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This caught a fair bit of people off guard despite the announcement. I plan to make an archive temporarily available in 2020 to allow people to grab / repost their sheets

V.C.F Recruitment Page Good day lady/gentlemen, this message has reached you because you are the best of the best, the top of the shelf, the crème de la crème of Valucrean society. Be it for your martial prowess, your vast intellect, your practical specificality or your resourcefulness on the field, we could not have asked for better men and women to protect the life of those weak and innocent around us. We are the Valucrean Containment Foundation. We revel in death to uphold life. We wage wars to maintain peace. We thrive in chaos so that the world remains orderly. We are the bastions that protect. Of course, our history streches far and wide, and our influence vast and powerful, but you may satisfy your curiosity in your own time. Today, you have been called. This is your opportunity to be one of the sentinels of civilization, the torch of society. We are inviting you to become a VCF operative. Consider it well, we await your arrival. -Overseer council [648]th wave of invitation. Good evening! Hopefully you are doing well. I've been here for give or take, half a year, but ever since I returned I really wanted to establish myself as a presence that can be felt in Valucre, to a point where at least if I went AFV, someone would ask "Oh hey where's that anonymous guy?" and of course my first stage of this plan is site-wide domination >:) So I decided I would love to connect and establish relationships with the lot of you Valucrean community, by way of this organization! I made this as a dead ringer of the SCP foundation, and of course thanks to the vortex at the center and implications of a multiverse far before that, it is connected somewhat to the VCF 😄 The VCF acts as a valucrean-wide organization that is essentially a "we do bad stuff for good things, end justify the means" kinda organization. A few weeks/months ago, two people established interest in being a part of the VCF, and I thought to myself that a Foundation without it's representatives is rather just dull and boring 😄 So thanks to Supernal's helpfulness, coupled with @Metty and @The Fire Heart's enthusiasm, I got a club made under the VCF banner and am inviting anyone interested to join. With plenty of jobs like Agents, Special agents, Researchers, etc", your characters can be virtually anything they want and more! Of course, I am all for creative writing and I absolutely HATE when people restrict a person's writing, so if there is a character under the VCF lore, they are free to do as they please 😄 A good example of this is @Metty's Arashi who has been on multiple RPs either representing the VCF, or doing her own gig 😄 Your character could very much be a VCF agent as a part time job! So, if you have a little bit of good in your heart and a whole lot of evil to project onto the bad guys, come join us! Be those new or old on the site, we accept all and discriminate none 🙂

ALTERION As I am sure you all have already seen, Alterion is going through some grueling renovations and the content is being refurbished and tidied up. If only to add some flare. Needless to say, I am about to wreck some...spit. Some time ago I placed a ‘Canon Collecting’ post to engage those RPers who worked on content in Alterion that requires notice by us (the board members) to which I only received one request/remembrance of canon. That’s why this is now here. With that in mind this thread is for gathering members who would like to own land in Alterion. Some areas already have lore, others do not… Please feel free to do with it as you'd like. Please make sure to read over the main lore page for Alterion to get an idea of its theme and content. (It will be changing soon into a more wild and natural region...) That way, when you start creating, you don’t have to hold back. Food for Thought...: The Hollow is going to be a destructive event used to tear Alterion down so that it can be used as a fresh foundation to build upon. Participate in the upcoming event to claim land and/or loot? Join in the rebuild of civilizations after the event? Sectors/Areas up for grabs (or if you just have an idea and need a place to bring it to life but don’t want to be in complete control of it, we’re always open to that) : Cosanastre: @Aleksei as Nadia Royce will become the new Ruler of Cosanastre and its people. Sector 1: Kageroth Province Sector 3: Opharion Province Sector 4: Vysroth Province Sector 5: Seroth Province Sector 6: Arysene Province Greater Arkadia: @Meraxa Arkadia Prime (Momar) MaGNUS Forest Izral Each of these areas can be renamed and have new lore attached to them. Facility-05 @Sanonymous Luka'reccia Kitashiobara Minaiki Kimpusen-ji Devla (formerly known as Devla Desert): @-Lilium- Devla Desert Vysroth Peak Daius Industry Conservatory Fantas-Menagerie HQ KetaKutan Archipelago Babel Corporation Subsidiary Port Tauranga Pijesak Peninsula Lands of Alterion Please take a look at the Bestiary both for Alterion and Fantas-Menagerie and feel free to incorporate any of the creatures there if you so wish. And always feel free to create your own and send them to me so I can add them to the master list as well! Create your own area in the free lands? MaGNUS Forest Kageroth Mountains What does this mean? You can read over the ones that already have lore and send me your own version should you choose to rewrite it. Keep it as it is and roll with it. Take the opportunity to write and build your own little megalopolis within Alterion. What do we need from you, should you choose to accept this offer? Write lore. Dedicate some(not necessarily every living moment) time to your sector to keep up with the changing world of Valucre and the lands of Nehalen that we now fall under. Pay attention to updates, the Alterion lore as a whole, as well as that of Kadia and Nehalen to make sure you know what’s going on around your area and how it may affect your lore. Be active in special events we(the board members) create, create your own events(submit for approval beforehand), engage with other sector members to make alliances/civil war/etc. And never be afraid to ask questions! If you are concerned, have questions, don’t understand something...just ask! Last but not least, we need your understanding. As you can see paradigm is currently away due to real life and I cannot always be around either. If you need some help, drop me a line in a Valucre PM and I will respond as quickly as I am able. What I will do for you: Review & read your content. Make approvals as quickly as possible and as necessary. Collaborate with you if you need a hand. Write with you if you need an extra body in a thread. Request tags for your area(s) from our overload supernal for you. Be there for you when you need me, within reason. What am I up to in Alterion and on Valucre? Upcoming: The Hollow [Event] Coming soon to the Alterion near you...(very soon) Daius Industries merger with Babel Corporation of Nehalen Grand Opening of Fantas-Menagerie Unveiling of the new Daius Industries Conservatory of Izral World Technology Summit that will be held in Nehalen Catered by Precious Pastries (of course) Currently: Organizing/Refurbishing/Adding Content & Flare to Alterion Prepping all the information for Upcoming Events Other RP stuff all over Valucre.

