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Last Rites; Freedom Pirates First SL In GL
Topic Started: Feb 19 2017, 09:54 PM (1,405 Views)
Novama
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The Freedom Pirates, having recently recovered from their latest ordeal in the blues, came into possession of a logpos and made their way into the Grand Line. Believing their personal goals would begin to see progress here, it was a step long in coming. However, having taken their time and overcoming their fair share of hardships already, many of the crew were feeling optimistic.

It has only been a day since they left the red line behind and Cactus Island came into view. With mountains in the shape of large cacti, its namesake was apparent. Drawing closer, needle like structures decorated the mountains and hills. Figuring their bounty and pirate colors may draw unwanted attention, the crew opted to drop anchor away from the major settlements.

It was chilly out in the early morning and would likely be slightly breezy and a little chill the rest of the day. It was partly cloudy overhead but the clouds were as white and wispy as one might expect in an arid island such as this. The ground was very dry and sparsely covered in cacti. In the distance, a man was spotted fleeing from 3 individuals in hot pursuit. The man at the front appeared to be frantic and fleeing as if his life depended on it. He was old, however, and clearly not capable of continuing his escape for much longer. The three in pursuit, seemingly younger and fit, would catch him soon. Their intentions unclear as the Freedom Crew spectated.

"Help!" The old man called breathlessly.

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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Tactics Ogre
[ *  *  *  * ]
Though it took some time, Salasais had more or less recovered from his injuries following the battle at sea. He still didn't feel completely well in the sense that he felt the persistent itch of impending doom in the corners of his mind. Despite feeling constantly on edge, The Shaman did his best to carry out his duties on the ship.

Having finally come into the Grand Line and leaving a giant mountain between them and their many enemies, much of the crew took on a somewhat sunnier disposition. As the Freedom Ship approached Cactus Island, Salas took a moment to take in the sight as it was unlike anything he had seen before. It seemed as if the Grand Line had taken upon itself the duty of impressing its uniqueness on travelers as soon as possible. In this it certainly did not disappoint.

As they dropped anchor away from the public eye, Salas noted how dry the air was with some slight displeasure. The calm evaluation of his surroundings was cut short by the appearance of a man on the run. He was chased by a small band which clearly had the advantage in the matter. The Shaman looked over the scene with caution. "It seems that Fate stubbornly refuses to let Us ever rest on dry land. The man calls for help, but Salas is hesitant to answer when We know nothing of this land." He watched the situation from the ship, attempting to come to a decision on what to do. To intervene would inevitably lead to confrontation and he wanted to avoid a situation of hostility were it possible.
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Novama
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[ *  * ]
Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


Morose was doing his rounds of the tables in the galley. Breakfast time had passed, so the young chef efficiently moved around stacking everything. The plates and utensils were wood, so there was little concern of them breaking, but Morose took great care not to slip up with any of them as he relocated everything to the kitchen. There he used sea water to clean them as best he could before thoroughly drying each piece. Nothing was left out to dry. Having put all the dishes away in their proper cabinet, which could be latched shut, Morose wiped down the counter area one final time before placing the soiled clothes in a basket. Doffing his apron to place it with the others, he left the galley to grab some items from his cabin before heading above deck.

It was time to restock the Freedom Ships supplies, and Morose intended to head ashore. A small boat for going to land had been prepared. He joined other members of the crew in disembarking. It was chilly that morning, so Morose wore a cloak to aid his small form in staying worm. It was dark in color and sparkled like a night sky in the morning light. The shirt he wore beneath was a white button up that loosely fit him. His pants were also dark and sparkled like the cloak, but they fit snuggle to his legs which were much more defined than his scrawny arms. The shoes he wore were also black and looked new. In addition to his clothes, his hair was styled and colored.

Once ashore, Morose's clean clothes were immediately dusted by a light breeze carrying loose dust and dirt from the arid island they now found themselves on. Morose snorted sharply and spit as if something had gotten into his mouth. His optimistic expression went back to the heavy-lidded sleepy one he normally wore that expressed a mixture of resignation and cynicism.

Men were still getting out of the landing vessel when the elderly man being chased by three very quick men appeared. Morose ignored the scene until the old man rasped for help. Morose sighed before disappearing from where he stood and appeared suddenly in the path between the 3 pursuers and the elderly man. Morose's cloak flapped around him violently for a moment as if only just now realizing what had happened before settling to gently flapping in the light breeze.

tech


The 3 ignored Morose and rushed past him. Each were at least a head taller and twice as broad. Morose frowned, looking slightly perplexed before calling out to the men

"Hey, wait up. What do you want with the old guy?"

