Terrador

Angus pauses with his pet for a moment, watching the daughter of Valter with care. She didn't seem to notice him at all--embarked on some internal voyage, no doubt. Well, it didn't matter much. Leaving his boots on the shore, Angus wades into the water, beckoning Geoffrey along the way. The mooncalf whistles and tuts for his pet, with hardly a regard in turn for any guests at the pond (webbed feet or otherwise); soon, he was up to his waist. Could the furry little bastard swim? Well, Angus would find out shortly enough.

If Perroy could offer an agreeable nod, he could sure as hell get one in return. "Arright, Perroy, we'll be outta your hair then. Firs' thing tomorrow, I'll be here." It seemed as though the farmer wouldn't have a man young enough to be his son lording over him, and appreciated that nobody attempted it. Fine by Angus, that was for sure. A short detour to the barn later, he departs with only his furry friend in tow, a destination already in mind. After all, they wouldn't have much time to play while Angus did as Thomas dreaded! If the older man didn't seem to have a temper, Angus might have considered asking him to bear-sit, if only for the look on his face. "Arright, li'l buddy, you wanna go for a swim? Play with th'duckies?" Angus chuckles warmly, teasing his pet slightly by tapping his nose or waggling fingers in front of his jaw. "Be rude t'let you have one, but we'll have some good food tonight, I promise. Er..." The mooncalf pauses, scooping up the bear to speak to it a hair more seriously. "...can you swim?" He studies the bear at arm's length in jest, lifting it over his head at one point. "Hrrrrrrm. We'll have to see 'bout that, won't we~?"

[shucks, he didn't quite take the bait.] Still, Angus did manage to get a rise out of the older baron, and didn't pay for it with his face: a good day, in his books. Mentioning his daily assistance at the stables might be too much for Esclabor, so that delightfully smelly nugget stayed in Angus' pocket for the time being. Angus inclines his head in response to Perroy's greeting. [Old man must've gotten around a fair bit, to figure us out so fast. Or does word just travel this fast in this town?] Withholding any comment on Orphy's coming days off, he introduces himself with as little pomp as possible. "Angus Kearney. Prince Owen's headin' to Raewald for an audience, an' this'un we picked up on our way through." For the life of him, Angus couldn't recall why Esclabor was out here in the first place. A question for another time. "It's quicker'n by sea, but we've had a rough week." Angus was certain that Perroy would catch on to his understatement, but it didn't really matter; now wasn't the time for a war story. "There's about a score more, an' four pegasi besides. I was told you'd be th'man t'speak to, for our friend here an' as a courtesy." A caterpillar eyebrow directs itself to Esclabor; Angus was fine talking with a farmer on his own terms, but representing others, far less so. Thankfully, he could defer to experience today. "Anythin' else I'm forgettin'?"

A MOOncalf's Temptation Angus' head snaps to Esclabor's face, as though an owl had heard a thunderbolt. A dirty hand slowly rises to cover his mouth, a makeshift mask for his mirth as Angus turns away. The grousing, still funnier--why would the man open his mouth if he wasn't willing to do the work? It reminded him of Duncan, if he was honest with himself. The sense of duty, the grousing that amounted to nothing... how easy it was to draw his ire. Every time, the youngest Kearney son got his ass beat for it, and every time (barring a rather protracted incident with a rigged stirrup), it had been worth it. A deliberate exhale, hidden nostrils resembling a horse's. Angus finally lowers his hand, attempting to pass it off as a pensive gesture by following it with a nonchalant shrug. "Eh, you an' me have got just about th'dirtiest job there is, yeah? I'd shovel crap over that any day!" A joyful lilt at the end of his comment, a sly side-eye to Esclabor. Now, the punch line. Rather, the line after which one is punched. "If you're too good for it, though, I'd be happy t'do some extra tomorrow, keep it easy on you," Angus offers. A heaping basket of flowers and sweets might have been less condescending. "Watch out for the cows, mind; they need milkin' every day, an' who knows what they're up to!"

