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  2. Tyler

    Lilith Brings War to Nu Martyr

    This revelation spoiled your grand master terrorist plan, didn't it? 🤣
  3. Die Shize

    General chat thread

    It shall be an honor to see you about the Cyberpunk City. Mayhap one day we shall add another shared roleplay between us in this very setting.
  4. Today
  5. Fellow comrades and acquaintances, I’ve been sick almost 2 weeks straight with this Auto Immune of mine. I’m sorry guys that I just haven’t had enough concentration to write. I just couldn’t. 

    I’m nauseous, and constantly under pressure in my stomach; I dread this shit. I am sorry.

  6. Hurttoto

    dread it, run from it, destiny arrives all the same

    "that was quick, whole cities are just falling" As the invasion began to move on from Keto "I'll make my way to the capital and see if I can get that crown. Worst case scenario.....Lilith beats me to it" "you have high hopes on that one, but can't she track it? Or is that a myth?" though judging by the way Chow just walked away told him that it wasn't, he couldn't tell if he had a plan. "I have something that can mimic the magical essence of the crown and act as a decoy. Really it only be sound but....it be a distraction" seeming confident in his plan rapidly headed towards Nu Martyr. Talking about a gemstone he brought. "I guess Ill head over to Draven" then the phycic message closed and they made haste with their current speed they should arrive at their destinations with an hour, though it was a matter of wether or not they had enough time. Chow would begin entering the castle hopefully unnoticed, however it was inevitable that he may be discovered however by then he would have planted the decoy and left a message in the language of Genesaris (i think its kinda like German?). he held the gem in his pouch which also inluded a flashbang, a gas mask, tranquilizer fluid both in liquid and spray gas form and a compass which pointed towards sources of magic, right now it was pointed towards the dark storm which contained Lilith's army.
  7. vielle

    [Relic; semi-closed] hazy badlands

    Some witch of the bog she is, that she gets lost in the forests almost immediately. Tipping her head towards the shadowed treeline overhead, Shardana closes her eyes and breathes for a moment in the stillness, calling forth whatever spirits she feels entwined in the lifeweb of the greenery, that steady beating heart that continues to thrum through every living creature, every leaf, every stone, every rippling wave of water in the smallest puddle. She must not get lost. There are strange things in these badlands, she's heard tell, and it would not do for her to run off the beaten path when she must get to her family in time for the evergreen ritual, not that she particularly cares much for it. There is a rustle somewhere in the far left. Shardana sighs, turns her feet in that direction. Perhaps it may lead her back to where the road is.
  8. elixir

    GIF association

  9. Hurttoto

    Lilith Brings War to Nu Martyr

    I thought it was because of the graviton And that one day when we extracted enough the island would just fall
  10. Fanras glances down at the map in his hands, then towards the distant outline of Rysfort on the horizon, naught but a speck yet to the eye, but altogether foreboding. Foreboding, of course, in the sense that he knows what lies within the town, a slumbering power only he can ascertain. He shakes his head, tucking away the map into his pack. No, not only him, not really. There are others like him that can see through the weavings of magic throughout the world, and it is here that he has found something quite extraordinary. His feet, bare against the grass and dirt, eventually move to take him closer to the town, closer to the power that ripples forth like a beacon. It is subtle, but it is there. He need only figure out where, exactly, is that magical siren coming from.
  11. As soon as the shuriken had left his hands, his fingers had begun weaving the signs for the jutsu he meant to cast. A second later, he slammed his hands on the ground, and a square of ground around the hooded figure began to sink down into the earth as though he was standing on an earthen elevator. The shuriken themselves all seemed to have missed their primary target, but had found their secondary one in the flesh of the giant rushing towards the Beast. If the antlered creature looked close, he might notice the explosive tags wrapped around the hilts of the throwing knives. Though it would have also been understandable if he was preoccupied with the hammerhand giant falling into the pit on top of him. From his point of view, he almost certainly wouldn't see the explosive tags Shikai had slapped on the back of the giant before he had jumped off. "So clever," sighed the old man, "Why can't you use those talents for something worthwhile?" "I can't say if it's worthwhile," replied Shikai, "But shit like this is what I live for!" "Language!" chided the old woman. Shikai laughed and formed a handsign that detonated all of the explosive tags at once.
  12. vielle