Morose was ignored. He appeared to be getting irritated and his wrists and hands were tense.

The men easily caught up and grabbed hold of the old man, each one taking an arm, while the third one approached at a more leisurely pace. They were not gentle as the old man whimpered and weakly struggled. The third man pulled a long needle about as thick as a rod and only a few feet long. It had a very sharp point. The implement looked as though it could double as a club and a spear.
Edited by Novama, Feb 22 2017, 07:51 AM.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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Tactics Ogre
[ *  *  *  * ]
Salasais, naturally, accompanied Morose in the journey to the shore. He hadn’t moved to investigate the pursuit like the chef had, but with his friend so close to the action he definitely began watching much more closely. The posse that was giving chase appeared to be single-minded in their objectives as they completely ignored the questioning from the young man as they pressed toward their target. Seeing this made the Shaman’s appraisal of the situation gravitate somewhat more in favor of the fleeing old man. He began walking in the direction of the commotion.

Normally, The Shaman would rush to aid the man who seemed to be in greater peril, but his memory took him back to the incident on Bausyer. He had selflessly gone to the rescue of a man and been rewarded with what was one of the single most traumatic experiences of his life. As such, he had decided to be much more cautious about assisting strangers. Still, the plight of the old man didn’t fall on a heart of stone, and Salas found his neutral stance increasingly difficult to maintain.

It was when the elder had been caught that Salasais could no longer remain passive. It was clear who the victim was in this situation and what was at stake. If nothing was done then the old man would likely die, so Salasais decided to err on the side of mercy at that time and rushed forward, calling against the three men. “Stay your hand or tempt Our judgment, men of violence!” The tone Salas had taken was very different from his normal speech, not unlike the declaration he made in the square on Bausyer when he had unleashed his wrath upon the unsuspecting townsfolk. His emotional restraint was not at its best at that time, but Salasais was cognizant of this fact and trying to stay on guard.
Edited by Togamau, Feb 22 2017, 12:38 AM.
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Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


While the situation seemed dire for the old priest, Morose looked away and actively took breath through his nose with eyes closed. The tension eased in his body. When his eyes opened again he was more composed and eyeing the situation with a cold and calculating stare. Morose walked toward the men with a certain sense of purpose that added a lightness to his step.

Morose's eyes flicked to the side as Salas called out and quickly approached. Morose's step suddenly hastened in response to his comrade's more urgent nature.

"What is it to be a Freedom Pirate if not to fight for Freedom of all...though I would much rather Freedom for myself..."

Morose grumbled as he moved to intercept the men. The two holding the priest were directed with a tilt of the head from the man wielding the needle weapon in Salas's direction. The threw the old man on his face at the feet of the third before rushing in Salas's direction with the clear intention of preventing him from interfering. Morose was not given the same treatment. The sole man that remained dressed in black and holding his weapon had his back to Morose not seeming to pay him any mind.

Morose was not visibly irritated this time by the clear slight. Dressed as nicely as he was, he looked like little more than a well-to-do's son. Not being overly tall or strong in appearance, he was easy to ignore aside from his flashy clothes. With a flick of the wrist, one of his kitchen knives appeared in his hand. It glinted in the morning light for a moment before turned to purpose as Morose dived in. The man with the needle was about to stab down on the priest and impale him. Morose's eyes honed in on the man's arm and wrist. The chef had sized the man up like a turkey and moved to cut the most desirable point. His knife sliced through the air to its target: the man's weapon arm as he passed him in a rush of motion. Surprisingly, the man halted his thrust of the weapon and whipped it around to cover the length of his arm and guard against Morose's attack. Metal clinked off metal as Morose's cut was deflected and the youth put a few yards of distance between the two of them.

"At first, I assumed you were too busy to notice me, but now that I know you actively ignored me and didn't bother to acknowledge I was here, I'm going to make sure you regret being rude to me,"

Morose barked, shooting an angry glare at the man while remaining tense and ready to act. His kitchen knife was hidden beneath his cloak now. The man couldn't possibly know which way he would come from next.