Hello hello! New to the forum scene and I'm excited to write and make new friends here! I'm 28 and started on Yahoo chat. I play video games (currently playing FFXIV), watch anime and some TV! I do graphic design on the side and speak a few languages. (English is my third language) Happy posting and can't wait to dive deeper into this community. ❤

Just something I've been wondering for a while When browsing lore of locations (cities, landmarks, nations, etc.) how much lore do you look for? How much detail do you need to be able to rp comfortably in the setting, or what details are enough for you to go by? Do you prefer detailed lore that outlines every notable aspect of a location -- down to breeding patterns of local wildlife, plumbing and waste disposal, etc. -- or is a general description of the location's appearance good? Do you prefer having all the details at hand, or do you want enough freedom to exercise your creativity? How much lore is enough?

The sight of the Twistlings, the creatures who had killed his first squad, was not something that did any favors for Jack's mental condition. In fact, it threatened to drive him over the deep end again, forcing Scoot and Chief to continue trying to hold him down, as he scratched and clawed for his revolver to try and do Gaia-knows-what. As the two men tried to slap some sense into Jack, Melanie stepped in front of them and raised her flamethrower. "Don't'cha worry boys, I got you covered while you have your therapy session! I know all about those, they can be intense," she winked at them, before bracing herself for the impending attack.

New era, new guidelines! If you're interested in medieval fantasy and wild adventures, check out Ursa Madeum! 😍 (And maybe swing by the Queendom of Svanhild for funsies? 😉)

Hooooooooooooooooooooooly. I have been waiting on this one class to release grades, and I was shaking in my boots (quite literally) for two weeks. I thought I was going to fail -- but the curve bumped me to an A-. Not sandbagging, but I am on Cloud 9 right now. TIME TO PARTY!

Annoying I kinda have to refrain from active planning because I already know potential answers and shit. You guys seem like you're having fun

This is my apology to all you folk. I said I wouldn't disappear again, then I got my first teaching position and it completely took over my life. :( Regrets! I'm sorry.

Fire Emblem. For one, the Wyvern Lord class is OP. In terms of unique design, I'm partial to Grima and the Manaketes in Awakening, though Fae's design in Binding Blade is interesting. Honorable mentions to Dragon Tribe Laguz.

As Argi hauled off, Elizabeth pulled something from her garments, an arcane eye. She lifted her blindfold, socketing the orb securely. It synchronized with her conscious will, animating, assuming normality in appearance. This wasn't meant as a means to see, moreso, a way to convert arcane information between her mind and body. In a sense, she was preparing to defend herself, tethering her body directly to her spirit; although she had hoped that she could've avoided such. Her annoying assistant hadn't gotten her attention, but instead the Cardinal's. His old brain wracked over the information Emile had obtained, not able to discern anything from it. He was a fantastic mercenary, but didn't know anything about structured design, any topography or the like. Still, his dull mind took in what it could, and he shared a bit of his snack with the air as he spit out the info. "You might want to see this. Something about the granaries and the Enrele." Elizabeth raised a brow, taking the documents and browsing them for a moment. No, they didn't make sense to her either; at least not at first. Nothing added up, Argi had disclosed that Aleth was somewhere underground. Other evidence suggested that it resided near the granary. Below the granary then, seemed logical in thought. Perhaps in the sewer, but that seemed a bit beyond the people of Dougton, to structure intelligent design and maximize their crop growth with sewage. Yet, they did yield plentiful crops so. Who or what, where, when, why, and how; all without an answer. The questions remained up in the air for a moment, before the answer came crashing into epiphany. It was a strange instinct, a feeling, which she was familiar with. Not the same as the other before it. Perhaps this one would be more perceptive of that which Meryam was not, or perhaps neither cared at all. Those feint, creeping threads of energy, this time crawling from the scientist herself. More vibrant and discernable as she focused, tethering to her body, trailing from Casper. The coils turned inward, drawing slowly toward the hilltop, in a process which would take some time to give definition. The Ventrix Mind had suspected foul play of sorts, from the beginning. She had expected to walk into a trap at some point, no doubt. What she couldn't account for was time and happenstance, neither which seemed on her side now. She was certain, however, that Dougton was much more than it had seemed. It was a place of power which housed a mundane people, and Patton realized why Aleth would be underground. In the sewers, the ground, it mattered not, there was still the consistent theme between. Water. The question of 'Why would Aleth be in Dougton?' drew her speculation once. The Enrele in Casper wanted water too, so they took to the ocean. Then why not Aleth? Power, of sorts. A dreadful thought which brought drawls of doubt about her allies. They were all strong, different, but disorganized. Aleth was like her, smart, collected, but a step ahead of herself. Here among the ley lines, she wondered for a moment, why they had even come at all. Was it all too late?