    [Relic; semi-closed] fire|fly

    Nyrea was in a bad spot, and it was not her fault, for once. She stared at the door of the tavern, a well-worn sign with faded paint cheerfully announcing its name to be the Rambunctious Goose—which was, truly, an amazing name; well done, whoever wrote that down—and struggled not to stomp her foot in the dust like a child. Really, for Steorra's sake, she didn't have to get kicked out of the entryway this early in the morning; she was only trying to get more news or information about the so-called barbarian rampaging somewhere in the eastern quarter. Seeing the posters about it gave her the idea to seek him out and put a stop to it, if only for the reward promised for putting him down. She did not wish to be booted out the door for her apparent indecency, whatever that meant. Nyrea did not need this kind of nonsense! Well, what else can she do but turn away? As she pivoted on her heel, however, she cursed. Loudly. Colorfully. With variety. Who cares how unladylike that seemed?
  13. vielle

    ouverture de corbeau

    "It seems I arrived a tad too late. I believe one of you would be the new owner of the rumored opera?" Míra glances up, scans the appearance of this new arrival with calculated ease. The man is dressed simply, and she would not have given him a second glance if not for the self-satisfied expression that seems permanently plastered over his youthful face. He is handsome, even, when put in the right light. Not that Míra particularly cares. “I am the new owner, yes,” she introduces herself, extends a hand to gesture towards an empty seat that the man is more than welcome to sit himself in. “Míra Andronov, is the name. Please, do take a seat. They shall serve wine for us in a moment.” True to form, a server appears with a bottle of chardonnay for them to indulge in, pouring into glasses suffice enough for Míra and the rest of her guests. She takes her time in tasting the wine, her fingers tapping against the smooth surface of her wineglass. “Pray tell, who are you and how would you like to provide for the good of the Opera Divina?” The name tastes bitter on her tongue; she is most definitely replacing that one soon enough. @Thotification
  14. vielle

    The Pulchritudinous Priestesses of Coth

    eirene valakis "So if you have an idea, speak it. Together, we will discover the path God wishes for us to walk in saving these poor women. Say not that you will leave us and throw yourself at them alone, however. I would never permit it." Eirene closes her eyes as she listens to the Holy Father and her Sister discussing this newfound plan that Eleanor has in mind for this dangerous dilemma. They are to go to the Brothers of Headon. They are to be delivered to the Warthog as virgin offerings. They are to infiltrate this vile knight’s lands and fight their way from within in order to save not only themselves but the virgins they seek to rescue from his wretched clutches. This way lies either divine knowledge or divine madness, Eirene concludes. “I’m sure this plan will work, I am almost certain. Please Father, Sisters, we have to help these girls, no matter the cost.” She is tempted to ask whether her Sister understands that the cost of the aid she asks for may be too high a price to give away, but then again, Eirene has never claimed to be the bravest of them. Still, a few moments pass by, between one breath and the next, before she has the courage to speak her mind to the others. “This is truly a brave plan, one granted by god himself,” she begins, smile gentle and considering as she turns her gaze to the elven twins, “but must we fight, my dear Sister? Can I suggest that we perhaps take the more clandestine approach?” She opens her arms wide for emphasis, painting a picture of her ideas in the air with the flutter of her fingers, coaxing her audience to hear her out. “We allow ourselves to be taken to Warthog, as what Sister Eleanor has discussed, and then we steal away the virgins from under his grasp. It is possible that we may lead them out without need for a fight.” Eirene takes a deep breath, clasps her hands together, looks down at her fingers entwined. “I cannot, in my right conscience, ask these women to fight alongside us should such a thing arise in our quest. I would prefer that we bring them to safety first before we retaliate against the knight. We may fight him, yes, but with the power of god on our side.”
  15. susitsu

    Chatbox or Status Update

    Oh my god we have a chatbox, I never noticed that link up there on the top right. Firstly, I curse widget for being weak. I enjoy watching status updates, but I'll actually be capable of realizing the chatbox exists if its in my face, so I'm voting for that due to pretty much Hummingbird's points.
  16. The Hummingbird

    Chatbox or Status Update

    Too bad we can't have some kind of button or switch and let people choose which one to see for themselves.

