We are going to do this dammit

[car'a'carn]

There was little reaction on the woman’s face, apart from a surprised look, when the middle-aged man introduced himself in a loud voice. Gilberto didn’t know what to think of it: where her so-called powers real or was she just boasting things she could not do. He needed to find out before they’d entered any kind of battle with the zombies. He’d prefer not to be overrun in an ambush while he was relying on her powers to protect them from such an event. While these thoughts raced through his mind, he finished introducing himself and turned to the man sitting next to him.

The mountain of muscles in the chair next to Gilberto spoke, raising one of his hands. Completely unexpected, a bright light erupted around his forearm. With a small shriek, it sent Gilberto to the back of his seat. Impulsively cowering away from the fire that didn’t burn flesh. The scholar somehow knew he’d better not get into contact with this fire, for it could burn a part of him.

When Marcus explained his power, Gilberto knew he was right to avoid contacting it. This magic he called Hellfire burned away the things that made corpses stand up again. Unluckily for the scholar, he was able to do that. Not that he planned on telling the people around them. These men were going to hunt down the things a man like him had created before he died. Telling these men that he too could raise the recently deceased could turn out in a load of trouble for him.

“That’s quite an awesome power, but why call it hellfire if it only burns vile creatures?” Gilberto only whispered it, aware that none would hear it. Apart from Rhiannon maybe, if her powers were real.

Meanwhile the meat shield, who had just proven himself useful for the quest they were going to take, had extinguished the fire around his hand. People still looked at the table, but rapidly returned to their own business.

With introductions now behind them, the old man took word ones more. This time he went on about the specifics of tonight’s job. Apparently the zombies walked the earth on greshdah fields. They always stayed in the same area and slowly rotted away. The time to act was now though, people needed to farm the fields. In these times of war, like so many other things, supply of anesthesia was running low. These fields, filled with poisonous nettles would be the first problem to overcome. Then there were the zombies.

If Rhiannon’s powers were as good as she said they were, she would be able to find the zombies with relative ease. Gilberto’s powers could be used to make a path towards that place and finally the muscular warrior could use his powers to give the zombies eternal rest. All in all, the group that had gathered here tonight was quite complementary. The only one who didn’t have a clearly outlined job in Gilberto’s plan was the old man. Then again, he figured, they’d be lucky if the old man could keep up with the relative youth around him.

[Amen]

Marcus Book took in the details of the assignment as he always did: mute and intensely attentive. If it were the Brotherhood giving him these orders, there would have been a rundown on the variety of undeath he could expect to encounter, the means of reanimation, the average state of decay, and at least three contingency plans. The undead were not dangerous to a paladin – even a determined scribe could hold his own against one shambler – but hordes were a different matter. There is no force on earth undeath cannot topple, given time and opportunity.

It was Book’s job to deny that opportunity.

“If it behooves me to be silent, I will be silent,” Marcus said in response to Herobrine’s question. “If I may, I would suggest that we procure an accelerant before we leave town, oil or turpentine. And let me take the opportunity now, before silence is necessary, to advise my comrades to look down. If the shamblers have been rotting away for some time without necromantic upkeep, the knees often go early. Some might be crawling.”

[Knave]

(Sorry for the wait, and excellent job, team, we've officially outposted every other boss thread.)

Weather beaten, life trodden, festering at the core with innumerable sins both real and… concocted, Herobrine took in this new and utterly motley crew. Out of all of them, there was one who would be singularly useful, out of all of them, there was one who was utterly redundant, and out of all of them, there was one so dubiously suspected of being without use that Herobrine was tempted to leave him; otherwise the fool would be one more raving omnicidal corpse baking in the sun and lurching through the night. By morning, he expected a few of them to be dead, and for all who cared to ask of him: gone.

At Herobrine’s question, the group remained deep in thought, hardly paying any more attention to each other, hardly asking any questions of their own about the future or about Herobrine, who by his ragged features, often bitter and riotous no matter the mood. Lawrence beneath the skin was almost insulted, all the nebulous lies he had prepared for even the most basic of interactions now seemed wasted. As the time boiled down, with every passing second into history’s grave, Herobrine for the first time spared them a smile, his yellowing, crooked teeth grinning with nothing of the colder contempt below.

Orris spoke first, and with her agreement, the elder nodded his assent as though glad to have someone whose senses might exceed his own. When he spoke, though, it could be nothing else aside from admonishment or command. “Just keep your wits about you, death makes more of the world in every way when its hosts get up and walk about. Every smell burns and churns the stomach; every sound will be for want of company, compassion, or hatred, all in madness.” It was a fair warning, and Lawrence knew that he would be walking into a bitter hell made manifold by all his senses.

