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  1. Past hour
  2. East of Sidereal Lake on map of Lagrimosa. Basically, Dauner is the king of Hasturia, but no one among the common folks know what he looks like. Also, there's no need to know much about the lore here. The important thing is this is a medial fantasy themed setting with tiny blend of modern day theme. Jiyuu IS friendly to newcomers. And it's about as general as a location can get.
  3. Today
  4. Again, assuming the cadets can follow directions, they should have their targets out to five meters, and their Berettas loaded. "Anybody not have their pistol loaded and ready to fire?" None of the cadets made any indication that they didn't. "Commence shooting," Aveline says, expecting to shortly hear a bunch of nine by nineteen millimeter Parabellum rounds firing. With the staccato of pistols, Aveline walks up and down the range line, watching the cadets, correcting stances, helping them aim, and one cadet starts complaining. "These sights must be off, captain, I can't hit shit!" "All right, set it down, I'll take a look." Aveline them cranks the target back in, puts masking tape on the few holes through it, and cranks it back out before swapping mags, and firing the pistol one-handed, and puts six rounds through pretty much the same hole, them brings it back. The hole is down and to the left. "Oh, you're right, the rear aperture does need adjusting." Aveline takes out her Leatherman Wave multi-tool, folds out the Phillips-head screwdriver, and turns the windage and elevation screws a bit, cranks the target back out, fires six more rounds, makes another adjustment, and the last three hit dead fucking center before the chamber locks open. That cadet just stands with his jaw hanging open. "Should be good now," Aveline says as she removes the empty mag and sets the pistol back on the "table".
  5. Hello everyone. Claire, Houndy, gods favorite mistake here. SO recently I've had a resurgence in my ideas for a certain character. That being Evelyn. I'll be brief. But please please please ask me stuff about her if you need some clarity. I promise i don't bite without being asked to. I have a few ideas for this character, for types of quests, or things we could do. I'm interested in finding someone she doesn't exactly jive with organically. Someone whom, these two would just be partners for a job. and little more. You can try being her friend. but she's not that friendly. Additionally, I'd like to keep this somewhere not super advanced. She's a magic based spear wielder, so if her enemies have like, guns and technology like them, that requires me to retcon some of her abilities. (lets be honest, half the stuff in WoW wouldn't survive an encounter with machine guns). Grab a drink, sit and chat! Lets talk ideas and quests!
  6. ¥ Smiling happily,Celestia nodded enthusiastically.Quite thrilled at the concept of kaia not only,Guiding her on being a proper hunter.But evaluating any skill she may have.Further improving,sharpening,And making celestia better in a whole sense.¥"I'm quite excited,Kaia t'a be guided and taught by...you,A skilled archer and hunter.many would kill,to be trained by such a refined elf.Like ye'r self."¥Placing one palm against his left-jawline.thumb running across his cheek,Celestia's head begun to slightly tilt.Ears rapidly flickering,While dark-pink lips upturned into a warm but flirtatious smile.¥"perhaps...having me'h a loving...man will earn me some points?"¥She teased.Walking out of their secluded area,Celestia went behind a large bush.slipping her trouser,boots,tunic and vest back on.Along with her cloak,Though she had remesnece scents of fresh water,forest and faint perfume from earlier.Taking a seat near the water's edge.Allowing lips to lilt,into a smirk.¥"Now I get t'a watch..me beloved emerge from water,like some form of God's do...before we meet up with the w'ee children and other's....i... shall relish this."¥Raising one golden brow,upwards.glimmers of joy dancing across her purple-Turqoiuse irises.Celestia just waited,palm against cheek.lightly giggling in anticipation,As one ear kept listening to parents tucking away children for bed.and now only a few stragglers remained mostly alert.if half drunk or tired.But her eyes never left kaia's visage or body,Taking in every movement like art work.¥"Ki'sathru'l....love"
  7. Yesterday
  8. Unlike what he had hoped for, Ewyer expectation of mind numbing wok failed to became a reality. Perhaps it was his need for internal resolution, his feelings that he must come to a conclusion on where he stood upon the issue of his former "rivalry" with Lucinda, though he still could not picture it as that. Or perhaps that state of being was only helped by his own physical state. True, he was much stronger than a human due to the extraordinary circumstances that lead to his current form, but in his life, physical labour had never been a strong suit. Thus, in his lack of ability, he found himself acting as an assistant on the most part. This job, was far more suited for his skillset. Quick maneuvers about the worksite was his main focus, essentially moving around supplies as he see fit, whether they be the tools used to construct, the items being utilised to make such framework, or simply attempting to aid when he noticed a lack of help for a specific task. This constant state of movement, however, was not nearly enough for him to focus purely on the task at hand. Thus, as to be expected, his thoughts wandered, having been invaded by the statements Asher had made earlier, and had given birth to emotions of which demanded action. They seemingly battled, these feelings, their need for resolution clouding his train of thought, each trying to take hold and decide the final outcome of what he would do. For he knew it, that with this new revelation, that he could not remain idle upon the issue. For so long had he remained contempt to let his relations with