The two other would-be assassins produced needle shaped weapons like their companion. They squared off against Salas with tactical precision as both circled him in opposite directions to split his attention and stop his immediate advance unless he risk his back to them. Salas would be able to gauge from their movements they were likely about as strong as the Perfects back on Bausyer although these men moved with much more natural precision than the artificial, jerking type of the Perfect. Up close as they were now, Salas and Morose could make out the oddly formed crosses that hung from each man's neck. They appeared to be formed from slightly curve needles.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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It seemed that Salasais was surrounded, his intervention gaining the attention of two of the three men and leaving their ringleader to Morose. Part of him was afraid of the coming battle, but another was welcoming the opportunity, the latter being the part he was afraid of. He would need to end this conflict quickly, the longer it dragged on the harder it would be to keep himself together. The men circled him like wolves, waiting for an opening to strike.

The Shaman made the first move, drinking down the sticky potion to make his slowing spores. By the look of them, he doubted they'd be frozen by them but, much like his battle with Gremesh, a noteworthy decrease in reaction time can make a big difference. He proceeded to rush toward the one to his right, prompting an attack from the man he left behind him, and made a sweeping low kick as he approached his target. The dust kicked up by his movements on the dry earth partially masked his spores' presence in the air.

His initial attack was somewhat narrowly avoided, but the man approaching him from behind was beginning to suffer the effects of the poison. He made a stabbing motion with his needle weapon which The Shaman easily evaded before striking the man in the jaw with his palm. Things were under control for now, they were tougher than average but far from as dangerous as some others he had faced. "We do not desire to kill you, yet. Go your way and leave the old man with Us. Be warned We can do far worse to you than merely dull your senses."

He didn't rightly expect the strangers to back down, they rarely do, but felt he should at least give them a chance to leave peacefully before he increased his efforts to quickly end the conflict.
tech used
Edited by Togamau, Feb 22 2017, 09:03 PM.
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Novama
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Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


The man in the dark, priest uniform standing before Morose wore sunglasses, so Morose's eyes searched the man's other facial features for clues as to what he was thinking. The man did not appear to be paying attention to the old priest anymore, so Morose was likely finally being taken seriously. However, the posture of Morose's sudden enemy was lacking any form one might expect of someone trained in fighting. Morose pondered the potential meanings in what he could perceive of the situation as they slowly circled each other. Morose's pace visibly slowed ever so slightly. It was at that moment, the man chose to strike.

The would-be assassin lunged at Morose, needle weapon out for a thrust. Morose visibly refocused and hopped back as the dark weapon blasted through the space he had been previously standing. His cloak, which trailed behind him, was not so quick to pull back and was ripped through at the ends. While the attacker recomposed himself and aligned for another attack, Morose take a moment to scowl and inspect his cloak. It looked nice once and wasn't all that old. The little boy let out an audible growl as he snorted in derision. It was Morose's turn.

The chef arced around to his target's side so as to avoid running headlong into the pointy end of the weapon he held, while his kitchen knife glinted in the morning sun when it streaked from under the boy's cloak toward the man's arm. As before, the grim looking priest deflected the blow by flipping around his needled weapon impossibly fast to intercept the knife. Unfortunately for the priest, Morose's other hand plunged another knife into the priest's shoulder. Blood escaped as Morose abruptly withdrew the blade and hopped back again as the priest grunted through his teeth with the sudden pain before flailing his weapon at Morose like a club with the opposite hand. The weapon moved much slower in the off-hand and Morose saw a frenzied panic in the priest's eyes for a moment before the man composes himself as best he could under the circumstances. Morose whipped the blade that had drew blood through the air, splattering a small stream of blood across the ground before tucking his weapon back beneath his cloak where it hid.

"You've annoyed me and now you know what happens when you underestimate me. I've worked too hard to get this far and still be treated like a kid."

Morose smiled through his glare. He seemed pleased with himself, at least until the sound of a few rifles going off drew a startled look toward the shore before being drawn back to the man by the sound of ammunition splattering into his body. He dropped to the dry ground in a cloud of dust and dry vegetation.

"That's what you get for nearly killing our chef. He's just a kid, you punk"

Some of the Freedom Pirates shouted before starting in on the Salas fight by cheering the Shaman on.

"Kick their ******, Salas!"

"You guys don't stand a chance against our Doctor!"

The freedom pirates that stood ashore cheered. From their vantage point, Morose was merely dealing with another fighter and they had not witness what Salas had. They also recalled how good a showing Salas had in the fight against the marines and another pirate crew a week back. His bounty was also the greatest of any of the Freedom Pirates.

