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capstoverogers · 3 years

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Pick Up Games - A 90s Avengers Fic

Synopsis: In a universe where Carol Danvers stays her ass put on Earth and the entire MCU takes place during the greatest decade, I present to you: the Avengers in the 90s, playing street ball

Pairings: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, BestFriends!Maria Rambeau & Sam Wilson, Implied Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes, V Subtle BlackHill

Warnings: Allusions to the traumatizing singing animatronics at Chuck E. Cheese

Word Count: 1,156

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In 1996, Sam Wilson is always wearing his Scottie Pippen Chicago Bulls jersey.

“MJ would be nothing without Pippen,” he constantly and confidently explains to anyone who will listen. “Every Michael needs his Scottie.”

Sam thinks he’s a much better basketball player than he actually is, but he can hold his own if he can keep his trigger-happy hands from launching an unnecessary three-pointer in pick-up games. He’ll maybe make one per game (and will consider himself the next Steve Kerr because of it), but he makes up for it because he’s the absolute king of assists.

Sam and Carol Danvers lead the charge to get some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the Avengers together to play pick-up every Saturday morning at the closest park. Maria and Monica Rambeau always dutifully watch from the bleachers (the former acting like its her greatest weekend inconvenience, though they all know she loves it). Monica insists on bringing the boombox, acts as the official DJ as she switches back and forth between the local hip hop and classic rock stations, because Carol swears nothing gets her in the game like glam metal.

Steve Rogers can always be seen nervously pacing the sidelines (he doesn’t think it’d be fair if he and his bulging chest join the game; besides he’s always been more of a baseball kind of guy), acting as the unofficial referee, no matter how many times they explain to him that the very nature of street ball is no rules.

“I just don’t want anybody to get hurt,” he whines with a pout so unintentionally puppy-like that they can’t help but keep letting him ref.

They call Bucky Barnes “the silent assassin” because you forget he’s there until suddenly he’s dropped twenty buckets on you out of nowhere. He grumbles every time Sam smacks his ass after a good play, but they all share secret smirks at the way he also flushes.

Rambeau alternates between heckling Sam every time he bricks a shot and hollering, “Hell yeah, that’s my best friend!” whenever he does his signature fake right, dish left to a wide open Hawkeye who sinks the three or lobs a perfect ally oop to Thor for the slam dunk.

Speaking of Hawkeye, Clint Barton is absolutely useless unless he’s behind the arc. Can’t dribble worth shit, but no one’s ever seen him miss a shot. Not ever.

Natasha Romanoff doesn’t play but can always be found wearing the shortest shorts anyone’s ever seen as she lounges on the bleachers, bobbing her head to the radio and trading jokes with Monica. When the game ends, she husks out a ‘good game, boys’ until an insistent cough draws her attention to a playfully glowering Maria Hill (who is an absolute beast on defense and in the post with that delightfully long torso of hers).

Without fail, Natasha flashes her the kind of smirk that’ll make you have to gulp down an entire gatorade in one go.

“But of course as always, the ladies did it better.”

“Thank you.” That would be Carol interrupting the moment. She’s the self-proclaimed captain every week and takes pick-up games way too seriously. Peter Parker’s no longer allowed to play with them because everyone’s afraid her competitiveness with crush his tiny little earnest spirit.

Carol’s absolutely radiant when her team wins, though, immediately beelining it to the bleachers to hoist a cheering Monica onto her shoulders as she quirks an eyebrow at the girl’s pretending-not-to-be-impressed mother.

“Don’t I get something for winning?” Carol baits.

“Yeah, you get to follow this ass to the car so you can buy us lunch.”

There’s a chorus of “oooohs” and Carol pouts until Rambeau breaks down and plants a kiss on her lips. Monica scrambles off Carol’s shoulders to leap into the arms of an approaching Sam (in a frankly very dangerous maneuver that Maria side eyes with pursed lips) as they all head for the parking lot. Bruce Banner - who shows up late and smothered in sunscreen - consoles a ruddy faced Thor with an awkward pat on the back, because the God of Thunder is absolutely a sore loser.

(“These silly Midgard games have nothing on the grand arena events we’d hold on Asgard each century! There I am the undisputed champion!”)