Angus shakes his head, at once admiring and exasperated by the gall of the farmboy before him. With the shovel in the ground, he is free to set his pet down, shooing him quietly back towards the mounts. "We ain't swindlers or nothin', I can promise you that. We're from Wyke, in th'east, and jus' passin' through. We do got twenty-some folks an' a half-dozen mounts lookin' for a place to sleep, an' one more who could use some real help." Angus pauses, studying the boy for a few careful moments. Whether he was entirely suspicious or having his fun with them--the Kearney was young enough to remember that the two weren't exclusive--he'd need more than words to persuade him. A few more seconds tick by as Angus rules out possibilities. [Money'd look like a bribe more than anything else, and I'm sure he's ridden horses before...] Finally, a snap of the fingers, as the knight recalled his long days working as a child. "Tell you what: you take us t'see your old man, an' I'll do all your chores tomorrow. How's that sound?" It really was a better deal than the boy knew; even if the lords didn't march right in, they could just as soon toss a few gold coins to someone from town. Still, despite Angus doing himself a mighty disservice in negotiating... he was perhaps glad, perhaps hopeful. He hadn't yet met anyone living on this continent that didn't want to dance a merry, slippery jig over his corpse. If anything, a day's freedom was Angus Kearney's thanks for a faint spot of comfort after fighting in alien and hostile worlds.

Angus shrugs his shoulders at Esclabor's inquiries; he didn't have a satisfying answer for either, but on he went regardless. "No tellin' what this fellow c'n do for 'im, but we might as well, eh? Doubt 'e's dumb enough t'try somethin' that'll get th'man killed." On his brothers, however, Angus could at least narrow it down. "Prob'ly Fargus, but coulda been Duncan too. Hell, he prob'ly knows whoever it is better'n I do!" The knight Kearney was used to being the youngest fighter on the field, but seeing this child with his shovel held high brought a warm grin to his face. "We got reason, li'l guy!" Angus scoops up his pet, keeping him at a distance from the boy, before noticing the lad's hesitance towards the cows. He approaches a few more feet, with very gentle steps, crouching before he whispers. "We'll be needin' t'stay here for a few days, an' our buddy is mighty hurt. I heard your pa is th'guy to ask about both--think we could see 'im?"

Angus disembarks from his horse at the sight of the villager, lazily thudding into the dirt. The fellow seemed decent enough, and word of someone good at "fixing people up" could only be good news. Bearing in mind both Ceirch's injuries and the concerns involved with stabling a half dozen mounts, Angus begins to walk backwards, waving a few of the group with him. "Baron, Ladies... Doug." Angus can't stifle a chuckle--the poor rider really did wind up with crowds he was ill-suited for, didn't he? "I'm thinkin' we pay this Perroy a visit, get settled in. Maybe he c'n do somethin' about Sir Nelon, bless 'im." His counterpart's injuries, while unfortunate, didn't really perturb Angus. That was the wager they made to serve the Crown, and frankly, all five of those who went into that world had good business being dead right about now. However, he did rather hope that Nelon could find his feet again. The oatmeal-loving baron was a strong and loyal soul; it would be a dreadful shame for him be crippled in his prime.

Angus roared violently, tearing left and right at the vines around him in a desperate bid for freedom. The moment he could lurch forward, he heard laughter... and again, nothing. And again, somehow, the void was not death. --- The sky was blue. Dozens of boots were arranged about him. They moved frantically, but not in battle. Malaphar was gone. The knight's struggle was in vain. No doubt, the wizard's power had ferried him far from the arms of justice. Sitting in the dirt, alone among so many people, Angus' rage festered. His chance was gone. That wretched worm would be free to roam the earth, free to proclaim himself emperor over all the sun touches. Free to return, at any time, to snuff Owen's life out. Angus looked up, finally, to his prince. Despite all that had happened, he was all business. Sidney on his arm, concerned only for his troops. A man's man if there ever was one. Nelon was hurt--by the same vines that attacked him? Angus almost couldn't believe it--still, he was being attended to. By Emmet, no less. That was four still alive. Claire, weeping... [Everyone... they're all alive. Engel be praised, they're all alive!] Despite himself, the young Kearney grinned, for the barest moment. Nelon's recovery would be long, but Malaphar couldn't slay a single one of them. Whether it was divine providence, blind luck, or their own skill, Angus couldn't fathom. He could, however fathom the wizard's pride. His liege's soul, wrought in gilded iron. The two would meet again. Despite all possibility... Owen would prevail again. Perhaps Angus would even have another chance to reduce that snake's skeleton to his pet's chew toy. He could live with that.