Alexa's mask began pumping and filtering oxygen to her as the smoke began to blanket the area, the air heavy with a supernatural quantity of ashen substance and detritus. It became clear to her that something was amiss... The imps had fallen, some of them turning craven and escaping back into the confines of the ship, and as the team trudged deeper into the bowels of the massive daemon cruiser, the more unnatural their path became. It was like walking on the blood stream of a gigantic, infected creature, their presence a virus the body would work savagely to purge off it's twisted insides. It was no surprise they did not see it coming until it was too late. The Inquisitor felt the pull of the knight's aura like an animal would react to pure survival instinct. She had felt it before, like every sense in her body shooting into a maximum alert, ready to fight, flee... or die. She tried to warn them... To tell them of their impending doom at the blood-soaked claws of the Blackened beast. But she was too slow, or the knight too fast, or perhaps both. It would not matter, as his presence would send those unaware of his unholy influence into a reckless rage. They did not stand a chance. She just began to shoot it, yelling a futile retreat to the Guardians, falling unheard on the fevered pitch of battle. Lena began to advance as well, her weapons ready to meet against the daemon. "No!!" The Inquisitor yelled, however, as her mask's lenses sparked in a teal glow and her hand shot into the air, grabbing Lena with her powers and pulling her back from the daemon's reach. "No! Inquisitor! Release me now! I must... I must go! My brothers!" She screamed in response. But it was over in a heartbeat. The broken warriors at the feet of the towering facsimile of a knight, his maw consuming their flesh at the same time he spoke his vicious taunts towards the survivors. Alexa stepped back... Her trembling hands holding her head in exhasperation, her weapons still firmly gripped and shaking along. She felt so much sadness, so much fear, a tidal wave of emotions. The warp was so deafening in there... Every pulse and every crunch the ship made, every crack and gulp the foe's feeding caused, a festering fear she had felt so many times before and never failed to reel it's head back into her mind... But in this cacophony, a sudden realization came... The Inquisitor, in her state, found one emotion she had rarely faced... Rage. Anger... No... It was more... Stronger, intense. FURY. It was not the bloodcurling, senseless anger of battle. It was not the dark, giddy pleasure of the crimson spectacle before her. It was beyond such low, base emotions, the anathema of the ruinous filth the Dark Gods fed from. She raised her head high, the glow in her visor an intense, shimmering azure as she holstered her pistol and leveled her arm towards the monster. With a modulated scream, her hand balled into a fist, the movement of her fingers followed by the rippling crunch of metal, the inner "bones" of the ship swinging towards the beast like jagged spears. Would it fell the beast? Hardly. But she was ready to meet the bloodletter with all her might, a moment of valor shining in the backdrop of despair.

Ivan listened, his anger going to a low simmer as the woman spoke. They were right after all, killing anyone here wouldn't do them any good, they needed to make sure this never happened ever again. His staff disappeared and he stepped up to the monitors. The images were no more disturbing than what'd he'd seen on the outside. Undead roamed ruins and unspeakable monsters flew through the skies. He shook his head, placing a hand on the counter. "So what is the first step, where are we to go, what are we to do?"