Salas's reputation was also warranted. His spores were taking their toll on the men he fought. Both were moving at at least a 1/3 of their speed if not less. The man that had his jaw struck took the hit and lunged for Salas again with a Frenzied stab. Meanwhile the other man coughed over the spores before declaring,

"You know not the mourning. Allow us to send you to the next life that you know and we shall mourn you too!"

He then joined his ally in a frenzied lunge with his needle weapon leading from the opposite direction.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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[ *  *  *  * ]
The fight was plenty manageable compared to the one a week ago. Morose was more than holding his own against his opponent and the two men fighting Salas, though more resilient than the common soldiers of the marines, were not able to keep up with him while under the effects of his spores. The man he had struck lashed out in an attempt to stab him. It wasn't hard to avoid the hit, to him the attack seemed to approach in slow motion. A few shots rang out from the direction of the ship as some of their crew opened fire on the priest Morose was fighting, as if he needed the help.

The man behind him seemed to be raving about The Mourning, wonderful, they were dealing with some kind of death cult. The declaration was appreciated as it reminded the Shaman to watch his back, he sidestepped the stab brought his knee up into the ribs of his attacker. He stared coldly at his attackers in almost a look of pity, "So you kill merely to grieve the dead. Salasais aches for those We've killed, but you are fools to willingly seek such a burden!"

Salas uncorked another gourd and drank from it, shuddering a bit at the sensation as his spores took on their directly harmful properties. He whirled around to make another strike at the face of his original target. With both men in striking range, they were pretty well exposed to the corrosive spores, though their robes would protect them to some degree. "You worship death and collect guilt to do so. Glimpse your God and think on your actions. Then maybe you might live." He had intended to be more restrained in his actions, he hoped that perhaps the men would rethink their strategy and flee. On the other hand, if they persisted and accepted their own deaths it wouldn't be a major loss. They seemed to murder people simply for a sick thrill of grief, a filthy existence for which Salas couldn't hide his disdain.
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(Edit: Forgot to list the used technique)
Edited by Togamau, Feb 26 2017, 11:03 PM.
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Novama
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Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


Morose stared for a moment at the lifeless body of the priest he had been fighting. He did not show any remorse for what happened to the fellow, but he did not have any celebrity glances or self-satisfied grins either. Aside from the occasional blinking of his eyes with each small gust to keep dust from his eyes, Morose was motionless as his eyes had a far-off, contemplative look to them. Snapping out of his daydream, Morose's eyes shift to the side in the direction of the fleeing father. The victim in all this was no longer present, and by the amount of distance put between him and Morose, it could be guessed the priest likely ran for it as soon as Morose and the others intervened.

Morose's eyes narrowed at the priest before the youth went into action. He easily caught up with the elderly man after he dashed across the desert. The chef met each of the priest's backward glances. Although the man had not hope of escaping Morose, he continued to flee and Morose simply kept pace with the man until he tired out. The old priest eventually collapsed in a heap upon the dusty earth to catch his breath. Morose was short, but he could tower over the weary man and assert his dominance now.

"Who are you and why were you running from those men?"

Morose asked quietly but still audible over the old man's panting. The irritation Morose must have been feeling was creeping into his voice at this point. The man was too weary to reply when asked, so Morose did not press again immediately and instead spared a glance toward Salas's fight. Morose nodded in a begrudging fashion. Everything seemed in hand. Turning back to the old man at his feet, Morose saw that the man started crawling away in a pathetic manner. Taking a few steps, Morose caught up with the man and nudged him in the ribs with one of this lean, sparkling legs. The old man flopped his back like a turtle while still struggling to draw in enough breath.

"Let me go. I have no money and if you aren't after my life you have no reason to hold me back."

He rasped.

"What's your name, old man?"

Morose asked patiently with a pitiless stare.

With a heavy sigh, the priest replied while looking away defiantly from the youth hovering over him,

"I'm Father Mosandro. I suppose you could say I'm a wondering priest now."

Morose seemed to ponder on the words for a moment.

"Why were those other men who also seemed to be priest trying to kill you?"

"That's none of your business, kid. I can lead you in salvation or prayer. Not a history lesson."

After the last answer, the priest curled up and rolled away from Morose obstinately.

Meanwhile, Salas continued to fight.