  18. vielle


    celestine felsic Celestine winces at the peculiar sound echoing through the hall, the squelch of rotting flesh hit hard with great force. However, they all make their way into the next room, and she takes a moment to sigh and glance at the door from whence they came, eyebrows furrowing at the pitter patter of bodies slamming against the barred entryway. Persistent bastards, but it is no matter: they are alive and unscathed for now. "I've got a bit o' an anomaly, y'see. ‘alf dwarf, 'alf troll, y'see. Heavy bones and sturdy skin. Makes me hit 'ard, and the balls help. Sometimes, I use nails." “Charming,” Celestine replies offhandedly, taking up her tiger’s eye lens to scan the room and capture the scenery for future recall. As she begins to move her gaze further upward, the foreboding sense of unease crawls down her spine at the sight of the dried blood splatters, the jagged marks on the stone walls, the chains and gears long worn down by years and years of disuse. Upon seeing the array of spikes, Celestine’s jaw clenches. A trap, most definitely. Gods, but she feels sorry for whatever had been pummeled to death by those sharp points. And then, of course, the skeleton comes crashing down. “Watch out,” she yells to the others, moving away from the stray projectiles tumbling down upon them in a phosphorus hailstorm. Bones skitter across the stone floor, and in the chaos of noise, Roody the Bunny’s query almost drowns under the thunderous din. "Is this an ambush?" Celestine opens her mouth to answer when a giant piece of cartilage angles their way, and their guide promptly disappears from view, dashing into an alcove, quickly followed by Roody the Bunny’s own sidestep away from potential collision. She tucks and rolls into another alcove, pressing her body against the stone as the bone rolls by where the group had once stood. “What the hell,” she mutters under her breath, her gauntlets purring in excitement; if she needs to punch anything coming their way some time soon, whether it be the wooden construct or something else, then Celestine is ready as she’ll ever be. “Is everyone alright?” @Jotnotes @Hurttoto
  19. Sorano

    GIF association

  20. Vansin

    New Friends and New Adventures

    For Viscerex sitting on sofa, the memories of his return replayed in his head as fast and briefly as reflections from stray puddles on the road; they were glimpses of memories, not the true things. His tired mind glossed over much, but it remembered the soaring of his heart when the door opened and her dark figure stood before him. It remembered handing the girl off and the strange emptiness he felt when her weight was gone. It remembered the pride in Ioreth admiring his hasty bandage-work. It remembered the pain at the sight, again, of Mythandriel's ruined back. It remembered the guilt. But the guilt wasn't just a memory. It was sitting with him now. It was a specter which haunted this joyous reunion, the shadow which loomed behind Ioreth ready to grip her grateful mind and twist it to hatred for the man who had allowed her child-cousin to come to such harm. But she demanded the truth. No man who loved her could ever give her less. So he told it. "The man who attacked her in Coth was an elf-killer. He was sent with a knife and a letter of permission to kill and capture whatever elves he could find. The knife held some significance to Mythandriel, though I know not what. It and the letter, however, inspired her to return to the camp from where the killers originated. She wished to take vengeance upon them for their crimes against your people." This was where he paused, for the rest was a damning account of his folly. His chest expanded slowly and in the subdued pall of Ioreth's half lit cabin the magnitude of the man painted a humongous swathe of darkness wherever his shadow fell. "Already, I had seen the trouble she had fending off one drunk killer. Yet when I dispatched him I emboldened her. She ran off as you saw and, when I finally caught up to her as you commanded me to, her heart was set. I...I decided to accompany her-" -and I regretted it. And I was a fool for doing it. And I betrayed your trust. And I am undeserving of your praise- "-and help her complete her task. We traveled for a time through the forest and then came upon the killer's kin and compatriots. From this moment on, Mythandriel acted only in accord with my instructions, and her subsequent injuries were a result of my own personal failure. For when we set about to ambush the elf-killers, they spun around as though expecting us. One captured Mythandriel and the rest subdued me. She was tied by rope to hang from a tree. I was bound to a nearby trunk. They..." They hit her. They molested her. They demeaned her. "They harmed her. And they harmed me, once in their captivity. I broke free and fought back, but in the midst of the violence one of the men took his knife to her back, for I had left her hanging while I fought. Her injuries are a result of my incompetence. This is all a result of my incompetence." There was little left to say. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped before him. His face stared down through the eyes of his helmet. He dared not look up. He dared not meet Ioreth's gaze. He remembered the words to an ancient song his grandfather had often sung: Where so many blessings crowd, 'tis our duty to be proud. Up and answer, faithful swordsman, sing it joyfully aloud! Evermore upon our country God will pour his rich increase And victorious in war shall be made glorious in peace, And victorious in war shall be made glorious in peace! The song echoed in his head like an unruly animal hurling itself against its cage. What sick irony to think of such a thing, in this moment of misery. Here, truly, was a victory which brought him no glory. God had delivered him life, but it was not God's duty to fill that life with cheer. Only the actions of wise and judicious men could do that, and experience had taught Viscerex again and again that he was neither.
  21. vielle