A Redneck's Resolve All talk of a weakness to Malaphar's world was lost on Angus. His focus remained on one thing alone: the wizard's neck, too whole by half for the mooncalf's taste. Still, there had been some chance Owen knew better than to strike; that he was fully in control, and his knight did not understand. Not anymore. The only delay of Angus' attack was rent in two with as many words. "Goodbye, Owen!" Angus' toes tear into the blackened grass, hurtling him with a wordless roar. The world around him, sickened and twisted as it was, grew blacker than ever. Only the enemy, glorying on his throne, still existed. One swipe of the axe was all that the tendrils merited; Angus could not slow. He could not flee alongside Owen, no sooner than he could have turned to strike the prince. There was no tactical consideration. No subterfuge. There was no regret for broken promises, no fear for the noble souls that faced their death. No concern for what would befall his animals, his serfs, his friends, his nation when the dust finally settled. He was engraged, trapped in a hateful world with no hope of victory or escape, charging into the jaws that would surely pierce and tear and break and wring the life from him as a bear's would a fawn. Even Owen's survival would be better served by leaving the wizard and the baron to their own devices, prolonging the Prince's life at any cost. Angus Kearney could not care.

Just as soon as Angus was close to functioning once again, it felt as if the dread presence of Malaphar's world swelled and bit, compelling Angus to fall to one knee. There, he witnessed the wizard himself, perched on a sickening throne, shifting and twisting like so many serpents. Taunts poured like blood from Malaphar's lips, a torrent that claimed dominion over all of their lives. Owen's life. Only the stillness of his Prince checked Angus' wrath in that moment. To dangle Owen's life in front of their noses as if a it was a child's toy... to ask the Prince to beg? It was as impossible as the wretched realm they stood in. Angus stood with extreme deliberation and care, eyes buried in the earth beneath him, as if his own errant motion could spark a suicidal charge. In this time, Emmet remarked smartly at Malaphar, pointing out quite truly that his initiative played no small part in the events of the morning. Perhaps he was trying to draw the wizard's ire. Angus did not care. Next, Owen spoke. With authority, as he was born and raised to. He interrogated the master of this world, exhorting him to provide some reason, some inkling of method to his madness. Perhaps his words would impress upon Malaphar the terrible, if delayed, consequences of attacking the Prince. Perhaps some secret of this world would be revealed, some hard nugget of truth with which they could dig themselves free. Angus did not care. The furious knight finally stares Malaphar down, a dread vacancy in his face. However, the boy merited no real attention from the wizard. This only made sense. With but a thought, the skies, the earth, the inferno that even the damned would do well to fear, would all bear down on the wizard's impotent foe. Perhaps, even beyond those powers, Malaphar simply could not die. Perhaps he was the apotheosis of mankind, a lesser god bound to dominate the entire planet, if free from divine intercession. Angus did not care. The only concern Angus could fathom was the death of that wretched man, the worm enthroned by worms. His entire being focused in on Malaphar, waiting for that singular moment. The barest wrong move, the slightest cue from Owen, could free Angus to tear into that vile flesh. Countless ephemeral impulses jolted through him, each one the imagination of a slightly different engagement, each one provoking the tiniest twitch. Angus would flay the flesh from the wizard's bones, split his smug face from that wretched skull, hack through bone and sinew until he could scar the surface of this world, bite into his still-beating heart-- Of course, Angus had no hope. His wrath, the strength he built over the course of grueling years for a day like this very one, were but motes of dust in the eye of a higher form of life. From the moment the boy witnessed Malaphar's world, he knew this. But Angus did not care.

Angus had been too slow by half--before he could even hope to assist Claire, he was assaulted by a fell, black cold. He felt the cloying, smothering emptiness stretch him, wring the heat from his bones. There was nothing. Nobody. Angus closed his eyes. A silent prayer for deliverance was his only defense against the alien void. The vacuum was not eternal. A sea of black, carrying an ocean of red, met Angus' waking eyes. He was alive. The lost knight starts to his feet violently, quickly discovering who was near... and who was not. There was no sign of Malaphar. This place, though... it screamed of hate. Not raging passion, but a bitter contempt for every living thing. Such things so constant as to be fundamental to Angus' understanding of the universe--the vegetation, the sky, even the water--were dark and strange. Nelon, Owen, and Claire... their voices, despite their rage and terror, were music to Angus' ears. They understood better than he did: that this world belonged to the wizard. [Even through hellfire, I can trust them. This is no illusion. I am not dead.] The Prince's nominal right hand approaches him with cautious steps, uncertain if the ground could even be trusted to hold him. "My Prince..." Angus' voice was hardly a whisper. His words came one and two at a time--blind fear battled an animal instinct to observe, to understand even vaguely one's surroundings, and each impulse sapped his focus and ability. "If this is... his... world. We must... be ready." The seconds stretched on as Angus grasped at his own thoughts. He knew there was some nuance to this danger. "He could... come back." That was good. It was a start. Owen's party could not forget the tree for the forest, as it was; if they could breathe, Malaphar was the more immediate threat. Angus kneels for a moment, one hand clawing firmly into the dirt. The grass, like tar, reminded him: there was something else. "An' he... might not." The boy Kearney was perhaps as far from a wizard as one could be, but some intuition hinted to him: without the wizard's magic, the five might never escape.