SCENE: HIGH ABOVE THE PEREGRINE LAYELIA ASTRAPÉ LEUCETIUS As winds swept past, Layelia could taste the salt in the air. After being in Port Kyros for so long, she had become accustomed to the sea brine which left no corner of the city untouched. Still — to live by the ocean of all places. She had never pictured herself living on the coast. It was only by the suggestion of the City Ruler that both she and Fraenir ended up in The Port. If it weren’t for that fated meeting with The Countess, the young mage may have never escaped her pursuers — never found a place to call home — never reunited with her sworn-sister Vera. Thus, Layelia owed much to Raveena. With sealed letter in satchel, the young Leucetius would fulfill the request: Watch over Artamese. Thus, it was because of a single letter that the duo found themselves high above The Peregrine in the endless skies which overlooked the Great Northern Sea. Hand running over the smooth, turquoise scales of her companion, Layelia looked out towards the ocean which peeked from below the sheet of white, cotton clouds. The shifting facets of the deep blue water shimmered with the final colors of the setting sun — a jewel pane of dancing flames and pristine sea. A masterpiece which lasted only a moment. A scene which Layelia could find herself staring at for eternity. And when that sun had finally crossed over the horizon, a sweet sigh escaped the girl’s lips. Gently, she rested her head on the dragon’s nape. There, she could feel the warmth which pulsed through Fraenir’s body — the steady beating of his heart. “Fraenir,” she began, words carried in on barely a whisper, “We really must do this more often.” There was silence, but she did not expect a response. The dragon was fickle with his affections and was not the type for sentimentalities. Even though they had been traveling with each other for well over three years, Fraenir was hard of heart. Though their minds were linked, there was a part so deep, so tumultuous, that even through their connection, Layelia could not pry past its guards. Every time she dove, she choked — drowned — on something festering inside of him. It wasn’t just anger, nor was it just sadness. It was a deep, rooted loathing towards a target Layelia could not pin down. Despite her curiosity, she dared not bring it up for fear of inciting his wrath. He hated humans, that part was for certain, but this loathing was towards a person. True, they had been together for quite a while now, but... The question was, was the one he hated her? Then, to the girl’s surprise, he replied — voice soft, gentle, melancholy even. Four words more than anything she would have expected from the creature a year ago. “Yes — Yes we should.” * * * * * FRAENIR OF SIGURTHYR Stars twinkled as dusted diamonds swept in the wind. An ocean’s night was clear — unpolluted by the artificial lights of magic which plagued Kyros. Out here, the dragon could bask in starlight, sea breeze, and the crescent moon’s emerging rays. It had taken so long for his scars to recover. He had almost forgotten what it was like to glide so high up — the air flowing between his scales, flowing onto his face. It was a freedom that only those with wings could truly experience: the liberation granted only through flight. Dipping just below the clouds, he surveyed The Peregrine. Amber eyes went over the features of the ship, looking for any signs of movement. Now that the ship was heading out into open water, most passengers were inside, save for the one man — if he was even a man. It was the individual the dragon had seen from when he was high above the sea wall. The person’s limbs were long and features... unnatural. No human eyes were that shade of lurid orange. That man, robed in midnight, had been doing things with the ropes and sails and such for quite a while — things that Fraenir knew not. When the spindly man finally went back into the depths of the ship, the dragon knew that it was the best chance for them to go aboard the ship. “Layelia,” he began, “— Perhaps now is a better time than any to descend. I doubt it will take long for those on the ship to notice us flying above them — even with your witchcraft.” The people below seemed all capable in magic, and there was no chance of hiding themselves from Artamese. Unexpectedly, there was a hiss followed by a tiny kick to the leading edge of his wing. Serpentine eyes narrowed. “Careful. You would not want to lose your shoe now — you know we did not pack any extras,” he crooned. “If it falls into the ocean, I am not fishing it out ~” “Stop obfuscating! I’ve told you that witchcraft is a barbaric, degrading term! The proper term is artificery — or perhaps even a common concealment. I’ve explained this to you countless times already. Have you no head for magic?” “Oh?” At this comment, the dragon simply laughed. You didn’t need a head for magic. Only fools needed maths or science to harness it. True magic was feeling the flow of things — the weave which spanned this mortal world. If he wanted to hide himself, then he only need ask — twist the threads to his will. No need for mists, mirrors, or whatever Layelia concerned herself with to make the illusion. One only needed will and spirit for true magic. In the dragon’s opinion, the girl had talent, but wasted it on study. True magic came with practice — not research. The charm she had made to conceal them was no more than a painted veil which hung loosely around them — a falsity of fake sky and fake clouds. Any mage with their wits about them could see through it if they knew where to look. “Ah yes, unfortunately I do have a head, but if you would like, I could pretend I do not have one,” he mused. “I recall hearing from my sea-born brethren that a dive in the ocean at this time is most refreshing.” He could feel the girl’s apprehension on his lips. Fantastic. “Feeling a bit nervous, are you not, Layelia? I am just going for a swim.” he said nonchalantly. “Fraenir... you best no—AHHHHHHHHHHT!” — And with that, he curled his wings in, dropped, and dove straight down like an arrow towards the sea. By the gods, he loved teasing her. * * * * * LAYELIA ASTRAPÉ LEUCETIUS That calm, pleasant night had all but vanished. Somehow, the young artificer had gone from relaxing, to scolding, to falling from the sky. Stands of flaxen hair flew wildly as the girl clung to the Fraenir’s neck for dear life. Her eyes squeezed shut as the piercing rush of air whistled along the dragon’s scales. Surely if the men below didn’t notice them then, they would now certainly hear the sound of a dragon hurtling towards their ship. If they didn’t, they were deaf idiots like Fraenir. With a silent prayer to Zare, she just hoped that the dragon remembered that if she died, he himself would also die. A rush of air — a sudden deceleration. Her own lilac eyes opened to survey the scene. In her mind’s eye, she felt the dragon’s wolfish grin as if it were her own. Without warning, the dragon spun, dropping her from the air, and out of the range of the common concealment. Given the circumstances, it was only natural that Layelia let out a girlish scream. By the gods, she hated Fraenir. — If she hadn’t fallen into netting of the ship’s shrouds, she would have died. At that point, the dragon's idiocy had been confirmed. Several loud thuds resounded on deck as bags filled with their stuff hit the main deck. The nerve! Didn’t Fraenir remember she had glassware on her? The girl looked out towards the sea for the turquoise monstrosity, but to no avail. The shroud of magic which hid Fraenir from sight was her own work after all. In the distance, she heard a loud splash. Then, every inch of her skin contracted with a freezing chill. By the gods, she could feel the icy waters passing through his scales as the damned lizard swam. Weren’t the oceans supposed to be warm in The North!? Really, she hated Fraenir. She also hated their sympathetic link. Their experiences were shared in some sense — the sensation of touch being the most in tune. No privacy. No nullification of its effects. What happened to him, happened to her, and vice-versa, which served the dragon's impish nature quite well. Teeth chattering madly, Layelia untangled her splayed limbs from the ropes, and when she was free, she climbed down from the railing and onto the main deck. Adrenaline pumping, she shakily picked up the bags that were so casually tossed onto the floor. Zare, she was cold. Surely the rooms inside would bring her some semblance of warmth. She needed a fire. Going to the most ornate door, she opened it, joining Xartia's entourage. She was finally in the main cabin, but she was no warmer. Damn that dragon, she thought. Then she froze. After the fall, there was no telling how she looked. Sure, her long, beige, trench coat came out unscathed, but she could only imagine with horror what her face looked like at the moment. Her cheeks were probably erubescent while her fair skin was definitely flushed with sweat. Was her hair messed up from the fall? Lace-braided ponytail unraveled? Disheveled? It didn’t help that there was an inhuman with orange-eyes. She was already shivering like a fool — what more her knees quivering in fear? She had always been a coward at heart, and in the current state she was in, there was no hiding it. Distractions. Layelia needed to distract herself. Which one of them is Xartia? Need to give him the letter... Her eyes darted between the three men inside the luxurious room, but who was the recipient of Raveena’s missive? Standing there like an idiot, she fished the letter from her satchel. Family. Pretty. Wealthy. Up to no good — The written word of Raveena in her cursory description of Xartia. Wealthy. The mage remembered the carriage with mares of flaming stride. Hands clammy, she shoved the letter into the pale-skinned man's chest. “La-Layelia,” she sputtered before turning back and out of the main cabin. There had to be other halls to wander that were away from people. She was too flustered to face anyone at that moment. She would have to brutally torture Fraenir later for this embarrassment. On a separate note, the missive would describe what Xartia needed to know about her unexpected arrival on the ship. In short, the paragraphs contained the time and date of the ship’s departure, a four-word description of Xartia, and a section which stated that both Layelia and Fraenir would be joining the expedition in order to watch over Artamese. Of course, the words stipulated that the two would assist Xartia if need be. Xartia was like family to Raveena after all. Marking the letter as an official message from The Countess of Port Kyros, the bottom of the parchment had both Raveena's signature and seal. On the front, the words ‘To Xartia Pendragon’ were penned in finest ink. — If only Layelia had given the letter to The Cambion and not The Vampire. @Etched In Stone @Twitterpated @Malintzin @Voldemort