Lucinda stagger, to the point where, instead of being good friends as could have been easily accomplished, the man barely even knew her, could hardly even refer to her as an acquaintance. His honour, so relevant so often, boiled up. It tempted him to go for a blunt confrontation, to prove his suspicions true but way of full frontal barrage. The most honest approach, and truly solidify what was truth, and what was fantasy, to see if he had indeed claimed a victory in the supposed contest for his wife's affection. His fear, of simply playing a fool, and accusing a woman who had done him no wrong of such scandalous intent, called for him to simply ignore the issue, to put it out of his path. For, if he were to truly forget about it, none would be harmed. He had won, after all, and thus, to simply confront her about her failure, would just make things worse. Then, came anger, twisted and burning deep within him. For he remembered so many times in which the two, his wife and his "rival" had met up, and though he knew Addison would never dare do anything that would cause a scandal, he was near certain Lucinda, always the flirt, would have tried to make moves upon one who was already claimed. The three emotions, all convoluted with very different outcomes attached, were too simply temporary. For with each of them, came a shred of something that with all three together, formed anew. Determination. Whether it would be good, or whether it would be bad, Ewyer would see the end of it. No doubts would linger upon his mind, as honour called for him to engage. This was no war, there was nothing to fear. He did not depend on Lucinda, and even if word were to get back to his wife, well, he had always been known for being eccentric. He could simply pin it about lack of rest with all the projects he had taken upon himself. Then, his anger. Well, suffice to say, if Lucinda confirmed that his doubts were all too real. . .she would not be spared from his scrutinizing glare, nor would she get the privilege of consequence-less temptations as she would no doubt have been committing beforehand. However, while all this inner arguing and monologuing would have been occurring, the man still managed to carry out work as if he was fine, though to describe his expression, it was clear something was happening with him. Gone was the blank expression, the cloudy eyes filled with nothing more than the dull blue of a sunny sky. Furrows brow, grimly set mouth, and his eyes, so fierce, that a single glare from could could very well have cut through solid steel. If looks were able to kill, his could very well decimate everything that was caught in its path, a instant sweep of pure devastation. As he heard the call for a lunch break, he stopped in his current task, setting down a tool box he had planned to deliver to some needy fellow. Despite his hard work, he didn't bother getting food from his bag, simply two containers. One, most obviously whiskey by its bottle. The other, a canteen, of which he tossed in the direction of Asher, giving the man a single glance as to see where he should throw. Exiting the construction area, he simply climbed as high as he could manage, scrambling up upon a tree as he clambered skywards. Seemingly, the man must have weighed near to nothing, as despite him getting ever higher, the branches beneath him never broke, the weakest merely bending under his lanky and frail looking body. He paid no mind as to the newcomer which seemed to draw the stares of all who saw her, as he merely looked out over the plain, searching for something which he quite quickly found as he gazed upon the roots working as if they were an entire crew. Of course, while he may not have known a lot about Lucinda, he was fully aware of her magical skillset. As such, as he knew where she was, he knew where he was headed to when his work here would be concluded. Though, he wouldn't bother her while she was working, as to get in the way would not help anyone in the slightest. Eventually, however, he knew the time would come when there would be nothing that could stop the confrontation that would take place, of which would be with a distinct lack of subtly that Ewyer could never manage to use, no matter how hard he tried. He would get the answers he yearned for, whether it would bring an end to any form of relations that he and Lucinda had bother to force, or whether it would end in a way he couldn't expect. Resolution, would be obtained. No matter the cost, no matter whose reputation would be cast downwards into either foolishness of uncalled-for assumption, or into dishonour birthed of temptation.
  9. Hey guys, this os the character sheet for Luna
  10. "Gather your courage, crew. Let us plunge into whatever this mist is." The witch began walking, as did Cecco follow closely behind without a word. The walk to the mist took a only few minutes, but felt long and daunting to Eldridge. She had to muster much determination to not look back, seeing her fellow carny slowly get further away would only lessen her courage. A few crows followed closely behind, the only ones willing to also take the plunge. Cecco drew his sword, seemingly both willing and ready for combat. "??? to death ???" Cecco mumbled, handing both Arty and the witch an end of a long piece of rope. "And so let it take us!" The witch responded with eagerness, taking her end. "Isn't that right Arty!?" As the two moved into the mist, a sudden chill and lack of visibility fell over them. There was no adjust time or steady movement into the wall of mist, it was a sudden punch to the senses. The witch gripped the rope tighter, leading the three further and further in. There was no noise, no smell or even any wind movement. It was still. Just ever still. There was a sudden small incline in the terrain, leading them up a hillside path. "Hmm, hold tight and be on the look out for anything. Anything at all, call it out. I remember some of this path, but not all."
