Shadowhawk

IC: Hammerlock "Uh, not sure. Let me check..." I shift my position slightly so Trava can see the book too, and quickly thumb through the pages. After a moment's search I find what she's looking for. An artist's rendition in full color, skillfully emblazoned across the top of the chapter's title page: ... "Pretty neat, huh?"

I already knew that before I asked the question, bro.

Just a quick question for the staff... do Kraata breathe? See the linked post; is the proposed strategy, more or less feasible?

You're dead. You're literally breaking the rules right now. Oh, right... yeah, I guess so. Sorry about that. I'm still getting used to all this newfangled red tape.

IC: Hammerlock I rub my jaw thoughtfully. What I really think is that, all things considered, it'd probably be easiest to just prowl around and let other teams do the hunting, then pop their skulls at three hundred yards with a heavy crossbow and make tracks with the loot. Dead easy. And no one's gonna be asking questions when a handful of amateur Rahkshi hunters turn up missing. Problem with that is, I'm no sniper and I've got no friends who are. Meh. ... "Putting a hole through the carapace shouldn't be a huge problem, if we could somehow immobilize the Rahkshi exoskeleton itself." Another few moments of thought, then: "Do Kraata breathe? I wonder if an airborne nerve toxin would be effective."

Calling it. Tex, Blade, Chro, and Toa Chuck are all Mafia. E: Or at least, most of them are.

...and now to sit back and watch the Mafia start a bandwagon with Voxumo's name on it.

IC: Hammerlock "Need money?" I echo, and my sturdy white teeth flash in a devilish grin. "Need money? Of course we don't need money, but we ###### sure want it... Folks don't really need much, when you think about it." As she removes her mask, my gaze lingers a moment on her face. Tracing the angular, finely-chiseled features, the strong cheekbones, the delicate-but-firm jaw structure. And those splendid green eyes. She really is quite a striking young woman. "On the other hand, gold is leverage and leverage is strength, and you know just as well as I do what happens to the weak. So I guess it pays off in the end, to make sure you get all you can when the getting's good." I shrug carefully. "That's my theory, anyhow."

IC: Hammerlock "Rahkshi armor is worth a lot of money these days. Insomuch that hunting them might actually be worth the risk. If the hunter takes the necessary precautions." I pull out an enormous leather-bound tome entitled 'Ye Olde Beasts Most Foul', hefting it easily in one hand, and glance through the table of contents. Almost immediately, I spot something interesting. "Here we go. Chapter VII... 'the Sons of Makuta'... sounds promising, eh?"

IC: Hammerlock Me, I just laugh. "That's a very practical attitude indeed, isn't it? I appreciate your concern."

I'll take Slot 21, please.

IC: Hammerlock "No doubt there is," I respond affably. "But I'm not one to brag, so a secret it is and a secret it shall remain." I gesture to the Wise Man's Archive. The fool Po-Matoran and his group are still blocking the front door, but there's a second, less prominent entrance nearby that looks like it's probably unlocked. It also happens to be marked 'Employees Only', but it's amazing just how accommodating and polite these little villagers tend to be when they notice you're at least three (or four) times their size, armed to the proverbial teeth, and could probably rip the whole bookstore apart without breaking a sweat. "I was scouting for information concerning Rahkshi... would you like to come along?"

IC: Hammerlock I don't know exactly what she's implying. But I've got a few guesses, which may or may not be way off the mark thanks to my dirty little mind, and now I'm warier than ever. Chicks like this one shouldn't even be allowed. They're so freakin' dangerous, you'll get a freakin' sunburn if you stand too close. Seriously, I've seen it happen.* Which brings me to the second point of discussion. Did you ever stop and think, and realize just how intriguing, how charming, how utterly intoxicating danger can be? ... My half-smile fades a bit, but there's a sudden electric energy crackling in my sapphire gaze. I can feel it. "I'll bet so, with your kind of looks," I counter nimbly but most sincerely, and make a slight bow from the waist in perfect aristocratic form. If I'd a helmet, I'd have doffed it long ago, only I don't. One more thing on the to-do list. "Fair huntress, may I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance? They call me Hammerlock." *...and it happened because the chick in question was a Toa of Plasma. LOL

Killoe: "Well, I wouldn't say that. Not exactly. It's just I can't stand to be fenced in, that's all."

OOC: Go ahead, a timeskip sounds fine. Killoe: I chuckle dryly. "Me? I had no reason to stay where I was, so I just kept on a-driftin'. I move with the wind, and linger 'bout as long."

rightso a really bad turaga. you bein' mean to me stahp it

Killoe: I've no particular objection to heading back to the Saloon, so I trail with the group. As we walk along, I introduce myself, friendly-like, to the quiet hombre, the one who seems more apt to look and listen than to speak, and to the scrawny rack of bones with the buffalo coat. "Hey there... m' name's Killoe. Or sometimes just 'the Drifter'... an' that tag works too, I reckon. It's not every day a place like this gets visitors; 'kin I ask what brings you folks to town?" OOC: That'd be Archer and Eustace, respectively.

OOC: Well, Killoe could turn out to be a really horrible evil semi-insane person who, like, randomly begins shooting all the inactive peoples' characters. That'd definitely help things run better, right?

Same here.

The facts you reference are indisputable; your conclusions, justified. Quisoves of the Potoo tricked me once, shame on him... It won't happen again, so there'll be no shame on me. Solaced by thoughts of violent revenge, I now await my imminent demise with all due silence and serenity. ...

I still don't understand why you guys are deliberately lynching the Turaga, who is a pro-Village role.

OOC: I'm waiting on Blade, myself.

What makes you say my vote counts for three? Because last I checked, the Turaga's vote counts double. Which is two.

OOC: The following occurs, in response to Trava. Sorry about the delay. IC: Hammerlock She's quiet on her feet, this girl is. Lithe, coordinated. I can feel it in her movements, the way her gait disturbs the earth... or rather, does not. The soft swirl and ripple in the shadow that marks her entrance on the scene, the vague scent of leather and sun and deep jungle... her presence... registers only a split second or two before she speaks, and that is an uncomfortably slight margin of error... just slight enough for a blade between the ribs or an arrow through the spine. Had she been out for blood, she'd have gotten it. And yours truly would be in a world of hurt. And so, before I even tilt my skull a mite down and to starboard, letting me analyze her appearance with a careful sidelong glance, I'm curious. And also wryly amused, because that cynical little comment about 'the natives' has broken more ice in my direction than she'll probably ever know. Half-smiling, I catch her eye... and for some reason I will never know, my first thought is that her gaze is clear and strong and glows almost the exact same shade of light green that forms a secondary element of dryland camouflage. woah ... that is so hot "Yes... natives." I respond, and laugh shortly. "They do tend to keep life interesting, don't they?"

... was gonna say something but nevermind now