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What happens next?

[NMR] Reunite with Morello. Our enemies will fall! 8 40%
[NMR] Morello is out of control. He must be overthrown! 3 15%
[NMR] We will wait until the IsC and the AfA are done killing each other before we act. 3 15%
[IsC] Parrotopia's walls will hold. Launch a counter assault on the AfA! 6 30%
[IsC] Something wicked is stirring in the north. Investigate it! 7 35%
[IsC] The AfA is too strong! Fall back to the palace! 7 35%
[The Knights Who Drink Tea] Drink Tea! (Tea! Tea! Tea!) - Back to neutrality. 7 35%
[AfA] March our new allied armies to the Brotherhood lands and crush them! 3 15%
[AfA] Send our new found allies to reinforce the assault on Parrotopia! 8 40%
[AfA] Zileas senses Morello's return. Investigate it! Also pillage things on the way. 5 25%
Multiple Choice Poll. Voters 20 .

[Community Event] The Riot War - Chapter 9 - The Maw of Nerfblivion

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NOTE: Please remember to keep all Out of Character (OOC) posts out of this thread. The chapter threads are strictly for story posts. All OOC discussions can be had here: http://na.leagueoflegends.com/board/showthread.php?t=1588857 with one exception. Reds are allowed to post in this thread to get us on the DevTracker!

Hey everyone, sorry for the delay! This week's chapter post is a short one since I'll be doing a fair amount of In-Character posting with the Morello hunting party.


The Riot War – Chapter 9 – The Maw of Nerfblivion

The rumble from the dropship’s engines was hypnotizing – a white noise that served to distract the passengers from the true gravity of their mission. Together they sat, those brave warriors of the IsC who had willingly volunteered to follow a stranger into the wilds knowing that their own survival was far from a guarantee. They had been handpicked by the Grand Marshall himself to travel with the mysterious and unreasonably good-looking scribe, Sagarys, on a mission to find and kill the dark lord, Morello, before he could harness a power that would no doubt spell the end of the known world. Given ample opportunities to decline the mission, these five – Night, Chorr, Sleiphner, Phalonax, and Ambearsador Soupcup – chose to go, to fight, and hopefully, to save their Realm from an awful fate of fire and shadow.

Together, with the Sagarys, the five waited quietly in the cramped, dark passenger compartment of the IsC dropship that the Grand Marshall had supplied them with. The time for conversation had passed. They were close. As the companions sat patiently, suddenly the dropship began to shake, subtly at first, but then quite violently a few moments later.

“We seem to be encountering some turbulence,” came the crackling voice of the pilot over the intercom.

“Thank you. We were unaware,” Sagarys replied wryly to no one in particular.

The dropship continued to rattle for several minutes, the turbulence gradually becoming worse the further they went. Finally, it got so bad that the pilot came on the intercom again.

“This is as close as we can get you,” he said. “Our sensors are going nuts. All our electronics are jamming up and shutting down intermittently. If we go any farther, this bird might drop like a rock. We’re putting it down here.”

The passengers exchanged concerned glances then looked to Sagarys for guidance.

“You heard him,” Sagarys said, sensing the curious eyes of his companions. “We make the rest of the journey on foot. Hope you brought a sweater.”

As Sagarys finished, the dropship touched down hard, sending a jolt through the frame, jarring the companions. A moment later, hydraulics hissed and the door swung open, letting a burst frigid wind and snow curl in. The six passengers gathered their things and filed out quickly. Once the last of them was clear, Sagarys banged on the hull. With that, the door swung shut, the engines powered up, and the dropship lifted off. The companions watched as it disappeared above the forest canopy and roared off back to the Albion.

Without a word, Sagarys started off, heading east, and his companions followed. The air was bitter cold – almost unnaturally so – the snow was deep, and the woods were thick. Together, they marched for hours through the wilderness, no one uttering a single word. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the forest, the fierce cold deepened. Then finally, as darkness fell upon the land and the companions were nearing exhaustion, Sagarys stopped. Just ahead was a treeline that opened up into a small, hilly clearing with a rocky outcropping in the center.