Angus stood in place, a dire glare into Malaphar's back as he staggered forward. The Baron's knife crashes softly into the sand, replaced in hand by his axe. The hate, the contempt pouring from the wizard felt as though it could drown Angus. Still,his resolve was firm. The wizard could not be allowed to move against Owen. Angus studies his allies for the briefest moment. Given the day's earlier "discussion", he knew that more than one of his companions was considering a move. But Claire? The barest movement betrayed her intention. The outstretched hand confirmed it. The only thing Angus could do was reach violently for the wizard's robe, hoping to bury his axe into the wounded wizard and render him vulnerable to Claire's attack in one moment. If Angus had time for thought, he would have pondered on how a wizard who knew so much could understand so little: of Owen, of ruling, of looking after your own hide.

Chapter 13 - You can lead a horse to water... Name Level HP ST SK SP LK DE RS Wlvl, Supports Hector 7.71 24 09 07 09 04 12 02 Ax B, Matthew B Eliwood 3.62 20 06 07 09 09 06 00 Sw C Marcus 2.60* 32 15 16 11 08 10 08 Sw A, Ln A, Ax B Rebecca 3.29 18 04 07 07 05 03 02 Bw D Dorcas 4.99 31 08 08 06 03 04 00 Ax C Matthew 20.00 32 09 10 20 09 07 01 Sw D, Hector B Everyone else: BASESBOIS

After his argument with Emmet, Angus withdrew, unwilling to give the bowman any more energy when neither had anything substantive left to stay. He waited, still, as Cassandra cried and departed, as Owen was dragged off by Adele. He had done quite enough meddling of late; he considered Adele and Sidney to have those two handled, and judging by the mutual sobs of love that soon followed, Angus had made the right decision. He was only beginning to appraise the crowd, to confirm one last time that everyone was present, before he discovered Claire at his side. "Eh? Doin' more for Owen?" Angus pauses, considering; he hadn't done much for Owen specifically of late, he realized. The young knight had mostly concerned himself with attending to other matters. After a moment, he finally shakes his head. "I think we're doin' fine. We can't all do everythin'." Angus chuckles slightly. "Owen knew, sure as spit, I'd be useless advisin', an' not much better with turf. Still, I can think of more'n one day that would've gone right nasty if I wasn' around. Long as 'e knows how t'let someone else handle the grunt work, we can make sure he don't crack, eh?" Angus slaps Claire on the back slightly, but starts at Decima's voice. A few brisk steps soon reveal the injured wizard, with many souls crowding around--even the bear! Two snaps discourage Geoffrey's curiosity, as Angus makes his way to Malaphar. The first thing on his mind, of course, was the thought of the assassination. With Malaphar so injured, a lot of the reason to leave him alive was gone. This would be a good a time as any... if only they were sure about it. Angus had been in enough bar fights, fought enough inexperienced soldiers (hell, been an inexperienced soldier for long enough) to know that a hesitant sword might as well be a loaf of bread. Perhaps Owen could sieze the opportunity and gore the potential menace... or perhaps the wizard would capture a healer and flee. There was no telling. With all this in mind, Angus walks just past Malaphar, pushing him back ever so slightly in accompaniment with his request. "Lie down, let us look," Angus implores softly--and to his surprise, Malaphar complies. A knife makes quick work of the clothes surrounding the wound before Angus beckons Sebastian in, looking to Owen. "Anythin' else we can do?"

Angus exhales slowly, taking a few steps back from Emmet. Another breath, his eyes closed, his airs put on once again. One more, as he gathers his words. "The point is, we're that wizard's only allies. The only real danger is in fighting him, and he doesn't seem interested in that just yet." The baron shakes his head. Only now did he realize the hollering must have slaughtered his credibility. "Any thought of a move against him only spreads fear and insults the Prince." Angus looks to his liege. "Any action would be his decision, and he is... incredible. None of us need to worry." Angus' words were still rough, still failed to convey why he spoke. Maybe a better man could speak well of Owen's moral and mental fortitude. A better man could explain that discord and disharmony, let alone a half-hearted assassination, were far likelier to tear these soldiers' souls from the earth than the silver-tongued wizard that accompanied them. Better men and women were whom Angus addressed, thankfully. With any luck, they would understand what a mooncalf couldn't fully explain.

