Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
*what*
Beth stops staring at the wall for just long enough to look in horror at what has become of Emara. "What... what the hell happened to her?"
Aris looks at Emara with too little alarm.
Vio seems confused. “What do you mean?”
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— δ cyno • he/him • number one paladin fanδ — making a smoothie for meta ——————| EXTENDED SIG |—————— Φ • redpelt’s biggest fan :) DM, minmaxer, microbiology student, and lover of anything colored red • Φ
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
"All of them. Squek."
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
"All of them. Squek."
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
"Well some of them squek. That's why you need the sword of power, so that none can hurt you. Squek."
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
"All of them. Squek."
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
"Well some of them squek. That's why you need the sword of power, so that none can hurt you. Squek."
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
"All of them. Squek."
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
"Well some of them squek. That's why you need the sword of power, so that none can hurt you. Squek."
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
*this is how James Joyce wrote Finnegans Wake isn't it*
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Darold the Mud Dauber says: _ _ it's still spooky season | )/ ) \\ |//,' it's always spooky season (")(_)---"()=--(\\ \)
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
Emara cracks her neck. Then her flesh begins to peel away, leaving only a skeleton. Then the bones crumble, till only a skull remains with jeweled eyes
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
"All of them. Squek."
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
"Well some of them squek. That's why you need the sword of power, so that none can hurt you. Squek."
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
*this is how James Joyce wrote Finnegans Wake isn't it*
*I have never read James Joyce, though he is on my list of books I need to read.*
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
"So would the million gold up for grabs yes?"
Your voice breaks him out of his random rhyming, "A million gold is always up for grabs to anyone with quick fingers and quicker feet."
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
"So would the million gold up for grabs yes?"
Your voice breaks him out of his random rhyming, "A million gold is always up for grabs to anyone with quick fingers and quicker feet."
"Ah yes, but you can do neither right now. And besides, I no longer need to entice anyone. There are enough here who would kill every single one of you for one of these items. I no longer need to entice you with items. No. Now it's a fight, or you die. Isn't that right Beth? And Chester, you too must fight or you simply die to every monstrosity here."
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
"So would the million gold up for grabs yes?"
Your voice breaks him out of his random rhyming, "A million gold is always up for grabs to anyone with quick fingers and quicker feet."
"Ah yes, but you can do neither right now. And besides, I no longer need to entice anyone. There are enough here who would kill every single one of you for one of these items. I no longer need to entice you with items. No. Now it's a fight, or you die. Isn't that right Beth? And Chester, you too must fight or you simply die to every monstrosity here."
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
"Crazed? I am serfectly pane, yank thou mery vuch!" He backs away from the bars and attempts to appear less maddened but does a poor job of it, "This is temporaryaryaryary. Got to let the madness out every thow and nen, right? Wake it for a talk. Otherwise it grows restless... uncontrollable... hungry. Let it stretch its legs and it becomes content. Stretch its legs... wretch its pegs... fetch its stegs...." He moans and topples into a corner where he gibbers random words, "Fin he has... come see the goat boy... half price... lard... I am cutting my own throat... It's a deal... strawberries... no more wine please... not my name... never my name... always my name..."
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
"Crazed? I am serfectly pane, yank thou mery vuch!" He backs away from the bars and attempts to appear less maddened but does a poor job of it, "This is temporaryaryaryary. Got to let the madness out every thow and nen, right? Wake it for a talk. Otherwise it grows restless... uncontrollable... hungry. Let it stretch its legs and it becomes content. Stretch its legs... wretch its pegs... fetch its stegs...." He moans and topples into a corner where he gibbers random words, "Fin he has... come see the goat boy... half price... lard... I am cutting my own throat... It's a deal... strawberries... no more wine please... not my name... never my name... always my name..."
"Get your hed back in the game Tairo, or else you'll die."
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
"Crazed? I am serfectly pane, yank thou mery vuch!" He backs away from the bars and attempts to appear less maddened but does a poor job of it, "This is temporaryaryaryary. Got to let the madness out every thow and nen, right? Wake it for a talk. Otherwise it grows restless... uncontrollable... hungry. Let it stretch its legs and it becomes content. Stretch its legs... wretch its pegs... fetch its stegs...." He moans and topples into a corner where he gibbers random words, "Fin he has... come see the goat boy... half price... lard... I am cutting my own throat... It's a deal... strawberries... no more wine please... not my name... never my name... always my name..."
"Get your hed back in the game Tairo, or else you'll die."
"You're mad. I am so. I mean, so am I. That makes me well equipped, noes it dot? Great minds think alike you know." He pulls himself up, and slowly moves towards the jail door. His hooves echo on the hard floor with each step, "I don't like killing, but I don't like dying either." He seems to have calmed quickly, "I think my head would stay in the game if my hat stood on my head. Is that too much to ask? Oh, and my name is Bairo." He says this very firmly.
