lifeaftr | October Intro: Louder than Sirens, Louder than Bells

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October Intro: Louder than Sirens, Louder than Bells

INTRO LOG: OCTOBER

Who: Everyone!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: October 3rd
Where: Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

The Beach: For All the Rest
The shores of Ensō are far from the tranquil, almost idyllic tropical backdrop that they should be. And so it is that while you fish, or perhaps as you go about your daily business on the islets, the first thing you will note is the persistent sound hammering at the back of your skull.

A drumming.

And it's growing louder.

The source of the drumming will, like it or not, soon become apparent. At the fringes of the trees, wielding slings and hollow, wooden pistols, is a group of large and very displeased simians who have every intent of claiming this spot of beach - yes, traveler, this spot of beach you're standing on right now! - for their own, and by any means necessary.

And they certainly don't look interested in diplomacy.

If you came armed, you might be in luck, because this conflict will require your steady hand in its resolution. If you did not...well, you may be better suited to run, or risk capture at the hands of warriors skilled, cunning, and incredibly vicious. Laugh at their monkey business all you like; they are ingenious fighters and, what's more, they're just as good at killing as they are at capture.

For the uninitiated, this particular brand of chaos doesn't usually sweep across the entire island the way it has. But those who have been here for some time will recognize the monkeys in question, and might even recognize this for what it is: revenge.

Group I: The Squeakquel
Looks like your monkeying around last month has landed you and everyone else in a spot of trouble. The monkeys in question certainly weren't happy to be confronted with others on their lands, nor are they willing to share their territory. While you may have triumphed last time you confronted them, the apes have been planning their revenge in the meantime.

Some of you were unlucky enough to become targets. Overnight, a great deal of them silently invaded the islets. Their blow-dart guns are equipped with a fairly powerful sedative that is more than capable of knocking most living creatures out - and those that were immune were simply snatched up, gagged, and bundled away.

However, it seems that some of their prisoners didn't suit their purposes, for one way or another, and thus weren't retrieved with the intention of long-term capture. Which is why a number of you will awaken in regions of the island that you've already explored.

...the really, really dangerous ones.

Whether it's a Center of Gravity, a parade of centipuppies, a contingent of Lungblossoms, a Fustercluck, or something else entirely, one thing is certain: the monkeys wanted you out of their way.

So get ready to fight for your life.

Group II: Ape Escape
If you're not one of the slightly luckier newcomers that materializes on the shore, then you're one of the unlucky ones that's managed to materialize square in the middle of the jungle. Or rather, in the middle of one of the denser, more populated parts of the jungle. The abodes woven into the canopy are crude, built of mud and sticks, but they're nonetheless sturdy.

And, as an important note - they are also swarming with monkeys. Snarling, baying, armed monkeys. Perhaps they'd be more hostile toward an interloper...if you weren't already in a cage, along with several others.

Fortunately for the newbies, they've all got something the monkeys didn't anticipate, aside from the element of surprise. Most prisoners don't arrive with knapsacks full of newly-acquired gear, and it's a good thing, too - you may very well need it, and the help of the new arrivals, to escape this place. You could always wait for the cavalry to come, but are you really willing to take that risk?

Group III: Pot Luck
As for you, you terribly fortunate third group?

You'll find yourselves suspended in wooden cages as well, though this time, to the hot curtain of whitish steam clouding your vision. It smells an awful lot like smoke down there. An awful lot like something...burning? Unlike your fellows over in the second group, these cages aren't simply a means of containing you, no. These cages are currently hanging over what might be the largest cast iron cauldron you've ever seen. All of this is, of course, for one simple reason:

Some species of monkeys are carnivores.

The acrid scent of smoke is already hot and rancid in your nostrils; the pyre beneath you has been lit, and the hungry flames are beginning to boil the water below quite eagerly. We'd suggest you hurry up in freeing yourself and your fellows - being boiled alive is not a particularly pleasant way to go. At least the monkeys weren't expecting quite so many main courses so soon, which allows you the element of surprise.

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks with their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can be found below!

