Reversed Creation [DD Survival]

[relentless]

Libourg kept smoothing his blade down with the whetstone. A sweet song, casting into the dim waters that they sat near. He listened, though kept a rather neutral, almost sociopathic expression to himself as he focused on the blade. The reflection of his own face, blurred, distorted. His eyebrows flexed inward, before sighing, and stopping his refining of the blade. His eyes shifted into a harsh glare toward the waters, staring down as he thought to himself, before he shifted to the left, and looked up at the man with a bemused expression.

"Do you know, what the ancestor has done? Hm? Do you know what HE has done to those before us?"
Libourg said, rising to stand. The expression was now dark, almost aggressive as he stood to face Roard. He shook his head, and scoffed. The mans blade was held in his right hand on its lonesome, shield left to cement on the floor. His grip was tightening, though he seemed to keep his composure.
"He has murdered people. He has murdered US! Do you really expect to protect a man so pathetic-!"
He spat and snapped, a bubbling anger building, before he realised that he may of been too loud. So, he sat back down on his rock, and positioned the whetstone loosely on his blade.
"Forgiveness is gained from those that seek it."
Libourg said in a hushed manner, now striking the whetstone harshly down the blade, repeatedly now.
"This man did not seek it. He fled from it, and continued to sin. Continued to kill with persuasions of glory, greed and hope. Oh, and Hook? Boris? They are but pawns, innocent, but too deeply wrapped in his foul game of 'God'."
Libourg grumbled bitterly, shaking his head from side to side as he trained his gaze on the water, ignoring the blade now, and Roard.

"We will leave this place."
Libourg promised, his hand moving just to the tip, before stopping with a forceful grate.
"-And with respect, Roard. You should go haul bread, and continue to abide by your the lie you made just for yourself. About us. About him."
And with that, he raised his hand to the other side of the blade, continuing to sharpen and maintain its edge.

[azmoham]

Beatrix snorted loudly and noticeably at the swarthier woman’s comments.
“We’re dying, day by day. Even now those things circle us like vultures, waiting…”
As if for emphasis she cast a hasty glance back towards the sprawling fog before looking back to the circle.
“One rabbit does not a feast make, a sack of bones will not sustain us.”
She hissed, her grey-yellow teeth glinting in the dancing light of the flame. She had no patience for foolishness, and she considered anything secondary to survival and escape, at this present moment, to be foolish. They had few enough reasons to be merry, and some drunken sot with a crossbow, a single dead rabbit and a bag of old bones certainly weren’t counted among them.
“A plan must be made before our chances of escape are snuffed for good, now if your own escape is in the bottom of a bottle I bid you take to it, but do not ask the rest of us to follow.”
She finished with a stoney glower at the arbalest.

[Kidney]

There was a pause. And a wordless look that the plague-ridden man gave his friend. "I do know. I have known for quite some time. And I will still protect him. I will protect everyone here. I will."

He stared at the man, he knew he did not want to listen. He knew that whatever words he spoke now would glide off of him. He knew that action was required here. With that thought, he took a step forward. With a burst of speed comparable to a charging water buffalo, the mountain of a man slammed his hands against the rock he had once sat upon. He squatted quickly, and with a exhale, he yanked up. 

With a drawn out sound of small roots clinging to the rock, Roard ripped the mighty piece of solid earth up out of the ground, the hefty half-sunken rock being lifted against Roard's chest. He turned, with heavy breaths, and walked away. His breaths came out ragged, and he continued walking, hefting the rock. 

Libourg was left alone, the only rock near enough and flat enough to sit on torn away, in the black hands of Roard. 

He slowly made his way back to the camp, and back to the crates where the Caretaker still played endlessly with the supplies. 

Roard lifted the rock high, balancing it on one hand above his head, the strongman attempt blocking out every other thought, the strain taking away from the pain in his legs. A burning pain shot up his chest, and with a roar, Roard slammed the rock down into the dirt, submerging it almost 4 inches into the soft earth. 

He looked down at himself, mud clinging to bandages and chestplate, and he sighed. "Fuck."

He sat down upon the rock, and guarded the bread.