The two priests that circled Salas weathered his spores, and although slowed, they fought on. When Salas's spores turned corrosive, their black, metallic needles withstood the effects while their exposed skin began to redden with irritation. Salas's blows were hefty, but the men withstood those as well. Both men seemed capable of continued the fight even though one of the men in particular that Salas had hit more than the other so to be feeling the effects of the fight most. By this point his sunglasses were damaged and dissolving away. The eyes that appeared were telling. They were red and looked irritated, but more than their abused state, they appeared to be permanently in a sorrowful expression. It was only ruined by a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Both men charged Salas at once and feinted their thrusts to instead dodge in opposite directions so as to come at Salas from opposite directions in a line intersecting the original attack.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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Tactics Ogre
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Salasais was growing tired of dealing with the fanatics before him. He had given them ample opportunity to escape with their lives and yet they persisted in throwing themselves against him. They didn't seem like they were going to leave him much time to prepare for their next attack, so he took two gourds at once and drank from them both briefly. The combination of flavors from his toxic conditioner and his aggression-stimulating mixture was disgusting even by his standards, but he needed to end this fast.

He had seen it in the eyes of the man he had done the most damage to, they were the eyes of a monster. These men reveled in slaughter behind a mask of grief. They rushed in for the kill, breaking away from their initial attacks to strike from either side. The Shaman was caught between them, if he moved to avoid one he would be struck by the other. That was it then. He moved to face the man whose eyes he could see and moved away from the attack behind him to take the stab from the front on his own terms. He drew his ritual knife and muttered some form of incantation to the air around him "Spirits of The Unclean, be bound through blood to this relic of strife!" With his chant offered, he shoved the glass knife into the chest of his attacker and left it there for the time being.

Without a moment's hesitation, Salasais whirled around to bring his fist to the face of his other assailant. The pain in his side from the piercing attack brought a fire to his eyes and he moved to continue his assault. "Salas' mercy is spent, your lives are forfeit! Mourn yourselves and face destruction."
Techs Used
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Novama
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Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Fleeing Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

Men in pursuit(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


"You seem to be very ungrateful for the help I have given you. You are rude also. Perhaps we should hand you back over to the men who came for you, Father."

Morose said icily with a stare just as cold for the old man. The boy only kept eyes on the priest for a few moments before finally turning away with a huff. He then stepped away at a leisurely pace with a confident stride as his cloak fluttered in the morning breeze. Morose looked like his usual grumpy self by the time he crossed the dry earth to Salas's fight. It was a little weird to stir up so much dust while walking and fighting as the two of them had that morning even though it was cold enough you might expect a snow or a light misting at the least.

Controlling his urge to cough and the pointless urge to brush off the dust from his cloak, Morose stood to the side as the shaman handled his matter with ease. The boy was not overly excited and compared to the perfects on Bausyer or the conflict they had a week ago, these priests were not much for him or Salas. However, whenever one of the crew thought to go to Salas's aid, Morose was sure to talk the man down. The priests they fought had the means to kill their crew easily enough. It was only Salas and Morose's efforts that made the men seem like nothing special. Unfortunately, Morose's attempts on convincing the men were overlooked. Morose had little authority or control outside of the galley. Fortunately, Morose did not have to struggle long as Salas was able to quickly bring resolution to his fight.

"Perhaps you'll have an easier time with the father over there. I thought he may be useful to us in telling us about the island."

Morose said to Salas, gesturing with a small hand to the old man hobbling away and doing a poor job at it. Morose was not surprised and simply watched with resignation.

"But he was a little short with me, so maybe we should just leave him to whatever is coming for him and be on our way. I doubt the people those priests work for would believe that old man killed them. We may be implicated for being new faces to the island if there aren't many more like us already here."

the chef confided in the shaman. If he spoke out loud, the crew may take it upon themselves to rough up the priest or start voicing their opinion as if it was asked for or even mattered.

Previously

Salas's fight ended abruptly as the stake in the one's chest and the strengthened punch to the poison weary one was enough to dispatch the men. While the stabbed man spasmed briefly before going permanently still, the other man lay as if sleeping but his breathing was scarce and raspy.