No one knows were to find the Assassins Guild. This was a fact that Mal had learned the hard way, after weeks of combing through leads, rumors, and myths. Oh, it was possible to get in contact with them. The guild wouldn't make any money if no one could find them to purchase their services. But most of these points of contact were dead drops; someone leaves a message, the guild gets it and sends terms, and the employer leaves the payment. Following the messengers had proved fruitless. It was a massive web of proxies and cutouts that thwarted even the most dedicated attempts at surveillance. So eventually he came up with another plan. If they couldn't find the Guild before they struck, they might be able to find them afterwards. Using Aphelion's own network of proxies, the group had arranged for a hit on a prominent military official. Major General Bozidar Turkovic was the man in charge of Fort Echo, one of ninety such installations throughout the city. The Forts were going to be targeted eventually, so hiring the guild to assassinate Turkovic was killing two birds with one stone. Prior to hiring the guild, Mal and a few of his best people had infiltrated the Fort. They were all working in positions that would allow them to keep an eye on the Major. Once the assassins struck, they would be there, and they would tail them. What came after that would depend on what they found. From his position on a guard tower, Mal made sure he was alone before mentally activating his communication crystal, "Check in time people. Sound off." @Zashiii @L E V I A T H A N @Laughingmad @dvsn @Malintzin

Aya's been fairly cryptic about her abilities. She only said that she could heal and use blessings, and she said that there's some individuals it simply wouldn't work on, Dauner being one of them. She hasn't really said *why* it doesn't work on him and I doubt Dauner knows, either. She also mentioned that her source of power doesn't originate from the planet itself, so OC's can take that how they will. As for what she's shown IC... She used a single spell to disable the Yuuja temporarily, so an observant type could assume she can divide the same spell among a large number of smaller opponents. The same person could also realize that Aya said she could only use blessings and healing, but that kind of spell is clearly a curse, or a form of crowd control. It'd be safe to assume she has more tricks up her sleeve than just that 1 spell. She's also displayed telepathy and empathy, and Argi exposed that she can use telekinesis by means of throwing minors at her. Ira just displayed enchanting and destructive AoE spells in the last couple posts, assuming anyone saw that. Myuil showed his ability to get larger and his breath attack in the fight with the Yuuja, though, he's with Dauner at present.

A repository for all my fumblings! *Under indefinite construction Character profiles! Fracture: DESIGNATION: BANDIT Taen: Slake, the Aboleth Eater Danava Ursa Madeum: The Chimaera of Thrace Lore! Taen: Lizardfolk of Taen