Carol and Maria jump into their neighboring convertibles, playfully competing to see who can get Monica to ride with them until the girl proclaims “I want to ride with Uncle Sam!” Carol gapes and Maria rolls her eyes fondly as Sam triumphantly cackles.

“You raising her right, Rambeau,” Sam teases. “She knows quality when she sees it.”

Carol putting her middle finger on display in his direction just makes Sam laugh louder as he carries Monica over to his trusty blue Camry, followed a little too close by Bucky (everyone does them the courtesy of pretending not to notice). Steve throws his ham-hocked leg over his Harley, and the rest pile into Barton’s mini van (Natasha forgoes claiming her usual assumed position of shot gun to instead press her thighs against a self-satisfied Maria Hill in the backseat).

They make their way to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch because let’s be real, Monica calls the shots (and Sam honestly likes their pizza, he doesn’t care how the super soldier Brooklyn Boys give him shit for this “blasphemy”). Tony Stark, Pepper Potts and little Morgan Stark meet them there and Stark spontaneously decides to buy a birthday party package, even though it’s nowhere close to anyone’s birthday and the Chuck E. Cheese is technically already fully booked for the day. But he’s Tony Stark - like they’re really gonna say no. With a slice of pizza in one hand and a fountain coke in the other, Tony babbles on about how he could improve the animatronic technology to make it less creepy.

“I better not go into the garage later and see one of those things,” Pepper warns as she warily eyes the stuttering movements of robotic Chuck and gang as they sing an honestly not terrible cover of the Beatles “Eight Days a Week.”

Carol and Monica go on a rampage through all the games and absolutely clean out the place, earning enough tickets to win a huge Captain Marvel plushie that Carol cheekily gifts Maria (who rolls her eyes but secretly pulls out to cuddle against every time Carol’s called up to space for long periods of time) and Thor talks excitedly about the nine realms with a creature he swears he recognizes from space until Bruce has to gently point out that it’s just a human in a giant rat costume.

That night, Carol gets an AOL instant message from NicholasNotNickFury:

NicholasNotNickFury: thanks for inviting me to your little Saturday pick up games

CaptainHotStuff: but we didn’t invite you

NicholasNotNickFury: IT WAS SARCASM DANVERS

The end.

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dvp95 · 4 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (5)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.3k (this chapter), 16.8k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking at."

"Oh, for the love of - you're holding it upside down, Christopher, that's why you -"

"How is this my fault? Why don't you have your screen rotation enabled? ...I still don't know what the fuck this is a picture of."

"You are so - Phil. Hey, Phil? Hello?"

Long fingers snap in front of Phil's nose and he startles a bit, almost upending his hot chocolate all over the table. He gives PJ a reproachful sort of look, embarrassed about being caught zoning out.

"Hi, what," says Phil.

PJ glowers at him. "You can get his number later. Pay attention, you lump, this is your job."

"I wasn't," Phil starts to protest, but there's no real use in lying to PJ. He sighs and takes PJ's phone from Chris. "What are we arguing about? You got some photos?"

"Yes," PJ says. In his exasperation, he looks and sounds uncannily like a substitute teacher dealing with a group of kids that are being difficult on purpose. It's a little funny, but - PJ drove them here. Phil isn't going to risk getting abandoned for laughing at him.

Phil squints at the screen. He tilts his head to the side. He tilts the phone to the other side.

"I don't know what I'm looking at," he admits. "It just looks like graffiti to me, Peej, and that's not exactly unusual."

"Graffiti of what?" PJ presses.

"Geometry homework?"

Before PJ can scold him for not taking this seriously enough, Phil gets distracted by Winnie's sudden cackle. His head turns in the direction of the noise like a dog hearing a whistle, and PJ kicks him.

"I swear," PJ starts.

"Sorry," Phil says quickly, "it's just that - that's the person who sent us the essay on this place."

He doesn't expect subtlety from his friends, because he knows better, but he does have some hope in the back of his mind that immediately gets dashed when Chris claps his hands together excitedly, Sophie almost leans right off her chair trying to get a look at Winnie, and PJ stands up.

"What are you doing?" Sophie asks, but PJ is already taking his phone out of Phil's hand and walking to the counter.

