CMP

Atramor shrugged his shoulders as Mumbasa claimed his card, but then he couldn't help but grin as the werelion laid down the Hydra. The rogue put down his Automaton (Electric 5), besting the sea beast. "That'll be a help if I ever end up a drafter again." He then scratched his chin and played his Storm Elemental (Electric 8).

"Oh." Atramor frowned slightly. Things on the sea had definitely changed in the past decade or two. Atramor plays his Stone Golem (Rock 8), defeating Mumbasa's Tygurah. He then mulled it over a moment, then picked his Aquaphant (Aquatic 6) out of his hand and placed it on the table.

"She's a fine ship. Little bright for my tastes. How do ya' keep pirates off ya'? This is just the kind of vessel they're liable to target, and the Crystalline Sea ain't the safest waters...outside of Eubric, anyway." Atramor already had his deck out. All the monsters depicted in them seemed a bit less....magical since he'd last looked over them in those dwarven caves. But then, he couldn't exactly summon them into an army anymore. He picked out his cards. "Heads." "There's that snarky, dumbass Althior we all know and love." Atramor chuckeld. "Do us a favor and try and put away mopin', melodramatic Althior, at least 'til we get back to Eubric, aye? Demons feed off that crap, ya' know."

"Greetings, milady, uh...elf. Not sure if you've got a word for yourself in your tongue like these...orocund? I am Artorias. Been with Valentino for around a year. My brother followed David to that bridge and never returned...Valentino's gone for just a short time and then that mess happens." His face fell into a frown, then his expression hardened. "Wasn't about to let that happen again. I trained as hard as I could and was recruited as one of his personal guards." "Nothing odd as far as I can tell. Vendrick's being antsy. Being here where our best general died a few years ago isn't sitting right with Morkantus. Persus is being kind of...loud." Artorias shook his head, sighing as he looked over at Valentino and the clan leaders. "Damn, I need a drink..." "Knight Perseus. Leader of this merry little band." He nodded at Nerwen fiercely. "Why do you ask? Vendrick mentioned you heroes would be here. Why? Slumming for the godsdamned greenskins?" The knight laughed loudly, his sword laying on the table in front of him. He hadn't taken any food. "Listen. I'm sure you're here to keep the peace or whatever the hell it is you people claim to do. And I can tell you this now: it's not going to last. That blueskin back there's got a big'un with him now, perhaps you should be keeping an eye on them as well as I have. A few among my fellows might value your alliance, but you're responsible for the death of a lot of good men I once served with, and if you become responsible for the death of Valentino by distracting us both, we're going to have a problem." "Hmph. We will see, staal orogo. But any more and he will spitting on Tarokai's name just as well as mine." "I have served General Gor since he became clan leader. Some time after the bridge battle. I was helping man the garrison there, but now I've become his bodyguard. Not that he needs one. The only other clan leader that could best him in battle is Tarvalk...maybe, though, and you did not hear this from me, but he has been somewhat...less active as of late. Not that it matters, he still commands the hearts and respect of every-" a fit of raucous laughter from behind both Mourmoshuul and Skrall, from the armored soldier behind them, cut the half-troll off, and his anger rose once again. Skrall could see nearly everyone's movements with his hunter skills (as well as the simple fact that he could peer right over everyone's heads), but it was for the most part useless without knowing whose tracks he wanted to pursue. He could hear Nerwen's conversation with the armored knight. The heavily armored peered down at the scaly critter, and, after a moment of awkward hesitation, bowed before the tiny dragon. He didn't appear to be moving, observing the feast intently. He did, however, notice a completely out of place shadow cast over himself and the guard. "Back when the bridge was an issue, people valued that kind of stability. Things were changing faster than they were prepared for. Grishnod had been taken and was believed dead for over a year and Bastala was...reforming things dramatically." "Now that the clans are all full united, and the bridge is now a doorway to the outside world, we essentially have to change. Progress is very important now; we orcs are set in our ways but we're not letting ourselves fall by the wayside again. At least, that's what I've gathered during my service to Grishnod." "I was a priest in one of Vim-Lhzar's temples. Orcish temples are not very elaborate, nothing compared to what elves and humans build. But it was a comfortable enough life. Belief in Tarok has taken a backseat to the fervent near-worship of Tarokai...this of course being his day. Grishnod, at least recently, does not appear to be following in that belief. He is adamant that he receive Tarok's blessing each day. Its requirements? I perform the ritual, a fairly straightforward process. Being a true priest, it is in fact a spell using ether. Really, there is nothing as...immediate, like a...fireball, or a healing spell. This sort of residual magic was once believed to grant the receiver the favor of Tarok and draw his gaze on the field of battle. As I said, no real effects, but there is something soothing about being ensconced in an aura of ether, and the belief, whether deliberate or not, that one's god is smiling upon you." Nulkanvy trailed off, as if in thought. "Thank you for this chat, Master Dwinlas. It is a welcome reprieve from this atmosphere, I fear I may need some air soon, I am not used to being present in such stifling conditions." "Hmph. Of course a human wouldn't invite an orc to anything." "Clan Irlaz. What do I think of our leaders? Gor is crazy, Tarvalk is old, and Karstaal is just...weird. Who is this Crimson Crown guy he's always got hanging around? Saro. And Grishnod's been slipping the past few months. You ask me, we were better off with Bastala in charge. I always liked her." He scratched his head. "Well. Not always. But believe you me, she wouldn't be inviting kings and heroes to dine during our holidays." "And this commoner works damn hard for his money, sarkuun." "Truly? Then I hope you return to Baltarok, we keep our liquor sealed away 'til Zardalvohl or Grogmas, but I can think of at least one clan leader with a spare key to the stores and a taste for the refined company of nobility!" Karstaal grinned widely at Boomingham. "That's the thick of things, yes. The positions have been in flux more the past few years than they were for a decade and a half before that! Dear Bastala trying to pry the throne out of Grishnod's cold, but not-quite-dead fingers, Marga trying to blow up our lovely new bridge...ahh, it's been a bit of a journey. Tarok, I nearly died around then! But, I think things have worked out for the best. We've got more money than we've ever had, and there's no end to the cultural innovations the slaves we've freed have brought us from the High Kingdoms." "Didn't win?! My Lord Boomingham, don't you know blood is not the only way to win a battle? The bridge is open! The money flows like grog! Slaves are being freed! Both sides are now having an amicable dinner together, when one's king and one's clan leader were once hostages being traded for one another. If this isn't a victory, I don't know know what is, my good sir. This is a golden age for Baltarok, and it would be absolutely deplorable if it were forgotten, at least not without a fantastic mural to survive it all." A few more people deigned to move around. Between Nerwen and Skrall, a spilled drink suddenly set things off; "Bes ul Olag are you doing, human?" growled Mourmshuul, shaking some of the grog off his cloak. "If you are trying to bait me, then Tarok forgive me, it is working," he snapped, through gritted teeth. "Cool down blueskin. I have a job to do. That job is keeping an eye on the likes of you, believe me, I'm not the one who wants to start anything." "And yet there you sit, spitting on all our names while you sit in our hall." The half-troll stood, and turned. "Do you take me for a fool, human?" "Do you take me for one? I have more important things to do than complain about this ragged lodge you've brought a king into. Sit down." Perseus fingered the hilt of his sword intently. Mourmoshuul growled. "...If my actions were not reflecting on my clan leader..." "Yeah, and I wouldn't be here if there was any other way, blueskin. So trust me when I say I don't want to be around your kind any longer than I have to," sneered the knight. "Then I will maintain, for now, because I would hate to see your remains scattered here, among those of my ancestors," grumbled Mourmoshuul, sitting back down, fuming. "Nazarazh kuun, ezazh a nal zar..." ---ROUND FOUR OF A FEAST TO DIE FOR---