BlackBlood Industries Incoporated Organizational Information Type Private Corporation Industry Conglomerate Headquarters Last Chance, Terrenus Subsidiaries BlackBlood Arms BlackBlood Chemical BlackBlood Energy BlackBlood Security & Defense Excursion Stationstores Norkotian Motor Company Area Served Terrenus CEO Rufus Wilkinson Notable Members Daran Wenig (formerly) Rufus Wilkinson Joseph Tynes Randolph Krieger Historical Information Founded 18,489 WT (as BlackBlood Energy Corporation) Reorganized 18,598 WT (as BlackBlood Industries Incorporated) (Ask Me Anything) "The beating heart of progress!" ―BlackBlood tagline BlackBlood Industries Incorporated, formerly known as BlackBlood Energy Corporation and more frequently known simply as BlackBlood Corporation, is a Terrenus-based business conglomerate specializing in energy resource exploitation, weapon and motor vehicle production, and private defense contracting. Originally formed in Norkotia as an oil drilling and production company, it has gradually expanded in size and scope over time, and its reach now extends well-beyond its early limits and into greater Terrenus. The Corporation is ostensibly under the leadership of its CEO, Rufus Wilkinson, though former Norkotian ruler Joseph Tynes is believed to actually be in control behind-the-scenes. Though much of its profit still comes from petroleum products, BlackBlood's most visible subsidiaries are now its Security & Defense, and Arms production branches, both of which operate directly under Tynes. BlackBlood attempts to fill the niche markets for non-magic-based technology, particularly in the realms of transportation and weaponry. Due to most of their technology being based on the exploitation of fossil fuels, the company often comes into conflict with the sensibilities of the Gaian majority, but has found footing in the more remote and primitive regions of the fractured continent. Even so, it is not uncommon for the company to use underhanded methods to establish themselves in towns that do not desire their presence. BlackBlood is notorious for using mercenaries and corporate enforcers to get its way. History Founding BlackBlood Energy Corporation was first formed in 18,489 WT, by a merger of two smaller oil companies operating in Norkotia and the Garrison Bay basin. Over the next several decades, it grew into the largest energy company in Norkotia, eventually becoming the largest business of any industry. Having by now expanded their services to coal-based electricity, BlackBlood benefited greatly from the economic growth that persisted across the region, even as the region's so-called "Golden Age" was nearing its twilight. Despite the eventual decline of other economic sectors, BlackBlood remained at the top, owing to the necessity of their services to the economy as a whole. Corruption scandal As Norkotian civilization began to decline, BlackBlood became a substantial corporate sponsor of the Secular Industrialist ideology, promoting a consumer economy and working to devalue the old Directivist morals that many citizens still ascribed to. This reached its peak under the leadership of CEO Daran Wenig, who assumed control of the company in the late 570s. Wenig was particularly active in the Norkotian political scene, using both his personal fortune, as well as company assets where he could get away with it, to support the political movement. Many of his dealings were illegal, or at the very least, kept secret from the public. Most notably, he had dealings with local media outlets in order to ensure favorable coverage for both secularism and for his company. In addition to Wenig, many lower-ranking BlackBlood executives also became involved in various corrupt activities, both for political and personal reasons. In the spring of 18,596, a pair of foreign mercenaries enacted a break-in at the headquarters for the Norkotian News Corporation, on secret orders from an agent affiliated with the recently-elected Joseph Tynes administration. The mercenaries stole a series of documents which were then released to the public, causing a massive scandal. Many current and former politicians, members of the media, and business leaders were subsequently arrested and jailed as a result. However, Daran Wenig managed to avoid arrest and holed-up in an old BlackBlood refinery with a contingent of hired gunmen. Another team of foreigners was hired to capture or kill the rogue businessman, eventually succeeding in the latter after a brief but bloody incursion into the facility. Wenig's fortune was then secretly recovered by Tynes officials and stashed in secret accounts for later use. With Wenig dead, and most of the rest of BlackBlood's leadership arrested or otherwise deposed, the corporation was temporarily nationalized by the Norkotian Government. While the company continued to operate, it remained under state ownership for over a year, and suffered significant loss of revenue due to a significant public relation hit in the scandal's aftermath. Reorganization Plans were in place to return BlackBlood to the private sector, though they were repeatedly delayed. This proved fortuitous to Joseph Tynes, who soon found himself embroiled in a scandal of his own, in the form of the aftermath of his invasion of Forsthaven. After the Norkotian Council concluded that Tynes had violated the constitution, among other crimes, his office was abolished and he was banished permanantly from holding office, though he managed to avoid imprisonment. However, just prior to his removal, Tynes managed to push through BlackBlood's reprivatization. Using the late Daran Wenig's hidden wealth, Tynes and his loyalists bought-up majority ownership of the corporation, and Tynes ensured that the acting CEO was one of his own supporters. Subsequently, as soon as he was removed from office, he took up the position of Executive Director of Security with BlackBlood. Although Rufus Wilkinson, the man instilled as CEO during the privatization process, was officially named leader of the company, it was Tynes who actually took control behind-the-scenes. Due to the Norkotian Council's desire to demilitarize and return Norkotia to its normal state, many soldiers, officers and scientists affiliated with Tynes's government military programs found themselves unemployed. Tynes took advantage of this, hiring many of them into BlackBlood, and establishing several new branches of the company to handle weapon production, security contracting, and research & development. He recovered many of the plans and resources affiliated with those programs, usually buying or salvaging them, though occasionally hiring criminals to steal them if he couldn't acquire them otherwise. As a result of all this, BlackBlood soon possessed a standing military larger than what remained of Norkotia's government security forces. In order to avoid further controversy with the Norkotian authorities, Tynes pushed for the company to relocate outside of Norkotia. After briefly establishing a headquarters in Southport, BlackBlood finally settled on Last Chance, formerly a noted haven for organizations with colorful reputations. BlackBlood now has three primary hubs, with Last Chance serving as the main headquarters, the old headquarters in Norkotia acting as the regional hub for Zuhl, and a newly established branch in Taen's capital of Lunaris. Ideals & identity Joseph Tynes became de-facto leader of BlackBlood after his ouster in Norkotia BlackBlood has long identified itself as a vital contributor to Zuhl's economic and technological progress. Indeed, the corporation is branded around the idea that its products, mostly petroleum or coal-based, are the lifeblood of the economy. For many years, the company's tagline was "The Beating Heart of Industry", though it re-branded after its leadership change, switching to "The Beating Heart of Progress" instead. Joseph Tynes is believed to have had a say in this change, as he viewed the spread of BlackBlood's influence, and subsequently, Norkotian industry and economic theory, as the truest form of progress. The corporate colors of Black and Gold are found frequently throughout the company, and are featured prominently on the company's security and paramilitary forces. Variations of gold and tan are paired with black on most uniforms, and though the equipment code for BlackBlood PMCs is somewhat loose, the company's colors are strictly enforced. Due to its specialization in fossil fuels, BlackBlood's technology is based almost entirely around these resources, which are largely left unexploited in Terrenus outside of Zuhl. While Gaianist influence is strongly slanted against environmentally degrading activities, BlackBlood views Terrenus's current state of upheaval as an opportunity to stake its claim on this untapped market. Organizational hierarchy The company's Chief Executive Officer (CEO) acts, officially, as the leader of the business, although the majority owners technically hold the power to remove the CEO if they see fit. Below the CEO the Board of Directors, a council of the highest ranking officials who oversee entire departments or critical projects of the company. Below the board are the Branch Administrators, managers who oversee local iterations of the company, and who hold considerable power within their assigned jurisdiction. Under each administrator are various Managers, Department Heads and Foremen, who oversee operations at singular locations. The Corporate Security wing and Private Military Contractor (PMC) division hold a different set of ranks from the rest of the company. The lowest ranking contractor is known as a "Trooper", while a security guard is known as an "Guardsman". From that point on, both units share the same ranking convention in ascending order: Corporal, Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Commander. Commanders will either operate directly under Branch Administrators (if part of a regional detachment) or under the Director of Security. Products and services Fossil fuels An oil rig in Zuhl, during the winter season BlackBlood's primary source of income is through oil drilling and production, which includes the sale of various types of refined petroleum to consumers. Excursion Station Stores, a chain of fuel stations, acts as the primary hub for the sale of gasoline and diesel fuel. Motor oil is also made and sold by BlackBlood. In addition, electric energy produced through the mining and burning of coal is a major asset for the company. In addition fuel production, BlackBlood uses petroleum for a variety of other purposes. Perhaps the most predominant is Petrogel, a type of jelly that makes an effective propellant alternative to unreliable gunpowder. Another petroleum product is petrosteel, a hardened plastic alloy which was invented in the early 18,590s. Petrosteel has found a variety of uses, particularly for military-grade equipment, such as lightweight ballistic armor, heavy-duty weapon stocks, and even aircraft frames. Perhaps the most controversial division of the company, BlackBlood Chemical has also begun research and experimentation on a wide variety of chemical products based on petroleum and other resources. While much of the research results in products for civilian use, a significant portion is devoted to weaponized chemical research. BlackBlood is believed to have significant deposits of dangerous explosive and chemical agents, including, though not limited to: napalm, white phosphorus, mustard gas and Agent Orange. Other departments In order to take greater advantage of their energy resources, BlackBlood operates several subsidiaries specialized in products based on their lifeblood resources. One such branch is BlackBlood Arms, which produces a variety of weapon and ammunition types designed specially to use petrogel. It also partners with several firearm producers based in Norkotia, Schmidt Arms Company most prominent among them, as a distributor and retailer of their products outside of Zuhl. BlackBlood also owns an automotive wing, the Norkotian Motor Company (NM), which produces gasoline and diesel vehicles of various makes and models for sale to both civilian and military buyers. The most rapidly growing branch of BlackBlood is the Security & Defense division, which provides private security guards or mercenary soldiers to paying clients. BlackBlood PMCs come from a variety of backgrounds, many being former military servicemembers, though a good portion come from less savory professions. BlackBlood PMCs are directed to be impartial when it comes to moral judgment of their clients, and they are expected to follow whatever their clients orders may be, ethical or not, provided they do not harm BlackBlood as a company. Related Topics Joseph Tynes Plateau of Zuhl Terrenus