The chill in the air was lessened somewhat with the rising of the sun, but the morning sun took little out of the cold air. It was not something Salas or Morose would feel right away however. They had already gotten their exercise for the day.
Edited by Novama, Feb 28 2017, 08:33 AM.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Togamau
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Tactics Ogre
[ *  *  *  * ]
Salasais went over to the newly-deceased priest and retrieved his ritual blade, wiping the fresh blood off on his moss. He then looked over at the only surviving man among their attackers with a look of cold contemplation. The man was only a hair's breadth from death and finishing him off would be simple enough, the knife in his hand seemed all too ready to end that particular life.

As the shaman considered the merits of killing the now helpless man, Morose returned from his dealings with the Father. Apparently the old man didn't express much gratitude for his life being saved, but in his defense his saviors did not look particularly hospitable. When asked whether or not he wanted to try his hand at communicating with the clergyman, Salas paused to consider with his hand still tightly gripping his personal relic. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly running the edge of his blade against his chest and drawing only the faintest trace of his own blood.

"One of these men still lives, if barely. End him or bind him for questioning, whichever suits Morose best. Salas will see what We can do for the surly one. We will endeavor not to harm him, as he has likely already suffered a great deal."

It didn't take long for Salasais to catch up to the stranger and he rounded to stand in front of him. "Elder, We would ask that you stay with us a moment and rest. Though We are quite curious as to what has brought you into harm's way, Salas will let the subject rest in favor of seeing to your health if you wish. You are clearly in a position of weakness and would surely die if set upon again; We did not protect you from those monsters to simply let you fall in the dust." He sighed heavily as he referred to the cultists as monsters, realizing that he had oft described himself with the same word and continued his exhortation. "Salasais understands that He does not seem a comforting figure, but We really do seek your wellbeing. What have you to lose from speaking your troubles and accepting Our hospitality? Besides, if we meant ill for you then you would not be breathing now."
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[ *  * ]
Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

dead priests(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


While Salas walked away, Morose stood in the way of the crew that seemed anxious to rush the priest barely standing. Morose could see what remained of Salas's spores as they wafted through the air. The men should have known better, but Morose reminded them,

"Best to give that 'one' some time. The good doctor's little helpers are still in the air and they may kill anyone who rushes in too quickly."

While the men ignored Morose earlier, they eased up on the boy and gave the dying priest a wide berth. Morose's eyes flicked back and forth, and after another light breeze past through, Morose entered the are Salas and the priests had been fighting. The spores were gone, likely blown away, and Morose was free to approach the remaining priest. He had not moved since Salas walked off. Morose peered curiously at the man for a moment before tightening his lips and gently shaking his head.

"You were one stubborn ******* weren't you..."

Morose's hand appeared from beneath his cloak brandishing one of his knives. With a casualness like reaching for a glass of water, Morose tapped the end of his blade to the man's chest. Without cutting the fabric, Morose pressed before withdrawing his knife. The priest did not defend himself nor did he catch himself as he slowly fell over while picking up momentum before colliding with the ground in an unguarded puff of dust. The priest's glasses had left his face in the fall to reveal glazed eyes that stared endlessly at nothing. He was dead before Salas walked away and just didn't have the courtesy to fall over.

Morose seemed to know all to well what happened and turned away from the man for the other that Salas had stabbed. His spasming had stopped and his still corpse did not move as Morose jostled him with a foot. Neither man appeared to have any additional material positions beyond the oddly shaped needle crosses they wore. Morose went ahead and collected one of these trinkets and tucked in in his cloak for safe keeping. Who knew when it may prove useful.

The immediately situation handled, Morose turned back to the shore were a cart was being loaded. Back in their days as fake merchants, Morose learned how valuable it was to have your own cart for hauling goods to and from market. It was doubly so when you did not wish to rouse suspicion with unusual drop off points or coming unprepared to a deal with a disadvantage.

Most of the goods Morose counted with his fingers were excess goods that could be used for trade in the event cash was not accepted or used. This was rarely the case however, so it was more used for reduced rates on the goods necessary as a trade in of sorts. Morose tallied and managed all this in his head. When the jobs had been bigger, he would use paper which he also carried with him. Occasionally, the first few papers of the pad he carried were visible. They had food orders for things Morose never prepared for the crew.

He nodded in satisfaction. The cart was ready for transport and he was satisfied with the state of the cargo.

Meanwhile

"What the **** are you saying, boy? I'll talk so long as you give me my space, geez. Something about you gives me the willies, my son."