  11. Iohmar was slouched by the violently shacking engine, both mentally and physically weary. Between the stress of fighting and trying to fix a machine older than himself, he was just about ready for a long evening of drinking. But despite the events and current mood, Iohmar was still driven to get to the other side. It seemed the worst was over, for the time being. He was soon joined by Maat, who'd joined Iohmar's tired slump on the ground. The tabaxi wasn't sure what to say, so was thankful when Maat spoke up first. "Well, you have two choices. You can sit by this warm pipe to dry off, but you'll stink of the fishy fuel. Or you can sit there all wet and smell..." Iomhar took a quick smell of the air. "Relatively better." It was one of the few times Iohmar would joke outside of his usually group, regardless of how mild the joke was. "It's old, I would say comprised of many different brands and parts." Iohmar pointed his claw to the engines hull, what seemed to be there area of an engraved logo now worn beyond recognition. "Years of use and abuse, seems to have slowly been turned into a mish mash of different parts. Who knows, maybe this wasn't even cable engine when it was first purchased." Iohmar gave the machine a quick punch, knocking a belt back into place. Maybe mish mash was an understatement in the tabaxi's eyes. He'd gotten use to machines and instruments created to his exact specification, that such a contraption was an abomination in his eyes. He tutted and sighed, wishing he'd brought another of his clan with him or at least a decent weapon. "A decade of helping to run an airship paid off, you learn to jury rig these sorts of things. It's either that or crash. As for save, I think we all saved each others hides tonight." Iomhar meant what he said. As without running away, few could survive such an ordeal by themselves. "As for the ferry, I couldn't honestly say. My guess is something big, by the way the machine is straining. Despite its crappy appearance, this should be able to haul a light to medium ferry across without issue. If not, then it could just be debri and the weather causing issues." The rain, thunder and rattling engine that once drowned out all other noise was suddenly dwarfed in comparison as distant fog horn could be heard. His mind raced at the thought of there being another on board the ferry, just hoping it wasn't automated. Even with his new acquaintances, he just hoped to see signs of others on the other side. Some survives to ease his worrying mind. "Then let us be ready for the worst and hope for the best." He spoke as if praying. He walked out into harsh rain, each drop stinging his skin as each cold impact threatened to put him down. In the distance, a gargantuan object slowly pushed through the darkness and weather. A ship? A creature? Whatever it was, looked far to big to the tabaxi to be a ferry. He looked back to the shop, thinking of retreating. But it was too late, the earth cracked beneath his feet and everything for Iohmar went black. Upon awakening, he found himself swinging side to side in the strong winds. His body felt numb, shaking and hard to move. Extending his arm, a sharp pain shot through it as his near frozen body struggled to cope with the weathering it had endured. Looking around, he'd found himself in what appeared to be a large net, dangerously hung from the side of the vessel. The net of which, was attached to the lifeboat. The tabaxi tried to sit up, grunting with each painful movement. Pulling out his belt knife, he tried to grip the handle, his cold fingers unable to get a good enough grip on the handle. He held his hands under his armpits, attempting to warm them up. Each breath was short and frigid, his lungs dry. The lifeboat creaked and swayed violently, threatening to drop Iohmar to the waters below. "Fuck...."
  12. Truthfully, he can't decide what is more vexing, Lucinda's absolute lack of concern for her own safety or Garcia's nonchalant acceptance of it. There is no doubt that one or both of them will end up being his death. Crossing the threshold into the passageway, he closes the door door behind him and then approaches one of the deckhands. "Gimme your sword." He brandishes his right hand, palm up, waiting for the hilt of the blade to be deposited into it. "What? No." "No? Don't tell me know. Give me the damn sword now. You don't need it, and if I don't accidentally break it, you can have it back." "But it--" "No buts. Look, if you don't have a sword you don't have to fight, just give me the stupid thing." There is a pause and an awkward moment of silence before the man eventually complies by drawing his cutlass and depositing the hilt into Asher's open hand. "Thank you." Shouldering the flat of the weapon, he turns and speeds off, half jogging, so that by the time Garcia and Lucinda have reached the door leading to the unwelcomed guest, Asher has mostly caught up and is only a few feet away. "I'll have you know that I'm tired and hangry. So I'm not in the mood for bullshit." The statement is made as he steps into the open and comes face to face with Otto, who smells vaguely familiar, annoyingly so, but is otherwise unrecognizable and regarded with little more than cautious skepticism and the normal level of inherent distrust. "Well, you don't look familiar." @Lucinda Valentine @Maelstrom
  13. "I am aware," Tynes nodded, "However, if he does come back, I intend to lead the men here against him." He also looked out over the city, which was smouldering in many spots, but the rain was rapidly dousing the fires of war. The sound of gunfire and explosions was dying down, creating an almost eerie silence despite pouring rain. "What sort of example does it set if I hide indoors and leave these men to take the first blows from an error that I made?" he added, "You both can get out of the rain and get some rest though, I'll call for you if I need you." "When we started coming to, he was gone. Same with you, actually," the militia leader, who we'll dub as Davidson, answered. "It almost turned violent, but I persuaded everyone to calm down," Cordoza continued, "I still needed to get that message out, but I couldn't in that big man's body. They managed to revive the the old man long enough to switch me back--" "And us," Layla cut-in. "But he unfortunately died before he could get to everyone else," Cordoza shook her head, "I got the message out though, and then convinced everyone to follow me into the tunnels before the Tin Man came back. I've tried to explain what I know to everyone, and I think we're at least in agreement to get to the Vessel before he can get to it." "I still don't get why this Tin Man, which is a stupid name in my opinion, is that big a deal. He's just another goon that these imperialists," she pointed an angry finger at Tessa, "brought into our city to destroy and loot it. The same as them, who we are for some reason leading right to this vessel