<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Courier;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;"><strong>S T O R Y T E L L E R</strong></span></span><hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9c/f2/14/9cf214e265e1cc035c7fd00be49fb65a.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c3/f9/d4/c3f9d481c20242bdf24872f0ccb333f3.jpg)</div><strong>Dramatis Personae:</strong>Goblin Quartet<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>As Pictured<br/><br/><strong>Time:</strong><em>10:00 AM XST</em><br/><strong>Location:</strong><em></em>Showdown! Orchard<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Prospective Crystelia Coven Members |<br/><strong>Notes:</strong><br/><hr/>For the most part, Melody can identify a lot of the things she sees. The main differences seem to be in size, shape, and/or color. Leaves are still quite leafy; scraps of leather feel like tanned animal hide, so on and so forth.<br/><br/>Perhaps one of the most interesting specimens she sees on the road, though, is a six foot tall blond human, wearing loose fitting trousers, big stompy spiked boots, and a fur-lined cloth vest that leaves his chest and abdomen open; exposing flesh marred by a hundred and eight criss-crossing scars.  More notable than his physique, or even the big freakin' axe he carries with him in just one hand, is the fact that at some point, he must have lost his left arm; but it's since been replaced with a mass of vines that looks, and functions, like an arm. It even ends in five finger-like tendrils that are capped with nails made of bark!<br/><br/>Despite the grievous injury that surely must have taken place to earn him a fantasy prosthetic, he passes by the group while whistling a merry little tune, accompanied by a slender red-haired human woman with a dueling sword, and functional looking leather armor. They seem like a happy couple, off on some grand adventure, no doubt.<br/><hr/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">For Melody</div><div class="spoiler_body">The farmer takes a few moments to come over to her. She's a comely looking, middle-aged human woman, in plain, dirt-stained clothes. "Eh, what's that? Speak up, girl! Ain't heard no screaming...but, that's the widow Whittaker's orchard." Although the farmer speaks loudly, it's not with anger or animosity--but it does indicate she's a little hard of hearing. After providing this handy little bit of exposition, the farmer, seemingly unconcerned, returns to the task of weeding. <br/></div></div><br/>Their mind made up, their will defined, the Wicces have been given the call to adventure, and they have answered that call. As they draw nearer, they can hear a quartet of sinister voices united in song:<br/><br/>"~Out the forest, through the trees! Goblins quiet in the leaves, goblins sneak and goblins harm, goblins find the farm! Killed the dog away from home, with badger stink and poison bone! Goblins sneak and goblins hide, goblins know how to get inside!<br/><br/>Quick with shiny knife, goblin’s find the farmer’s wife! Nice and neat, with her meat, we’ll beat feet! Kweh-heh-heh-hee–hee-haa!~"<br/><br/>Underneath the singing and the laughter, they can hear muffled screams. They can also hear the clattering of metallic objects hitting the floor; clay pottery and jugs breaking; cabinets being opened and slammed; the general sounds of looting and pillaging.<br/><br/>The front door of the farmstead is open, half its hinges broken, teetering about, ready to break entirely if it takes so much as a single, solid blow. Inside, two goblins–who look like they could be fraternal twins–are holding a woman, clad in peasant garb, down on the floor. They take turns slapping and smacking her, laughing at her, spitting on her, and are generally being unrepentant sadists.<br/><br/>A third one seems to be responsible for trashing the place, and is busily rummaging through a cabinet, trying to eat raw flour, and, “Blegh-gegh! Gaaaaa! Bad. Not meat!” Then, the goblin throws the sack of flour towards the front door. “Wah! Who-what!? Meat! Moooore meat! Gwah-hee-hee-hah! Mooooore meeeaat! Giiiiirl meat, tasty meat!” “Meat for me!” Comes a voice from a different room, nasally, guttural, and growling–hallmarks of goblinoid speech.<br/><br/>At a glance, the girls will notice that the two goblins tormenting the poor peasant woman have chunks of vaguely sharp metal; crude short swords. They’re also using barrel lids as impromptu shields. The flour-hating goblin has several small spheres on a bandolier over their chest, which look like they might be grenades or bombs of some sort; while the fourth, joining his brethren from elsewhere, has already begun twirling a set of bolas, preparing to attack.<br/><br/>As they take in these threats, this moment in time, they become aware of several things: no matter how peaceful this world seems, violence and malice are always present. In this moment and time, there is no room for peaceful resolution: these goblins want nothing more than to literally eat the magical girls, the peasant, and probably anything else they can get their grubby green claws on.<br/><br/>But more than that, each of the girls feel time slowing down. A single beating of the heart seems to stretch out into ten seconds. They are not capable of physically moving, but their thoughts are processing at a high speed.<br/><br/>They can also feel their wands becoming hot (but not painfully so), and each ‘hears’ a voice in the back of their head. Each hears a different voice, each speaking in a different way.<br/><br/>To Mugi, she catches an image of pale, but fierce, blue eyes.<em>We can not let this injustice stand! Come, soul-sister, let our warcry bring fear to our foes, and hope to our allies!</em>The voice is androgynous, hard, but not harsh. Powerful, booming, and inspiring.<br/><br/>To Alexis, the thought surges through her mind, booming like thunder.<em>Soul-sister! You and I both know what needs be done–accept my power, and show these monsters to fear the unfettered fury of the storm. </em><br/><br/>To Bridgette, the voice sounds like the rattling of bones.<em>Do they really think they can bring fear to you? To me? To us? Come, soul-sister, let us show them what it means to fear. </em><br/><br/>To Fennu, she catches a hint of wood smoke, and the voice sounds like a crackling bonfire. At first, it seems like background noise, but then she realizes the pattern in the noise, and it becomes clear:<em>purify these wicked ones, soul-sister. Take my flame into yourself, and burn the cancer from this world. </em><br/><br/>To Melody, the voice is sweet, like honey for the ears. Soft, yet firm, and femme:<em>Soul-sister, pray, take my hand–take me into yourself. Become more; become the light that drives this darkness away. Let us bring a new, brighter world into being–one free of fear and suffering.</em><br/><br/>And each, in turn, is struck with the instant epiphany that is needed to unlock their transformation. Should they reach out and accept that power into themselves, they each find words on their lips, forming without prior thought: “Crystal up…”<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Now is the time to show off, and perform your first transformation! Have fun with it. Also, please give us an initiative roll, which is 2d6+ACV<br/></div></div>