No hard feelings whatsoever! Thank you for running!
I hope you enjoy following your career, and I sincerely wish you the best of luck, and all the best in general!
Search Posts
Nodding as the door is opened, the Frenchwoman aims her pistol through the gap, and takes a step forward.
Looking away from the corpses, the Frenchwoman shakes her head. So many..., she thinks, before staring down at the chute. Taking a step in its direction, pistol raised, she eventually turns back. "Let us see the other doors. Gentlemen?", she points towards the stairs with an expectant gesture.
This will have to do..., the Frenchwoman thinks at the answer of the father. Sheathing her rapier, she opens the hatch, pointing her pistol downwards. "A... torch would aid us here.", she comments, straining her eyes to see down the hatch. The smell invades her nostrils, as she lets out a cough, but regardlessly chooses to continue, taking a step down the ladder.
"Whatever it was... It was not of this world...", the Frenchwoman's voice trembles for a moment. "Father...", she speaks to the priest, as she moves towards the door with her pistol raised. "Could this be the... fin des jours... End times?", she asks, her face defiant. I will not be judged before I learn who I am... unless this is my verdict..., a thought crosses through her head as she pushes the door Peyton shows open.
The mangled courtyard paints an image in the Frenchwoman's head, as she turns around. "What horrors happened to this place...", she asks the others, shaking her head. Lifting her pistol, she points to the door. "The sooner we bring proof to those men, the sooner we can find out what has happened.", she reasons, moving to open the service door. Rolls/OoC:
Biting her lips, the Frenchwoman stares from behind the corner once more. To buy our way out with blood..., she thinks, before drawing her rapier. "So be it!", she shouts out defiantly, marching forwards towards the door. Cowards! Connards!, she marches towards the first door, nodding at the others to follow, before slamming the door open, pistol raised.
The Frenchwoman raises from behind her cover. "We are... we were trapped, and we do not remember nothing! We woke to death and torture. Would you leave us to those maniacs crawling below?!", she implores. Would they truly leave us here?
"No! Get down!", the Frenchwoman shouts, as her hand leaps to draw her pistol. "Are you with the beasts?", she shouts, the defiant intent broken by the crack of her voice. Scurrying to whatever cover she can find, she pokes her head out. They are better armed than us... But I refuse to surrender!, a thought passes through her head as she bites her lip. Rolls/OoC:
Frowning, the Frenchwoman looks at Peyton, opening her mouth, but then deciding to remain silent. Her pistol ready in her arm, she nods at Thomas as he wrestles with the door, pointing the pistol at it. "Yes, do leave it... We don't want to be here any longer than it.", she finally speaks out. "And, thank you.", she utters in her thick accent at the priest.
The Frenchwoman's rapier points downwards at the rats, as she swings wildly. A sword, I can defend against, but not against such demonic pests!, a panicked though passes through her head as she misses the rats once more. Reaching for her pistol, she draws it in her grasp, pointing it towards the creature.
Letting out a cry of pain, the Frenchwoman swings her rapier down at the vicious rat. "Vicious creature!", she hisses, as she fruitlessly flails around to catch the beast attached to her leg.
Welcome back! I'm glad you're feeling better as well!
Like Thomas said, no rush! I sincerely hope you feel better soon, as I know how bad it can get.
As the other rat attempts to bite the frenchwoman's boots, she raises one, trying to pin the rat under it. Unfortunately, the fierce critter proves too fast for the heavy boot, and manages to scurry away before being squashed. "Die!", she cries out in frustration, as the fanged monster closes in on the Irish, as she rustles through her belts to draw her pistol.
Yep! Although, I'm leading the rat on points. Several more crits like this, and the judges will give me the belt at the end of the fight.