thing." "I already told you, we're here because we were ordered to," Tessa shot back. "And it was you guys who were buddying up with The Spire!" one of the other Norkotian soldiers (though he was still in the body of one of the militiaman), added in retort. "I don't even know what The Spire is, and why it even matters!" Layla snapped, "You people are all the same, and I don't see--" "The Tin Man is not the same," Mara's low, harsh voice spoke up for the first time since the others had arrived, "This world is filled with warmongers and thugs, but the Tin Man has made it is life's mission to stretch the levels of brutality that mere men are capable of." Layla scoffed, not convinced. "The Tin Man is wanted in a dozen cities, and would be wanted in a dozen more if they weren't nothing but ruins now. He's worked for and with the worst people this planet has to offer... The Four Families, Dathan Vollstrecker, The Spire... And those are just the ones I know about. Most of his clients wind up mysteriously vanishing from existence, or suddenly imploding and tearing themselves apart under mysterious circumstances. He enjoys killing, and he makes no excuses or justifications for it. He does whatever he wants, when he wants and how he wants, and he revels in how much pain and suffering he can inflict while doing it," Mara continued. She took a few steps toward Layla, her own menacing frame serving to emphasize her words, which while seemingly directed only at the edgy teen, were meant for everyone present. "But worst of all, he's smart. He's no brainless savage. People underestimate how dangerous he is because few people survive to tell of his atrocities, and because he's just good enough at fooling people into thinking he's a reasonable guy that they fall for his gambits. But make no mistake, if you are no longer useful to him, or if he simply decides it at a whim, you're dead."
  14. They had elected to be as secret as her, then. That was well and good. Tyra could only smile at her companions and their answers, or lack thereof. They all three shared the memory of that falcon from the sky; a bird that fell and landed as if fated to do so without interference. What they did not share was whatever was too intimate to be spoken aloud, whether something seen, something heard or something felt. Of the experience, they had more than memories. Matte has his very own memento in the form of a fallen feather. She sighed like someone crawling out of a hot spring, ready to brave the cold world again while still wrapped in the bliss of the bath. At Yshmael’s gesture, Tyra adjusted her pack. “Yeah…” She hesitated, gazing at the sky as though it were begging her to return to it. Her feet on the land, she was more level with the sea that had once carried her sails, yet the clouds above took on a hundred shapes more akin to an airship. Am I on the right path? Heading in the right direction? Is this where I’m supposed to go? “...Let’s go.” With that, she placed one foot in front of the other and headed off toward De Viento. Music OOC Tyra kept silent on the way to the forest. She might have revisited the falcon and its enigma, and maybe the guys did so between themselves, but she would have been in a world of her own by then and not paying attention. Of all the things she had seen in her years, that tree in her head was quite something else, like roots beneath the ground which took on shapes and colors one could hardly imagine. Later. I’ll figure it out later. She relented as the sun began to fade, but not from the time of day. The enormous luminary was overtaken by the massive towers that loomed over the trio as they approached the tree line of De Viento. Each and every tree was a giant among giants, mighty and magnificent, unmoving and unmoved by the tiny things that stood looking up at the wall of wooden bastions. Two hundred feet high, three hundred—five hundred? Some trees roared over the others, waiting in the woodland depths, while each sentry that served in the front line was easily ten to fifteen feet in diameter. The bark they wore like armor looked thick and ancient; a deep redwood with engravings for carvings, reaching up to dizzying tops where branches curved and spiraled to support crowns of dense green. The large leaves let in just enough light to where golden rays shined like beams upon the earth, as gentle and warm as a mother’s touch. The forest wasn’t just great and gigantic, not merely rich in red brown wood, green vegetation or yellow light. As Tyra stood not but feet away from the coiling roots of the grassy bed, a breeze escaped from between the trees as though De Viento had just exhaled a breath. It was cool as it hugged her body like a blanket, and her only response was to take a breath herself right as a whisper emerged from the depths, though the words were anything but intelligible. “Hear that..?” She asked her partners. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t, but Tyra was too enticed by the calling to rely on any direction but forward. Going alone or side by side, she ventured forth and crossed the boundary that separated the open plains of the land from the world enclosed within it. She blinked, caught in a daze as she entered the forest to hear its alien noises and secluded silence all at once. There was a stillness in the air even as wind curled around the trees, triggering a rustle of leaves as much as a rattle of branches, with sounds intertwining into chimes or a rainstick. Birds chirped before an elk’s bugle. It felt so close yet so far, like a voice in a cave as it bounced around the walls. I have no idea what to make of that tree in my vision, and not much more an idea of what to make of these trees all around me… Turning to her companions to confirm if they were feeling just as weird as she was, a hand went to her forehead. She had all but forgotten the headache until a throb emerged, as sudden as it was painful before disappearing in a second. She treated her mouth to a water bottle. Her gaze roamed over the woods with admiration and anticipation. Nature’s bounty spread far and wide, the view of the distance hindered only by the very trees that treated the eyes. It looked like any one direction that was not backward could take them anywhere and everywhere. Or nowhere. Where do we go from here? These trees are splendid and swell but it’s the secret buried within them that we’re looking for...and without a map to take us there. “Well…” Tyra started, playing eenie-meenie-miney-mo with a finger. “We could take a straight path forward or split off diagonally, I suppose. At this point, I wager any one direction is as good as the other.” She looked both Yshmael and Matte in the eye. “Unless either of you two have a way to navigate these trees that I don’t?” She shrugged. “Put me on the open water or high in the sky and I’ll find my bearings in a heartbeat. In a forest like this...eh, I’m more lost than a cloud in an ocean.”