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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Roy wasn't about to wait for them to reach the other two. He yanked his sword out of the ground, sending dirt and grass flying in a wide arc as he all but cut a divot out of the earth, then charged.

He didn't have fancy techniques like a warblade, or a strange companion like Guzma, or poison and a bow to snipe with. Roy had a greatsword, an MBA, the strength of a giant, and the Great Cleave feat.

His sword whirled in an arch about fifteen feet in diameter, and several of the encroaching apes simply fell in two pieces.

Without waiting to see what came next, Roy plowed on forward, moving to engage the next troupe of apes even as stones and sling bullets and coconuts hailed down around and often into him.

Okay, solid progress! She didn't know exactly what Two-Tone and his conjured spider were doing with that overkill move, but nor did she entirely care. As long as the monkeys aren't getting back up, who cares how they fall? She'd wager that the guy actually has a pretty dang solid grasp on what he's doing; that spider's lifeline keeping his downward progress from turning into a free-fall is a luxury she'll definitely admit to being jealous of.

Admit, probably, when she isn't already busy stumbling and nearly pitching ass-over-teakettle down the precarious incline. She scrabbles a good few feet, one claw digging frantically into the shale, until she hits a protruding tree root. Braced against that, she quickly sets another arrow to her string. One approaching monkey falls wordlessly, an arrow sticking out of its face like a gruesome unicorn, and its limp body pitches and slides down past them.

"Think this is where we say goodbye, hero! If I ever meet your next of kin, I'll notify 'em!" She yells, another arrow notched against her string with practiced swiftness. The further down they go, the harder it is to see their departing companion. If he's going further in to the compound, she figures, this is about all she can do for him.

"Spider boy, you set to make a swim for it?" She lurches away from the tree-root anchor as a coconut sails past her, almost losing her arrow as she once again does an alarming slide a few more feet down. "The second we hit water's gonna be the most perilous! Be ready to dive and swim like you mean it!"

That little guy sure packs a wallop, hot damn. Guzma's slightly impressed - maybe he will make it out of here in one piece, though he won't place any bets on it. The guy's already lunging forward into the heat of battle, and while Guzma commends such a feat of power, he's also woefully aware (or has been humbled recently) by the fact that raw strength and power means so little in the ways of actual battle. Godspeed, little stickman, here's hoping you don't come back as a severed head or whatever.

Once on the ground - or tree? Who the hell knows at this point - Guzma waits for his pokemon and his scaly companion to get down. He certainly does feel very human here, without any weapons or skill that he can use himself to aid in a battle. Can he fight? Oh, absolutely, those muscles aren't for show, but these simians have spears, guns, darts... Hand-to-hand combat isn't exactly an option for him. Thank god for his pokemon, though. Ariados jumps, as instructed, and hits an ape like a small boulder, hissing as her fangs sink into the shoulder of the poor creature. The arachnid begins pumping a fatal dose of her toxic poison directly into its bloodstream, and the beast flails and shrieks, howling as it drops its weapon and tries to claw the huge bug off itself. There's not a chance of survival though, that bite could have felled far larger prey than just an ape, and Ariados leaps away from the others before they have a chance to poke holes into her with their spears. Guzma would love to grab the dropped spear, but it's too risky - he'd be gored and dead before he could make it halfway there.

Time to take a proverbial leap of faith. "Get to getting, Charmeleon, I know how them tides are!!"

He recalls Ariados to her pokeball as she is far less adept in the water than he is, and is just about to jump before not a coconut but a rock sails through the air and hits him hard in the side of the head. A bit of blood splatters from the wound it creates, and Guzma wobbles on his feet as his vision swims in front of him. But at least he has the endurance to keep himself upright, to moves down the rest of the slope (a bit clumsily, as his depth perception has been skewed) towards the water. He's tenacious, if anything. One hit's not going to knock him down, but it's going to make navigating a bit harder - his head literally feels like it's been split open...which isn't exactly wrong.

Oh, by Sithis.

That ain't no love tap. The dull thud of stone against skull elicits a sharp wince from Severs. For just a half-second, she fears the blow is a fatal one, but though he staggers... he stays up on his feet. He keeps moving. By the Hist, this is a resilient one! With his spider unsummoned, though, he's got nothing up his sleeve but his knife and also probably a concussion.