To Gilberto’s discredit, when he spoke his mind, and asked his question, Herobrine suspected no one thought less of him. In passing, the regard Herobrine gave Gilberto was passing and empty and when the grunting, howling devils set upon him he would serve his purpose: dying loudly. In passing, Herobrine nodded his approval of Gilberto’s momentary silence.

Finally, Book offered his advice, and being the best and only offered tonight, it was the most triumphant in insight and breadth of mind. “True,” the old, dirty bastard replied, “the dead crawl when they have only legs to carry them, and injured mortally when dying some shamble in through life, but the fresh dead still possess all the speed and strength of fighting men and worse.” As an afterthought, “…it’ll do them no good though— For tonight, the shadows are our allies!”

With that said, Herobrine stood, and despite the weight of alcohol on his shoulders that would have crushed and toppled another man, just as he did not slur he did not stumble. Reaching into his trouser pocket, Herobrine found and raised a sack which rustled, and hung gravid with gold, “Steiner! bring me my bill!” And with a knowing wink at Marcus followed his order with, “And add to it a keg of your foulest brine! The kind that barks and makes fair women swoon!”

Thug, bootlicker, shoe maker, clerk, harlot, wench, and slumming daughter turned to the old man for a single second even as the barkeep, his head crowned in gray and his brown moustache matching his stained apron, fired back, “The Orphaner’s delight? Or one of the Fallien rums?” Though Herobrine had been in this down for little town, he had his friends.

Herobrine in all his forms originated from Fallien, and with a sense of actual nostalgia, he ordered the most hateful drink he and his brother had ever had the fateful punishment of thieving. “Coex Hytel’n Fyane, have you got it?”* And at his request Killy rinsed his hands, and departed only to return with his arms about a barrel and his back and legs placed powerfully beneath it as he trundled from the darkness of his cellar and around the corner. Kilroy proved himself a good hand, though age brought to him short breaths and a ruddy face as he hauled a small barrel of only sixty pounds. Paying with a coin, quick word, and laugh Herobrine collected the long sword he’d left behind, settling it into his belt alongside the knife in his belt, Herobrine moved to the door.

And calling over his shoulder, all cheer passing quickly as it always did, Herobrine called to his crew and signaled for them and told them to get their asses moving.

*A special blend of fermented root left to simmer under the same sun which reigns over Fallien’s dessert. At a ripe age, it is tested by passing it into the water of roosters, and judged to be ready when depending on how long the fight rages; afterwards it is fed to and filtered through a bull. The final product is considered the end of any alcoholic, for any who imbibe more than a sip are thrown into violent delirium. Forever.

[Rhiannon]

Rhiannon's greenish blue orbs fell on Gilberto as he asked his question to Marcus. Seeming somewhat interested, she forced herself to look away, though she was interested with the same question. Why did he call it fire when it truly wasn't fire at all? She couldn't resist, curiosity seemed to kill the cat on this one. “Yes, why do you call it 'hellfire' Mr. Book? A favored soul like yourself is anything but Hell I'm assuming. Why not holy fire?” Smiling at Gilberto, who she was aware of his testing, gave him a long lashed wink. He now would know. She indeed was no woman of lies or exaggeration.

Listening to the old man Herobrine and Book speak, the women felt it was about time for preparation. Bringing her arms back, she tied her blonde locks back tightly, placing her hair in a pony tail. Since Mr. Gilberto wanted to be so testy, she would do the same, making sure her chest was out as far as it could be without seeming intentional, her back curving slightly with divine art. Was his wits about him, or would he easily be distracted by the scent of a woman? Wow, Althanas was already starting to twist her character.. Maybe being around people like these men instead of brainwashed Technocrats was making her more...well, herself..

Though her test fell short as old Herobrine became quite the happy one. A smile? A toothy, yellow stained smile made her look at him in almost disbelief. Somehow it also brought her a sense of motivation and moral. “Hm, never thought I'd see a smile from the likes of you, Herobrine..”

With a moment of silence, she nudged Gilberto's shoulder with her own, whispering. “How much do you suppose he drank? He was drinking before even I arrived? If he wants silence and stealth, how do we know he won't be a hollering hoot after that shot of his?”

The old man's boney hand, almost seeming lifeless and on the verge of decay, motioned them to follow. Rhiannon looked from Gilberto to Marcus, giving them a shrug before she gladly followed. They did have a mission to complete after all. “Lets get this show on the road, gentlemen.”

