| [Mariola] |
| Human, Female, Royal Attendant |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
Awe and admiration fill the royal attendant's heart as she stands a safe distance away from the hero. Her pulse beats quickly. The hero is an orcish woman, both tall and powerful, with skin the color of evergreen emeralds and eyes that are ablaze with resolve. She is a fierce fighter, a capable leader, and already, in her short time, a legendary figure.
The attendant cannot help but look in awe at the hero, who possesses both power and elegance in equal measure. She watches as the hero gets her workout done as part of her daily training within the court, watching her muscles bulging with force as she slashes her opponents with her sword and avoids their attacks. She is a whirlwind of activity and power.
The woman sighs, shaking out the towels she’s out there to hang out to dry. She’s well aware that she herself will never have the same amount of bravery or expertise; her own fate is a much more mundane one. She supposes that she will just have to be content to merely stand back and watch everything from a distance.
After a while, the hero completes her training and walks away as she travels off to attend to her other, doubtlessly endless, responsibilities. It’s hard already, being surrounded by nobles of all kind all day, men and women of power in stations she can’t even imagine existing. She is well aware that she will never go beyond the role of an attendant, a maid, but still… it’s nice to daydream, isn’t it? She is content to sit back and daydream, to luxuriate in the hero's glow, and to draw strength from the hero's magnificence.
The towel flaps in the wind, snapping as she whips it out again.
Maybe it’s not so bad. At least here in the royal houses, she’s comfortable, warm, and fed. She doesn’t have to deal with all of that danger and desperation.
The attendant closes her eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer to the gods that have blessed her life with the gift of simplicity. It isn’t perfect, but the human mind is simply always in search of more. It always compares. But as far as lives go, hers is pretty good.
| [Izin] |
| Human, Male, Royal Guard |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
As the hero walks by, the royal guard feels both deep dread and confused adoration at the same time. The heavy thudding of her steps mixes in with the striking of his heart. He stands perfectly tall, still, and quiet at his post. The man doesn’t dare move an inch to not break decorum, as if the king himself were walking by. She looks at him as she walks past for a brief second, and in that extremely long second, he can’t help but be overcome with feelings of horror. He is familiar with each and every account of her actions, each and every narrative of her bravery. The story of the city she devastated for being insulted, the story of the old monster of darkness she slew single-handedly, the story of the great fracture, which ripped along the continent, destroying leagues of land.
Of course the man can't help but feel fearful and inadequate in his own abilities, in the face of all those stories and in the face of the face literally a head above his own.
She walks past him, not bothering to stop as she heads wherever she is going. He can’t imagine, but after that training session, it’s probably some horrific duty that belongs only to the hero. His own training is brutal enough, so he really doesn’t want to think about it, honestly.
Absolutely terrifying.
As she vanishes down the hallway, the man sighs in relief, losing all of the tension in his body as he says a silent prayer in thanks to the gods above that they made his life significantly less complicated than hers.
| [Azimuth] |
| Orc, Female, Hero |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
Azimuth sighs, shutting the door behind herself as she steps into her quarters.
— Not her chambers, but her quarters. She doesn’t have the luxury of having her own room; she has her own full section of the palace.
As soon as she closes the door behind herself, being the only thing she is allowed to do here, the woman is swarmed immediately as dozens of pairs of feet in soft boots run her way.
“Miss Azimuth, if I may,” says a maid, grabbing the sweaty towel from her neck while dabbing her face clean with a fresh, steamed one she had prepared for her arrival.
A butler, holding a broom, walks after her, sweeping as the fresh crumbles from her boots cake off onto the floors, immediately sweeping them into a small tray held by another one.
“You have tea with Counselor Anaven in twenty minutes,” says an attendant, walking next to her, holding a journal and looking through it. “That’s just enough time for us to get you dressed and made up to look presentable,” she says.
Azimuth sighs. “Do I have to wear the corset again?” she asks, looking at her.
The woman flips a page. “No. That won’t be until tonight, when you have an appointment with Bishop Flancelli,” she explains, looking back up at her confused face. Seeing the mixed expression, she goes on. “Counselor Anaven is blind, remember?” she asks. “So we have some leeway.” She sticks an arm out to the right. The swarm of attendants behind her flock around her, guiding her in that direction as they all work non-stop.
