Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-34163681-20190125211013/@comment-30014014-20190128010023

"What the...WHAT IN TARNATION?!" Micheal's plates drop clean on the floor, spilling every available towel warmed to the optimal temperature "WHAT NO-GOOD BOTTOM-FEEDING CHICK-THIEVING BRAIN-DEAD MUD EATER THOUGHT TO BE A GOOD IDEA TO MAKE A HEIST WITH THE YOUNGLINGS!?"

His bellows rattles the entire house, rousing just about every couple awake. The man makes furious hops to every bed supposed to host either a singular egg or twins. His eyes twitch in dementia, confirming exactly what his think had come to: someone came about and basically committed a collective kidnapping.

"No good bottom-dwelling pieces of dog rejects!" he raves and yells, drawing the rest of the inhabitants of the reasonably large housing to be startled by the disappearances of their unborn hatchlings "Every step they've taken with the younglings will be a mile traveled back by their tongues in the most disgusting piece of street available!!"

His wife, Jina, had taken to lay her jet black wings on his shoulders in an attempt to simmer him down. The miniature hat adorning her head is slightly hinged to the left, the only red piece of attire in her otherwise black kimono. However, the shivering glare falling off her crimson eyes slit had no intention of calming him down, being reasonably peeved that someone had run off with their unhatched young.

In fact, this manner of outrage he currently is speaking is a rather welcomed view from the other couples as well. A fitting act for the speaker of the group that stands in boiling anger over one of the unspeakable sins for upcoming parents.

"Micheal's right!" speaks another man watching his tender half currently running all over their hatching's empty bed under a galvanized stare of distress "The hell kind of freaks go around stealing kids and what not?!"

One by one, the couples all search the beds, as if in denial about the clear thievery until no other outcome becomes clear. Soon crystal clear to the situation, the majority turns to the man who found the room in a distraught state, eyes fumed in fiery retribution. His stare spoke exactly of what he was intending to remedy this unfortunate situation as his badge now shines in his hand... --- Jina's flight comes to the edge of the house's territory, no longer bound to the earth, but carried by the whims of the winds. No longer looking like an ordinary house, but a starport, the hovering fortress oversees another group of idle bystanders, all wrapped in aviator outfits, the outfits themselves hardened by fiber plates adorning the very extremities of the attire.

The harpies have their wings unencumbered by the suit's materials as well as their visages, their bodies well toned for flight. A beret adorns their collective minds with a wire stretched to their jawline, a way fo communication. Their eyes lie behind modern glasses featuring a head-up display currently feeding them information of their surroundings.

Their husbands, however, had compromises to meet, their faces sheltered by an armored oxygen mask linking their suits to it. Their heads are completely encased under a helmet of the same material, the badge seen at Micheal's hand now drilled on each's shoulder pad.

They standby as Jina flaps her way back to to the group eager for a rescue and retaliation prospect. Her scouting act was needless for words, the information coming straight to the harpies' and men's HUDs. Bandits and orcs, beholden to their unhatched, likely for a fortune.

Micheal turns to the group, the tone of a drill sergeant overtaking his usually calm voice "Line up! First flight, line up!"

The harpies march to the edge of what now turns to a road large enough for small planes to run up the path. They halt to the very edge of the path, their sights welcomed to the clouds.

"Present flight apparels!" Micheal's voice comes clear in their electronic earrings.

As a response, they present their wings in a poised stance, ready to take flight.

"Bella, ready to pounce!" yells the aggressive harpy, her wingspan washed in utter darkness, the tip of her fold clenched like a fist-shaking with anger.

"Harley, awaiting orders!" bellows the second peach shaded harpy, slightly shorter than the first one, in glee with a vengeful giggle.

~Sally, ready to sow discord among the inter~lopers~ The third one passes her azure plumage through her hair, her mic in a bright pink over the casual black. Her wingspan broadens at the back, almost singing among the winds.

"Hum...C-Caroline ready..." The timid one flutters her span over her mouth, muffling her words through the comms as but a whisper. Even under the unhatched twins of her yok, it wouldn't be until a visual contact that she'd be as filled with retribution as the rest.

"Let them feel the thunder's clap!" Unusually calm in her speech, Tania grinds her galvanizing feathers against one another, the resulting sparks harmlessly falling on her bronze skin, a contrast to the bright emerald and sapphire assortment of feathers.

The player of the group remains quiet, unwilling to send forth any dialogue that may prelude to a violent confrontation. However, to state Genevieve was in any way unaffected by this serial thieving of her unhatched young would be a grave accusation. The stroke of her guitar turns it to a darker variant, one laced with a loveless curse, as a long-term 'dissuasion' to those they are to...meet.

And finally, Olivia, the wise one in the group. Unlike the rest of her brethren, her poise is upright, as a caster would be. Particles evaporate from her body, dwindling in orange, her gaze cast on the approximate location of said thieves and bandits, waiting.

"Second flight! Line up!"

