instead?" Ale. Watered-down, but still ale. Ceri had never been one for alcohol. It lowered inhibitions, dulled common sense, and made a person far less efficient at practically any task than if they'd been sober. It was the exact reason she was trying not to order alcohol. "Here, this one's on the house. And while we appreciate the help, I can't imagine there's much a young lady like yourself could do to assist us, though I'm sure if you make your way to the barracks on the wall, our Captain could use extra hands tending to some of the wounded."

 

"Nazza, quit patronizing the girl, would ya?! A wizard's a wizard, even if she is a pretty lil' thing. Lookin' fer work are ya lass? Tell ya what, after we're all done here, I'll take you over to the Cap'n myself. Us 'venturers gotta stick together, amirite?!"

 

This orc that was resting his hands on her was a perfect example of why she didn't like alcohol. It attracted these types of people. They weren't at all what Ceri wanted to be, and while she was perfectly ready to get this particular drunk off her by herself, not one, but two warriors intervened. They were far too friendly about the whole matter.

 

"Ghazghul, you are far too deep in your cups to be consorting with young maidens. Sit down and rest the ale off before you do something you might regret."

 

"Fellows, there is no need for threats. Ghazghul, was it? If I may, you seem to be a little out of sorts. Perhaps you should take a rest for the night."

 

A quiet scoff slipped out of Ceri's lips. This Ghazghul person was definitely too deep in his cups, and absolutely needed to take a rest, but in Ceri's experience, beating around the bush seldom worked. Especially when somebody's brain was busy swishing around and drowning in alcohol. She quietly switched on the Hell Phone at her side, turning her eyes directly to the orc. He was a big one. Ceri had seen far bigger things with her studies of summoning. "What a kind offer," she hissed. "Here's mine. You've got about five seconds to get your hand off me before whatever I summon wolfs it down like a bedtime snack. Then you can rest your ale off in whatever type of hospital you have here."

[BANZAI!!!!]

"When the hell did I say my name'wz Ghazgul?!"

 

The Orc pulled his hand away from Ceri's shoulder, looking back and forth between both of the armored men on either side of him. To his credit, he didn't look the least bit intimidated, though maybe that was just the alcohol. "Name's Uhrzak, the Chopper!!" he punctuated this by effortlessly twirling a hand axe that he produced from behind him. "And I'll have y'all know that you've been readin' way too much into this here sitch'iation!" Between his accent and the slurred words, it might have been difficult for those present to make out exactly what he was saying, but when he took off his gauntlet, revealing a golden wedding band around his third finger, things likely became a little clearer. He leaned back in toward Ceri for a moment. "Been married 19 years, and I'd nhever think'a doin' such unspeakable thinks to ya, miss! Yehr 'bout as big as my oldest, ya know!" He turned back to the men next. "Ah 'ppreciate your concern gahz, but I think y'all been readin' too many 'venture novels. Tehl ya wut, I'mma buy y'all the next round, and af'er wuhr done imma take all three uf ya over to the boss man 'n see if we can't getcha some work. Whaddya say?"

 

“As you can see here, I have a map of the area, but it still displays the fortress that this town was obviously built on top of. Do you think you could assist me in updating it? Don't worry. All you have to do is envision the corrections in your head, and the map will change to match it.”

 

The second Solomon finished what he was saying, the images on the map began to swirl and rearrange, though the man he was speaking to had given no indication of responding at all. Clearly though, he seemed to know what kind of object he was dealing with, as the various landmasses and roads began to dance across the page in amusing patterns instead of forming a coherent set of directions. This went on for some time, right up until the instant he would have expected the diminutive to begin losing his patience.  After he'd had his fun with the wondrous item, the images began to settle back into a legible map, only this time, some of the roads displayed seemed to be up to date. The side of the map that led deeper into the empire's territory, however, was replaced by a large, devilish looking, somewhat anthropomorphized question mark. It seemed to be shrugging. The man then wordlessly placed a gold piece on the bar, and promptly received another glass of liquor, which disappeared down his throat in a matter of seconds. "Can't do much else for you, I'm afraid. Perhaps those lively gentlemen over there can help you, old timer." He pointed to the commotion at the other end of the bar.

 

---

 

Rust's shield struck the goblin, impaling him through the heart and then sending him flying several feet backward. The rest began to scatter as their compatriot bled out on the grass and leaves, but stopped cold when their leader raised a finger. He then pointed at Rust, and a moment later an invisible blast of force knocked the automaton back into a tree. "Not very smart, is it. Still its a strong golem." The leader took his other claw, clenched, and thrust it toward the dead goblin. He then spoke something unintelligible in an ancient, horrible tongue, after which the dead goblin began to animate, blood still pouring from its open wound. The other three ran back in with their clubs and attempted to beat Rust down while he was vulnerable. He was hit numerous times in quick succession, though whether this did much damage, none but the gear himself could say.