A lot of games are “I win you lose”. A lot of roleplay is “we all win”. The collaborative nature of it is one of my fave things about it

A skittering sound reaches her ears. Mara primes her armor, holding her hands before her, and the auxiliary arms unfold twin blades that hover from her fingertips. She joins Araborn at the cliffside. Her mouth presses into a stiff line at the sight of the Xer'Orian below. Whatever she thought of the group's competence in undertaking such an expedition, it is apparent they are skilled fighters. Araborn deals with the first creature. Mara braces herself as the second charges towards her. As it draws near, she darts forward, ducks down, then slides to a crouch underneath its abdomen. Propelled by its momentum, the soldier finds itself both unable to stop and unable to reach her with either claw or jaw. Mara drives one of her suit's blades up into its softer underbelly; the other she slashes out, severing its forelimbs by the joints. And quickly, it is over. The soldier heaves the dying Xer'Orian off of her, then steps forward to peer over the ledge. "There are too many of them. We need to get out of here." She turns to the dragon. "You can fly, can't you? See if there's a way for us to get out of the open. Maybe where the white mineral is thicker, if it seems to hurt the Xers." Her gaze flits to the man in the raincoat, and she juts her chin at him. "You too. Help find openings in the canyon wall." She turned back to the fight, sprinting towards Dauner and Linda, mindful of the Xers heading towards the duo. @Dauner Light @garlictonic

Six Meters is actually a good bit shorter than I was worried about, and between you and ticklefarte explaining things a bit more, my worries are assuaged. That said, I think your intentions work. You want Teshuk to stumble into the adventure later on? You're more than welcome to. No worries there. On to other matters, I will be keeping the preparation thread 'open' for another 3-5 days or so. @Zashiii @Vilhardt @Sanonymous @The Alexandrian, try to get a post up within the next little while, or at least let us know whether or not you still want to participate (Maybe you just don't feel like being a part of the prep thread, and that's fine, we can figure something else out). The preparation thread is meant to be short and straightforward, just a means of giving everybody a chance to announce their talents, and see how and what they can offer the party when the thread begins. A map is either being designed, or a reference is being found still, and will be posted when I next post in the prep thread. Thanks in advance, all.

Kosvo was already embroiled in battle. Facing two snarling wolves as they advanced on him warily. They were cunning beasts, capable of recognizing a shield, and death when it looked them back in the eye. At Marcellus’s warning, a lesser-experienced warrior might’ve simply turned, blankly, and faced their death, but the young knight recognized the alarm in the tone, and acted instantly, exploding forth from his readied stance like a cannon shot. The two wolves were been waiting for their compatriots to get in position for the perfect takedown would be surprised, one of them stunned with a heavy shield bash to the snout. The other leapt aside, but not far enough as Kosvo reached out with his axe, hammering it down on the creature’s neck. The weapon cut through hide, resilient sinew and muscle and lodged deep into its vertebra, killing the beast outright. With a roar of effort, he flung the body around at the end of his axe back behind him, flicking his wrist so that the axehead came free in a spray of blood and bone, and the body was flung into the two wolves that approached his back, barring their path and stalling their way. And then he was upon them. Not many mortal men could move with the speed that Kosvo possessed, stepping across the snow as if he had ample experience with the frosty terrain himself. His next strike split one of the beasts’ head, laying the steaming cranium open to the chilling air, while its comrade counterattacked, and was received by the shield. With powerful jaws clamped on the shield wrestling to try and pin down his limb, the knight awaited his moment and twisted along in the direction of one particularly violent movement, flipping the wolf onto its back and exposing its vulnerable belly, the animal ended in the next overhead swing buried into its guts. The blood spray gushed into the air, a strange crimson miasma wafting about Kosvo before being blown away by the wind as he looked in the direction of the first creature, surely recovered from its stun and any fresh wolves that might have joined with it. It may have been the adrenaline of combat, the rush of battle, or may have been something else, but the way Kosvo “Haft” Hoss’s eyes dilated, the hiss of his breathe amidst the blood mist was most unnatural. A passing moment, invisible to all but the most observant.

We should just rename Valucre every time someone succeeds in world domination.

Soryn was genuinely surprised at the hug from Vlad, unaware of the affect he may have had on the man throughout this whole ordeal. A hesitant hand moved to pat his back while he went through the flurry of emotions that coursed through him. The reminder about the harpies, the beasts, and the dragons from the dreamscape they had just escaped from forced Soryn to remember the once dormant sensations that had caused him to lose some of his lucidity. He had thought this change of scenery had shaken him out of the feverish trance but now he could still see the caked blood along his hands and the cuts along his face. “Right…together…” The reporter wasn’t all there it seems as he was herded somewhat by those who had the common sense to decisively move through the door but once he reached the threshold before the other room he abruptly stopped and felt himself shake with a mixture of regret and shame. It was only a few moments but that was all it took to make him an obstacle for those behind him as they crashed against him and he felt himself stumble then felt the cold floor press against his cheek. An odd comfort washed over him in that moment but Celene’s voice brought him out of his brief daze. “Hostile threats detected. Analyzing….” The feminine voice echoed in this room and was enough to motivate Soryn to stand. His heart raced at being thrust once again into a scenario where he needed to defend himself. Soryn’s eyes scanned the four twistlings that had appeared, zeroing in on the one that held a ranged weapon. Noticing the formation established by Frederick and his crew, he moves behind the shields and then uses his jeweled scimitar to shoot out a stream of lightning at the gunner while he eventually stands right next to Frederick.[1] Celene hovers near Frederic and sprays some more restorative spray to heal the man completely before continuing to analyze its surroundings to determine its next actions. [2][3]