“There,” Sagarys said, pointing to the clearing.

The Ambearsador began moving, but Sagarys lifted an arm and held him back.

“Wait,” Sagarys whispered, his tone suddenly laden with concern. He kneeled down and signaled for his companions to do the same. “We are not alone.”

Sagarys pointed to footprints in the snow. The tracks were fresh.

Someone was lurking nearby.


The war room of the Black Keep was bustling. Word had come down that Zileas had recovered from the IsC’s chemical attack. The Troll Wizard had called a meeting of his closest allies. Waiting in the dimly lit, circular room were the leaders of powerful kingdoms that had chosen to align themselves with the Troll Wizard against the Brotherhood and the IsC – Xypherous, Kitae, and Maxtion Hero.

Discussing amongst themselves, they waited patiently, their guards and aids standing around them. But when the door swung open, a hush came over them. A handful of high ranking purple minions shuffled into the war room and when they parted, the Troll Wizard himself stood at the threshold, a wicked, trollface grin spread across his wicked troll face.

“Gather your forces,” Zileas said. “March them to the Black Keep. No one drugs me except me! The bird-brains and the fur-balls are going to pay! The Anti-Fun Agenda is going to war!”

A cheer rose up, echoing through the halls of the keep. It could be heard for miles.

"Wait," said a purple caster minion. "Zileas, we are at war."

Zileas stopped and turned to glare at the minion.

"What?" he barked.

"W-well," the minion stuttered, "You ordered the Warden to send an army to Parrotopia about a week or two ago..."

"Why don't I remember this?" Zileas asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Drugs," the minion replied.

"Oh right..." Zileas remembered. Then he turned and raised his arms to address the war room again. "Well then, summon the Warden so that I may speak with him about our attack plans!"

"A-actually, sir," the minion interjected again, tugging on Zileas' robe.

"What now?" snapped the infuriated Troll Wizard.

"Well..." the minion began to reply. "...you already sent the Warden to Mt. McHuge Large to find you some cereal."

"Mt. McHuge Large," Zileas muttered, his face twisted in confusion. "WTF is that? And why would I send him on a quest for cereal?"

The minion shrugged. Zileas paused for a moment to think, placing a finger on his lips.

"I believe we may need to regroup and get our plans in order before we proceed..." he mumbled after some time. Then he turned, once again to address the war room. "Soon, the Anti-Fun Agenda will CONTINUE to go to war!"

Another cheer rose up.

Then, for good measure, Zileas stabbed the purple caster minion to death for correcting him in front of his friends.

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The Lone Chartreuser

Haeos stood at the waterfront where his boat had docked. It had been a long journey, but entirely worth it. Especially when he saw the pair standing on the deck of the ship. Smiling broadly, he ran up, leading the Chartreuse Knights close behind.

"Kaizen! Kohaku! You're here!"

He hugged his sister hard, smiling as he did so. She still looked so young...even though they were twins. She smiled back at him when he let go, laughing a bit, as well. "Haeos, you're just as grabby as when you left the dojo! I'm glad."

Turning to Kaizen, he gave him a bro-hug. "Dude, how've you been?"

Kaizen shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Walked five miles across coals, sat under a waterfall for a few days, the usual. But what've you been doing? That knife you broke was brand-new. It shouldn't have been shattered so easily."

Haeos led them to the back of the ship, explaining his brief adventures so far. "And I finally don't hate the Armored Bears now! Tharus was a relatively good sport about his loss. I hope we can fight again one day."

Kaizen smiled his wry, small smile. "You most likely will. Now then, where are we heading?"

Haeos adopted a somber expression, even though it was quite obvious he was tingling with excitement. "We're going to find the IsC, and we're going to do whatever it takes to establish ourselves as a world power."

Kohaku nodded. "Sounds like a plan...for once. Hurry up, these minions aren't going to be too happy if we wait too long."

Taking the helm, Haeos signalled for the minions to start the boat into the water. It was time to do whatever it took. They seemed to be having some trouble, though. The boat was barely moving. "Guys, this could take a while...you might want to get comfortable."