The old priest commented as he straightened up immediately at Salas's approach. His eyes shifted about nervously, and he was visibly tense. Were he not an old feeble man, Salas may have thought he would try and make a bolt for it. Perhaps the man thought similar as he kept looking to the side and then sighed as he was forced to remain and chat.

"Now, keep in mind I don't really trust ya, and your appearance or how you dealt with the brothers doesn't help your cause. But I do appreciate still breathing unlike them it seems.

This isn't really the sort of place someone sticks their necks out for others. Some free advice is to mind your own business in this place, my son."


The father seemed more resigned to his situation than before. Perhaps not feeling his life hanging immediately in the balance, helped somewhat.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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Salas listened to The Father's response, averting eye contact at the comment of how uncomfortable he made the poor old man. "Apologies, common speech is foreign to Us. Salasais wishes he could say your fear of Us is unfounded, but he will try to put you at ease." With that said, he knelt down on the ground to give off a less threatening presence as he listened to the rest of what Mosandro was saying.

The priest went on to explain the source of his shortness with the Shaman and his company. It was an entirely reasonable position and, were the conditions reversed he would likely feel a similar sentiment if he were somewhat brutally rescued from his enemies. "Of course, trust is not something We are expecting, at least not immediately. We have done nothing to earn it but slay what seemed to be your enemies, and such does little to make one feel safe. We have done terrible things, make no mistake, but when fate brings someone to us in need of help We do not easily abandon them."

Salas returned to his feet, "That said, We cannot claim to trust you completely either. When We saw their intent to kill you, we decided to seek answers to whether it was justified. We judge that it was they who were worthy of death after so many chances to go their way and live." He shook his head briefly, "But that is enough of that. Will you be alright? There is not much We can offer, but Salasais can at least help you to recover your strength before you go."

Though he had a strong desire to know what the cause of the altercation was, Salasais felt it best not to force the matter if the Father did not feel comfortable divulging that information. Maintaining a compassionate interaction would help him stabilize his own emotions and, if the old man refused the assistance, he could rest assured that he had satisfied was Fate had brought the men there to do. "We will return to Our friends now, Salasais would like you to follow, but We will not force it."
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Morose

Morose

Arid Land

Father Mosandro

Sounds of the Wilderness

dead priests(Heusaro Sect)

Example Needle Weapon


"Hide the bodies,"


Morose ordered of the deceased priests. The chest of Morose's cloak puffed out as he crossed his arms. His eyes gave the impression of being bored. The eyes of someone lost in thought or perhaps no thought at all. Nothing drew the attention of the eyes in particular and the present events did not get a reaction either. Morose leaned his back against the cart out of the way while the handful of crew members coming to town with them milled about. All their eyes were looking about or on Salas.

Morose finally watched Salas work with the priest as well. Salas was finally returning to them, and Morose straightened from his relaxed position to meet with him.

"The supplies are on the cart, but we should get going. It's already mid-morning and it'll be a bit of a walk just to get to town. We can't leave the island without supplies and getting caught in this wasteland at night would suck. Probably will happen, but the men will not be happy if we stay in town since they will not have food. Last thing we need is for them to start wandering into town unsupervised. In case you haven't noticed, the men on the ship these days are much more unruly and less disciplined than others. Not having a clear captain calling all the shots may be related to that.."


Morose said suggestively with the implications apparent. Morose made eye contact with Salas. Although morose was about a foot shorter than the shaman, he seemed undaunted even with the Shaman's peculiar smell and appearance. Of the men currently on the ship, they were the oldest crew members of the Freedom Ship and had been through a lot together just to get to the Grand Line. How much longer could they continue on as they have without a change.

Morose turned away and banged on the cart a couple times with a small fist. Men began pulling the cart and Morose kept pace with it, his footsteps looking graceful as his cloak gently flowed behind him.

Meanwhile

Father Mosandra declined, watching the pirates wearily.

"Go on without me, my son. I must continue on my way. I do not wish to go where you will. You may regret going where you will too if you knew what's there. I warn you, the men that came for me will just as likely kill you as look at you, and they currently run the town ahead. Take extra special care to avoid the large cathedral in the center of town. They congregate there."

and with that, the old man trudged off across the barren land.

Additionally, some of the freedom crew that came assure were busy taking care of the priests' bodies. Best not to leave evidence.
Morose • Chef • Freedom PiratesBounty: 13,000,000 • SD Earned: 281 • Beli: 58,010,000 • Location: GrandLine, Little Garden Island

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