Miderun deflects the mad cow's horn off her shield, cuts through its side like butter, then charges its only remaining ally, Mad Cow 3 from the front row with her sword held high

"Good to meet ya', mate. Haven't played in a few months as far as I know I'm still a Decamon champion. Always got more than a few cards handy, I'm up for a game."

I feel like this should probably remain an in-character/private conversation. It is worth noting Lind worships a genocidal dragon and Arthur once ate a guy. I am absolutely certain that on some level every single hero is a monster and that's probably not counting the thousands of people they've killed as a whole.

"Would it behoove you to act with more confidence? Cowardice does not befit you, and this is not even a real fight, we are just milking these fields to be stronger on the real fields of battle." Miderun shook her head, a bit disappointed in Kiray's words.

The hat is becoming a plot device. Love it. Atramor tilted his hat both towards the Sand Queen as well as Scheherazade as the party entered the main hall. "Thanks for the ride, then. It'll be good to hit the water again, been way too long." "Baba? Ain't that Ulfric's pet witch or somethin'?" Atramor scratched his head. "A mindflayer? So the bastard was trained by one of the most dangerous mages 'round, and he has a book that can summon archdemons on him?" He grumbled and tilted his hat. "We should've chased him down when he had the chance. S'pose this is what we're doin' now..." "Relax, mate. We handled two archdemons with only five. Dunno if I've ever been part of a stronger party; this guy doesn't know what's comin' to him." "Yeah," muttered Atramor, as the vision from so long ago slid from view. "That's the guy. Damn, that hat." The rogue thief looked over at the Sand Queen. "Dastan, he said he was from? I've been there before; I don't recall much that fits into this. Lost prince, maybe? A couple foreign chaos mages, a crazed inventor, a dead king. I don't recall anythin' 'bout demons there. Maybe Emeraldo was raised a maniac...I've got nothin'." Atramor shrugged somewhat bitterly. "I'm ready to head out if the rest of ya' are."

