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^ "It's just a standard set of splint mail, nothing too fancy."

< "Why, it ain't even magical or nothin', never really liked relying too much on magical items. Though nowadays I reckon I ain't got much of a choice in the matter." The dwarf eyed his own axe suspiciously.

V "Ye ever got something that ye hate relying on?"

^ "The pack that took me in. I'm surrounded by a constant stream of wolves almost a foot taller than me. I love them, they're scary sometimes, though."

< The neko watched the pack they had been with for years. "I'm pretty sure I'd die for any one of them, to be honest." They said, smiling.

V "What's your favourite thing to do?"

^ “Drink.”

< “I could use a drink.”

V “Hey, you. Want to go with me und get drunk at a bar?”

^ "Not really, I have other things on my mind besides getting drunk"

< "I wish I could stop dealing with some things"

V "Hey, you mind giving me a ride to a friend's house?"

^ The artist jumps a little at the sudden request, looking up from the sketchbook she seems to have been immersed in; for a moment she just stares at the stranger before abruptly remembering staring is rude and shooting them a smile instead. "Sure thing! My truck's parked outside of the park though, so we'll have to walk a bit if that's alright with you?"

< Despite the fact that offering to give total strangers rides to their friends' houses is probably a very stupid thing to do, Maisi either considers this particular instance safe or simply doesn't care. As she starts to lead the way she tucks her sketchbook securely under her arm like it's a briefcase full of cash, slipping her pen behind her ear and swiftly brushing herself free of any leaves or dirt she might've gathered on her jeans and sweater.

v "Nice day, isn't it?" she asks someone else amiably, whether they're passing or walking along with her. "What's brought you out and about this lovely evening?"

^ "I didn't have a choice but it is a nice day"

< Has a special disease that is harmless to her, but lethal to everyone else.

v "enjoy the arts of creation? or is it just because your bored?"

^ "Creation? I just run around and do jobs for credits... so I suppose I enjoy the creation of credits."

< Coming all the way from downt-, wait, that's not the right script... Coming from Nar Shaddaa, Nathcal has done many different sorts of things, many of those things including crime, such as assassinations, smuggling, murder, and grand theft. Fun person to be around.

v "Alright, who told you about me stealing an entire Corvette ship? Because yes, I did. It was great fun."

^ “I mean I helped steal an American supercarrier on American orders.”

< “Look, that story is complicated. But I think the ship’s name was Enterprise, big nuclear powered thing.”

V “Anywho, I don’t think stealing ships is really that cool or whatever.”

^"Stealing is never cool"
< I'm tired, maybe I should stop by Ben's place and see if he's got a soda or something
V "Hey you, mind telling me the closest gas station?"

^ "Well.. I mean It would be done the road from my house"

< "I mean I hate humans so... ye, I've also stolen things before..."

v "So what do you think about the human population?"

^ "I generally don't mind humans as long as they know their place. It's the pretentious race supremacists that bother me."

< "In fact, all kind of race supremacy irritates me greatly, even that of my fellow elven kind. People act as if it were some kind of skill. Oh yes, you were born an elf, such ability! Such finesse! Such capability at choosing who your parents are! Pathetic..."

V "The only skill worth respect is fighting skill!!"

^ "I agree if you can't fend for yourself then train"

< Dust had been cursed by a witch for about 1 million years

v "Do you work with death often? I am their companion."

^ “I deliver people to death.”

< “And then have the guys write an awesome song in their honor.”

V “So when you honor the dead, people don’t forget them. History has plenty of stories to tell and honor, so why the censored to comply with RPR rules should we make up new ones?”

^ ”We need more albums, and more importantly we need to honor those who fight today.”

< “I ricocheted two shots that shouldn’t have ricocheted, what else can I say?”

v “Am I the only one stuck in this horrid environment?”