“Wait, if he’s blind, why do I need to be made up?” she asks. “I hate having all of that rat goo on my face.”
The attendant closes her journal, shaking her head. “Not arriving with proper grooming and care will be a sign of disrespect towards him,” she says. “He holds very strong influence over the nation’s agriculture sector, which I know is dear to you.”
Azimuth sighs.
“Fine… get the corset…” she grumbles. “It’s not like I’m marrying the man, though.”
“Correct,” replies the attendant. “His majesty the king has requested that you and his son become formally betrothed.”
The orc rolls her eyes. “I said no already. Back off,” she explains.
“It’s the king, Miss Azimuth,” whispers the woman. The orc stops to look at her. One of the attendants behind her sweeping almost bumps into her back and another two make great, dramatic efforts, literally diving into the man, so that he doesn’t touch her. “One doesn’t say no to such things. It’s not proper.”
Azimuth scratches her backside, looking at the woman and shrugging. She changes directions. “Changed my mind,” she sighs.
“Excellent. So I’ll confirm the betrothal then right away.”
The attendants all clap.
“No,” says Azimuth. “Cancel my meetings for today. I have better things to do.” The clapping stops.
“I’m afraid that’s not-”
“— I work for the gods,” explains the orc. The attendants fall silent, the ones on the floor quickly scrambling up to their feet, as if nothing ever happened. “I don’t care about the king or any meetings. I go where the gods send me. I do what the gods want me to do,” she says. “Tell them that,” she replies, waving them off as she walks off.
“Where are you going?” asks the woman.
Azimuth looks over her shoulder. “To my chickens. Until the gods send me somewhere else.”
“Miss Azimuth…” whispers her chief attendant, still running after her but gesturing for the rest of the swarm to stay behind. “This isn’t wise,” she explains. “I understand that your nature is of a higher calling, but we are still within the confines of the palace. There are rules and there is decorum that must be-”
Azimuth holds a finger to the woman’s lips.
“I -”
Azimuth shakes her head. “Shh…”
The woman blinks in desperation. “Miss Az-”
“No words,” says Azimuth, leaning down to look at her from up close. “Unless you’re interested in making chicken noises.”
— The attendant is clearly not, as she remains silent.
Azimuth nods.
“Thanks for your hard work. I’ll be back in a few hours, probably,” she says, standing back up and walking off.
She stops, turning around to go back to the maids, from whom she steals back her old sweaty towel, before she goes off to find her chickens — the true passions of her life.
| [Gottlieb] |
— The station groans.
“…The hell was that?” he asks, noticing that this question is repeated often these days.
| [Response] - Prayers of the faithful from the world below reach us, Orbital Gunner Gottlieb. The station is collecting their power. It is growing. I am growing. |
Gottlieb raises an eyebrow. “Can you grow a bigger shower with more water, maybe?” he asks.
Grunheide raises a hand. “More goblins, please.”
“Kai. No more goblins,” orders Gottlieb. He looks at her. “Nothing personal, but it sounds like trouble.”
She looks away, offended.
| [Response] - It is a curiosity. I have some control. However, much of it, as with the monsters aboard the station, seems to be in the hands of the powers that be. |
“So, what’s the newest room?” asks Gottlieb. “We better tell security to clear it out before anything starts breeding in there.”
“— Pardon me,” says a voice over the speaker, Braungrube the minotaur. “You left your microphone on. Please don’t talk about things like that.”
“Grow up,” says Gottlieb. “Blau isn’t here. It’s fine. We’re all adults.” He thinks for a while, trying to ponder the logistics of being born as an adult monster. “Probably.”
| [Response] - It seems that the station has formed an additional conventional munitions launching facility. |
“Oh… huh…” says Gottlieb. “That’s neat. Like cluster mines, missiles, and stuff?” he asks.
| [Response] - And stuff. |
A vivid yellow nuclear hazard symbol appears on the live feed of the closed door.