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Raio Fangar, the Firestarter

What would someone want here?

Raio had seen the dropship take off, immediately suspecting that Phalon was on there. She decided to run after it, staying out of sight at the same time.

What Raio hadn't expected was to be lead to a freezing forest.

There must be a high value target in there to be out in a place like this.

The cold didn't stop her from walking in, however. She was determined enough to find and kill Phalon.
This determinaton, however, would look like an obsession...

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Wolfie Night

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Snowy Forest in the Urgot's Reach Region. Alpha Night + Chorr (CFM), Sagarys-The Rogue Scribe, Phalon-The Silent Killer (IsC, Vladimist), Ambearsador Soupcup (BoAB), Sleiphner (KWDT! T! T! T!)

After the dropship flew off, without a word they headed off eastward, Sagarys leading the way, the bitter cold nipping at their heels. The trek was long and the way was tough, the several feet of snow not helping. The density of the trees reminded Night and Chorr of their home, although the species of trees were different. As the warming sun set, the cold profoundly increased. Prior to the sun setting, Night’s and Chorr’s thick fur protected them from the cold rather well. However, with the drastically decreasing temperature due to the increasing lack of sun, the cold was starting to cut through the werewolves’ fur. The werewolves’ ears and fingers in particular were getting a bit numb. As the sun finally departed the land, Night glanced at her party members. The trek seemed to have taken a toll on them. She herself was somewhat fatigued. Looking ahead, Night noticed that the trees were thinning in ranks. Through the trees, Night spied what appeared to be a clearing.
As the party reached the edge of the clearing, Sagarys halted his progress.

“There.” said Sagarys, pointing towards the center of the clearing where a rocky outcropping stood.
Ambearsador Soupcup started to move forward only to be stopped short by Sagarys’ arm.

“Wait.” whispered Sagarys, kneeling down and signaling for the entire party to do the same he indicated several indentations in the snow in front of them, “We are not alone.”

Kneeling down next to Sagarys, Night examined the footprints before her. There were several separate tracks, specifically three, indicating that there were at least three persons in the immediate area. The footprints did not overlap each other and seemed to be headed in the same general direction. The scent, while somewhat faded due to the elements, was still intact enough for Night to conclude that the three persons were probably traveling together and that the tracks were very recent, only a day old at most. One set of prints were particularly deep, meaning the person who made them was heavier than the others. Sniffing softly once, Night honed in on the body scent from two of the tracks. While the scents were different from each other, they both possessed a similar tang within their scent that Night had long come to associate with that of magic.

“Chorr, come here.” whispered Night. Surprised, Chorr complied, kneeling down next to Night.

“Examine these footprints and tell me everything you learn from them.” instructed Night.

“Well, there were three of them all headed in the same direction. Their scent seems to all have been made around the same time, which means they were probably traveling together,” pronounced Chorr at a whisper after a few seconds, “Oh and the tracks are only about a day old.”

“Good. However, pay attention to the set of footprints on the left. Notice how they are deeper set than the other two? That’s because the person who made those tracks was heavier than the other two,” said Night, “Now, I don’t expect you to catch this next one though. Pay attention to the scents of the left and right tracks. Compare the two.”

Complying, Chorr sniffed the air, catching the little bit of scent left from the tracks. Chorr noticed that there was a similar taint to the two separate scents. Chorr couldn’t quite name what it smelled like, but Chorr stored the scent into his memory, assuming it was important if Alpha Night was pointing it out.

“For the most part they are completely different; however there is one thing that is similar. They both have a trace of something, an odd taint to their scent. What is it?” asked Chorr.

“That is the scent most mages have. Remember it. Magic has its own scent too. Of course, the scent does vary somewhat from mage to mage depending on the element they control and how well they control it or how often they use it. For example, water mages would have that scent with a hint of normal water scent, while fire mages, depending on how often they set things on fire, would have that scent plus the scent of burning objects. Knowing that is helpful, so if you ever wind up fighting one, you won’t be surprised by the massive ball of fire suddenly headed your way. Got it?”