The Frenchwoman squeaks as the rats appear, her epee finding its way out of the scabbard. With a spectacular flourish, the rapier's tip slashes across the eye of one of the rats, in a move that would've left duelists everywhere amazed. The rat, however remains unfazed, except the high-pitched growl. F-77314 grits her teeth, raising the rapier towards the strange creature. "It is horrid, and in our way! Speak if you want to live!", she shouts, readying herself for the rats' attacks. Rolls/OoC:
The Frenchwoman nods at Peyton with a smile. "When you say you are not a witch, I believe you.", she reasons, before sheathing her rapier on her hilt with a surprisingly trained move. Taking a moment to grab a glimpse of her companions, she sighs. A priest, an Irishman and a... noblewoman? None seem armed, or battle-ready... And why do I? "Monsieur,", she speaks to the priest as he opens the furnace, "it would be reasonable for me to proceed first.", she nods at the gun in her hand, she says, climbing into the entrance. To which hells this leads us, I do not know..., she thinks as her hands and head begin covering with soot.
Seeing the blood flow away from the man's wounds in a melancholic trail, the Frenchwoman's thoughts point to the obvious as soon as she starts preparing the bandages. "Merde!", she exclaims furiously, then she moves closer to close the man's eyes. "Merci... adieu...", she whispers to their late rescuer, nodding at Peyton. "He is dead...", she confirms with a nod. Turning around and wiping a tear from her eye, she turns around to look around the room. The two men seemed to have found some trove of possessions they were conversing about, and just as she's about to join them, Peyton's very polite request to be let out of the cell stops her in her tracks, as she quickly skips to the keychain on the floor. Taking the keys and unlocking the cell, she opens the door. "Mademoiselle.", she unlocks the door, letting the other woman open it herself. "I do not even know who I am...", she replies in a short moment with sorrow in her voice. As she sees the clothes and items in the corner, she raises an eyebrow at the worn blue cloak, the larger, blue dress and the corselet. The dream... She spreads the blue cloak as an impromptu curtain, before clearing her throat in a surprisingly authoritative tone at the two gentlemen present, indicating that they should, if not leave the room, at least turn around. As they do so, she gestures for Peyton that it's safe to change her clothes, then turns around to stare at the two men with a keen and distrustful eye. "We must... as much as I would want to see that... thing burn for what it did!", she speaks out. "I don't know what is going on, but... if you were in those cells, and you are real... then we need to at least work together until we leave, be we captives or ...criminals." Pointing at the crumbled wall, she continues, in her heavy French accent. "If we see stairs, we should go up to escape, since we are... under the terrain."
Clutching another rusty utensil, F-77314 lets out a shriek of frustration, anger and fear, as a stream of expletives leaves her mouth in barely understandable French. She turns to the man on the table, trying to see if their rescuer was still alive. "We must help this man!", she shouts in the room, as she unceremoniously tears a strip from her cotton pyjamas with a trained motion, hurrying towards the man. Her eyes scanning for bleeding wounds, she prepares the impromptu bandage to stop the crimson flow. Rolls/OoC:
No worries - Happy New Year to all. I was without power for a while, and then I was travelling. I hope everyone had a great time!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! I wish you all a wonderful time, lots of joy and overflowing plates! I'm still without power, but I'm over at friends for Christmas. I'm looking forward to getting on with it again!
Hey guys! Just posting to let you know, I'm without electricity for the next couple of days, so I won't be able to post. I'll try and get something up at least before the big holidays, but I might also be a bit scarce then.
Lunging forward as she's pushed through, the Frenchwoman lunges forward with her knife. The knife slashes into the doctor's gown, drawing blood, and as she sees her run down the corridor, she flips the knife in her hand blade first, and throws it at the doctor, reaching for the table for another weapon. "You killed him!", she shrieks, hand reaching across the tools on the table. Rolls/OoC: Standard Action Attack, Move Action Draw weapon. If there are any!