^ The artist stares for a moment, pale eyes wide before she begins squinting instead. "No..." she at last answers the question, lifting a surprisingly paint-free hand to rub her eyes in disbelief. "No, I'm afraid we're both stuck here. Here is a dream, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen a talking..."

She lifts her hand to peek at the other before dropping her fingers over her eyes again. "...I don't think I've ever seen you before, anywhere. Especially not when I'm awake."

> Oh, goodness. Maybe a certain professor was right and she ought to take better care of herself. Clearly she hadn't been getting enough sleep--she'd either passed out from exhaustion somewhere and was now dreaming, or she was just hallucinating while out and about. As if that wasn't bad enough, she felt a headache coming on.

"I need a vacation," Maisi mumbles to herself.

v About then she catches sight of someone else. Pushing her lightly-tousled hair out of her face, the artist stifles a yawn before smiling politely. "Excuse me," she asks, sounding a little distracted. "You wouldn't happen to know if we're in a dream, would you?"

↑ The Scotland Yard detective picked up on a familiar voice, one of which in fact, he recalled having placed him under a citizen's arrest sometime ago. Greg wasn't one to hold a grudge, however, and he turned to catch the artist muttering to herself to which he brandished a patient smile. Maisi was the epitome of confusion at the moment, an emotion Greg oftentimes found himself spiraling into almost constantly, particularly as of late.

"Don't we all," he mused more to himself in response to her need to escape the latent discord. She must have heard for now Maisi's attention shifted toward him causing Greg to stiffen. He thrust his hands into his pockets and assumed a more relaxed posture in an effort to mollify the situation once she realizes whom she was speaking to.

He offered her a genial chuckle and finished with a shrug. "I don't think we're in a dream, no, but it sure as hell feels like it, don't it?"

← Greg took a moment to look beyond Maisi to get a good grasp of whatever had made her apparently second guess her sanity. It was completely understandable by the looks of it, and it didn't take much convincing on his part to just turn away and accept things as they are. He was in some sort of purgatory -- what else could explain whatever it was going on around here?

It also brought about a sort of protectiveness for the girl standing beside him, and cautiously, the detective inspector eased closer to Maisi, planting himself as a sort of human shield.

↓ "Between you and me, I think I've completely lost track of reality. I have seen gnomes with battle axes, talking ships and tanks, children running around pretending to be adults and overlords, human cat-people, and, oh, dragons, of course. Does any of this make sense to you?"

↑ Connor just looked at the man, a balefulness in his eyes that spelled 'I'm probably going to make you feel bloody worse.' Uncapping a flask pulled from his belt, the witch hunter took a solid gulp from it before offering it out to him. "You'll bloody need this if all that's giving you pause, my good man."

Regardless of whether or not the suited man took the drink or not, Connor started to yammer on. "I feel you. I mean dragons, cat-people and gnomes with battle axes I can make sense of, but children running around pretending to be adults knocked me out of the swiving park. They haven't even wiped the snot from their bloody noses and they talk bigger than actual people who call the shots where I live, know what I'm saying?"

"Bollocks. You'd think some of them are just in need of a good slap right across the face, like good ol' Knight-Captain Fawaz did when I was still serving as a squire, calling everyone's mothers a whore, left and right."

< Connor let his head hang after his rant, sure that people wouldn't stick around for that long to listen. He took another long drink from the flask, then capped it shut to let it hang from his fingers. Looking to the clear sky, he mused of the one thing he'd think of, time and time again. What if the Order had been right? What if his sister came across foul magics, and put her old master down? They'd send hunters after her, no doubt. That was his only family left, one that he so stupidly left for want of a better life, and they'd put her down without hesitation.

It worried him, day in and day out, and still he could find no answer. No deity answered his cries, no counselor could whisper words of ease into his ears other than to put his sister down.

He shouldn't have let her out of his sight.

v "Hey, you. Do you know how to defend yourself? It's important in this day and age, you know how to throw a straight haymaker when you need to. Sometimes, the word of God is better delivered with a punch."