  15. Hahahahaha interesting dude. But why don't we pick somewhere else, for the sake of new comers to Val. U know, somewhere more general.
  16. Half way down the hallway, Luca turned back to look at the the doors of her private quarters. She wondered to herself if his injury had to do with all the rumbling which had caused the ship to tip when she was on board. Thinking for a brief moment she turned to keep walking but then called out to Garcia. “Garcia would you please grab my lipstick from my purse and then come join me?” The woman sighed and then called back out as she looked for the duchess’s red signature lipstick. A small giggles escaped her lips as a reaction to Asher’s disbelief. ”Yes Mistress, right away, I’ll join you shortly! Sir please accompany the duchess to see who our visitor may be.” This command was more directed at the crew mate than Asher is who was currently holding the door for her to leave. Then woman then laughed to herself in annoyance as she shook her head. Quietly, she whispered a couple words and then turned to face Asher. “She’ll never change....” She quickly wrapped a cloth around her elbow and then walked out the door allowing the knight to close it. She started walking down without waiting for Asher. ”After almost 30 years of the same foolishness, I’ve become immune to her unpredictability. Once you’ll get to know her, you’ll understand there’s a sweet heart somewhere deep inside that silly girl. My dear Mistress, she’s the spinning image of her father...This kind of behaviour just runs in the family. Now, hurry, if she gets abducted again I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.” @Praetorian
  17. "My arm?" The question rolls across his lips, as if he hadn't considered an answer yet. "I fell?" The words are spoken before he can fully appreciate the depth of her statement. However, he catches himself and smiles. "Joking about that." The reply is quick and effortless, but also an effort to afford him a few seconds longer to think. "Anyway, it's a minor injury, nothing to fret over. Should be good as knew in a few days." He settles on avoidance and deflection, rather than a flat out lie. "Some minor open wounds. Need to keep it immobile so that I don't reopen them." He nods in agreement with himself, if only because there is some truth to the statement. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Asher is saved by the sudden appearance of a deckhand announcing the arrival of an unsolicited visitor. For a moment the knight takes comfort in Garcia's line of questioning, appreciating the fact that she has enough common sense to do some basic information gathering before consenting to a meeting. The comfort is short lived and as Lucinda departs the room he buries his face in his open palm, tears running down his face as he half cries and laughs into the open hand. "Are you kidding me right now?" The laughter becomes borderline manic, crescendoing as he throws his head back. "She's going to get us all killed." As the statement is made, his thumb runs across his cheek, just below his eyes, flicking the stream of tears away. "Oh man, fuck basic security practices, am I right?" He briefly turns to look at Garcia and then turns toward the chamber door. "I have no idea how you deal with this. Anyway, we should probably follow after. Might need those angel lady powers again." Holding the door open for Garcia to chase after Lucinda, Asher stands off to the side, not particularly looking forward to getting into another engagement so soon. @Lucinda Valentine
  18. Ingrid had made sure Kalmuli got back to the estate in one piece without toppling over before she herself returned back to the field to see about catching one of the birds. When she stood at the edge of the field opposite of where Varisho was, she saw the influx of them as they landed in the fields to once again, mess the the experimental seeds they had planted. Ingrid's long elven ears flattened back, hiding in the thickness of her hair momentarily before coming forward. She would bring her staff out to the side before pointing the amber stone towards the field. "Auros."She spoke before a wave of wind blew across the field to scare off the birds and started to walk across the field to where the scarecrow was, stopping in front of it and adjusting it. "She's right...you're absolutely useless." Ingrid knelt down, looking at the ground that the birds had tore up and fussed with one of the plants that had gotten pulled up. She frowned and rose back to her feet before her eyes raised to see someone across the field wearing all black and what looked like animal bones. She had no idea who he was but the birds around him didn't fear him. She settled her staff upright. "You shouldn't be here. This is the Marchioness' private garden. The seeds here are no good for you or your birds. You're lucky that they haven't exploded yet...We're not sure how the plants react being inside an animal let alone a human."She warned him. "It would be unwise for them to scratch here..."