[Yui]

---

"When the hell did I say my name'wz Ghazgul?! Name's Uhrzak, the Chopper!! And I'll have y'all know that you've been readin' way too much into this here sitch'iation!"

 

"...w-what?" Ceri muttered, clearly taken aback by Uhrzak's sudden outburst. Then he pulled off one of his gloves, to reveal a golden ring. A married man?

 

"Been married 19 years, and I'd nhever think'a doin' such unspeakable thinks to ya, miss! Yehr 'bout as big as my oldest, ya know! Ah 'ppreciate your concern gahz, but I think y'all been readin' too many 'venture novels. Tehl ya wut, I'mma buy y'all the next round, and af'er wuhr done imma take all three uf ya over to the boss man 'n see if we can't getcha some work. Whaddya say?"

 

Ceri blinked a few times, as if everything that had happened just now was some complex illusion that she could dispel in such a simple manner. This, however, was no illusion. Urhzak, and everything he'd just said apparently, was true. Ceri switched the Hell Phone off. She apparently wouldn't be needing it just yet. It took the summoner a bit to regain her previous composure, but when Ceri had straightened herself back out, she reached for the mug that she'd been served and took a small sip. She could still taste the ale in it, watered down though it may have been. Gross. Alcohol led to people being like Uhrzak... not in that he was doing anything wrong of course. Just his manner of carrying himself, which had led to a pretty poor misunderstanding. Note to self: Be more trusting of... actually, scratch that.

 

"If you're buying, I'd like to see about something without alcohol in it," she said, after taking a bit to settle on the right words for what she wanted to say. She took another sip from the mug at the counter, taking care to make it a small one so she wouldn't taste the contents quite as much.

---

[Asriel Dreemurr]

Well, this was embarrassing. Then again, Medraut had never been much good with non-Albion names so he had most likely misheard. The fact that he was exhausted and dehydrated was not doing him any favors either. All the same, it was soon apparent that all of this had been a misunderstanding. Well, at least Uhrzak seemed to be in decent spirits about the whole thing. Though, as he had accused the big orc earlier, he was very deep in his cups. The comment about adventure novels brought a bit of a smile to the knight's face, and he took a moment to wonder about how many of his or the others' exploits could have been or else were turned into things very much like that. For now, though, he thought to hold his tongue. Of course the conversation quickly turned in a direction that warranted his speaking.

"If you're buying, I'd like to see something without alcohol in it." Ah yes, the girl that had ordered water. Well she wasn't especially likely to get anything of the sort here. He would have offered some of the tea he had in his pack, but then it was much too hot to have something of that sort.

 

"You are not likely to find any such thing here, I am afraid." He said, taking a sip of his own drink. He was honestly not sure what it was, but the taste definitely seemed a great deal like an ale of some sort. "As the barmaid said, the water is not of quality out here. I suppose they might have some tea, but it is far too hot for that." He punctuated that sentence by wiping some of the sweat from his brow. "And as for your offer of introducing us to 'the boss,' Uhrzak," at least he thought that was how the man's name was pronounced, "Rhaimundos has already made it quite clear that he does not want Medraut o Orkney's help." It felt strange introducing himself in such a casual manner, he was used to the fanfare of the Court of Albion. Even when Artorigus had not been welcoming, his arrival had always been announced by trumpets and heralds loudly proclaiming his name. Just saying it now he half expected a bard to burst out into song, however unlikely that may be. This was a simple place, and such a simply introduction fit it. He also supposed that he did not look especially heroic, road weary and exhausted as he was.

[Mr. Hyde]

 

Rust was able to knock away the goblin quite easily, but was blown back by some invisible force into the trunk of a tree.  He collapsed to the ground, and was then ambushed by the other goblins, who smacked away at his metallic body with simple tools.  They were but mere sticks, bouncing off of his iron flesh, and weren't doing much, but if he let this go on any longer, he would surely be dented and damaged.  His gears would probably lock up if some of his armor bent inwards.  It was truly unacceptable.  Behind the goblins, the strange creature that had presumably knocked him down was conjuring blood from it's dead cohort.  Another attempt at an attack, again?  What would blood do that these wooden tools couldn't do against his iron body.  Rust had to think fast, the gears in his head twirling to find an answer.  

 

EUREKA!  The answer was so simple.  

 

Rust's gears stopped churning for a second, and then began to rotate in the opposite direction.  It felt strange, as if he were trying to attempt something with a non-dominant body part, but it should've done the trick.  The arrowhead, previously stuck in his spear arm's gears, was now ejected from the slot, due to the reversing of the gears.  With his lancing arm now free from it's temporary hiatus, he was free to stab away.  These goblins would surely feel his wrath.  

 

"As a proud soldier of the Ancient Gear Army, I hereby sentence you all to maximum punishment under the law of the Ancient Gear Golem.  Removal of all of your gears.  Commencing Gear retrieval now."  

 

Rust arose with a mighty upwards swing of his mighty shield, and followed up by thrusting his lance at each and every goblin surrounding him.