(If this writing is horrid my apologies.. I was quite the lush coming home from the bar.. stumbling to the computer … 'ahhh knave posted... hah.... knave...' and started to write.. haha)

[Amen]

As Herobrine stood and called for his bill and a casket of foreign swill, Marcus took to his own feet and politely turned his chair back round the right way. As he tucked the seat beneath the table, Rhiannon said, “Yes,” as if seconding a thought, “why do you call it hellfire, Mr. Book? A favored soul like yourself is anything but Hell I’m assuming. Why not holy fire?”

And then she cast a smile at Gilberto. At first Book felt…what? Jealous? The woman was attractive, and the smile was sweet. After a moment – a long moment, and the paladin could admit to himself that he was historically slow to catch on to this sort of thing – he realized the smile was too saccharine to be fully genuine. Perhaps that was not a smile he wanted aimed at him, after all.

Marcus raised his eyebrows now, realizing he missed something. “I apologize,” he said to Gilberto, “I must not have heard your question. They call it hellfire because, well, I guess you don’t find angels burning in Hell. I don’t claim to know where it comes from and I’m far from favored by anyone or anything, I just use it because I have it and it works.”

The paladin realized with a start that Herobrine was halfway out the door now, and swung from drunken cheer back to irascible command again as he ordered the crew to, under no uncertain terms, remove their respective hindquarters from the premises. Rhiannon gave the remaining pair a shrug, and then she and the self-professed scholar went on their way. Marcus followed them out.

[Knave]

Outside the stellar procession had followed with the suns setting and the night’s arrival, a body of constellations magnified to make men small, twinkling lights of foreign stars dotting the sky to take distant vantage and gamble with fate. Among them were Apos and Aarist shining green in the distant west of which scholars said they orbited each other and sailors claimed they were wed. The constellations by their factions had long been attributed to thayne loyalties and thayne rule, the eye of Draconus’ red rimmed iris and its baleful blue core, N’jal’s hand a grasping claw. All throughout the sky superstition painted the universe as simple: divided along lines of fantasy: ruled by divine will, and immortalizing divine life and divine struggle.

The old religions knew the promethean Thayne for what he was, a sourceless god, and Lawrence knew in his bones that the black, bountiful fields of nothing from which it sprang still bore fruit. The proof was in his bones, in his hair, and creeping from the back of his mind with the fear of what he knew was awake and watching there. To step out of the pub would have brought no new revelations to any of Althanas population, save for those who sought their guidance, but for Lawrence in Herobrine’s guise, he could only look cast his eyes to the moon and no further, the darkness between those stars more profound and terrifying for what he knew might fall from them.

The present reality, with its simple hungers and simple demons, was still. The common shop owner, the shrewd people of thrift, the day walkers all had retired from the world, and so too did the dregs sink into the alleys and pubs and freshly opened houses. There were only the faces of buildings left dark, black and bare cobblestones for the street, and the lamps which flickered dimly from their filthy cages into the distance. Into the distance, the most comforting sound was the echo of feet as Herobrine and company made way through damp air. Into the distance, the most comforting image was the rising silhouette of Underwood forest and its hidden depths.

Though Herobrine finally appeared to warm to their company, he doubted they would find in each other anything more than distaste in one another, but they were all he had to work with. The best he could hope was that under the choking miasma of death they would find camaraderie among the enemy, and the thought Herobrine’s lip turned up in disgust as an ill wind carried the suffocating stench through the air.

‘No, I’d sooner walk into this quietly and alone than with chaos at back and side.’ While Herobrine’s cheeks were red, his gait unwavering, his insides seethed and turned on themselves with Lawrence’s disgust. He could see it now, the fungal growths rising from skin in motley colors and fuzz, the bilious infection that would coat their teeth with bacterial poison, the weight of that hoard falling on him. ’The easier the better.’ He suppressed the shudder and thoughts of flight, and in Herobrine’s snappish manner he turned to his merry crew.

“It’s a walk of minutes more than petty silence can handle, any of you lot have a story worth hearing? Or am I right in thinking the story worth hearing is from the slack jawed dead?” Warming indeed, else tonight would add to the horde three more bodies. Even with such a battered façade, the lights of those blood shot eyes never considered that his life was in any more danger than death by disgust.

[Rhiannon]

Rhiannon followed the gentlemen out the doors, knowing a great adventure was at foot, or disaster. These men before her were the ones she’d have to work with in order to survive, which meant that she needed to build some sort of trust or partnership with each of them, even the bitter old man Knave.

As her foot steps moved passively along side the other men, her eyes took a long gander up at the stars, scanning its unknown patterns and shapes. They were much different than the ones from Earth. Wow, Althanas was already messing with her head… The stars here were not like the ones from Home.