I can't wait for the special edition where Han shoots Kylo point blank, misses, and THEN gets stabbed.

It doesn't? Is there not a civil war within the Avengers?

That's weird, the former was like the first indication that the tone would be consistent with all the other Star Wars movies and I thought it was pretty funny. And of course it's trying hard to be funny, Poe was trying hard to be funny in the face of death. That entire sequence with Finn, Rey, and BB-8 in the Falcon I found hilarious.

"Uh-huh." Atramor crossed his arms. He hadn't trusted Byblos an inch in Azzurat, but eventually the librarian had pulled through. Still. He'd seen enough of what a Pandemonicon was capable of to know the kind of hold it had over its readers. "Sounds like a damn good time. Dunno what archdemon we're gonna run into, but I bet ya' I know who's openin' the thing." "I'm ready to head out." "We'll see how it works. We don't got much in the way of tanks so any kinda defense we can get'll help." "And don't worry about that, mate. I've got more than enough light attacks to go around." Atramor raised his bracer, the retracted diamond-infused claws against it glimmering. He then tucked his hand into his coat pocket and nodded towards Hybros' dual swords. " 'Sides, looks like you're swingin' 'round twice as many blades as usual, I bet you'll manage. Where'd ya' learn that kinda trick anyhow?" "That reminds me mate: do ya' mind lendin' me or Byblos those bolas or that bladerang?"

Really? I don't think I've ever heard a movie theater laugh harder then at BB-8's thumbs-up. Finn and Poe were pretty funny, I thought.

Miderun should be fine if the cow is enamored with her, though I don't think you put the effect on it. Miderun repeats. "I think you are utterly mistaken. What makes you say that?" The berserker frowns and blinks at her party leader, momentarily confused.

"Save it for the real demons, mates. Nobody's stabbin' anyone in the back, and livin', as long as I'm 'round." Atramor tosses Pretzel his Amulet of the Court, and takes the end of the Soul Link Chain a bit cautiously.

My stats look good. But note that because of Kingpin Atramor should be Lucky so long as Hybros is in the party. Atramor nodded at Byblos as he came down the stairs into the library. He'd finally gotten himself cleaned up in preparation for the quest; now was the not the quest for any screw-ups. "Good to see ya' again, Byblos. And the book is an 'it', mate, don't forget." Atramor couldn't help but chuckle to himself at this suggestion, but he said nothing, checking his bracers to make sure the claws were in place and adjusting his hat for the tiny canary perched on the brim. He also pulled his Scroll of Arc Frailty, Scroll of Fire Armor, Scroll of Ice Armor, and Scroll of the Chasm, loaning them to Byblos. "Here, mate. Ya' can hold onto these, I sure as hell ain't gettin' any use outta these at the moment."

Nah. He had to die to establish Kylo Ren and raise the stakes. I would bet Luke's going to bite it in Episode 8 or 9 like Yoda and Obi-Wan. If any of the old cast are going to survive through the end it's probably Leia.

I actually just edited the original photo that I used for the bridge.