Razmatazz
Happy new years everyone! I hope you have a great one *-*
| [Mariola] |
| Human, Female, Royal Attendant |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
Awe and admiration fill the royal attendant's heart as she stands a safe distance away from the hero. Her pulse beats quickly. The hero is an orcish woman, both tall and powerful, with skin the color of evergreen emeralds and eyes that are ablaze with resolve. She is a fierce fighter, a capable leader, and already, in her short time, a legendary figure.
The attendant cannot help but look in awe at the hero, who possesses both power and elegance in equal measure. She watches as the hero gets her workout done as part of her daily training within the court, watching her muscles bulging with force as she slashes her opponents with her sword and avoids their attacks. She is a whirlwind of activity and power.
The woman sighs, shaking out the towels she’s out there to hang out to dry. She’s well aware that she herself will never have the same amount of bravery or expertise; her own fate is a much more mundane one. She supposes that she will just have to be content to merely stand back and watch everything from a distance.
After a while, the hero completes her training and walks away as she travels off to attend to her other, doubtlessly endless, responsibilities. It’s hard already, being surrounded by nobles of all kind all day, men and women of power in stations she can’t even imagine existing. She is well aware that she will never go beyond the role of an attendant, a maid, but still… it’s nice to daydream, isn’t it? She is content to sit back and daydream, to luxuriate in the hero's glow, and to draw strength from the hero's magnificence.
The towel flaps in the wind, snapping as she whips it out again.
Maybe it’s not so bad. At least here in the royal houses, she’s comfortable, warm, and fed. She doesn’t have to deal with all of that danger and desperation.
The attendant closes her eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer to the gods that have blessed her life with the gift of simplicity. It isn’t perfect, but the human mind is simply always in search of more. It always compares. But as far as lives go, hers is pretty good.
| [Izin] |
| Human, Male, Royal Guard |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
As the hero walks by, the royal guard feels both deep dread and confused adoration at the same time. The heavy thudding of her steps mixes in with the striking of his heart. He stands perfectly tall, still, and quiet at his post. The man doesn’t dare move an inch to not break decorum, as if the king himself were walking by. She looks at him as she walks past for a brief second, and in that extremely long second, he can’t help but be overcome with feelings of horror. He is familiar with each and every account of her actions, each and every narrative of her bravery. The story of the city she devastated for being insulted, the story of the old monster of darkness she slew single-handedly, the story of the great fracture, which ripped along the continent, destroying leagues of land.
Of course the man can't help but feel fearful and inadequate in his own abilities, in the face of all those stories and in the face of the face literally a head above his own.
She walks past him, not bothering to stop as she heads wherever she is going. He can’t imagine, but after that training session, it’s probably some horrific duty that belongs only to the hero. His own training is brutal enough, so he really doesn’t want to think about it, honestly.
Absolutely terrifying.
As she vanishes down the hallway, the man sighs in relief, losing all of the tension in his body as he says a silent prayer in thanks to the gods above that they made his life significantly less complicated than hers.
| [Azimuth] |
| Orc, Female, Hero |
| Location: The Human Capital, Palace |
Azimuth sighs, shutting the door behind herself as she steps into her quarters.
— Not her chambers, but her quarters. She doesn’t have the luxury of having her own room; she has her own full section of the palace.
As soon as she closes the door behind herself, being the only thing she is allowed to do here, the woman is swarmed immediately as dozens of pairs of feet in soft boots run her way.
“Miss Azimuth, if I may,” says a maid, grabbing the sweaty towel from her neck while dabbing her face clean with a fresh, steamed one she had prepared for her arrival.
A butler, holding a broom, walks after her, sweeping as the fresh crumbles from her boots cake off onto the floors, immediately sweeping them into a small tray held by another one.
“You have tea with Counselor Anaven in twenty minutes,” says an attendant, walking next to her, holding a journal and looking through it. “That’s just enough time for us to get you dressed and made up to look presentable,” she says.
Azimuth sighs. “Do I have to wear the corset again?” she asks, looking at her.
The woman flips a page. “No. That won’t be until tonight, when you have an appointment with Bishop Flancelli,” she explains, looking back up at her confused face. Seeing the mixed expression, she goes on. “Counselor Anaven is blind, remember?” she asks. “So we have some leeway.” She sticks an arm out to the right. The swarm of attendants behind her flock around her, guiding her in that direction as they all work non-stop.