[Mr. Swagwalker]

SPOILER: Click to show

Name: Derek Gagnon
Sex: Male
Age: 37
Class: Highwayman
Role: Scout, crafter (mainly traps and trip alarms)

Armour Description: A long, padded, navy blue overcoat with the toughness of a gambeson, a hardened leather chest piece and with a chainmail hauberch underneath. His forearms have metal bracers that can protect him from cuts if needed, and wears metal greaves in case of "Damned ankle-biters."

Attire: Aside from the padded overcoat he wears a torn tricone cap, a blue neckerchief over his face, brown trousers and brown leather boots, and a stained white shirt with sleeves.

Weapons: A sturdy and finely-crafted, double-barreled flintlock pistol that allows for two shots before having to reload. For close quarters he carries a fancy side sword that is equally good at cuts and thrusts.

Sword: www.battlemerchant.com/images/product_images/popup_images/HN-SH2203b_hanwei_schwert_seitschwert.jpg
Pistol: cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0760/6691/products/MVC-012F_4800f975-a957-4c2b-8f55-34b7e0f08081_large.JPG?v=1427324611

Unique Detail: Derek is a former member of the Brigand's brigade, and prior to joining the main surviving party has been a part of many bandit groups mostly out of survival. When the Swarm struck the land Derek was among the first bandits to desert from the brigade and saught out other groups to join - strength in numbers, after all. Many bands began to tear eachother apart from the inside and he was forced to leave each one to keep himself alive, and eventually he would come across the main group and join them instead, seeing potential and strength in them. While down-to-earth and professional, his time spent with killers and robbers have left an imprint on his demeanor, and sometimes he can come off as cynical or cold.
A lifetime of being on the run with other lawless men have taught him the importance of using traps and trip-wired alarm systems to remain one step ahead of pursuers, as well as the value of stealth and scouting ahead in advance - and as such he specializes within those areas.

Inventory: A hatchet for chopping wood, threads and metal pieces for traps and lines, 21 balls for his pistol, a pouch of gunpowder, a flask for water and a single gold coin.

Sanity: A leveled head has managed to keep his stress low, and currently he is relatively at ease. Of course since he lives in an area where eldritch horros could appear at any time he is still on his guard and wary of his surroundings at all times.

Hunger: Feeling peckish and could have a snack, but can wait if truly needed.

Health: Faring well all things considered, though last night he had poor sleep.

Dick size: Personality-wise he used to be a lot bigger

[The Carrying Blade]

Nasuris let out a sigh and stood up, not to leave but she felt she was going to doze off if she kept still like that for too long. Her eyes trailed from Beatrix, to Ariana, to Courcy, to Tilly, then to the permitter with fog and trees. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, she was sure of it, but when was she so sure of tricks now? But she had no clue, she saw silhouettes, for a second, maybe more, before the mist obscured them again. In fact she saw them the moment they appeared, but she just thought it was her imagination until they never decided to leave and keep showing up.

“The plan is good......but I cannot leave the camp for that length, even a few hours and........if you can figure out a way to keep the camp safer with people gone then I’ll join you, even if it’s moving it all.....” She said weighing her words with a certain uncertainty, was she really entertaining this idea of a tunnel? Was she really that weak to let Jack go unavenged, or was this some other reasoning?

“But if you’d excuse me...” Nasuris draws her Katar, her eyes squinting into a glare as she kept seeing black shapes move along the trees. The weapon itself like a large dagger that fit to her hand and basically became an extension of it.

“I have something to check, if one of you’d like to help......” She left the notion in the air, with a brisk nod to everyone she walked off, heading straight to the perimeter where she saw a shadow or more. Paranoia for sure Nasuris kept thinking but she wasn’t going to let herself die to negligence.

[porkylabrador]

"Oh that's fucking priceless." Rania mumbled quietly to herself, still not even bothering to turn and dignify the unnecessary outburst from the older woman. She pawed the drink Hook handed her and chugged it back in one gulp, it was vile and of his own creation but it was booze.

"Saint Albert's arsehole!" The Arbalest hissed, sucking air in through her teeth as her eyes watered. "This has got to be rubbing alcohol, that's the last time I let you water me old man." She grinned another pearly grin at Hook, passing her tankard back and expecting him to fill it.

With a sigh, Rania turned to face her verbal assailant.