The two soldiers were mumbling to eachother as they took bites of the hearty orcish-cooked meal. The man with the thick beard briefly laid his hand on his axe as Nerwen approached, but then relaxed as she merely questioned them. " 'Course, milady. Name's Vendrick. You're with the heroes, huh? Been with Valentino since he asked for guards. S'why I'm always ready for trouble, old ones must've been weak to let a few damn vikings run off with him." Vendrick looked down into his mug with distaste. "Ugh. You'd think these orcs would at least try and make an ice cube." The other man shrugged his shoulders, his sheathed sword lying loose on the table beside him. He clearly was far more relaxed at the event. "A little warm drink never killed anyone, Ven. Morkantus, milady. Didn't even know Heroica would be here tonight. Heard you kill the bastard paladin foolin' the prince? My thanks. The four of us have been serving Valentino for about a year now, ever since those other heroes got him out from that...half-breed mage." "Heh-heh, yes, in-deed, would like to have you in Aj-Kahr one day...or per-haps not....heh, her-oes al-ways come with trou-ble, heh-heh." The blue orc looked up at Skrall. His skin was thicker and rougher than that of his kin; clearly he had some kind of troll blood in him. The orc looked to be fuming. "I know. Tarok." He lowered his voice and jerked his head backwards. "That armored Lizard? He thinks me deaf, or perhaps inane. I can hear every word he's spoken, of all our kind and also of me." He gulped down nearly an entire mug of grog. "I am Mourmoshuul. General Gor's guard. And I am just about finished with these saro..." "Humph." The orc turned to the huge kegs behind him and started filling a fresh mug. "Most everyone's got their drinks already, but give it a while, they'll be swarming the bar soon enough. I don't usually tend bars...we don't ever have any, most of the time....not that you'd care....but someone keeps stealing our jobs. Human." He poured Boomingham a mug of something warm and empowering. And very very orcish. Tarok's Blood (The user deals double damage to humans and no damage to orcs for the duration of one battle) The orcish clan leader seemed quite jovial towards Boomingham, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he was addressed. "Yes indeed, Lord Boomingham! One of the nobility, are you? Fantastic. Welcome to Baltarok. Yes, I am Karstaal, clan leader to which this lovely city of Imaestym belongs. Are you enjoying Zardalvohl? I certainly hope so, we've put quite a bit of effort into making it into an enjoyable affair rather than just a mess of sorrow and mourning for a death that occurred a very long time ago." "I get on very well with most of the clan leaders! General Gor is, ah, a bit rough around the edges, but Baltarok could hardly have a better defender, and Clan Aj-Kahr has become quite the powerhouse under his brief rule! Grishnod is...alas, a staunch traditionalist. And it's gotten worse as of late, if you would believe that, perhaps his daughter's sudden popularity is getting to him? And Tarvalk is Tarvalk of course, that little speech was just like him. Always rousing the people. The clan leaders are traditionally on the same level, but I'm not ashamed at all to admit he is our de facto leader - could hardly ask for a better one, even if he could use a bit more subtlety." Tra-Serral scooped up an Orcish Grog from off the counter beside Boomingham, downing it in a single, swift gulp, as though reaping the benefits without even acknowledging the drink. "I do not specialize in ranged attack. Speed will not better if I cannot get my blade within range of his throat." "Perhaps Aazuuldrahkcand could handle it, or a spell cast from your elf might take care of him. Assuming he is suitable to the task. And assuming that we suspect the archer." She levels her piercing green eyes with Boomingham. "Do we suspect the archer?" Grishnod, his back to Thalion looked sideways at the elf, and grimaced uncomfortably. "Yes. All these 'guests'. All of you bother me. Why in the world are you here during our Zardalvohl. Tarok's Zardalvohl. This is no place for outsiders, and yet here you stand - it is an insult to all our traditions. How my daughter came to bring you here I could not even begin to guess." His nostrils flared. "Nor could I begin to think how Heroica has corrupted her." "Certainly Master Dwinlas. Grishnod is a steady handed traditionalist, and once he was vital to the stability of Clan Irlaz. He had been captured by nords in an attack on Vim-Lhzar, our capital, and his daughter Bastala ruled for a year in his absence. Her...extensive reforms made her very unpopular. Heroica bargained for the release of Grishnod and restored him to power, but now, it seems, the wind blows in the other direction, and he has fallen out of favor for the traditionalism his people once craved." "He has even revived his worship in Tarok, taking me on as his priest several months ago. I see to it that Grishnod receives the favor of Tarok each and every day." "Alas, Bastala is not with us this evening. I believe she...does not care for Zardalvohl or what it stands for. I'm no great fan myself, but Tarokai is very central to our people. Caz Tarokaish oshuul, ash orocand ezan drilo droog." Another few minutes in the feast pass. Karstaal adjusts his collar. "Alright! I think it's about time. This piece has bee a very long time in the making, but I think it is a thoroughly brazen, yet somehow deliciously tasteful depiction of the events that took place just a few short years ago; it took three years and several great orcish artisans, but it is high time I present The Battle of Augustus Bridge!" Karstaal pulls down the thick curtain. "Ah. A...very accurate mural, my friend. I see why you did not want me seeing this beforehand, it is...striking..." Jaret scratched his head. "...both emotionally, and..financially..." ---ROUND THREE OF A FEAST TO DIE FOR--- Let me know if I've missed anything, I was quite tired when I wrote all this up.

Totally pumped for 148. And we've almost got the whole DAMN party back together, too.

Atramor stopped by Gnomeo's, having the Ruby and Amethyst removed from his Living Mythril Claws, and his Diamond from the Order Imperial Assassin's Cowl. He then had the Diamond infused into the claws, at a total cost of 200 gold. Everything he'd need. The rogue thief strapped the glimmering claws to his bracers as usual and returned to the hall.

Atramor looked up at the quest board after what felt like weeks of waiting. At last, the party to Goetia was heading out...and he was familiar with everybody on board. Good. There was no room for error when it came to what sounded like a Pandemonicon acting up again. He scooped up his very last bottle of rum, took a hearty swig, and then picked himself up, headed to the marketplace briefly to make sure he was completely prepared for what came next.

They had a castle at some point (one of those early 2000s moulded-base ones) that included extra banners and pieces so that you could turn the good guy's castle into the bad guy's castle. It's not that far out there.

Staring at my computer and waiting for something Episode 8 or Rogue One-related to pop up.