  19. The duchess gazed at him for a moment before looking down to the floor with a finger on her lip. He didn’t seem to care at all. It’s safe to say that this did in fact shock her though she hadn’t really seen a change in anyone else’s behaviour towards her with said knowledge. It was strange, why hadn’t they turned their backs yet. Was it that the younger generations which made up her staff team were just more generally accepting...? It was odd indeed... “I-I see...I’ll take that into consideration...” Her eyes then trailed up from the floor and wondering why she didn’t see it before, Luca noticed that Asher’s arm was in a sling. As Garcia stepped back letting her pass, Luca bent over ever so slightly to exam it. The woman then crossed her arms as she stood back up straight and looked Asher in the eyes. “Asher, I can assure you she means no harm. She’s just a bit frustrated. Give her a day or two to cool down and then the both of you should have a conversation and start over. Anyhow- what happened to your arm? I smell the ointment cream from med bay- Wait did you get hurt? I’m so sorry, this never should have happened, here let me get you a chair to sit-“ All of a sudden her words were cut short when one of the crew members knocked on the door frame of her private quarters. Someone requesting an audience? She wasn’t expecting any other visitors except for Howard. Assuming it was him, she opened her mouth to speak but before she could, Garcia answered him. ”Who? Did you ask the visitor their name? Mistress I don’t think it’s wise to have a meeting right now! What if it’s your abductor again.” Luca smiles and brushed her hair back and slipped on pair of heals. She began walking out the door but then turned back half way to say- “I’m sorry Asher, I’ll take a look at your arm when this is dealt with, and Garcia, I’ll be alright. If it is, I’m prepared to deal with it. Either way, it’s rude to keep them waiting...” Her shoes tapped against the wooden floor as she made her way to the deck leaving Garcia and Asher in the room. @Praetorian
  20. With a harsh caw, the raven landed on his outstretched arm. It folded its wings, shuffling its feet in an irritated manner until a hand landed gently on its back, imparting calm and a silent command. He lifted the bird close to his face and waited. Mumbling, the raven turned its head sideways until one eye, black as a starless night, met the grey eyes of its handler. Fields. Food. Humans. Real. Unreal. Strange winds. The stranger tilted his arm and cast the raven upward. It took flight, wings spreading to catch the upper winds with ease. Wheeling once, it joined a gathering flock of crows and ravens gathering overhead. As one amorphous body, they called to one another and began their return flight to the fields and strange winds they said was nearby. Eyes on them, he followed their path from the ground, walking at a brisk, measured, efficient pace. Strange winds. His name was Varisho Kadav, and when the birds asked who he was, he could not answer, for he was not sure. He wore the guise of a human, all in black and accessories of bleached bone, but he knew this was only a mask. One that was bound to fall at some point… possibly, a point not of his choosing. Other than that, he had only his name, and even that felt unsteady, wavering on his tongue when he dared speak it aloud. The birds distrusted him, suspicious of his unfamiliar way of speaking to them and understanding them in ways no one else did. But they were a people of their own kind, too, with feelings and undeniable instincts. They felt drawn to him. Soon in time and far ahead, the mass of crows and ravens descended once again on, yes, a sown field filled with young plants and animal dung. They landed everywhere, even on the inefficient scarecrow built to fulfil a duty the birds were not stupid enough to fall for. They resumed their pecking and foraging, dredging up the seeds and eating whatever else they found. Varisho stopped at the edge of the field. Strange winds. What did they mean?
  21. Welcome back. The garden gnome isn't bad, but here's my idea: A sentient blue ooze named Jackson, ruler of His people. Jackson is the epitome of chaotic good, His Ooziness seeking out evildoers and petty thieves of office pens alike, slowly oozing toward them as they tremble in mock fear of His Sliminess. But despite His efforts and pure intentions, Jackson fails to do enough to save His world and His people. He sinks into depression and considers sliding into the nearest body of water and letting Himself turn into watery jelly. Then one day, that all changed. Jackson was teleported by the Ooze God to Valucre, where evildoers run amok and petty thieves steal more than just office pens. The Ooze God says this is Jackson's ultimate test of fortitude and strength. By accepting and succeeding in a quest of defeating great monsters and the occasional sentient spoon, Jackson will become the King of Slimes He was always meant to be, Supreme Guardian of the Universe and Ultimate Ooze. Get to it, Doctor.
  22. Praetorian

    Need Help!