Nearly at a whisper, she squinted a bit before her eyes snapped at the old man beside her. “They’re beautiful, but unfortunately they make no sense to me. Nothing of Althanas makes sense to me, for I was birthed and raised in another world much like the one we stand in now..”

Not sure if Knave or the others were really interested, she continued to speak to break the weary silence between them all, for what was ahead of them was to be far wearier. “In my world, the stars are differently aligned, creating constellations and zodiacs that pass through the seasons. There are twelve zodiacs, each set to a certain date in which we are all born under. They say that each person born under the sign carried a lot of its traits in personality. Some see it as myth, where others follow it like a religion. Each sign also is dedicated to certain elements and planets in our universe.” The woman let off a small chuckle, “I could talk about it all night, really. Leo would be considered my zodiac, my sign. I am curious as if the people of Althanas have similarities..”

“One of the constellations known as ‘the big dipper’ was also said to lead men of slavery to freedom. My world, Earth, has evolved around the stars above us. Every religion, race, and country somehow has a connection to the twilight above us. They lead to legends, gods, and goddesses. There are people who believe that it is all science, not being created by a higher power like a god. It’s called the ‘Big Bang’ theory.”

Rhiannon grew silent for a short moment. Her secret was out and she had to admit it made her feel a little uncomfortable. “I lived in a year known as 2011, meaning the swords are old fashioned and no longer really used other than ceremony. We use guns, such as this one.” From her leg she pulled out her 9mm pistol, revealing it to the others, offering to hand it over if any wish to observe. “When I passed through a portal into this world, it broke, warping some of the metal that’s crucial to its structure.”

[Amen]

Marcus followed silently as Herobrine challenged the party for noise, and found he could think of nothing to answer with. Book could never be accused of talking too much. He preferred to be seen as someone large and stupid, as people seemed all too ready to assume of him. It served his interests: he didn’t have to make small talk (he was terrible at it), and it worked to his advantage when his enemies assumed him dim.

Thankfully, Rhiannon took it upon herself to answer Herobrine, waxing nostalgic about stars and other worlds. Between suspicious glances at the woman from the corner of his eye, the paladin took brief, curious glances up at the sky. He did not, in truth, know anything about constellations or the heavens. Having heard his fair share of scholarly and religious debates on the nature of the night sky, he figured nobody really did, and found that he did not care. There were mysteries enough where men could walk and climb, why wonder about things beyond one’s reach?

Book was on the verge of doubting Rhiannon’s sanity when she produced a strange tool and began to hand it around. Marcus accepted it cautiously, having some small experience with guns, and considered it while keeping the business end pointed toward the ground. He did not trust it, broken or no.

“Heavier than it looks,” Marcus grunted. “I’ll keep my sword. I know how it works.”

He handed the weapon back, taking care not to point it at its owner or himself in the process.

“Our worlds must not be so different. You speak Trade as if it were your mother tongue, as far as I can tell,” the paladin said, having no idea his Salvic accent was not horribly unlike an eastern European accent to Rhiannon’s ears. “Strange that your weapons are so much more complex, though. You say your civilization is at its two thousand and eleventh year, but it is said the elves built the first city in the north of Althanas some fifteen thousand years ago. You must come from a clever people.”

After a thoughtful pause, he continued: “You know, the elves of Alerar have their own guns. Not quite like yours, but they are more likely to understand it than anyone else in Althanas. If it needs repair, that’s where I would take it.”

He grinned, “Of course, that assumes you survive the next few hours.”

[Knave]

The old man ruffled scratched the rough of his neck, and listened intently though his head and rarely turned from their due destination—his interest covered by a stiff, feigned disposition of body and mind. ‘And there is the value of small talk.’ While his smile looked strained and foreign to Herobrine, and in fact it was, there was a reality to his interest as Orris was quick to speak, and reveal things which were best kept quiet. “I see.” Herobrine said, with a politeness often offered to the dim and delusional, he did not need to look back to and share glances with either of the other two about Orris’ origin and doubts of it.

He was a lie on the surface, a phantom whose boots left deeper prints in the ground than his large form suggested, and he scoffed. It was a laugh only audible in his sudden exhale, and the chuckle trapped in his chest, and why wouldn’t he? He had seen something demonstrably alien, it had touched him and broken him any way worth mentioning…and here was something soft and human and familiar in its varying shades of pink.

The soldier by her side was polite, and simple with his reply, something changing hands behind Herobrine’s back as the troop made its way through the streets. The various shops fell back to small homes, and the distance between that had previously increased by inches grew to entire feet and yards. The fog that crept down from the mountain’s base came from North and East, and though it was dark, the best of eyes could see the green corruption that was disturbed by their steps.