Phil buries his face in his hands and watches through his fingers as PJ slides his phone over the counter and says, "Hey, uh - it’s Dan, right? Will you take a look at this for me?"

Winnie glances up from where they're wiping down the espresso machine and makes eye contact with Phil before they look at PJ. They smile, a little bemused, and pick up PJ's offered phone. They tilt it a couple of different angles with a frown. Phil can't help but notice how their hand covers the large phone with ease.

"See, Peej," Chris calls over. Their table isn’t far enough from the counter to justify the way he practically shouts it, but Phil has already given up on looking normal in front of Winnie. "None of us know what the bloody hell it is, just tell us!"

"They look like," Winnie says slowly, "sigils."

"That's exactly what they are," says PJ. He shoots a triumphant sort of look over his shoulder. Phil rolls his eyes. He doesn't understand why PJ had to make a whole production out of something that he could have texted them when they were still in the house.

With another little smile, Winnie hands PJ's phone back over. "Guessing that was in the Wilkins place?"

"It was," PJ says, sounding a bit distracted all of a sudden. "Sidebar, I really like your nails."

PJ wiggles the fingers on his left hand to show off his own gaudy, bright blue polish, and Winnie's smile widens. They've got such soft cheeks, indented with dimples that Phil wants to poke at.

As if they can hear Phil's thoughts, Winnie's eyes flicker over to him again.

They’re talking to PJ, and the conversation is loud enough for Phil to hear - in theory. The problem, of course, is that he keeps zoning out completely when the soft lighting catches the glitter high on Winnie’s cheeks or they gesture with their big, distracting hands. Phil could honestly not figure out if PJ and Winnie are talking about nail polish or the Wilkins house or some other topic entirely, because he’s too busy watching Winnie laugh.

This is definitely going to be a problem. Winnie isn’t a pretty boy, and Phil knows that, whatever his stupid gay monkey brain says when he looks at them. He can unpack whatever this pull of attraction means when he isn’t, technically, working.

“Why would there be sigils on the attic floor?” Phil asks, more to get his own brain on track than to interrupt whatever’s going on at the counter. He turns to Chris and Sophie, who shrug in eerie unison. “That’s weird, right? Maybe people are just bored and trying to scare the locals.”

“Or people are summoning spooky, scary things,” Chris suggests. He’s grinning wide and wiggling his fingers, so Phil has no idea if he’s being serious. Chris is always like that, riding the edge of sarcasm so far that Phil has known him for two years and yet doesn’t know for sure if the guy believes in ghosts or not.

PJ does. He doesn’t even pretend to be down to earth at the best of times, and listening to weird noises on Phil’s computer always gets him in peak conspiracy form.

“I think the better question is why did we have to leave right away?” Sophie hums, stirring her drink. She’s long since shucked off her jacket and curled up on the chair like she’s at home, firelight reflecting off her eyes and earrings. “Did he recognise them?”

“Bet he just freaked,” says Chris.

“Peej doesn’t freak.”

“Bet he did this time. Bet he went up into the attic and it was all spider-y and creepy and he freaked at the first sign of prior human life.”

“Sigils mean things,” Phil says, pulling out his laptop. “They’re not just random shapes.”

“They do, but they also are.”

Phil’s head jerks up at the sound of Winnie’s voice, suddenly so much closer. Winnie is standing awkwardly beside their table, in the process of taking Chris’ empty mug away, and their cheeks flush a soft rosy colour when they make eye contact with Phil.

“What do you know about them?” Chris asks, leaning forward in clear interest.

It takes a beat for Winnie’s eyes to leave Phil’s. “A bit,” they say.

PJ sets a new drink in front of Chris and ruffles Sophie’s curls as he sits down, and Phil wonders what they look like to a complete outsider. He’ll have to message Winnie later and ask what they think is going on here.

Maybe it’s easier if you don’t know them, actually. Maybe there’s a very simple answer that Phil is unable to see past all the strange noises he’s heard through the thin walls of the Brighton house and the cuddle piles he’s walked in on and the way Chris openly flirts with him at any given opportunity.

Phil doesn’t understand the look that passes between Chris and PJ. That’s nothing new, really, but something about this one unsettles him. He wants to know what they’re thinking, because if it’s something to do with Winnie, it feels like Phil has the right to know.