"Listen Bea, I get you're fierce, yeah? We all are because we've made it this far and yes there was a time where I'd have the urge to get creative and leave you some more stumps to tie farm tools to, that being said, like it or lump it our best chance is being nice to each other. So save the attitude and the tongue-whips for the apocalypse-level-fuckery out there and not for me, pretty please? I've just spent the last two days tit-deep in mutants and furthermore it's getting really difficult to wash my hair properly so I'm feeling a little grumpy myself."

"Thanks, Hook, you're my favourite amputee." The lass chuckled, taking her top-up before spinning back and poking her tongue out and Beatrix. "'Sides you ain't gonna form no plans on an empty stomach. If you're still cross with me tomorrow, we'll arm wrestle." Rania actually didn't sound like she was trying to be nasty as she chuckled the last words, certainly her tirade wasn't kind but in truth, it sounded more like the product of a macabre sense of humour than it did ill-felt malice.

[Vanitypirate]

"I excuse you to leave camp for a few hours at a time." Tilly watched the woman fiddle about, leaning back on her palms

With a shrug, she slipped her satchel off her shoulder, stowing the half-eaten head into the bag.
She stood at Nasuris's, drawing the longsword, as she looked blankly around at camp.

"Miscommunication kills, sweet-thing. Do you think you could try to be more specific?"

[Mr. Swagwalker]

Derek awoke from his uneasy slumber with a sudden twitch and a small gasp. His slim eyes slowly opened up to look upon the tent's dirty interior with a blurred vision. Next to him layed the bear trap and tripwires with bells which he had stayed up to work on the night prior. It was a time-consuming and finicky process, but it was a neccessity none the less and he was satisfied with the end result. While fiddling with the crafts was a way to distract himself from the horrors that stalked in the corrupted woods, it would do nothing during his sleep.

Derek silently cursed his humanity and bodily needs. He hated sleep. Sleep was needed to survive and keep alert for sure, but it left him completely vulnerable for hours. The camp would provide protection, and the tripwires a heads up, but his dreams had no such luxuries. He knew they were out there somewhere. No amount of liquor could drown that memory, and gods forbid if he did forget.

With a tired groan Derek forced himself up onto his feet to let the sleepiness flow off him, and he rubbed his eyes clear from soil with his gloved hands. He would always sleep with all of his equipment on - a useful habit from his earlier days as a brigand. When danger could appear at any given moment it was good to be prepared to move or fight the moment you're awake. Derek sighed and put on his tattered tricorn hat, attached his scabbard onto the leather belt by his left hip, and pulled out his double-barreled flintlock from the hiding spot under his "pillow" (if it could be called as such) and slipped it into the holster inside his padded overcoat.
Derek stepped out of the tent, and judging from the sun's position in the sky he assumed he had overslept. Unsurprising, he thought, considering for how long he had fiddled with his crafts. With a small snort and his hands tucked into the pockets of his overcoat he began to stroll down the camp. He did not truly know what he was currently searching for; alchohol, breakfast or just someone to talk to. His main focus was to get the blood pumping through his body again, and casual walks through the camp was one method at least. Perhaps one the way he could snap up some information and catch up on what he had missed.

[The Carrying Blade]

“To accompany me to the perimeter, either my eyes are playing tricks or we may have some roaming swarm, so if anyone wants to join me to check.......” Nasuris drawled on, rolling her eyes a bit as she didn’t think she had to explain if she drew her weapon. It was clear enough indication she thought there was something that would require its use, even if they couldn’t see the shapes. She stopped when she spoke, turning her head to the side so that she may still be understood, after finishing she walked on again, not going to wait for anyone to tag along.

Let my focus sharpen, let my feelings disappear, let my weapon tear and kill all that opposes and seeks to hurt me. If there be evil around let it be known I will not allow such horrid things breach the sanctuary I have decided to call my temporary home. Jack will not be forgotten, and I will make them pay their penance.

[relentless]

/Libourg/
The man merely watched the man, pausing in his sharpening as he dug out the large stone next to him. A show of strength perhaps? Or something deeper? Nevertheless, he knew his intentions. A rather peculiar one at that as he took the stone away as if he were punishing a toddler, and setting it down next to the wagon. Libourg merely stared with neutral intent, before he sighed, shaking his head.