The Frenchwoman rushes out of the cage as if possessed, scrambling to get to the table of instruments. Her eyes glare at the rusty, chipped tools, as she strives to find A knife, scalpel, razor, anything?! Throwing a defiant glare at the surgeon, her lip trembles as she finally sees the teeth. Her hand runs across her chest once more. "I'll not let you take me again!", she shouts, hand searching across the table for instruments. Rolls/OoC:
As the keys slip into her hand, the Frenchwoman's trembling face shows a sign of relief. "Anything is better than dying like beast in a cage, no?", she whispers to the rest, slipping the keys into the lock and turning them around with a satisfactory clink. Her eyes are then drawn to the kit of torture supplies, trying to locate a blade as she throws the keys to the other cell towards the priest's expectant hand. "Leave this man alone, you... maniac!", she roars out of fear and frustration. OoC/Rolls: Actions: Move action unlock door - Standard Action throw keys to Thomas. I'm assuming that he's in the cell next to us, but in case he isn't:
As the crazed doctor crashes into the bars, the Frenchwoman takes a step forward with panicked speed, lunging for the keys. I am not going down in a cage!, she thinks as the fingers begin wrapping around the keys. With a steady hand, she tries to yank the chain up so that the hoop slips away from the belt. The thought of freedom, even one in such a horrid place, wins out over the desire to stay quiet in hopes of being unseen. Rolls/OoC:
"Non... arrêtez... s'enfuir...", the whispers are heard as 77314 wakes up, raising her hands reflexively in the air, as if to protect herself from a knife that isn't there any more. As her eyes open, she quickly taps herself for the knife wounds, which, while feeling all too real, are gone. As she rises, her eyes are once more drawn to a horrid scene, drawing parallels to the dream she'd had... and the people in it being around her. Her eyes are glued onto the priest's face for a moment, as if willing to ask hundreds of questions, before she joins him in raising a ruckus. "Yes, why is this man tied?", she asks in her thick French accent. Rolls/OoC:
As the blade sinks into her chest, the woman's mouth gapes opens silently, her eyes widening in horror. Her rapier falls to the ground as she clutches the wound, the world quietly sinking into darkness, only the chilling laugh to accompany her. If this... is hell... Is there something after?, her last thoughts pass through her head as she's surrounded by nothingness.
As much as she tries, the woman's eyes can't look away from the grisly sight in front of her as the woman is butchered like an animal. Blinking for a moment, her attention is drawn to the wall and the blood's shape. Is it a message? Or a threat? Cold sweat appears on her brow, the sounds of the screams, laughter and her own rapid heartbeat are all that crosses her mind. I will not run..., she whispers to herself, unsure of whether due to quietly realising it is futile, or out of hidden pride. She lunges forward, the rapier finding only strands of mist. The knife in the monster's hands appears larger and sharper with every breath she takes, realising each could be her last. Rolls/OoC:
Letting out a horrified scream as the witch is cut down, the French woman raises the weapon at the horrifying figure. The hand shakes, and as the hammer strikes steel, a flash of light bursts from the weapon's barrel and... nothing. Her right hand jerks to her hip to draw a rapier with a swift gesture, as her mouth starts uttering hastened prayers in barely legible French. Is this hell?, a panicked thought crosses her mind. As the vile laughter begins, a much more horrible thought appears in her mind. Her blue eyes widen.But if this is a nightmare... why did nothing come before the sleep? OoC/Rolls:
Ooh! That explains it better. Considering I have 6 items in total - it doesn't make a difference. @GM - noted, we'll burn the name bridge when we cross it! Peyton managed to post 2 minutes before I did, so I reworked the post a bit.
A tall woman, seemingly in her late twenties or early thirties, reaches under her periwinkle travelling cloak with a trembling hand. The hand comes out with a flash of bronze and a mechanical noise, as a loaded caplock pistol appears in her hand. "Laisse-nous tranquille, diable!", a trembling, yet defiant voice leaves her mouth as she starts frantically turning around the deserted streets. With a terrified look, she glances at another silhouette. "Qui es-tu? Où suis-je? Qu'est-ce que c'est ... monstre?", a barrage of quick questions leave her mouth. Her right hand starts hovering over a worn hilt of a rapier. As the brick flies into the street, her eyes widen even further at the other woman. "Sorcellerie! Êtes-vous une sorcière?", she asks, as the pistol snaps towards the other woman. Witches and monsters and dead towns... This is a nightmare? It has to be a nightmare..., she thinks, before unsheathing her epee and taking a cautious step towards the others. A witch is better than a demon... She'll at least feed me first., the woman's lips curl up for the briefest of a second. French:
"Leave us alone, demon!" "Who are you? Where am I? What is this... monster?" "Witchcraft? Are you a witch?"
Rolls/OoC: |