    Help with character idea? A country bumpkin garden gnome named Percy; he ended up fumble fucking his way through an intergallatic adventure that resulted in him crash landing in Valucre. In a few days he want from knowing only his his garden to having seen the vast emptiness of space and even exploring a few plants. He isn't particularly strong or smart, but he's lucky as hell, and his can do attitude keeps him giving. Kidding, maybe.
  23. The Doctor

    Old Friends.

    You know who you are. I am done with my old characters. They are boring. I am not as good a writer as I once was. I am out of practice. For our new writers, those who have ideas. I want to make a new character, for your story. Not mine. Help me learn to write again.
  24. He had soft eyes -- familiar. She lay under the canopy of his massive body, which was held up by a single pillar of an arm that had landed a little above her head. He was mindful of her, and she was fully aware. He didn’t crush her with his weight, didn’t seek to suffocate her with his presence. He was, in every way imaginable, different. And as he floated there, a few mere inches above her, with tension flexing the muscles in his arm, across his shoulder, and along the expanse of his wide chest, she drank in the sight of this colosseum monument erected for the glory of the male physique. His body was a literal wonderland of sensual pleasures, from sight, to sound -- his soft, steady breathing -- and even his scent, a gentle musk of sweat under the fresh smell of simple soap rubbed hard into his skin. But it was his eyes. Black as night, and just as peaceful as a moonless night catching the rays of morning sun here and there, throwing it back at her like starlight. She startled, but in a good way, when his touch landed on her naked hip. It was a soft intake of breath between slightly parted lips, almost like a hiss -- that sound before the kettle starts to whistle violently. Musical, content. His fingers drew up her side, and the sound changed to a giggle. It was girlish and sweet, everything that Gabriela had learned to not be. But then again, no one had ever touched her quite so gentle as to induce a tickle. And then she was utterly enveloped in him. That one arm continued to support most of his weight, but the other had circled around her and behind. He pulled her into him. Like a puzzle-piece, she fit into his chest, and her slender legs spread wider to better wrap around his waist. It was an intimate embrace, but oddly not vulgar -- not obscene. Until she threw the glass and yelled at the man who had appeared at her door. “Good riddance,” said Saul, almost instantly easing the tension that had formed in Gabriela. He sat up, and she had no other choice but to follow suit, since she had made a seat out of the top of his thighs. Immediately her arms went around his neck -- for support, she told herself, but the reality was that the thought of him leaving her made her heart ache. “He has a point -- only the preserving your dress part.. On the subject, you had better keep the glass breaking to a minimum.” Saul laughed and the sound of it made her frown. It strung a cord in her heart -- her supposedly dead heart. Suddenly she was all full of suspicions and anger, and yet she could not release her hold of him. Luckily for the Black Queen, her frown, perhaps more so now as a human, was an endearing expression of powerless frustration. Her small frame made her exude helplessness, and what could be more endearing than a petite little thing struggling with displeasure? She was about to remind him that she could break as many glass objects as she wanted so long as she maintained in her possession a magician who could clean up the mess. Fortunately for them both, her rude little comment never had a chance to leave her supple lips. “I hope you don’t mind this, but..” She felt his arms squeeze around her and pull her tighter to his chest. A little groan passed escaped from her lips just as he settled on her rounded jawline. He kissed her softly and her eyes closed in immediate response, as did her head tilt in utter surrender. The base desire was still there -- that automatic response to submit and offer her blood, but that was just half the truth in this particular situation. It was a delicious sort of need to feel his lips at her throat, a sort of curiosity of what his tongue might feel like licking up from her clavicle to her ear. She shuddered at the thought, both in delight and fear, until the press of his forehead against her own brought her back. And then she was up in the air, mounted on one of his strong arms, her bottom supported by a wide open hand -- that did not pinch, squeeze, or otherwise molest. She clung to him all the more tightly, and watched, from over his shoulder as he cleaned up her mess, just as she was going to rudely suggest before. Instead, she sighed contentedly. She was set down on the edge of the counter, a cold and hard contrast to his warm and rough hand. But she did not complain, and did not seek the comfort of his arms again. Instead, she sat there, perched like a little bird, watching with her strangely warm eyes as he cleaned the blood off her foot. Moods, like the ever changing course of the sea, crossed her face as he began to speak. Sadness, which she did not attempt to hide and a hefty dose of disappointment. “Perhaps the next time you call, it will be something less business-oriented.. Or not.. I will say, though: I’ve enjoyed our time. It is not often I get to drink with and take care of someone. Quite a fulfilling morning, if I do say so myself.” A question lingered, but she did not dare ask it -- was he preparing to depart? Much to her disgust, her eyes misted at the thought. Who was this man to her that she should suffer for his absence? And yet, there was a crippling fear gripping at her heart at the mere thought of him leaving. She’d slit her wrists to get him back in here, and back to tending her -- and that certainly didn’t sound healthy. Her