Chorr nodded his understanding. Satisfied, Night stood up and walked a little to the left in order to make room if case anyone else in the party wanted to examine the footprints. A few seconds later Chorr stood up and took a few steps back, although he did not walk over to where his Alpha was. It was not necessary for him to be right next to her all the time.

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Hextech Marauders
Location: Near Going to the Store

"I just don't understand why we're going to the store," Mirka said, "And why couldn't we have just gone to the store back at Teemo Skin Lagoon."

"We're not going to the store," Tarn repeated, exasperated, "We're going to Going To The Store."

"What does that even mean!?" Mirka practically shouted.

"It means-" Airyana cut Tarn off by throwing a small pebble at him. He still rode on Mirka's shoulder, so he was much to far up for her to reach. She had to get his attention through other means.

"Let me try to explain," she said. Her voice was quiet, but not shy. It was more thoughtful, full of intelligence.

"Be my guest," Tarn said, rubbing the back of his head resentfully.

"There are many city states, yes?" She started. Mirka nodded in agreement, there were indeed, "And some of them have silly names, many do not make sense, correct?"

Mirka nodded again, thinking of the city they had just left, Teemo Skin Lagoon.

"Well, one of these city states is known as Going to the Store. This is where we are going," she explained.

Mirka made a sound of realization, finally understanding. "So we're not actually going to a store, we're going to a place called Going to the Store."

"Yes," Tarn confirmed, "and from there we shall sail across the Designers Ocean to the western continent."

"And then we find Jarvan?" Mirka asked.

"Then we find Jarvan," Airyana confirmed.

Location: Going to the Store

"Well I'll be darned," Tarn said, looking around the sprawling market. "I guess we were going to the store after all."

"Now you're just trying to confuse me," Mirka grumbled.

"I don't see how a city can survive with nothing but stores, who produces the products, and who buys all these things?" Airyana pondered.

The entire city was a sprawling, open market. The air was oppressive with the heat and noise of thousands of merchants and their customers. Mirka carved a path through the hordes of people with his massive body. Airyana followed in his wake and Tarn sat perched on Mirka's shoulder. Most people ignored the group, clearly used to strange, exotic sights.

"It's best not to wonder on things of that nature," Tarn said, waving the question away, "You'll only think yourself in circles. We need to focus on the task at hand."

"A boat," Mirka grunted.

"Yes, and the crew to sail it," Tarn confirmed.

"But how do we find one in this throng?" Airyana asked. They paused as they pondered this question. They were like a rock in a flowing river of people, unmoving but not affecting the natural flow. Suddenly, Mirka lumbered off, sniffing the air. "Hey, wait up," Airyana shouted, forcing her way after the yeti.

"Where are we going?" Tarn asked, clutching Mirka's pauldron as the yeti strode through the crowd.

"Fish," he grunted.

"I appreciate you require much food," Tarn said, "But this is hardly the time to be thinking about lunch!"

Mirka offered no further explanation, only continued to walk through the crowd. In a few minutes the trio stood before a fish stall. The man behind the stall had dull eyes and a thick, grizzled beard. His hair was gray and his face showed his years.

"You a fishermen?" he asked.

"Did the fish give it away?" the man asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"That mean you have a boat?" Mirka asked, ignoring the fisherman's goad with uncharacteristic calm. Tarn and Miryana suddenly understood Mirka's reasoning

"No, I swim out in the ocean to fish," the man said. Clearly he didn't respond well to stupid questions.

"I think what my friend is trying to say," Tarn said, "Is we'd like to charter your boat."

"Where you going?" the man asked, looking up at the yordle, sizing him up.

"The Western Continent," Tarn said, taking a puff of his cigar. "We have business in Parrotopia."

"Your business is no business of mine," the man said, waving away Tarn's explanation, "But if you want to go that far, it'll cost you."

"How much?" Tarn asked, pulling out his coin-purse.

The man looked at Tarn's coin-purse, taking in the size and weight. He stroked his beard for a moment, pondering and planning. "800 gold," he said.

"That's outrageous!" Airyana exclaimed.

"That's the price," he growled, "And that's the best your going to get around here."