“Right,” says Chris. He’s got the sort of dubious expression that he usually reserves for when he’s asking if Phil ate the rest of the biscuits.

“What?” Phil asks.

“Nothing,” Chris says convincingly, giving Phil a winning smile. It’s always a little disconcerting to watch Chris pull up and discard personas as easily as if he were changing scarves. Something about it feels different to the way Phil gets when he retreats into himself and puts up his walls, because all Phil is ever trying to do is deflect, deflect, deflect, but Chris is more of an actor, and a good one at that. Phil doesn’t think he’s ever seen a side of Chris that wasn’t intentionally put there.

Sometimes he wonders how well he knows these people that he shares so much of his life with. He wonders how well they know him.

Phil turns back to Winnie to see if anything about the exchange made them uncomfortable, but they’ve gotten sufficiently distracted by Phil’s laptop screen. They snort and give Phil a sideways sort of glance.

“I don’t think that’ll get you very far, mate,” they say.

The Google search in front of Phil simply says ‘what sigils’.

“I wasn’t finished,” Phil huffs. He backspaces the question entirely and taps his fingers on the edge of his keyboard.

“Hi, I’m Sophie,” Sophie says in that soft, soothing voice of hers. She smiles up at Winnie. “The drink is delicious, thank you.”

“Oh, er,” Winnie says, clearly caught off-guard by the unexpected politeness. They bite their lower lip and shift from one foot to the other, still holding an empty mug to their chest. “You’re welcome. Had a lot of practice. You can call me Dan, if you like.”

They look to Phil when they say that, and Phil has to look away before those brown eyes draw him in again.

“Dan,” Phil says, because he can’t help himself. He wants to know how the name feels in his mouth and it’s a little strange, actually, how well it seems to fit there. He gestures across the table before he can start to overthink in public again. “Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum over here are Chris and PJ. And you know my name.”

“You’re Tweedle-Dum,” Chris informs PJ solemnly.

“Hi,” Dan says, giving them an awkward little salute.

“You seem to know more about this than we do,” Sophie says, gesturing at the empty chair at the head of the table. “Care to talk us through it? If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Dan raises their eyebrows and pointedly looks around the quiet, empty coffee shop. Their coworker has her headphones in and looks like she’s in danger of falling asleep against the cash register.

“I think I’ve got some time,” they say, dry, and set the empty mug down as they sit.

Twenty minutes later, and Phil is no closer to understanding the symbols scratched into the Wilkins attic floorboards. He learns several other things, like the theory behind chaos magic, the etymology of the word ‘sigil’, and, inexplicably, Dan’s opinion on impressionist art, but he doesn’t follow half of the paths that Dan’s rambling wanders down.

It’s cute to watch, at least. They get so worked up and gesticulate wildly, and it makes Phil wonder if they have any idea what they look like when they do that. He has to hold onto his mug to stop himself from mirroring the gestures.

Phil glances around at his friends to see if anyone is following this ‘explanation.’ Sophie’s got a little crease between her eyebrows and Chris is just looking at Dan, a little slack-jawed, but PJ is nodding along.

“Exactly,” PJ says when Dan pauses to take a breath.

“Fucking what?” Chris asks. Phil is unreasonably glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to say something. He’s just as lost as Chris is. “Sorry, but what the fuck? What did any of that even mean? Did I have a stroke halfway through that?”

Dan looks sheepish, the rosy patch on their cheek deepening and spreading until their whole face is pink. Phil finds himself fascinated by it, but he really doesn’t want Dan to feel like they’re being annoying or anything when they’re just being kind of helpful and very cute. Their teeth dig into their lower lip again, and Phil idly wonders if Dan has ever heard of chapstick. The shiny lip product they’re wearing doesn’t seem to be helping with the dryness the way Phil would have expected it to.

“Sorry,” they say, suddenly much quieter. They link their fingers together like they’re stopping themself from talking with them again. “So, it’s like… you can’t really look up what these mean, because that’s not how sigils work. They’re not runes or, like, Gallifreyan, there’s no dictionary out there telling you what every sigil ever means. The person who creates them is the one who makes them up, like…”

They pull a small notebook out of their apron and Phil hands over a pen from his bag without thinking twice. Dan gives him a small smile, still seeming embarrassed now that they’ve been confronted with Chris’ blunt confusion.