Shifting the barrel to his other, Herobrine wiped at the clinging sensation of terrible things creeping and clinging across and to his face. He could taste it—bubbling ,fermenting decay!—it made Lawrence’s saliva thick and, though he knew it was impossible, it felt like the very knowledge of germinal and riotous rot was crawling into his gut to choke him. Earlier that day, Lawrence had attempted one last measure of preparation, abandoning his senses. No amount of alcohol was enough though, and when Orris approached the shapeshifter as his eyes watered and panic seeped into his secret soul, he looked changed. His eyes were dim, face slack, and feet dragging.

And when he finally saw her through his own blinding chagrin—cursing Killy, sure that he watered his horse piss down for even the best of men—he came back to himself and who he knew he should be. “Interesting.” He took the gun by the handle and examined it with his publicly good eye. “I’ve seen the like of these before, ‘course, if you want it repaired you’ll no good deal among the elves. Vain and capricious things, them; pretty girl or paying customer, you’ll be judged by their whim, something usually dictated by how much fun they get out of comparing you to the ape and asking about body hair.” They were clean though, and usually somber with the sobriety that came with knowing one would have a long life, hence why Lawrence preferred them.

"For whatever reason, a guns only as good as the bullets it fires, the speed of reload, and the eye that can all of those things to use...I don't know the make of this 'weapon' specifically, but I doubt you can't see why these things got no value these days." It was almost a joke, barely, it scratched the surface as one, and in fact, the casual observer might think Herobrine's usually expression lightened with that expression. "Don't think too highly of special toys, in the right hand these things are the touch of death, as good as flaming sword, but for the daily grind so is a small blade or cudgel."

“Now the most obvious question, to me, is,” he handed back the gun with a look of increasing disappointment, “is that your only means of defending yourself?” Marcus was armed with spell fire, and Roberto carried himself with enough pride that Herobrine was unconcerned about his safety for more reasons of his own than he cared to think about. While the sword hung from his belt, a knife was clearly settled against Herobrine’s left hip just beneath the black suspender. He did not offer it. "They teach you how to fight in your little fairy world?"

The town was slowly disappearing, the cobblestones long gone, and beneath the starlight all was mist and shadow. The fields were still a ways away, and moon sat upon its throne, huge and golden, pockmarked and scarred.*


*The story goes that the moon and sun had once been equal in radiance and beauty, but soon grew vain as their dance dominated the sky. They bickered and soon preyed upon one another as women millennia later would do. (“You look so warm and round; tell me, sister, how do you do it!”) Soon they came to blows. Their battle scattering motes of debris wherever they passed in their struggle. In her wrath the sun set struck the moon, and like the harsh beating of a child knocked all the brilliance from her and left her dim and stupid. Hence, as Akashiman legend goes, the two are forever divided, the moon jealous and angry, and the sun still sure having won the battle. The proverb best tells the moral: even the moon learned humility on her knees.

[Rhiannon]

Disapointment roamed Rhiannon's eyes as this Paladin nor Herobrine found the gun 'modern' or any 'better' than a magical weapon. Her gut quenceh, as she wanted stronlgy to disagree. Bullets were powerful, penetrated armor. They're even faster! Before the water could start to boil over, the temperature changed with Amen's last words. "Elves?"

The woman fell silent a moment before she spoke again, this time with great interest in her voice. "You mean to tell me there are guns here? Perhaps I should go to these elves after we complete our mission with Orox." The thought seemed like a grand idea, at least until Herobrine added of how judgemental they may be to her being human, plus the repairs being over priced. "Hm."

A small chuckle would escape her lips as the older of the three spoke out of convern for her well being of defense against the undead. "Now now, Mr. Herobrine. I'd be a fool if I intended to proceed this mission with only my bare hands... Though.. My hands are equally lethal as these." Bringing her electro baton from her hip, she swatted her hand out, causing the weapon to extend. "This weapon is light, very durable, and shatters bones with serious bluntal trauma. What some in Althanas would call it enchanted, it can also conduct electricity to shock my oppenent. A combat knife remains paralell of my boot. Quick, silent, and Deadly." Pursing her lips, she smiled, having a good feeling that the man would be satisfied.

Rhiannon would never admit she lacked the experience of fighting a being that was already dead, but one thing she did know, It would be awfually diffacult to fight with shattered skulls and limbs. Her fingers played at the ring that Roland had given her before leaving the Underwood Patrol Quarters. "And there is this... Roland told me that it may assist us.." Folding out her hand infront of the party, aiming to the ground, she turned the ring to reveal the tremendous bright light (green) before them. "Seeing we won't be wanting to be detected, it may not serve us any good purpose at all...."