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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 2:45 am 
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Location: What matter wounds? For each time he falls, he shall rise again and woe to the wicked!
The going is relatively easy, so long as everyone watches their footing and keeps their bearings. Shortly enough, you come across a campsite with a fire burning merrily away at the center - the source of the smoke. Tending the campfire is a huge man - he looks even Stocky look small. Between the sheer amount of bushy beard and long hair, it's hard to make out any definitive features about his face. From the state of his clothes, he's used to being out here in the wilds - very sturdy, but very battered, much like its' owner.

Without turning toward you, he calls out "Might as well come to the fire. Gets a bit cold here near dark. Plus, the fire keeps the squirrels away. Don't want their nuts roasted."

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 5:51 am 
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Enver neither watches his footing nor keeps his bearings at first, but walking into a branch or two quickly has him concentrating on the here-and-now again.

When the big man invites them to the fire, Enver shuffles out into view. "Are the squirrels really that dangerous?" he asks, quietly.

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 10:01 am 
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Location: The land of crazy drivers
The kid remains silently next to the Lady. His eyes move around the campsite, looking for evidence of others.

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 10:08 am 
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Location: Wishing I was not in Kansas anymore
"WONderful. As rugged as you are, I'm assuming these woods stretch quite a few acres. Pity."

The Lady plops next to the fire, laying her spear across her lap.

"I remember cities, vast, lovely cities, with baths and restaurants and fluffy beds. I'm rather tired of wandering around solving puzzles or avoiding grumpy squirrels. A bowl of the local fruit, a thick carpet, a crackling fire in a proper fireplace..."

She thought for a moment.

"How on earth did I wiggle in to such comfortable situations in so many lives? Really, it's on the tip of my tongue, some skill or...."

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 10:46 am 
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Stocky walks casually up to the fire and sits down.
“Thank you for the invitation,” He says to the man. “We’ve apparently gone a bit astray and don’t really know where we are. We saw your fire and hoped we might find someone willing to help us find our way to town.”

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 6:48 pm 
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Location: What matter wounds? For each time he falls, he shall rise again and woe to the wicked!
"Squirrels aren't dangerous. It's what they can call that's dangerous. The little sentinels, they are. But before I answer any more questions, who are you, and what are you doing out here? You're miles away from civilization. You don't look like the Blades of any place I've seen."

From what you see, the campsite only has the big man. There is only one, rather large canvas tent as well.

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 7:03 pm 
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Location: The land of crazy drivers
The kid sits, facing so that the man is in the periphery of his vision and that he can keep an eye out just in case.

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 7:58 pm 
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"They call me Pretty," says Pretty, "We're a couple of immortals who do missions for some spectral tart. Nice to meet you."

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 8:37 pm 
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"Don't forget the tart's forced us into her service," the Lady says, grumbling. "We're slave mercenaries. And as for where we come from, well...where haven't we come from?"

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 Post Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2011 9:22 pm 
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"Somewhere pleasant, that's where," Pretty answers.

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 Post Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2011 11:08 pm 
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"As you might have surmised," Ginger says dourly, taking a seat at the fire, "we're all a mite whimsical in the brainpan. I suppose dying repeatedly does that to a person. I'm Ginger, or at least, that's what I'm being called. I don't remember my real name. And for the record, Picard was clearly the better captain." She pauses and frowns, realizing that she can't readily recall exactly who Picard is, what ship he captained, or why he was better than this Kirk fellow, but seems certain that he was.

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 Post Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2011 11:23 pm 
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AlternateTorg wrote:
"As you might have surmised," Ginger says dourly, taking a seat at the fire, "we're all a mite whimsical in the brainpan."

"Whimsical, insane, chemically unstable, whatever you like to call it." Pretty points at the woodsman. "You're Tom Bombadil. NO WAIT! You don't have a hot wife, at least from what I can tell. Beorn. You're Beorn. Don't bother with your real name, I won't remember it. Not the fact that the tart wipes our memories, I'm just terrible with names. Beoooooorn." Apparently Pretty is rather insane.

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 Post Posted: Sun Jul 03, 2011 12:20 am 
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"You could call me Enver." says Enver. "Everyone else does. I'm good with languages."

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 Post Posted: Mon Jul 04, 2011 4:55 pm 
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Location: What matter wounds? For each time he falls, he shall rise again and woe to the wicked!
"... why is it always the crazy ones I meet this far out in the woods. It's never the perfectly calm, sane gentleman, or the lovely, statuesque young woman old enough to know better but too young to care...

Alright, sometimes the latter. But you don't f*** with nymphs. Literally or figuratively.

So let me get this straight. You're telling me that you just died. You claim to be immortal, and obviously you're alive, so I can only assume 'divine intervention'. Which everyone knows is impossible, because the gods left this place to rot centuries ago when they realized the Arcana were running things fine.

... I think I need some ale. Anyone want some?"

He rolls out a keg and a few ceramic mugs.

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 Post Posted: Tue Jul 05, 2011 3:40 am 
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"Maybe it was 'arcana intervention'." suggests Enver. "We didn't exactly ask her what she was, you understand. What are the arcana? No ale for me, thanks, I think I want a clear head until I've worked out what's going on."

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