The notebook is full of small doodles and indecipherable bullet points when Dan flips through it to find an empty page. Phil is surprised by how much he wants to look closer, but he’s got this pull in his stomach that he’s pretty sure has been there since he first heard Dan laugh. He wants to know Dan better. It’s been a long time since he wanted to know anyone at all, because, well, Phil and new people are very un-mixy things.

Phil and his friends all lean closer to watch as Dan taps the pen against the page thoughtfully. “Okay,” they say, “one of you, tell me something you want in your own life.”

“I want a dog,” Sophie says immediately.

“Me too,” Dan grins, their dimples on full display. “What kind of dog?”

“Small. Definitely fluffy. I don’t really mind about different breeds or anything.”

“Okay,” says Dan. They write SOPHIE HAS A SMALL FLUFFY DOG THAT SHE LOVES at the top of the page in block letters. “You don’t say you want something, you say you have it already. I’m guessing you guys have heard about speaking things into existence? It’s kind of like that.”

This whole system is foreign to Phil, but having a visual is helping a lot. “How does that become what PJ found in the attic?” Phil asks, curious.

“First, you take out the vowels,” PJ is the one to say. Dan gives PJ a bright smile that has Phil feeling a pang of something he doesn’t have a name for. “Then all the double letters. It breaks the sentence down into just a few consonants, right? That way you can use them as a kind of base, I think.”

“That’s exactly right,” says Dan. “At least, as far as I know? Like, I don’t know every type of sigil and method of creating them that’s ever existed or anything, I just get lost in Wikipedia sometimes.”

Underneath the first sentence, they write SPH HS SMLL FLFFY DG THT SH LVS, and then S P H M L F Y D G T V under that. The breakdown is a lot easier for Phil to follow than just listening to Dan ramble, as long as he doesn’t get too distracted by Dan’s long fingers around the pen.

“‘Y’ is a vowel,” says Chris.

Dan shrugs. “This is just an example, anyway. So then you’re supposed to make the sigil out of the base letters, like -”

They sketch out a couple of messy attempts, their tongue poking between their teeth in concentration, and Phil is fascinated by watching the letters get more and more abstract until they resemble something like a single image.

It doesn’t look exactly like the ones on the floorboards, but Phil thinks that’s probably some combination of artistic liberty and individual thought patterns on how letters can fit together into a single symbol. PJ holds his hand out for the pen and draws his own take on the same sigil, and the rounded preciseness of his lettering next to Dan’s spiky, symmetrical finished product is really interesting to look at.

“Then you’re supposed to forget it and activate it,” PJ informs the table. “Although that order doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“That’s really cool,” Sophie says softly, reaching out to press her fingers against PJ’s sigil.

“It is cool,” Dan agrees. “But that’s what I mean - they are random, in a way. You’re never going to be able to look at those sigils and, like, reverse-engineer them until they have a meaning.”

“Which is exactly why I needed to get out of there,” PJ says, more triumphantly than Phil thinks he has any right to. Yeah, this is interesting and everything, but Phil doesn’t think it proves anything at all. “Because who knows what someone summoned into that place!”

Dan snorts. They look up at PJ through those long, dark eyelashes and give him such a skeptical look that Phil has to hold back laughter. “Nobody summoned anything, mate,” they say. “This is a load of rubbish, same as any other type of ‘magic’. I just think it’s fun to read about when I can’t sleep.”

The look of absolute betrayal on PJ’s face sends Phil over the edge, and he’s laughing before he can stop himself.

“Okay, okay,” Phil says between giggles. “This isn’t a debate forum. You two can argue about this later. So we kind of know what the symbols are but also we don’t, and they’re more or less a dead lead. What I am hearing is that PJ did, in fact, get freaked.”

“Ha!” Chris crows. He sticks his palm out towards Sophie, leaning into PJ’s personal space to do so. “Pay up, Newts.”

“I didn’t make a bet. You did.”

“Still! I won!”