"I'm afraid we can't afford that," Tarn said, counting his coin, "Perhaps we can negotiate."

He eyed Mirka, as if only just noticing him. "How about you give me the yeti. Not very bright, but he looks like he can pull his own weight."

Mirka growled, grabbing the hilt of his sword. t Airyana rested her hand on his, shaking her head. For one, tense moment, it seemed Mirka would attack anyway. But, slowly, he released his sword and lowered his hand.

"I think," Tarn said tightly, "We won't be doing business with you today. Come along, Mirka."

"Your loss," the man said as the mercs walked away.

"You shoulda let me kill him," Mirka growled, stomping through the crowd. Most people kept a wide berth. An angry yeti in and of itself is an intimidating thing, but Mirka's great strength and heavy stature caused the ground below around him to shake.

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd love more than to see that scum bleed out," Tarn said, "But the last thing is to draw attention to ourselves."

Mirka growled, but didn't argue.

They searched the entire city, but couldn't find a better offer. It seemed the fisherman was telling the truth, 800 gold was the best price they'd find.

"Well now what?" Airyana asked, flopping into a chair. They had been searching all day, and decided to find a tavern when the sun set.

"Well, if we want to charter a boat, we'll need more money," Tarn said, puffing his cigar thoughtfully, "So we'll have to find some work."

"Someone always wants someone killed," Mirka agreed.

"And that's what we do," Airyana finished.

"So it's decided, tomorrow we put the word out," Tarn said, "The Hextech Marauders are open for hire."

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Epicn00b? Master of what?
Outside of Nikopolis

It was night. The sun had set already. Out in the field outside the remains of Nikopolis was the destroyed remains of a table. Soon, something in its remains stirred. And stirred again. Then, it went quiet. A few minutes later, the remains "exploded"; no, not in a fireball. Rather, the debris burst out and spread everywhere, leaving a human being out in the center.

The human was wearing green armor, in the colors of the being known by few as Kog'Maw, God of Mercy. Even less would know that this armor could only be one by the one who ruled the Legion of N00b: Epicn00b.

Alas, this human woke up, unaware as to how he was freed. He rubbed his head in slight pain. And then, he looked around him, to see his surroundings. Only the light from the moon was the available light, and he could barely see his surroundings. He then tilted his head up into the starry night sky.

"Where am I?"

He looked down, at his armor this time.

"....Who am I?"

Tilting his head up, he continued pondering.

"......What am I doing here? What happened to the city over there? And why am I wearing this strange, exotic armor?"

....And then he thought. An image finally appeared; it showed what he believed to be his recent past. Only voices could be heard.


"So, he is to be executed by death from a 1,000 foot fall?"
"1,521 feet to be precise."
"Hm. I say this sack of meat isn't worth the effort. Hey, what did he do to deserve this?"
"Apparently, this guy caught the Grand Marshall in a bad time. He does not like to be interrupted while he is enjoying tea."
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
*sigh* "Why in hell did our lord appoint this guy? He's a psychopathic murderer. Doesn't he know how he fights??"
"That didn't stop him from joining."
"Hmph. I don't trust that man at all. Not at all. Trust me: there will be a day where he will go batsh!t crazy on us. Then, will our parrot king learn the error of letting HIM take charge of us."
"He only recruited him because of his battle strategies."
"Bah. How can you have a strategy at all; all our enemies do is try to overrun our homes. Doesn't he know that a WALL can easily stop the greatest of armies, even when armed with magic?"
"Shh. Be careful what you say. You never know when one of his agents are lurking around.
"Whatever. I certainly know this: the sooner he dies, the better. Why? He can't be trusted."

The man did not know how this memory helped him, but helped him it did...somewhat. He began his quest to regain his memory, and it began with the destroyed city.

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Herr Baron Von Walrus, Chief Scientist of the IsC: The Antarctic Expedition - Part Two:

With some degree of difficulty, Baron was able to isolate some samples and specimens for his research regarding the Thing that Killed Kenny. Storing the specimen jars in a nearby cabinet, Amber tightly locked it, and stared with considerably morbid fascination at the organisms that pressed themselves up against the glass. As Herr Baron finally began to make some headway against the heavy metal of the door, Hareve began to lose control of his impatience.