With Cassandra and Alain's attention wandering, Angus opts to stay behind, out of the teeming, dithering humanity clustered around Owen. He listens, a small frown on his face--he'd rather hoped Apellon's resurrection would remain quiet. Every word that followed continued to disquiet the young man. An elixir that raised the dead--Angus palms his head, slouching against the wall. [Not possible. Only Engel's magic could ever bring anyone back, but... if Claire says so, and that sort of magic can fit in a staff... maybe. Just maybe.] His frown contorts to a grimace at Cassandra's discomfort, but a mercenary openly suggesting they up and whack someone was too much. [That's Owen's business. Not his, not even mine. Hell if I'll let this uppity bastard start a riot.] Angus outright growls for a moment, rising uncomfortably to his feet before shouldering through the crowd, slapping a heavy hand on Emmet's shoulder. "Oei. Emmet, righ'? Shut it." Wild eyes meet the bowman's, as a rough voice castigates him. "Let's say, f'r just a moment, you're righ'. We're gullivers up asses, doin' 'is dirty work. Notice who ain't? Anyone else." Angus spits on the floor, incensed. "Rulin' through fear works like shit, an' dries up jus' as quick. Only thing 'e could do is light a veck or two up, an' tryin' t'out-do me on th'stupid front only guarantees it!" The shouldered hand breaks free, Angus perhaps recognizing that he was too aggressive even for a mercenary. Still, he leans in close, and Emmet could doubtlessly smell what he had for lunch. "No more. Tha' man, right there?" Here, a cudgel arm extends, finger denoting the Prince. "This is his decision, an' he'll do right. So quit. Stirrin'. Th'damn pot." Even his own mention of Owen tempers Angus' anger, at least in part. He pops his neck softly, being deliberately, uncomfortably still for a time. Eventually, he turns to Cassandra. "Don' worry about tha' girl. Had a chat with Apellon, after th'battle; I'm thinkin' he'd be... bored? Nah, not quite. Some kind o' not interested." Angus shakes his head, sighing, before side-eyeing Serge. "'sides, we killed 'em once, didn't we? Long as nobody runs off into th'wastes, we c'n do it again."

Angus starts slightly at the Princess' sudden embrace, cracking tiny grin once he sees who is at his side. Her warmth is unexpected enough, and very welcome. An awkward scratch at his neck accompanies the spread of his grin. A handful of pleasant seconds pass before the knight can form a sentence, with the implicit bravado Cassandra could surely expect after so long. "Well, find a Kearney short a beaten ass, an' I'll show you a unicorn, eh?" Angus chuckles--the beating he took was by far the most pleasant part of the battle he undertook. "Glad t'see you in one piece, too. An' Sidney, too, eh?" Pre-empting any further speech, Alain joins them, his speech like the flat of an icy blade. Angus flushes a slight red, remembering the discomfort his dear friend related not long ago. A casual elbow on her shoulder, Alain's once and nominal leader concurs. "C'mon now, Alain, you know better'n that!" Angus turns to face Cass, offering a scrap of substantive detail. "Guy's hidin' brass in 'is breeches, blasted more wyverns'n I can remember. Fought shoulder-t'-shoulder with th'rest of us!" A nod, now, to the diplomat. "I'll let Owen cast judgment on 'im, but aye, we should get on. We're draggin' through this godforsaken place f'r time's sake, nah? He c'n find us quick enough if 'e'd like." [Well, I don' rightfully know], young Kearney admits to himself. [Told Owen we could handle it, an' I can't imagine why else he'd want t'take a hard journey.]

Angus shakes his head, scooping Geoffrey over his shoulder. "He's right, mate," the baron admits with a wry smile. "Doin' anythin' but turnin' around at th'sight of wyverns on a mountain? That suicide charge t'... well, no need t'rehash." A comforting pat to the bear in his arm. "An', you know, this one. Can't blame 'im for thinkin' we're trouble!" With that, he mooncalf turns. Gavin would seek out a peaceful life here, and perhaps succeed. Not Angus. Apellon was on the move, and so was the Prince. This, too, the boy would leave behind. He takes up his mount, looking over the crowd he led. [by Engel's miracle, they all made it. They'll be in better hands, soon.] "Th'only one I'm lookin' after now is you, li'l one!" Angus taps the bear's head with his own, keeping him in the saddle. Ahead of the column, Geoffrey hears for the first time what his mother learned when he was just as small.