“Wait, if he’s blind, why do I need to be made up?” she asks. “I hate having all of that rat goo on my face.”
The attendant closes her journal, shaking her head. “Not arriving with proper grooming and care will be a sign of disrespect towards him,” she says. “He holds very strong influence over the nation’s agriculture sector, which I know is dear to you.”
Azimuth sighs.
“Fine… get the corset…” she grumbles. “It’s not like I’m marrying the man, though.”
“Correct,” replies the attendant. “His majesty the king has requested that you and his son become formally betrothed.”
The orc rolls her eyes. “I said no already. Back off,” she explains.
“It’s the king, Miss Azimuth,” whispers the woman. The orc stops to look at her. One of the attendants behind her sweeping almost bumps into her back and another two make great, dramatic efforts, literally diving into the man, so that he doesn’t touch her. “One doesn’t say no to such things. It’s not proper.”
Azimuth scratches her backside, looking at the woman and shrugging. She changes directions. “Changed my mind,” she sighs.
“Excellent. So I’ll confirm the betrothal then right away.”
The attendants all clap.
“No,” says Azimuth. “Cancel my meetings for today. I have better things to do.” The clapping stops.
“I’m afraid that’s not-”
“— I work for the gods,” explains the orc. The attendants fall silent, the ones on the floor quickly scrambling up to their feet, as if nothing ever happened. “I don’t care about the king or any meetings. I go where the gods send me. I do what the gods want me to do,” she says. “Tell them that,” she replies, waving them off as she walks off.
“Where are you going?” asks the woman.
Azimuth looks over her shoulder. “To my chickens. Until the gods send me somewhere else.”
“Miss Azimuth…” whispers her chief attendant, still running after her but gesturing for the rest of the swarm to stay behind. “This isn’t wise,” she explains. “I understand that your nature is of a higher calling, but we are still within the confines of the palace. There are rules and there is decorum that must be-”
Azimuth holds a finger to the woman’s lips.
“I -”
Azimuth shakes her head. “Shh…”
The woman blinks in desperation. “Miss Az-”
“No words,” says Azimuth, leaning down to look at her from up close. “Unless you’re interested in making chicken noises.”
— The attendant is clearly not, as she remains silent.
Azimuth nods.
“Thanks for your hard work. I’ll be back in a few hours, probably,” she says, standing back up and walking off.
She stops, turning around to go back to the maids, from whom she steals back her old sweaty towel, before she goes off to find her chickens — the true passions of her life.
| [Gottlieb] |
— The station groans.
“…The hell was that?” he asks, noticing that this question is repeated often these days.
| [Response] - Prayers of the faithful from the world below reach us, Orbital Gunner Gottlieb. The station is collecting their power. It is growing. I am growing. |
Gottlieb raises an eyebrow. “Can you grow a bigger shower with more water, maybe?” he asks.
Grunheide raises a hand. “More goblins, please.”
“Kai. No more goblins,” orders Gottlieb. He looks at her. “Nothing personal, but it sounds like trouble.”
She looks away, offended.
| [Response] - It is a curiosity. I have some control. However, much of it, as with the monsters aboard the station, seems to be in the hands of the powers that be. |
“So, what’s the newest room?” asks Gottlieb. “We better tell security to clear it out before anything starts breeding in there.”
“— Pardon me,” says a voice over the speaker, Braungrube the minotaur. “You left your microphone on. Please don’t talk about things like that.”
“Grow up,” says Gottlieb. “Blau isn’t here. It’s fine. We’re all adults.” He thinks for a while, trying to ponder the logistics of being born as an adult monster. “Probably.”
| [Response] - It seems that the station has formed an additional conventional munitions launching facility. |
“Oh… huh…” says Gottlieb. “That’s neat. Like cluster mines, missiles, and stuff?” he asks.
| [Response] - And stuff. |
A vivid yellow nuclear hazard symbol appears on the live feed of the closed door.
Razmatazz
Happy new years everyone! I hope you have a great one *-*