    Wynonna Sinclair

    Wynonna Sinclair — o captain my captain ; ► B A S I C S age: 36 race: human class: markswoman occupation: captain of the airship Cardinal birthplace: sigil, city of doors ► L O O K S height: 5'8” weight: 129 lbs gender: female hair: black streaked with silver eyes: steel grey voice: lively and smoky ♪ Children of the future, let me tell you somethin' Boogie is my life since when I was young ♪
  22. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Mythandriel was hoisted up, and she was placed on the Barbarian’s back, her arms draped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. Her pack was in the corner of the tent, and she made sure to remind Viscerex to grab it before they departed. She didn’t feel well, as Viscerex assumed. Her back stung, and every time she tried to adjust herself, her fresh wounds screamed at her, blood seeping from the scabs that would break, and then reform. Her breathing was slow, and as they stepped outside of the tent, she felt the full force of the blizzard occurring as the wind started to whip through the trees, snow hitting the two travelers mercilessly. It hurt, but she didn’t complain. Viscerex had too many things to worry about, she’d rather not bother him with the pain she felt. Just hours ago they thought they were going to die here in these woods, their bodies strung up in the trees, their flesh and bones would have been used to make this ground anew, to flourish with new life. But not the forest would have to live with it’s new vicitims, those who sought them pain instead. Her eyes lingered over the mutilated corpses of their attacker’s, the most gruesome to her being Carter’s mother. Her decaptitated head still staring at her, her blue eyes seething with hatred, and fear, and they had now clouded over with rot. She was not a fan of her eyes. She’d see them in her dreams from now on. Despite the tougher weather, Viscerex pushed on. His body generated so much heat, she found herself clinging tightly to him, wanting to soak up as much warmth as possible, but with that much snow whipping against her back, she still found it impossible not to shiver, her teeth chattering slightly. She slept once, it was an accident. She didn’t mean to, but at one point the pain she felt was just overwhelming, and it was the only way she could escape it. When she woke, Viscerex was still walking, and it was nighttime now, the moon taunting them as it sat idly in the sky, it’s nightime companions blazing brightly, leading them home. The rest of the journey was a blur to her, she didn’t know how close or how far away they were, she was delirious from pain, and her back and wounds felt hot. She was getting tired once again. They stopped in front of Ioreth’s door, the smell of the stew lingering in her nostrils. She could hear Dorian bleet for her from the side of the house by her cart. The beast was worried, her hooved feet clawing at the ground as she felt her Master’s fear. Mythandriel opened her eyes just in time to see Dorian, a soft smile on her face, just before they dipped inside her cousin’s cabin. It was so warm inside. She was gently placed on her stomach on Ioreth’s bed, her body surrounded by plush furs and warm quilts. Her body shuddered at all the sudden warmth, and she could feel her cousin’s lingering touch. She eyelids felt heavy as she heard Ioreth’s voice, and she grabbed her Cousin’s hand before she departed, and looked into her soft violet eyes. “Forgive me.” was all she could manage to whisper before falling asleep, her hand slipping out of Ioreth’s, her body going limp and she finally relaxed, her face pressed sideways into the furs.
  23. Roen