The men mimic the same walk pattern, pacing and stopping beside one's individual wife.

"Present flight apparel!"

At his words, the men vigorously spread their arms, spawning forth metallic wings from their backs under a propulsor, ready for flight, Their likeness is attuned to the corresponding harpy, which is to say, their wives.

Seeing the halves completed, Micheal turns to Jina, the latter turned back to him. She nods to her husband, an act prompting him and her to follow the rest at the edge, readying themselves.

Once more, his voice comes to their communication devices, roused in a fatherly rage "Now, bandits and orcs. Halfwits and no wits...ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!? A bunch of empty cases and bottom-feeders somehow managed to scurry their ways to our maternal ward!!"

Hearing him speak up in such a manner is very well rousing to the rest, none of them in the knowledge of the way the kidnappers went about. His voice continues "The only time the Rainbow Shroud decides to halt its activity, a bunch of worthless maggots and whining harlots go for the very reason each of us took a stop to the utmost intense of expeditions. Now, am I under a case of delirium, or is there something wrong with this picture?!"

The silence is pierced by the cohort of groans and growls, all in agreement with his statement. Whatever the way the orcs and bandits came to steal their eggs was a matter to revise later on. Right now...

"Are we going to let the filthiest of mud-dwelling, scum-eating, brown-toothed and uselessly obtuse short-sighted Cro-Magnons run off with our hatching?! Are we really going to go flop on this very stage of parenting because of crap-slinging thieves?!"

"NO!" The collection of harpies and husbands yell out in their mics, eager to dive down to those regrettable bandits.

"Rainbow Shroud...roll out!" His last order, a sight filled with plumage of every color filling the stage where their feet used to be... --- Hidden elsewhere, on a traveling's path, a group wanders and laughs about as they carry away a hoving cart full of large eggs "Hehehe, what a steal!"

"I know, right?" One of the bandits grins to his teeth as he rubs his hands in a triumph "You imagine the money we're getting from a colorful set of eggs. It's like I'm staring at a rainbow!"

"Ooh, ooh, ooh, beautiful colors, yes?" An orc talks to another, drooling at the incoming prospect "Now they owe us a favor".

"We grab the eggs, they reward us with a one-on-one---

She disappears in a breath of air under her compatriot's eye "Huh---

A burst of air follows her own disappearing act. The laughing from the front stops as one of the bandits had noticed a movement at the corner of his eyes. His breathing accelerates, unsure of what is happening.

Then, a third one. A man, this time, munching on an apple as he glared at the collection of eggs. His apple is left spinning for a second before it falls.

"Guys! Guys! Ambush--

His voice breaks midway, his disappearance all too obvious for those present "The hell?! Thieves?" The remains pull out their weapons, ranging from firearms to blunt objects.

Their forms surround the cart, eyes darting upward, downward, left and right. Heavy breathing stems from the rest, numbering at least in the dozen "You see anything?"

"No, they just...disappeared!"

The cohort darts all around its side, never thinking to lift their sights to the higher skies, ripe with slight distortion at a certain height.

"Maybe we should just gun it, you know?" Asks one of the thieves, armed with a pistol. Sweat pours down his ski mask, unsure of what is even stalking the group.

"Yea, that's not a bad idea" Another looks all around the trees that surround them. Their heavy foilage hinders any true sight, dismissing the thought of an aerial ambush "Maybe under clearer skies, we might--

A soft cohesion falls behind their collective backs, directly on the cart. Shivers crawl in their spines, slowly encroaching their will to turn back despite the weapons they bear. Something managed to reach said cart and was gazing at them, waiting...

Their nervous eyes meet one of black glass, black feathers, and dark hair. Her visage, stringent with anger, just veiled by the shades. The bandit by her left raises his arm, his finger intent on twitching...and twitches, besieged by a broken husk of a tree. His back is garnished of the same shattered splinters, his pectoral side, punctured by dots reminiscent of an avian plantar. Whatever protection he could afford is forever ruined.

The rest look in shock, unable to move a single muscle. Yet their fight or flight compels them to do so with great psychological pain "Go grab Tom! W-we'll fend her off!" shouts the man at the front, sending one of the remaining orcs to his aid. An aid that never comes...

"H-h-he's...he's gone...!" The orc turns back to the rest, the pungent smell of gunfire polluting the surrounding as well as the smoke erupting from around the cart. Their projectiles danced around by the avian creature, her gear humming at every movement as if knowing of what danger seeks her, and from where it bites.

One of the desperate shooters turns to her, only seeing the bucked bulk of the damaged tree. No slumbered bandit to speak of. Her eyes are laced in panic "I-I mean, he was just here! He was just---

Her two-handed club became the sole remnant of her devored presence, beholden to gravity as it clunks and clings to the soil. A draft of winds passes to the left where she had been. A solid second of dread creeps to his heart, slow to turn back to the visible entity that stood between them and the eggs.

This benign act would cost him...