"He will learn. He will understand."
Libourg whispered to himself, letting out a relaxed sigh, eyes closing in relation to his expelling of air. He would only sharpen his sword a few number of times, before looking up to the waters once again. It was calm, pleasing even. A collection of intent that swarmed him. Yet, something was amiss. Something, was afoot. With a squint, he leaned forward on his sword, gripping his heater shield and looking at the reflection.

From his point of view, trees, bushes and flowers seemed to rustle unnaturally in the reflection, and he would look straight ahead, the mist being infiltrated, but only slightly. From the south, behind the camp, a collection of silhouettes would also seem to form. They were oddly shaped, slow moving and clumsy. Though all of their heads were very unusually shaped. A bulbous, jaggedly round shape inflating and deflating, it seemed.

Libourg went cold to the touch, a harsh bite on his tongue as he noted the existence. The knight stood, slowly, cautiously despite the distance. Rustling of plate broke his silence, and the silence was not a comforting place to be anymore. Reaching down, he took hold of his heater shield whilst maintaining eye contact with whatever was out there.

/Caretaker/
He stood there, a few meters beside Hook and a couple meters away from Roard who valiantly guarded the boxes of bread. Slowly, but indefinitely would his grin falter as his dead, glossy eyes stared blankly at the branches of trees, the collection of moss gathering on those trees and... something else. It's shape unnatural, but it didn't move. In fact, it was hard to tell if it was actually something, or an odd jutting of wood in the haircut of the trees.

Nevertheless, The Caretakers grin dissipated, a neutral line upon his lip taking hold. Then, and only then, would he stare down at the ground, before letting out a hushed squeal and suppressed unconscious cackle as he moved toward the bread wagon, picking up the boxes of bread that they had found on a mauled merchant wagon. His knees shook ever so slightly, and a constant worming whisper slipped from his lips every five seconds or so.

"They're coming, they're coming, they're coming-"
The man whispered in a frenzied, hushed panic as he loaded the cart with bread, shaking arms and legs visible to all.

/The Perimeter/
The passing was clear, literally clear. There was nothing to be seen at all. No thralls, no monsters, no John. All that was left was the foothold of John, his farming boots braced in the ground.

Though anyone relatively close to his location would note a droplet of crimson inbetween the foothold.

/The mist/
The lone silhouette remained ever so still, awkwardly so. It's shape was blurred, muffled and everything inbetween. The blades of grass seemed to feel grating to ears to those that stared at the silhouette, as if two pieces of metal were being jagged across each other, though it's intensity was rather hushed. The rattle of leafs felt like jingling hooks, tinkering and clattering with each other.

But one thing remained the same. A light, warm hum of a collection of human voices. A chorus of beauty no doubt, ringing to the ears. Though its sound was unnerving to some instead, the distance making it sound warped.

From stepping closer, yellow orbs seemed to form on the upper level of the silhouettes form, shadows moving about on these black dots, with random yellow orbs dotted around its shadowy self disappearing and reappearing in the same spot.

[azmoham]

The woman narrowed her eyes at the drunk, a snarl trying to tear itself free of her throat. She wouldn’t allow it, the sooner they started snapping at eachother like beasts, the sooner they’d succumb to the actual beasts that hunted them. The indignity chafed at her, she’d never been a woman who rushed to preserve her own pride, but it seemed damnable that even still, after their contracts had ceased and their employer long since dead, the mercenaries continued to swagger about with their armor and their weapons all a-glinting in the fire light. Didn’t they understand? This wasn’t another of their foolish ventures into the dungeons, where they could scuttle back to the town with their tails between their legs when they failed. Here, if they failed, that would mean the sure end of every single one of them. And yet here was this stupid, oafish, idiotic, selfish, drunken whore acting as if she were in charge. It grated harshly against Beatrix’s nerves, she forced her arms to stay by her sides, her legs to plant themselves in the dirt, lest she do something rash…

“What attitude am I to have then? We are surrounded on all sides by monsters, my home is a burned ruin, I have lost a hand and a-”
She paused, taking a deep breath, scanning the flames once more, a long silence before she spoke again.
“I want to live. I do not want to become another stinking corpse to feed to maggots. There is little enough left to me in this world save my life and that is all I seek to preserve, not manners, not civility and certainly not a merry attitude that you demand.”
Her features were carved into a mask of careful control, neutrality that stilled brimmed with intense frustration.