Suddenly, he grabbed Baron’s….beaker…and threw it at the door. A very irritated Baron watched as the incomplete acidic solution began to eat away at the door, and fall just short of dissolving the giant bolts. Hareve brought his mace down with a heavy swing, and the last of the metal reinforcements gave way.

What remained of the previously impenetrable barrier came down with a great crash, and Baron slowly walked into the chamber, transfixed by the ethereal glow of countless crystalline structures that lined the room. Perhaps Baron could no longer hear his companions as they shouted out to him. Perhaps he simply refused to listen. Hareve and Amber tried, desperately, to pull him back as he stepped into the crystal room, but they were both shot back by some ancient force. Scrambling to his feet, Hareve charged forward after Baron, but the room had already sealed behind him. He crashed headlong into the crystalline structure that had shot up in place of the original door. Baron was gone.

The first thing Baron became aware of was a tightening sense of dread in his stomach. The azure aura that had previously enchanted him had abruptly disappeared, and a heavy silence blanketed the air. A single crystal formation stood in the center of the room. Baron tilted his head with mild curiosity as he slowly walked forward to get a better look. The crystal’s exterior was unremarkable, but it had a strange black formation that originated at the center, spreading outwards. It seemed to stretch out, nearly reaching the edges of the crystal, as though it was trying to escape.

As he drew closer to the crystal in the center of the room, Baron noticed something strange. There were no apparent exterior sources of light, and yet the room seemed to grow darker with each passing step. By the time he reached the crystal, Baron could hardly see in front of his own two feet. With a strange, macabre satisfaction, he reached out, knowing exactly where the edges of the formation were. Before he even had time to gasp in shock, the dark thing inside the crystal broke free, ensnaring his hand and sinking into his flesh. For a moment, the world became a dark blur, and Baron lost consciousness.

Baron did not normally dream, and was therefore quite surprised to find a new world stretched out before him when he opened his eyes again. Dark shadows danced around him, and he saw death, power, and indomitable will in the surrounding crystals of the room. He saw the world, set ablaze. Morello, finally slain for his crimes. The NMR and AfA, crumbling. And most of all, Baron saw profit. Feeling a new surge of power in his veins, everything rushed forward in a blur, and Baron jerked back into consciousness.

The Glistening Oil had been purged from his system, and dripped harmlessly down the crystals. Regaining his strength, he managed to slowly stand. Curiously, the darkness of the room slowly swirled around him, and his vision seemed to improve. Forming a quick mental association, Baron stretched out his hand…and the shadows congealed over it, stretching and hardening to form a dark sort of claw. Delighted with such a curious ability, Baron closed his eyes and set to work, binding and unbinding his shadow constructs…

About an hour after the initial seperation, Hareve and Amber were almost ready to abandon their hopes and return to camp. They couldn’t break the crystalline barrier that had separated them, and the temperature was beginning to plummet. Amber, pacing anxiously, started to suspect that Baron had died. Then the crystal barrier grew dark, and exploded outward in a flurry of tiny shards.

Amber and Hareve were not sure what to make of the figure that emerged from the room. Clad in the blackest heavy armor, shadows rolled out around the man as he stepped forth from the dark void, and the light seemed to shrink from the very air that surrounded him.

Hareve was the first one to approach him.

“…Baron? Is….that you?”

The figure turned slowly to regard him, and a twisted smile of brilliantly white, sharp teeth split its face.

“Yes….and no. I am Die Schattenfürst. Gather anything of importance. We have business to attend to, and must leave immediately.”

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Amber of the Ravenous Flock - The Artic - Assisting in the Doctor's Expedition

Amber paced the room her gaze locked upon the crystalline structure that impeded her path to the doctor. Her watch indicated that it had been nearly an hour since the doctor had become unreachable. The silence and tension only further fueled the thoughts of the doctor's death.