PJ smacks at Chris’ hand and scowls around the table. “I didn’t freak. I don’t freak. I just think we should be on alert in a place that is covered in creepy sigils that could do anything at all to us and our environment.”

“There’s nothing they could do,” Dan says, seemingly unable to help themself. “They’re doodles.”

“We shouldn’t be there without some kind of protection,” PJ insists.

“What d’you suggest?” Phil hums, already typing up some notes for future Phil to look at later. He knows he’ll forget something core if he doesn’t do it now. “Holy water? I don’t know any priests.”

He’s teasing, just a little bit, because PJ’s steadfast determination to live on a planet where impossible things happen every day is very funny.

“No, that’s for demons,” Chris pipes up, cheerful and half-sarcastic as always. “These are witches!”

“You’re the demons,” PJ says flatly.

Phil reaches across the table and pats PJ’s hand without looking away from his screen. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can Sharpie some protection sigils on us before we go in next time. I need to see the attic for myself, but I definitely got a weird vibe just being in that place.”

“Dan,” the girl behind the counter calls over. She’s long given up on pretending to work at all, and has been watching something on her phone the entire time that Dan’s been talking to them, but Dan still startles like they’ve been caught out doing something they shouldn’t. “Sorry, but it’s quarter to. We gotta start closing up.”

“Right, yeah,” Dan says, sounding a little flustered. They stand up and start collecting all the empty mugs on the table. When they reach Phil’s mostly-full hot chocolate, they raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t really like hot chocolate,” Phil admits. He gives Dan a little grin. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow and try the coffee?”

He can only imagine what his friends’ expressions look like right now. He doesn’t bother checking, even when Dan’s pretty eyes flick over to them momentarily.

“Okay,” says Dan. Their shiny, chapped lips stretch into a wide smile. “I won’t be working, actually, but… I can stop by if you guys - I dunno. Want another set of eyes? Ones that don’t jump immediately to ghosts and witches, perhaps?”

“Sure,” Phil agrees before his friends can give their input on the matter. “I’ll message you.”

Dan ducks their head in a surprisingly shy gesture for a person who takes up so much physical space. Their eyelids glitter like their cheeks, their nails, their lovely eyes, and Phil might be a little screwed, here.

#words words words #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #quiet on widow's peak

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rarestereocats · 5 years

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I make my way back to the others after nearly destroying this lady's home for the sake of rat justice, noticing a merchant cart roll into town with some much needed supplies after news of this ghoul problem spread around. Meanwhile Torik approaches a random child on the street to pass off a toy bow he doesn't want because why just clean out our inventories when we could give back to the people? This kid is understandably a little nervous by the strange preacher man coming over and giving him things, but luckily Torik's a cool dude and puts this kid's mind at ease and they get a new toy out of it. With that taken care of, we all meet back up at the Pridemaker's Hearth to ready ourselves and head out on a dangerously simple plan.

We need a signal in case things go wrong, so Beldroth hands Torik a signal whistle that he surprisingly had on him. Because it lets off an eagle's call, we all have to figure out if eagles are even native to this area on the off-chance the ever elusive night eagle throws a wrench in our plans. The jury's still out on that one, so we say a little prayer for protection (and to keep eagles at bay) and set off. Torik lights up a candle to make himself even more appealing on his totally lonesome journey to the woods, Sam flies overhead to keep an eye on things, Beldroth sneaks behind through the bushes, and I clumsily follow after while being about as stealthy as a tired old man raiding the fridge at 1 in the morning. Despite the grim circumstances surrounding this trip, it's a pretty nice night...

Well, up until Torik delves deeper and the forest grows a little too quiet. He heads in the direction of the silence while Beldroth points out possible ghoul tracks to me and right as he does, there's a flurry of something moving past the two of us, ready to sink its creepy claws into Torik. But luckily, he turns around in time and throws up his shield, preventing him from being a part of Windermare's current statistic, and blows the signal whistle. We all move in to beat the shit out of this lonely ghoul, but of course, we should've known better as two more jump into the fray. They're surprisingly no match for us and with two dead, we tie up the other and take it back to town to interrogate, startling the only guard who begs us to keep it away from the townsfolk.