She turned away from the crowd, and began to stalk away towards the mist. When she was around a dozen or so paces away, she stopped and peered into the gloom. Between the dimness of the late hours and the already murky air, she could make out almost nothing. Even so she swore that she caught a nebulous something lurking out there, waiting and biding its time, and she steadied herself as she studied the vague shapes that gamboled through the fog.

[Kidney]

There was a moment of peace, a selection of reasonable frames. But as soon as Roard was stable, he was forced to his unsteady feet. 

With a huff, Roard took a box in one hand, a sack in another. With quick, but practiced precision he threw them both into the cart, the sack sliding underneath the crate as they both landed. Roard let out a grunt, the closest he could get to a victory screech before he hauled more supplies onto the cart. His newly bandaged right hand stung as skin nearly smashed apart under the pressure of the bandages before he was able to flex his fingers and break them in. 

His eyes traveled back to the Caretaker, whispering soft reassuring prayers to him, whether he agreed with religion or not. His prayers did not seem to be answered though, as the Light offered his ears no protection against the choir which now seemed to make an entrance around the camp. He cursed in some forgotten tongue, maybe of his own twisted design, forged long ago in the dungeons. He hefted a particularly heavy box of some kind, growling as the effort caused him some time to quietly place it into the cart. 

He took a sack or two of sand and placed them near the back of the cart, weights to keep things from falling out, such as petite sums of food, seasonings in small glass bottles (whatever remained of them, with the Heir's incessant expensive taste) as well as anything with rolling capabilities from squashing soft fruits or waxes.

Roard turned back towards the mighty blade sunk deep into the earth. 

His hand clenched around the handle, ripping it from it's earthly shackles, hefting it over his shoulder. He searched for anything peculiar in the area, eyes resting on the perimeter nearest to him, keeping his breathing slowed. He spoke off to the side while looking, "Thank you Caretaker. Your eyes are better than mine."

[black379]

Courcy busied herself with skinning the rabbit. The borrowed blade became bloody, as did her hands as she peeled off the small prey's fur. It helped her ignore the usual bickering that was nigh inescapable amongst the group's high strung tensions.

"Hrm??" She perked up at the sound of blades being drawn. Her eyes flitting between Nasuris, Tilly, and then toward the fog.

[Vanitypirate]

"No, no-- with gusto, Nassy." Tilly shooked her hatted head and began to advise, "Try 'Come help me check, Tilly!' or 'Hey, Courcy, come and help me check out the perimeter?' It has more punch-- you'll need it when you need to get things done quickly, inform as many other friendlies at once. Speaking of..."

She squinted at the ominous orbs for as long as she could stand. She gave a small shiver, as though afraid, but her posture was loose and relaxed, like she was bored and waiting in line.
It was better to be safe than sorry.

Tilly looked back to the camp over her shoulder, motioning silently to Courcy for a moment. Then she called softly, enough to project her voice outwards, but quiet enough so as to not shake the trees or draw more unwanted attention to themselves.
"Alaaa-aaaa-aaarrrmmmm!" It was almost melodic, "We've ghosts and tricks on the perimeter! Be on your guard!"

[The Carrying Blade]

Tilly was getting on her nerves with all this crap about doing it right, but she tried to ignore her, and to the best of her abilities it worked, if only a little bit. The creature she was moving towards attacked her ears with a horrible sound, the orbs popping up as she got closer, the chorus of voices singing, this was a new one for sure. That meant Nasuris didn’t know how to deal with it, and that meant getting closer could prove fatal for someone like her, that also meant she needed help.

“Courcy. We got something new, I need your help with this one.” She said, calling out to her, she was only 4 meters away from them so thankfully she wouldn’t have to yell loudly enough to alert more things in the forest than one would have to. Meanwhile she was readying a spell, one to incapacitate and destroy the connections of an arm or whatever this beast was made of.

Let the power flow freely and attract little to me, I wish to fight but not to die. My comrades are few but we will prevail, let demon work with demon to vanquish abominations. Don’t let this backfire....please.