Arabelle

.w. -> POST ACTION: AOE-II vs Deepling & Shamblers 5 - 7.

half the first health bar on non-modified tech. and, her wound reopened the moment she hit it, some thorns. why all the fanfare, then? dozens of shub-niggurath's empty eyes fume at her, the flesh of its eyelids flowering open and shut. it is lying on a bed of butterfly corpses and she hears their fellows crying in grief. she bids the rest of them to depart and shifts her red eyes sidewards to a menu bubble she is holding open beneath the folds of her cloak. jomei, coming from the wrong side of town, is now circling back to meet her. she draws her cloak tighter around herself and drop

it doesn't move. it doesn't regard anyone in particular. it begins and ends its short address to the audience collective when the key in her hand reaches seventeen full rotations. fear bubbles through the crowd. a man spills out from the portal and hacks and coughs out water before struggling to a stand. he finds that half the tide has reversed, the wiser of the remaining lot clamoring for the exit. many had twisted around to face the source of the voice at their ear only to find that it wasn't there. the faceless entity raises its hand upwards to the sky. her red eyes follow the mot

forgot its entire face. always so annoying when that happens. "go. go." gloved hands shove a pair of stunned players to the side. she crosses the gap as the light of the portal winds down behind her -- it takes a mere second's rest, then it flashes again, bringing forth another group of eager yet unprepared adventurers -- and she pulls off her hood to bare her face; her tempestuous red eyes. she pushes her way to the front of the arriving crowd, sweeping an arm out to deter any player behind her from moving forward. everyone who had been near the entity had more or less bac

she cuts her--- it open from- shoulder to torso-- it staggers, breath heaving, inches an agonized step from the door towards jomei's silent taunt; its three limbs are twisted in all the wrong ways and it fruitlessly attempts to feel about its chest for the measure of the inflicted wound, and from the neck up, the clasp falling open and a muddied cloak spilling to the ground, its head is an insect's, membrane and exoskeleton sewn into human skin. a thin reedy whine whistles from its throat. the last sound it ever makes before the woman crushes its offending head with the blunt of

ph -> post action: aoe-i vs veiny rock golems 1-4.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-II vs Shamblers 21-24. yeah no more well-rested tracking it literally doesn't matter.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-I vs Shamblers 17-20.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-II vs Shamblers 13-16.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-I vs Shamblers 9-12.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-II vs Shamblers 5-8.

-> POST ACTION: AOE-I vs Shamblers 1-4.

heavens above. not again. arabelle had chanced upon the boy's camp whilst out on an excursion. she also happens to be looking to restock her array of consumables since floor 29's opening and bargain deals to her are like a siren call. old habits die hard and such. so, with great consternation, smoothing her expression into the usual friendly smile, arabelle wanders over to the menu and indicates her choices. she has five servings of laddu but she wants to keep one, if she wants to replenish them all at once when they run out again... "four of each. thank you."

non-linear narrative (?). (received.)

oh, it's just the new floor messing everything up. nothing to see here, she supposes. (accepted.) (trading the following to night.) 10 mats. 2 demonic shards. wayfinder LOOT DIE III [SHOP] | TIER 1 PERFECT TRINKET | [state]: crafted a star-shaped charm made up of various translucent teal-coloured petals, framed with silver and held together with taut strings. at its center is a stylized metal heart, and at one of the petals' ends is a loop tied with a knot, so that the charm is capable of being hung or locked around another object. the item calls back to a foreign myt

i wear no mask. "sit down," he says. she sits. she takes the only upright stool at the bar, the one where he had also lain his cloak, and her hands unthinkingly follow an old, well-loved motion of gathering up the ends where they might graze the flats of her dirty shoes, folding them instead over her lap. this floor is under quarantine, she wants to say, primly, like the newly decorated frontliner she is, like he will never be, but somewhere between the first step past the cracked threshold and the thence bitter recognit

misplaces an entire demonic shard. (traded to ariel.)

"not an off base assumption ara--" "arabelle." "--wasn't callisto supposed to..." she listens, her red eyes following the man as he appears to assume headship of the group, but where wulfrin fully loses her is in the second part of his guess. not to mention how pretentious it is to think their hunt had any bearing. even when cursed, callisto had done nothing but sit pretty in His lair, maul the occasional unlucky hunter or animal, until the frontlines had gone and poked the proverbial bear. would anything have changed in a month? a year? oh, this was the one that brought a raid

for His last act, callisto had looked to the sky. they thought Him mindless, a puppet, a corpse cursed to sate its once-soul's rage, but in the end, what little that remained had finally bid the body to lay itself to sleep and His eyes searched for comfort in dispassionate stars. He had no place among them. after, arabelle, standing distant from her party after her last attack, collapses. the water is still there, and with her legs folded beneath her and her palms braced on the hard ground, almost half of her ends up soaked. it's over. she killed the bear. she's trembling u

-> claiming: (2) maddening hex.

"no, thank you, an," arabelle corrects. she takes the demonic from an -- heavy! -- and hefts its blade to point upwards, running a finger down the sharp edge. a thin red line slits open the flat of her index. she continues, careful to lighten her tone. "absolute accuracy and vampiric... only to land on a sword." "ehehehe-- sorry, sorry!!" "i'll find some use for it. actually, an, keep a record of this one's enhancements. if a straight sword user comes looking for this combination, you can send them to me." an straightens, her shyness ebbing away at the talk of another transactio

"i don't drink," she says automatically. then she blinks, no, she is more out of it than she thought, that wasn't the point, and soon amends, "but for today i'll make an exception." the last shot of energy is more forceful, almost painful as it shocks her body out of falling into a sleep state all at once, and she but pours it out of her before it could eat its way through her veins, feeling herself take a step forward and the scythe held by herself be poised for another strike. callisto and His very domain are in agonal breathing. a grander finale meant asking for one more shot. she does

"hm..." she lets the swordswoman and her shield wrangle the last of the smaller dogs. her eyes are on the bigger target and he has just emerged from the back of the cave. cerberus snarls, magma dripping from his jaws. he thunders forward and his heads thrash in wildly different directions as though he wanted to bite into all three of their surprise party at once. everyone wakes up a little ravenous sometimes. not often does dinner want to eat them back. arabelle slices off the one head angling to gore her. then at that point she stops caring about precision and thusly redirects

she is party to a kind of comedy or something and this is her cue to laugh. laugh. she doesn't. arabelle cuts and chops and hacks away at callisto's decaying body, ignoring the remnants of ghosts bahr had dispelled. confusion and cautious hope ripples through the raid, starting with a booming yell from a voice she doesn't recognize, and she's sure they'll all dissolve into a puddle of happy tears once this is all over. even the bear looks disgruntled. had she been in a less foul mood, and in any other team, perhaps the one involved, she might have dipped into the obligation to play a

the item changes hands over a pair of wineglasses. paradise lost [soundtrack: perfect (masterpiece)] Incarceration/Instant.