So we set it up in the local cemetery, Beldroth tying its arms up above it and on the branch, setting a trap that'll kill it if it manages to break free. Torik questions it aggressively, even going as far to threaten it with holy water, but after Beldroth makes fun of his interrogation skills, Torik storms off and leaves the rest of us to handle it. Same manages to coax some answers from the creature, though these answers are cryptic and vague. Knowing it has a leader though, we take it down from the tree, fastening a harness for it and "kindly" urging it to take us to its lair and upon arriving; Torik finishes this one off by pouring his holy water all over it. We head inside and very quickly learn that this dungeon isn't a fungeon as ghouls are the least of our problem and some of the stalagmites turn out to be more than they are.

They can sprout tentacles and have a particular affinity for latching themselves to everybody's faces and trying to choke the life out of us. Even when we think we've taken care of that problem, all of us head deeper into these tunnels with a healthy sense of paranoia and we have every right to be as these dark mantles attack us on several occasions. Further on, we think we can sneak and get the jump on a group of ghouls chewing on a mangled, unrecognizable body; but we thought wrong as they turned around and start tearing into us immediately. It's like trying to approach a group of rabid, wild dogs and hoping you can sneakily throw a leash around their neck and be okay only for you to walk away with a tooth stuck in your leg and a need for a rabies shot.

Once the ghouls are cut down, Torik continues to burn their bodies because to be honest, it's what they deserve. The mangled body turns out to be the body of the teenage boy who originally spotted the creatures, so we cremate him on the spot cuz Torik's apparently just a traveling crematorium; and retrieve his necklace to return to his family. Onward we press until we reach another room full of ghouls and a big one that we can only assume is the leader. Big Stinky and Co are kind of assholes and kick all of our asses pretty hard, even knocking Torik unconscious and nearly killing me. But luckily, the tides turn in our favor and the ghouls are all annihilated and their bodies burned to a pile of crispy, stinky ashes. The room has piles of bones and belongings, so Torik and Sam spend time gathering up the belongings of the deceased to return to the people of Windermare.

With that, Beldroth leads us back to the town and come morning, we visit the mayor to tell him of our success. We turn over the belongings, acquire our reward, and Sam manages to cure me of my lycanthropy (which I still don't believe in), and with nothing else left to take care of in Windermare; we head back to Fragifell to speak with Ellie. Ellie's got an elven visitor that looks like somebody of importance and especially looks like someone I know, but my dumbass can't figure out who he is. He's the lord of our region, Nikolos Crows, so the fact that I can't remember him is very bad. We tell both my boss and the lord of our success in stomping out the ghoul problem, and they're both very pleased. In a few short minutes though, what looks like a competent team falls apart as we all manage to make asses out of ourselves in front of the lord. Torik pulls out his ancestor worship spiel, getting cut off as Beldroth and the lord get into a lengthy discussion about elven things, such as the artifact that Beldroth's seeking out.

Which leads Torik to talking about the artifact he's looking for and Crows asks what it is Sam's looking for. Sam's just looking for some good ol' knowledge...something about dark or forbidden knowledge that isn't easy to acquire and cookbooks? Obviously such forbidden knowledge is hidden within the rambling stories of a wealthy gnomish woman who's about to tell you every decision she's made in her life up until the point she learned to make a pretty bitchin' lasagna. So Crows calls me by name and asks me what I'm looking for too, and I'm absolutely honored that this man I have no recollection of knows my name a n d wants to know about me. I decide to be honest as right now, I'm only looking for a pair of manacles. He looks amused, but my boss looks exasperated, but Crows urges her to fetch said manacles for me; so damn, this guy's cool.

He says so long as we continue to work with him, he'll help us all on our quests. He has a job for us all. Simply deliver and letter and a birthday present to the lord of a neighboring region, Kalcuer. He resides in the capital city and in order to get into his palace, we'll all need to wear crests to prove we can be trusted. So lord Crows gets us situated in a fancy inn tonight as he has to prepare those for us. We'll be given some horses to rent for the trip, but Torik has decided he'd like to buy himself a pony instead. With all that taken care of, the lord warns us not to abuse our power with those crests and we part ways for the night.

#adventures of the volunteer fire department #oc: aki kulumavi #game: dnd mercenaries

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