The young Kearney gives Haddock a tired thumbs-up, finally beginning to feel the fatigue of the day. "I'd say the same for you, Cap'n. I've played bait for nastier, but it does a soul good t'see you still kickin'. All tha' said, Serge is right on one thing; we best haul ass, get back t'Owen sooner'n later." Angus didn't bother speaking on the issue of the wizard, who could just as soon have been Alain; it wasn't his place to judge. Owen would figure it out, as he always did... and no matter how strong that Malaphar was, he was only one man. There was one last thing to attend to before they left, though. That armor knight was tough enough that Ywein's Reliants hadn't immediately taken him down, and he was no little help to Haddock and his men; that was enough for Angus, and then some. It seemed Serge was of the same mind, as well. "Oi, you there." Angus extends an arm to Gavin, still not knowing the lone clansman's name. "You've done us right solid here. I'm not sure if you've still got somethin' keepin' you here, but if not, feel free t'come along. It'll be rough ridin' 'til Raewald, but there'll be a steady gig waitin' in Wyke. If you're keen on it, mind." Between the capitol and his own barony, Angus had no doubt there would be place for another strong arm back home; even better, perhaps Dougistan needed at least one heavy hitter who wouldn't sooner chase a skirt than remain in quiet vigilance.

Chapter 12: Brokeback Mountain Name Level HP ST SK SP LK DE RS Wlvl Supports Hector 5.69 23 09 06 07 03 10 01 Ax C Matthew C Eliwood 2.04 19 06 06 08 08 05 00 Sw C Marcus 1.63* 31 15 15 11 08 10 08 Sw A, Ln A, Ax B Dorcas 3.80 30 07 07 06 03 03 00 Ax C Rebecca 1.85 17 04 05 06 04 03 01 Bw D Matthew 20.-- 32 09 10 20 09 07 01 Sw D Hector C Lowen, Bartre, Oswin, Serra: BASES

Just as abruptly as he had appeared, Apellon vanished into the woods behind him. Angus stands, slapping Serge on the back. "Shit, mate!" The baron offers a genuine laugh of surprise; after all that talk of poisoned hearts, this was the last way he expected to see that sword. "Thought 'e wouldn' bother tryin' t'kill us, but a gift! If I didn' know better, I'd say 'e wants t'cross swords with you, eh~?" With a shit-eating grin on his face, Angus waves in both Doug and his pet. Soon, the knight wears a tremendous furball as well, keeping it and himself wide of that pegasus. "Oi, Doug! Do me a big favor, tell me Haddock's still kickin'."

eclipse has fog because she is a rusemaster to be feared, to my recent discovery. Also, Nightmare. The rules for this draft might be the loosest in SF history :P

Chapter 11: Already giving up on turncount [spoiler=] Alright, duuudes. So I hear this Hector guy is gonna go fight some dudes. Not my thing, man, but to each his own. I have been C to the O to the N to the SCRIPTED as his tactician. No clue why, but I'll give it a whirl. What's the worst that could happen? Oswin knows what's up. Relaaax, Matthew. I'm sure he's just mad about Eliwood; he'll level off with time. Right? Of course. I remember when I thought this map was hard. Good times. Goood tiiiiiiiiimes. "Speak for yourself. I don't have an inkling as to why Lord Hector brought you along, but I'm feeling a bit holier than I'd like." But... bro... consider. What if... he just keeps trying to steal back from you... forever...? "You dreadful dolt. The moment my Speed grows, he's going to stop." "Oh, what's the worst that could happen?" Oh. Well, there's your face. And there's a hit rate! Good job, Hector. I approve. Duuude. Not cool. "This is very cool. What are you on about? Look at all the snacks!" "If you hadn't dodged that armor knight, you would be dead right now." "Details." "SHIT!" ...perhaps again, with a bit less greed. One doob and God knows how long later I, uh... figured out that stealing exploit. "Through soul-crushing tedium, I have achieved power! I am perfection! I AM--" "Still a chump." At least there is some small solace for Matthew. Name Level HP ST SK SP LK DE RS Wlvl Supports Hector 5.69 23 09 06 07 03 10 01 Ax C Matthew C Matthew 20.-- 32 09 10 20 09 07 01 Sw D Hector C Next time: CHUMP MOUNTAIN, where all my units are ASS! Stay tuned!

Wil and Renault.

Taking Kent and Vaida.