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
"Crazed? I am serfectly pane, yank thou mery vuch!" He backs away from the bars and attempts to appear less maddened but does a poor job of it, "This is temporaryaryaryary. Got to let the madness out every thow and nen, right? Wake it for a talk. Otherwise it grows restless... uncontrollable... hungry. Let it stretch its legs and it becomes content. Stretch its legs... wretch its pegs... fetch its stegs...." He moans and topples into a corner where he gibbers random words, "Fin he has... come see the goat boy... half price... lard... I am cutting my own throat... It's a deal... strawberries... no more wine please... not my name... never my name... always my name..."
"Get your hed back in the game Tairo, or else you'll die."
"You're mad. I am so. I mean, so am I. That makes me well equipped, noes it dot? Great minds think alike you know." He pulls himself up, and slowly moves towards the jail door. His hooves echo on the hard floor with each step, "I don't like killing, but I don't like dying either." He seems to have calmed quickly, "I think my head would stay in the game if my hat stood on my head. Is that too much to ask? Oh, and my name is Bairo." He says this very firmly.
*😁* Unable to respond, the skull just lies on the ground
Chilling kinda vibe.
Kinsler looks at the time, "We shall start soon then. No idea what happened to Emara. Lich maybe. Anyway."
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
The satyr's eyes widen and his face turns pale. "What sort of monstrosities am I up against?" he whispers.
Vio seems confused. “What do you mean?”
— δ cyno • he/him • number one paladin fan δ —
making a smoothie for meta
——————| EXTENDED SIG |——————
Φ • redpelt’s biggest fan :) DM, minmaxer, microbiology student, and lover of anything colored red • Φ
"All of them. Squek."
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
The satyr slumps down in a corner and begins to mutter to himself, "All of them means every single one. That means none are left out. That means not some of them. That means all of them. But does it mean all of them? It can't mean all of them... can it?"
"Well some of them squek. That's why you need the sword of power, so that none can hurt you. Squek."
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
"The pord of swower? I mean the sword of power? He who dives by the sword, lies by the sword. No, no, no, it's, he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, that's it. But if a pen is mightier than a sword then those who live by the pen die by the pen, do they not? I rear I'm fright, no, I fear I'm right. So who dies and who lives, the soldier, the scrivener, or the satyr? The satyr who sings lives because swords and pens are not involved in singing. Do not give me a pord or a swen!" This confusing nonsense babbles up from the horned shadow of the satyr slumped in a dark corner of the cell.
Then he tilts his head in muddled thought, "Though, I bet the sword would fetch a nice price... lice... rice.... thrice... mice.... vice..."
*this is how James Joyce wrote Finnegans Wake isn't it*
"So would the million gold up for grabs yes?"
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
*I have never read James Joyce, though he is on my list of books I need to read.*
Your voice breaks him out of his random rhyming, "A million gold is always up for grabs to anyone with quick fingers and quicker feet."
"Ah yes, but you can do neither right now. And besides, I no longer need to entice anyone. There are enough here who would kill every single one of you for one of these items. I no longer need to entice you with items. No. Now it's a fight, or you die. Isn't that right Beth? And Chester, you too must fight or you simply die to every monstrosity here."
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
The slumped satyr lunges off the ground and against the bars of his cell. He stairs at you with a frightened, desperate glint in his eye, yet a wide grin is plastered on his face. "Who ya calling Chester? I know I ain't Chester. Chester is dead. Chester was executed. Chester was, 'Hanged by the neck until dead.' Chester isn't me. I am Tairo Brotwander, Bairo Trotwander, I don't know Chester. Who is Chester? How do you know Chester?"
"I have sleepers everywhere. Now how about you stay this crazed and try to make the games fun yes?'
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
"Crazed? I am serfectly pane, yank thou mery vuch!" He backs away from the bars and attempts to appear less maddened but does a poor job of it, "This is temporaryaryaryary. Got to let the madness out every thow and nen, right? Wake it for a talk. Otherwise it grows restless... uncontrollable... hungry. Let it stretch its legs and it becomes content. Stretch its legs... wretch its pegs... fetch its stegs...." He moans and topples into a corner where he gibbers random words, "Fin he has... come see the goat boy... half price... lard... I am cutting my own throat... It's a deal... strawberries... no more wine please... not my name... never my name... always my name..."
"Get your hed back in the game Tairo, or else you'll die."
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
"You're mad. I am so. I mean, so am I. That makes me well equipped, noes it dot? Great minds think alike you know." He pulls himself up, and slowly moves towards the jail door. His hooves echo on the hard floor with each step, "I don't like killing, but I don't like dying either." He seems to have calmed quickly, "I think my head would stay in the game if my hat stood on my head. Is that too much to ask? Oh, and my name is Bairo." He says this very firmly.
"That's a good lad Bairo. Would you like a hat?"
: Systems Online : Nikoli_Goodfellow Homebrew : My WIP Homebrew Class :
(\_/)
( u u)
o/ \🥛🍪 Hey, take care of yourself alright?
His eyes widen and you see a hint of yearning, "I would very much like a hat. My hat."