^ - " Word of...you're another of those holier-than-though types..." Murzim sneered while looking away. His shades fit well enough to hide his eyes even from the side. " Yeah, I know how to defend myself but I prefer relying on the powers of Hell" Six fiery eyes manifested in the sky before shadows gathered around them. Soon the ghostly visage of Cerberus stood over him, each head holding a flaming grin.

< - Word of God? Murzim could only laugh at people who claimed to follow it. Sure, there were things in the book which were good but usually it was those very same people who held the greatest judgments about others.

He knew he wasn't perfect but what did that matter? No matter what happened, even if he did nothing all, they always pointed their fingers at him because he was born into a necromantic family and had the spirit of Cerberus choose him to aid man and spirit alike.

Perhaps it would be best to drag all of humanity into Hell? Only certain people deserved such a fate though, and the innocent, especially the wrongfully accused, deserved better.

V - " Truth is often to swallow but brings understanding" He slid his thumbs into his pockets as he turned his back. " When so many claim to want peace, acceptance, and understanding, why do they cling to and hunger for more lies as they work for the goal?"

^ " Those who don the darkest armors often bear the deepest scars beneath, I cannot say how this entity formulated itself or why it chose the form it did but there is a sort of tragic intricacy about it all, an inherent defensiveness after all wounded animals are more prone to bite and moreso the lamentable hound, in particular, it is such a creature that is made to serve, that is chained, that has so thoroughly internalized its lack of freedoms that it accepts the illusory. I see a facade of strength and defensiveness beneath which are supreme vulnerabilities, but I shall commend it for having developed an armor which if not effective is at least enigmatic enough to keep the observer guessing long enough for it to land a bite or two. But then again, a chained dog in anger is a threat to no one but itself, even if it has three heads. The bark is worse than the bite. In truth, hell is empty and all the devils dwell here. "


< " What's to be said of this man who's walked many paths? fair is foul and foul is fair, I suppose I've never concerned myself with self-reflection beyond what is practical and pragmatic, it is better to walk and make your fate than lament for the tragedy that it was, I prefer to do deeds and let others pass the judgment, if I've done a good job you'll hear my tale, if I haven't then you won't its as simple as that, easy come, easy go. The world is a place of dogs and bastards, the worst ones don masks and wares to disguise themselves as something else, the unfortunate ones convince themselves of false truths or find themselves at the mercy of the others. What a disgusting cynical place it is, worthy of every scourge that has ever passed it, yet there is always that one remarkable aspect of the resilience of its inhabitants. Despite what we are and what we find ourselves in, we burn and rage against it, we resist, we endure and we lash out. The fundamental quality I suppose is resilience, resilience, and a will to survive, that propels us all, makes us do what we think we could not, makes us better for it. We'll see how it goes, we'll see how it ends, for now, this battle-worn wolf keeps marching"

v " I shall present you with a dilemma of thought that you are to answer as you please, this is derived from the Logic of War section of the Imperial War Manual, The Lexica Vellum. You are a child and your father a soldier, your kingdom and another kingdom is at war, your father goes to war and dies, this causes you great pain and makes you lead a difficult and miserable life, everyone around you has convinced you that the enemy or those they label the enemy are responsible, you've lived your life around a culture that paints the people of the rival kingdom as barbaric, evil, sinister and degenerate in their beliefs, culture and practices. In the future you are grown and are the commander of an army, you've almost won the war and hundreds of enemy soldiers are your prisoners, you have absolute power and no accountability for your actions over these men, you merely know that most of them have families. What would you do in this situation? "

^ "Enslave them all, of course! How is this even a moral dilemma? It matters not what these people have done in the past, there is merely one truth in war. The price for defeat is severe."

< "Woe to the defeated after all. If they did not wish to suffer a cruel fate at my hands, they shouldn't have lost. Or at the very least they should have escaped.

v "I live by a very simple edict. The weak serve the strong, and the strong protect the weak. What do you think of it?"