His sight is blinded by a burst of wind eroding it before the draft overtakes his body as it does the rest. Each and every single member is sent off puncturing the bulk of a tree, smashing the wooden flesh in a spectacle of splinters decking the soil and the surface of their outfits.

Another flight of steps clumps the floor followed briefly with a lightning tap, too fast for their naked eyes to see. It is naught but deliberate, guided by the shiny firearms they have lost. One touch is all neede to see the weapons smeared in half, forever lost to their users.

All too stunned for words to flow out, the bandits, seeing themselves devoid of weapons...flee. They flee in terror, not knowing what awaits them. Unable to form a cohesion, they flee by themselves, to their own shelters.

One of them in particular, an orc, seeks the road, far from this anomaly. The gaze of panic spots a brief flash from afar, from nearby. Her feet, however, become weary and heavy "What?! My feet! They're...!" Stone wraps around them like a virulent infestation, bubbling all the way to her limbs, purposely avoiding the more vital parts. Soon enough, she collapses on the soil, unable to keep herself moving, nor standing.

Inert and alone, her eyes can no longer stray from the anomaly diving forth unto her as a blur. Her only act...

"HHRRRAAAAAA!"

A blood-curling scream cuts the rest at their core, further damaging their psyches, goading them into mistakes. One by one, they fall under the wind, the dark blur, puncturing the ambiance with their terrified screeches as each one is spirited away...

The last one, likely the captain of this enterprise, runs far, further than the rest could. A hidden weapon rises out of his pocket,  one he points behind, unloaded in a constant powder of sulfur seeping from the barrel.

Something hunted him, near. A shadow...walking in the air. Not attached to the heavens, yet beholden to no gravity, it was air walking close to the ground in a nonchalant pace, paces quicker than the sprinting bandit. Whispers of threats travel the wind to his ears, forcing their unintelligible promises to him.

"Stay away! *Bang* "Stay the hell away!" *Bang * *Bang* You have our only valuables in your hands, leave me!" *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

His fire is shaken by dread, yet some are pinpoint. They seek the shadow, but only pass through it, further washing his sight in an abstract horror, one blinding him to the branch ahead. One that trips him, and completely erodes his pace, sending him tumbling away to the ground.

The shadow continues its threatening march toward him, feet defying logic. The bandit turns back and unloads his weapon at the thing. He sees his projectiles burst into tiny sparks of metal as they collide against a wind-like 'wall' entombing the shadow, greedily devouring the shells like a starved pack of piranhas.

The whispers turn to yells. The yells turn to shouts. The shouts turn to screams. Screams of anger in an all-too-human voice "DIRT MUNCHIN' MOTHERF-! Not so funny when someone equal come around to beat your worthless ass, is it?!"

The bandit's utter loss of composure is no heed paid for the shadow, revealed to be a man shrouded in a wind-like shield, dispelled as his head-up display feeds him the emptiness of his firearm. Immediately, he grabs the panicked bandit by the foot, lifting him with no effort "Wakey, wakey, sunshine!! No time for a dirt nap! Not yet..."

Waiting for no answer on the bandit's part, the man, Micheal, takes an immediate flight, nothing less than a sudden upward acceleration for the now sickly bandit. One seeing him flail about in great fright, to no avail, the tightening vice that is the flying man's hold on his foot.

He flies him past a cart perturbed by more harpies roaming about. Each one of them seems to be clutching singular large egg or twins of the same variant. Their eyes are devoid of the headgear spotted earlier, garnishing the younglings within in a motherly shelter.

His sight is torn from them, forcefully turned from kindred plight to other danglers from other fliers. Men wrapped in colorful gears, their metallic wings the most unique among them.

"My fellows, the last bottom-feeder is present..." Micheal presents the bandit leader squirming and struggling. All of the wingmen take a gander at him. None of them looks impressed by the whining captive "Ohh, that's the one with the tongue to travel the town by gravel-licking. Cool".

"!!!?" He jolts in spite of himself, enough for Micheal to notice "Looks like this slug's just got the brain power to process the possible sentences we might input him and his degenerates. Good..."

Taking a wind-up stance, Micheal hurls the bandit's sideways, spinning the man back for his face to meet the masked man's "Perhaps he's got enough thought cognition to take a pick as this sorry excuse of a band's leader..." --- A cocktail of raging mushrooms is to be ingested by the men, forcefully consumed in whole. Concentrated variants that are to last for days. Then caged apart from the orcs, wallowing in the need, yet unable to comply, set at a place that would only make itself gradually available to the bandits.

Locked in a place, far from civilization, yet given to nourishing supplies, they could not hope barge free from the imprisonment, not before their minds, both the men and the orcs' would be free from this encroaching desire taking hold of their wills.

For this desire puts the mating in first rows before everything else, depicted by the raging mushrooms forcing their side effects to the men, to the weakening of the orcs. A sentence that would see both consumed by this unpleasant set of thoughts as they played on the parental instincts of the would-be parents who had set on tracking them down. A rather fitting sentence, if devoid of a more violent end at their hands...