    GIF association

  24. attackers: samael, ephah, rami | city of apolypse There is a striking sort of juxtaposition displayed across the expanse of Apolypse: the raging firelight crawling hungrily over the cityscape starkly bright against the darkened skies, the screams of those who are yet alive and seek to flee the impending destruction a ringing funeral dirge for the corpses littering the streets in deathly stillness, the loud wail stemming from the violent assault of the Paragons masking the silent movement of the boy and his entourage as they systematically make their way through the crumbling streets. Apolypse is dying, and they are the conductors to its final siren song. Another explosion rocks the ground for a moment, and Ephah follows suit as Samael braces himself closer to the ground, shattered rock tiles clattering sharply against the piles of debris and brick and mortar. The wave passes, and the three continue on their way, keeping to the shadows: silent harbingers of an altogether violent end. In the chaos of death and destruction, the crimson tide sings to her, and never before has Ephah felt so alive as now, where the very source of power she controls flows endless in rivulets wherever they go, tainting the streets dark and slick. She cannot help herself, and so her eyes glow as red as the blood that fuels her. Beside Ephah, the sun-haired man is grinning like a maniac, which she supposes he really is; perhaps he too can feel the sand enclosed within the mortar, and rejoices in the same way over the multitudinous quality of the material he holds control over. At the head of the group, Samael is all stiff gait and cold efficiency, his movements calculated as he leads them to weave through the alleyways and the alcoves, headed straight for the heart of the city. Swaddled in his coats, the boy looks harmless, if not for the sickly glint of Heartbane strapped to his waist. Ephah will have to advise that he hide it, when they infiltrate the town headquarters in an effort to hunt down the plans of the enemy, and altogether formulate countermeasures against them. “I see the building,” Rami quips, but the comment is not needed, not when they are all within sight of it now. Where information can be sought, there they will be. The Commander wills it. @Tyler @Metty
  25. Sorano