She told the hero-type that she was gonna see this guy out of this mess in one piece. No way in Oblivion she's going to just leave him staggering and bleeding while she bolts. No, if the spider's gone, then she's just got to pick up the slack. Another arrow spent - another monkey sinking to the ground with an arrow jutting from their ribs. She gives up on firing any more, though: her bow is shouldered, and she turns to dash as swift as her legs will let her.

"Forgive my grabby hands, dryskin. Brace!"

Forsaking gentleness for speed, she half-tackles half-grabs Guzma, scaly arms wrapping around his middle. She simply doesn't have enough time or enough arrows to patiently lay cover fire while he struggles with the injury dizzying his vision and tipping his balance. What they need here is to move.

"Wuld nah kest!"

She utters three words. Whirlwind, fury, tempest. Reality hears her Voice and bends to answer: her next step is nothing less than a leap. Words, not muscle, send her catapulting forward with alarming swiftness, hauling both her and Guzma a solid hundred or so feet forward to drop into chest-deep saltwater.

"Your brains still working, two-tone? Still waters, clear head!" She calls, still rudely half-dragging him as she transitions from sprint to swimming. Easier to do it that way. Dryskins swim like dogs, clumsy and slow and obviously meant only for dry land, and there are already coconuts splashing into the water around them. Better not to strain him with his head cracked like a walnut, and better not to risk it happening again. "What day is it- wait, I don't even know that. What's the former High King's... this isn't Skyrim. What's my name?"

Everything happens in a sickening blur - Guzma is grabbed, a voice from far away speaks to him through the loud ringing in his ears. If his sense of touch weren't still fairly keen, he may have attempted to break away from the poor reptilian for fear she was one of the simians trying to restrain him. Guzma can pick out only bits and pieces of what she says, as he struggles through the agonizing pain and the dizziness as blood runs down his face from the injury, dotting his shirt and hoodie with red. Lovely, he'll need to scrub the undershirt to free it of stains...though the black of his hoodie should mask most of the blood. Hopefully. It's held up this long.

The word passes by in another instant - more words, unfamiliar to him - then the slap of water pouring into his nose and mouth. That's enough to at least rattle him back to his senses, and Guzma hisses at the stinging in his skull when water seeps into the wound. What's she saying now? Day? No, he doesn't freaking know--name?

"Charmeleon," he grunts, squeezes his eyes shut as he's dragged along like dead weight. His head begins to slowly clear, though the ache is still as powerful as ever. "I can hear you..." Now he can; a bit better anyway. He reaches up to touch his head, pulling his fingers away to look. Ah, yep...that sure is still blood.

"Wh--...what hit me?" If they broke his sunglasses, he's gonna be pissed.

"Deep breath," she answers, the only warning she can offer before she pulls him down into a dive. Coconuts sink into the water around them as she twists, sharply turning out of the way and veering her course parallel to the shoreline. It'll sting the poor bastard's head something fierce, but not as much as getting hit would. One coconut thumps into the small of her back, pushing her and her cargo further beneath the shore. A rush of air bubbles from her mouth, but her gills kick in to compensate. Just a bruise. No time to let it hamper her. Tail still works, so keep swimming.

They resurface a short distance down the beach. The apes, unwilling to brave the water or climb back up the slope to get around their own fence, are quickly fading into the distance as they reluctantly return their focus to the prey still within their compound.

"Sorry," Severs chirps. "Glad you're lucid enough to recall the pet name. One of those punks clocked you real good with a rock. Thought for a second you were a goner, two-tone." She risks a glance over her shoulder, adjusting her course toward the shore. "Let's get you back to dry land and get a look at that. Don't strain that head of yours, dryskin. I'll keep you safe. First sign of anyone coming, and I'll be on them like a Nord on a keg of mead."

Her feet touch sand, and the transition from swimming is an awkward one; she's still inclined to support her makeshift passenger, even in the shallows.