Turning to the large man whose had stood facing the barrier without movement the entire time she began to speak. "Har-"

The barrier suddenly lost its luster and was consumed in darkness. Moments later it exploded toward Amber and Hareve. Tiny shards of crystal flew about them. In the barriers wake stood a figure of darkness. The plate armor it wore was onyx black and an aura of shadow billowed from it.

Hareve stepped forward his mouth gawking open his eyes unsure of the reality of the situation. Words stumbled from his tongue as he asked, "... Baron? Is.... that you?"

The shadow clad figure pivotted slowly to meet his gaze a twisted smile of sharp fangs splitting its face.


Herr Baron Von Walrus, Chief Scientist of the IsC: The Antarctic Expedition - Part Two:
“Yes….and no. I am Die Schattenfürst. Gather anything of importance. We have business to attend to, and must leave immediately.”

Taking the orders, Amber immediately walked over to the cabinet and withdrew the specimens the doctor had placed within the cabinet. Returning to point, she faced the figure whose unseen face returned her nod with one of its own.

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Phalonax 'Phalon' Valeion, Vladimist Blood Reaper and Iron Solari Assassin

Strange how I'm the only one without sleeves and I'm not freezing...

When they had landed, the bitter cold embraced the six of them By some secret, Phalon managed not to turn into a living icicle.

After a long trek, they had found a clearing, but before they could advance any further, Sagarys stopped them and drew everyone's attention to the fresh set of footprints below them.

While the werewolves were picking up the scent of the prints, Phalon had tried to pick up the presence of anyone else. So far, she couldn't sense anyone.

When the wolves were done, she stepped a small distance away from the group and looked around to see if whoever left the tracks was still around.

I can't feel anyone...hm...

Making one last attempt at finding something, Phalon closed her eyes and began to focus.

If someone knew we were going to be here, this can't end well.

She tuned out everything else, only focusing on the life presence in the largest area she could. Outside of the presence of the party members, she couldn't feel anything, except for some very faint life force here and there, aswell as something outside of range.

Maybe it could just be widlife, or these guys are out of range. I can't tell...

Phalon opened her eyes, the senses of reality rushing in. She looked around again, everything as it was before focusing.

Great, everyone's still around.

She walked back to the group as if she never left.

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At Some Bar, maybe in that place with Tacos...

"AIIEEE!" The man screamed in pain, as he stood up from the table and rubbing his arm. Mortimer was a mercenary; a big, bald, middle aged mercenary who was had arms as large as tree trunks, a flaming red beard, and a giant great-axe as well as full plate. He was a well known scrapper in these parts, more well known for his drinking than his fighting skill, and had fought for most every faction.

and he just lost an arm wrestling match.

"You're some piece of work, girlie! But Morty's a man of his word." He places a full purse of coins on the table and heads to the bar to soothe his damaged arm and ego with some ice and ale.

Cassandra laughs as the other men cheer her on. The five toughest men in the bar just lost to her, and she had barely broken a sweat. She drank from a cocktail glass, pocketing the money... she was new to these parts and had no cash, and what better place to both earn some currency and know about the people than at a dive. At her request a map was set up on the wall, and Cassandra studied it- there were plenty of places and factions it seemed, though she didn't have any information about them. The random knife throw method didn't help either.

The place was more or less boisterous, the men laughing, drinking and singing with a few female mercs and servers to add some color to the place.

Not having anything else to do, Cassandra heads out for fresh, salty sea air. Port towns near docks have the most colorful characters, though she herself stayed low-key, dressed in local clothes. Behind her was her cyborg companion, Dietrich, who was studying and recording everything in town. Cassandra parked her bike nearby, having found a shack to turn into a small, private armory. She saw a group near the water trying to get a boat going, but it seemed they had trouble.

She didn't have to look far though for her own trouble, though. Dietrich suffered a mind glitch, veered away from Cassandra and bumped into a mean looking bunch of pirates. Babbling incoherently in code-speech, she was quickly subject to harassment. The warrior had little patience.

"Get away from her, and walk away." She warned, clenching her fists. She was unarmed and unarmored, while the pirates had their cutlasses and pistols. They were horribly outmatched.