brows pinch in a frown. Not that her life was the picture of health, not by a longshot and not at the rate she was guzzling down alcohol. But still… “If you don’t mind.. I’d like to watch you get dressed.” He was waiting for her, for an answer, for acknowledgement of his request. Gabriela’s cheek warmed. She blushed, by far more deeply than ever before -- in her vampyric or human life. The color went from her high cheekbones down to her pointed chin, nearly making a heart shape upon her face. Best of all, the pink color dusted across the top of her breasts, and up the column of her throat. But she did not offer a word of reply and instead just set her small hand upon his, which was out waiting to aid her as she slipped off the counter and landed on her bare feet. Together, with her leading the way, they walked back into the room. He took his seat and picked up his drink, and she cut across to her dresser. “I am traveling again,” she said, her back turned to him. She was a silhouette of soft, white skin behind a lush, long curtain of dark wavy hair. Her hair was a magnificent sight. It fell like a veil behind her, down her back, undulating like the sea past her hips, down to the middle of the back of her thighs. Not much of her nudity was visible in this way, but the outline was clear, the flashes of skin distinct and purposeful. From the neatly folded pile of clothing, which looked rather bulky -- at least, bulkier than might have been expected -- she pulled a pair of black panties. She stepped into these with relative ease, though she did nearly lose her balance (or appear to) once. Up past her ankles, her knees, and thighs, until the fine, satin fabric was smoothed over her bottom and the ribbon-bound waist was secured just under her bellybutton. It was a neatly fitted high-cut style, which would appear a little dated on her, save for the fact that they hugged her perfectly. She turned to give him a glimpse. “I have to dress functionally...do you approve? Wait, you have to see what goes over them.” She stretched out her arms, pushed out her left hip, and modeled the comfortable undergarments. But then, reached back for her pile of clothing and took an impossibly small pair of leather breeches. Skin-tight could not begin to describe the fit of her pants. And yet somehow, she managed to slip them up her slender legs without an issue. The material clung to her like a second skin, showing off the sleek figure, which was then promptly covered up by a rather loose-fitting white tunic-length blouse. She looked comfortable, versatile -- as if she were ready to go riding, and by the look of the soft-leather brown boots next to her bed, maybe that’s exactly what she was planning. Next came a heavy wool coat, which was exquisitely cut for her shape and form. She drew this coat over her arms and around her body, securing the pinched waist with a hidden button. But her attention had faltered away from getting dressed, and was pointedly settled on Saul. “I am about to abandon my staff -- leave them stranded here,” she gave a little shrug as she pulled the massive mass of her hair from out of the collar of her coat. She didn’t appear like she meant to do anything with the mess of hair, but surely she did not plan to walk around with it loose and flying everywhere. “That means,” she went on to say, as she walked over to her bed and took a seat, busing her hands with the task of pulling her boots on, “ -- that I am in desperate need of new help. How much would it cost me to have you stay by my side for the duration of my travels?”
  25. Cain's mess of mortal desecration was littered, strewn over, smushed against until it painted the very surface of every ghastly tree in the damn clearing. Horns, hands, bones lay in shredded detachment from bodies lost to the ungodly ritual. Pure wonderment at how many lives, how many races, how much time went into the hunt that concocted this concoction staggered Michael in his nightmarelike state. Dashing over all of it with a radiation was the sick neon hue that paled Michael's face almost the same color as the blood staining the trees nearby. As the gore came into focus, Michael saw the vague shape of seven bodies hanging from the trees behind Cain's outstretched arms. One of Cain's hands was outstretched, fingers spread; the other a rotten crust of fingers clenched around an immaculate silver ring. Attached to the silver ring encrusted within Cain's hand was the Lion's Lantern. Michael's eyes widened in recognition not of the Lantern's appearance but its aura. He began slowly crawling through a space between draping flesh and the ground across the clearing from Cain, eyes locked on the Lantern, when the green glow besetting the clearing suddenly evaporated and the orange of regular flames took its place. 'Wha—' Michael began to wonder what had happened when he saw that, without the rest of his body having moved, Cain's eyes now locked with his. The Hero and the Villain beheld one another eye-to-eye for the first time, a peek behind a multi-faceted dimension of curtains that only Michael could be allowed— and when he must also be the one most dearly denied, too— and from the outset there was a massive canyon filled with fire and rage between them. 'Sir!—' Tori began to tell Michael that Cain's magic was surging, but Michael was already in motion. As he attempted to surge forward he found that the gore through which he had been climbing tightened around him like a muscle. Without moving, Cain had commanded the tightening of the viscera that was dual-parts infested with Maleficence and, by now, his own magic. Twisting in seemingly endless slippery ropes it began coiling around him from the midsection down, raising him from the ground toward Cain as he flexed his abs and back muscles, flailing his arms to keep his upper body vertical and keep looking at Cain.
  26. The Doctor

    Need Help!

    -the cold breeze flowed like ice wherever it touched- Thanks.
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