    GIF association

  26. KittyvonCupcake

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Viscerex was not the only hunter. Two hours after Mythandriel departed, Ioreth stared face to face with the man she killed. In the bulging terror of his glassy eyes lie a lifeless plea for help. He had been granted one small mercy: Ioreth sliced the grotesque decoration from its chosen branch and tossed the head to join its body, stiff with rigor mortis, revoking his status as a warning from a child’s fairytale. He was now left as empty and severed shell, feed for the hungry foxes prowling for easy prey during the lean Winter season. When Spring reclaimed her grip, insects would claim what remained after the ravens and rats stripped meat from the bones. A man attacked her. He is dead. Shadows stirred and Ioreth returned to her cabin, to Mythandriel’s garden and her white elk that was no doubt hungry and missed the touch of her mistress. What had Mythandriel found in those pockets, in that discarded boot? What had caused her to leave behind Dorian, her companion since childhood? The questions bore no fruit. They whispered and hissed and dragged themselves like a dying man tied by his feet through her mind, and Ioreth pursued solace through keeping her hands busy. One day passed. She tidied Mythandriel’s cot and arranged her collection of apothic wares along a shelf dedicated to her little cousin’s collection of items. She placed a large seashell there, nestled in the rows of glittering glass jars filled with salves and potions. She checked Myth’s drying herbs and the plants she had growing within the cabin. She paced, then teased out strands of Myth’s hair from her comb and placed them in a bottle. Any venture made outside the cabin had traces of Mythandriel’s presence drifting along besides her. Ioreth walked to the seamstress and arranged for a new dress to be sewn in exchange for the buck Viscerex left behind, one with hidden pockets that she knew Myth would find useful. She fed and brushed Dorian’s white coat, she tended Mythandriel’s resting garden. She did not sleep the first day. She waited for night to fall, yet no one came. The sun rose, yet it offered no sight of a little elf and a tall barbarian emerging from the forest, only empty pathways and carrion birds circling over the trees. She scrubbed her floors, she boiled water for Mythandriel’s bean juice, she retrieved an herbalist’s grimoire from her bedroom, recently tidied after her cousin’s prompting, and placed it atop Myth’s cot. Before the noon sun climbed further in the sky, she fed Dorian and considered gathering further ingredients for a tracking spell. She gathered mushrooms, instead, to add to the venison stew Mythandriel liked, so long as Ioreth did not disclose what meat simmered in the hearty broth. It was this that Viscerex and Mythandriel would return home to: the savory scent of “Iory stew” bubbling over the fire, a warm cabin, and a she-elf vibrating with a near frantic desire for action to cover the jagged teeth of worry. When she opened the door and saw Mythandriel clinging to Viscerex’s back, her clothes torn and bloodied, her exposed skin ravaged and raw, the sound of a thousand small things crumpling caught in her throat and escaped with a broken gasp. “Come lay her down on my bed.” There was something missing in Ioreth’s voice. No sonorous purr, no dry humor, no seething irritation or soft whispers stirring from the dark. It was as empty as the vacant mask that clung to her. A raven settled on the fence post of her cabin’s garden, its black feathers sharp against the heavy snow. Ioreth shut the door and led Viscerex to her bedroom. Her small sanctuary was a place that contained both wilderness and woman. Vines with softly glowing blooms encircled the ceiling and slithered along the walls like resting pythons. A full length mirror leaned in one corner, partially obscured by her silk blue robe draped over its gilded frame. Above it was the second rack of antlers she kept from one of the offerings Viscerex hammered into her door. Gems and curios kept her journals, now stacked in piles and placed in a bookshelf, company. Her staff stood by the doorway with her rucksack, packed and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He would have recognized her dagger still nestled in the expanse quilts and furs that covered her large mattress, always kept within arm’s reach as she slumbered. When Myth was placed gently on her stomach, Ioreth began to inspect the damage done to her back. As she had done with Constans in the tomb many months ago, the pale violet light that pulsed from her hands sang sweetly to the persistent ache of Mythandriel’s wounds, soundless melodies of quiet, of sleep, of a place without pain. “Viscerex, did you bandage these?” Sensation slinked back to her, the tumult of heartache cascading with relief, anger and gratitude, a choking sob that threatened to reveal itself should Ioreth continue to speak. “You did well.” You returned her to me. She leaned forward to brush Mythandriel’s hair out of her face and murmured, ”You rest, and then we will speak. There is much I wish to discuss with you. I’m near if you need me.” Ioreth walked away from the side of the bed with tense shoulders and a dark expression. Though her fingertips that came to rest on Viscerex’s arm as she led him out into the main room were light and cool, her jaw was taunt and clenched. “Come sit with me,” she said, gesturing for Viscerex to go to the sofa she would often lounge on during late night discussions with Constans as she settled into the armchair the priest preferred. He looked tired, God’s other chosen one, even if she could not see his face. It was in the way he carried himself; still proud, still strong, yet with a diminishing light. Still, she did not release him from the intensity of her gaze that read the bloodstains on his clothing. She lifted her chin, tossed back her hair, and stated flatly, “I need to know what happened to her, and I trust you to tell me the truth.” The sharp snarl of a laugh that interjected itself glittered like a blade. “And I trust that whoever hurt her is now dead. Where did she go, what did she do, and why?”
  27. danzilla3

    How We Heal

    As he walked the winding road that followed the Symarron river, Silas couldn't help but be awed by the natural beauty of the island of Corinth. Two days ago he had landed in Gold Harbor, and had traveled mostly on foot on his way to the Hildebrand estate, occasionally accepting the offer of a ride from a passing carriage. While he could have arranged transport with either his Senarian benefactors or his new friends in Hildebrand, he shied away from such things. He tended to avoid airships and boats as much as possible since the day he had been shot down over the Beast King Raz Nogore's territory. Even now the memories of what he had suffered after the crash made him ill when he thought about boarding such transport. As a result, he tended to resort to such means of transport only when necessary. Not that his own personal preference for traveling solo would keep him from arriving when he had promised. When he had given his estimate for the completion of the prosthetic that he now carried in a case with him, he had included travel time. Now as the immense black spire of Ravenel Manor, his thoughts turned to his business there; or more accurately, one piece of business more than the other. Since the day he had first made her acquaintance he had often found his thoughts dwelling on Lady Varda. Feelings that he thought had been scorched away in the fires of the Beast Kings dungeons had begun to stir, but he wasn't sure what to make of them. As he approached the gates, he tried to maintain the clinical detachment required of a physician. @vielle
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