Woman, you're asking way too much right now of him. Guzma barely gets a 'huh' out before he inhales a lungful of saltwater, and feels the sting in his eyes and head where his wound still bleeds, coloring his hair a soft, reddish tint. Lord, that smarts, but it's less pain than another projectile to the noggin. He's starting to come around just as they make headway past the monkey camp, the pain still prevalent, but the fog clearing somewhat. He's a tough cookie, this big idiot, and once he gets a breath of fresh air, Guzma coughs and begins to pull his weight at last.

"For real?" he grunts, and begins to swim himself, a little. Normally, he's fairly good in the water - comes with the area he was born and raised in - but the head injury makes his movement a little haggard and clumsy. "They's lucky I recalled my pokemon when I did, then..." That, and the fact Golisopod wasn't with him. Those claws he has do very serious damage, and he's as much a loose canon as Guzma is, when he's mad and protecting his trainer.

As they make their way to the shore, Guzma definitely begins to feel the wear of his injury, and exerting himself as he paddles with her, and tries to walk on his own. He's breathing a lot more raggedly, and he can taste the blood mixed with saltwater as it trickles down his face, sticking to his skin. It's an uncomfortable feeling, but not one he's unfamiliar with. He just needs a rest, yeah, and flops heavily onto the sand once he's not wading in the push and pull of the surf, sitting on his knees.

"Don't baby me, lizard," a slur of words, as he taps his head to check the damage. "I had worse scrapes n' this." Sometimes self inflicted. "Just need'a...sit for a while..."

Ah, there it is. Lizard. Always the same to dryskins, yeah? You're just an animal dressed up in people clothing. Those filthy boots are only worth a tenth of what a proper Nord is. Don't even deserve to live in our cities.

She chooses to ignore this much less charming pet name. Busies herself shifting the layer of leather armor loose to get at the clothing she wears underneath, using her dagger to trim away an inch or so of hem on her shirt. A bit of a chilly look for Skyrim weather, but in a tropical setting like this, it's an easy enough sacrifice to make if it means she's got herself a makeshift bandage. She wrings out the saltwater as best she can.

"I don't doubt that you have," she answers, holding the newly-cut strip of linen out for him to tend to himself. "Doesn't change the fact it's too soon to be slacking my guard, does it? You're injured, I'm fine. It's only logical sense that I should play lookout while you see to that little whoopsie-daisy."

She's not so much looking at him now - true to her word, her eyes are on the trees, waiting for some sign of pursuing apes to rustle through the undergrowth. Even so, a smile tugs the edges of her mouth. "But maybe I will get it into my head to baby you just a little. Wasn't it fun being carried? Bet I could do it on dry land, too."

In all honesty, Guzma is perhaps the last person who'd treat this sassy reptilian as anything but a force to be reckoned with. He much prefers the presence of other creatures to actual humans, and she's proven she's well above the populace of them here on Enso. He's just tired, cranked, and injured - both physically and his pride as well. Guzma's definitely miffed one of those filthy apes got the drop on him like that, and actually managed a decent blow. If one does show up...he probably won't feel bad if he snaps its neck.

With a grunt, he takes the cloth, dabbing it at the wound with a hiss of pain before applying the necessary pressure in hopes of stopping the bleeding. It does absolutely nothing for the horrendous headache he's sporting - worsens it actually - and Guzma squeezes his eyes shut with a low groan. Mother of Mew, that is some fierce pain...and he would love to just lay down with a bottle or four of something just as intense and dull that horrible ache. He hates being a sitting duck like this, and if he would will the pain away, he'd do just that. Sadly, Guzma is still very much human, and he needs to rest and recover naturally.

"Tch, not until you sprout wings and fly me back to Alola, Charmeleon." He...barely recalls riding on her, just that he was moving at some point through the air and water, but the idea is hilarious. Guzma snickers, then squints one eye shut. Ow, mother fucker--! Nex thing he's asking that dumb rabbit for is a two pound container of ibuprofen. "Otherwise I don't think you wanna haul this, uh...'cargo' anywhere anytime soon."

Also he still has his dignity to maintain, thank you very much.

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October Intro: Louder than Sirens, Louder than Bells

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