Twistlings. The Subversor commander readied his sword and prepared for a charge, with his two subordinates following suit. But... no. Frederick shook his head for a moment, then gestured for Bors and Oswin to form up in a shield wall. They stepped forward and did so. While someone like Gormaric or Ilene's Shadow Guards would take a more offensive approach, Subversor tactics were built on taking blows with their Uru-forged armor and shields, and then dishing out damage in retaliation when, for the most part, said attacks bounced off ineffectually. Even still, Frederick wondered where the other Aligorians had gotten off to. Gormaric, Ilene and the Shadow Guards, even the war elephant Surus. Their reliable aid would have been much appreciated in this place, but he supposed he would just have to rely on the others here for the time being. This was the way.

me: alright, i'm gonna set some goals and get some serious writing done also me:

These are quest-based progression paths for a character who wants to fit into a certain archetype and do so in a way that is both comprehensive and backed by canon. Note that activity between these points is as welcome as doing them back to back. Also note that your character's journey doesn't need to end after these but it will establish them firmly in their field of choice. Quests: All quests are based off of the quest index. Military quests and church quests are just general quests performed on behalf of one or the other organization and with an end that benefits it in some way. Also acceptable are any Opportunities generated from previously canonized threads in any areas. Entities: General Quest Index. Military. Gaian Church. Academy. Cleric (Diocese) or Paladin (for Gaianism) 1 general quest. 1 military quest. 1 church quest. Adventurer 1 general quest. 1 academy quest. 1 artifact hunt. Mage 1 general quest. 2 academy quests. Warrior 2 general quests. 1 artifact hunt. Soldier 3 military quests.

SCENE: NIGHT IN THE FROZEN TUNDRA MARCELLUS L.H. Heavy linen, weighted layer upon layer, whipped wildly along the beast’s fur. The wicked winds picked and dragged what they could, trying to rip the very clothes from Marcellus’s frame. Still, the werewolf trekked forth with stalwart resolution — even if the sails of his clothing pulled in the opposite direction. Their destination was the Southern Coast of the Cold South. Towards the ruined harbor. Cobran. The four had been traveling through the frozen wastes for less than half a day, and the weather had started to take a turn for the worst. What was once a gentle falling of ice and snow had suddenly transformed into a raging squall. The group could have turned back, but it was unknown when the storm would stop. If the flurry evolved into a full blizzard, then there would be no telling when there would be “good-conditions” to try making the trek once more. It was now or never. Most people thought it foolish to leave on such a dangerous journey during the winter. They thought the danger of both beasts and forecast were too great for such a journey to be worthwhile. What point would there be to leave during a blizzard — during the season of endless night? Would it not be better to go forth in the spring, where weather was mild and one only needed to worry about the hunt? No. To go in the spring — to go in the summer — would be suicide. A fool’s errand. As Marcellus explained to the other three, if one wanted to hunt the warpacks in their home, one went during winter. In times of abundance — of light and warmth —, the herds would be back grazing the untamed forests, and there would be plenty of food to sustain the thousands of wolves in Cobran. When the herds retreated away in the autumn, the warpacks would go hungry, and would need to scatter out in search of sustenance. For this, the population of beasts thinned in the city during the winter. Less wolves meant less adversaries, and less adversaries meant less casualties. — And Marcellus would be damned if he let another soul fall to those monsters. Every failed expedition made towards Cobran was a successful expedition for the traveling warpacks. It was winter that the white wolves hunted their favorite quarry: man. The wolves which left Cobran chose their food from settlements all across the Imperial spread, wiping out small towns in the span of single nights. Yes, while desperate adventurers may have hunted for the alphas in Cobran, the wolves would hunt for women, children, elderly, infirm — any sack of meat they could get their teeth in. Whole villages would be wiped from the maps — not a bone left behind. Some guessed the victims were all devoured, but Marcellus knew the truth was far worse. Those missing would be turned — minds erased — transformed into thrall for the growing army in The South. Join. The. Pack. Marcellus shook his head, and sucked in another bitter breath of cold air. He had discussed the entirety of the truth with the rest of the group — save for that single, damning fact. Sooner or later, they would find out. When would be the best time to admit to his deceit? Would any time be appropriate? Could he trust them not to stab their swords into his back once the truth was out? His glamour his the fact then, but hiding it would be impossible. Did they see the tracks he left behind as they trudged through the snow? They already knew the general premise of the quest as to its urgency — wasn’t that enough for now? The goal of the expedition was simple. Discover who or what was behind the mass organization of the warpacks and find a way to stop them. How they were going to achieve that was another matter entirely. The problem was information: there was little to none on the state of The Ruins of Cobran. How the packs organized, where they had their patrols — there was nothing. All that Marcellus knew was that there was a great, malevolent entity within that great hall within the cylindrical spire of undaunted stone smack in the center of the city. A Demon in The Castle. He was certain that creature was responsible for turning people into monsters. After all, Marcellus bore witness to the whole thing first hand. Barely audible over the roaring winds, there was the faint sound of howling in the distance. A pack was on their trail. “Sikkoran! Kosvo! Kassandra! Steel yourselves,” he growled towards the rear. “We may have unwelcome company very soon.” Clipping the lantern to his pack, Marcellus strung his bow. Despite the distance, the wolves would arrive at any moment. @TheElementHunter @Fierach @The Hummingbird Reference for Cobran Town

There was a woman enjoying her cup of tea on the bar. A lit cigar was set firmly between her lips, the lucrative smoke wafting from her exquisite mouth. Her hair was white as snow, her gentle face a stark contrast to her vice. Her appearance on this tavern was not without precedent as she had been waiting for two questionable individuals. They were supposed to meet her an hour ago and now she's wondering if she should just leave. No point in waiting for an uncertain future. She motioned to stand but then the dragon kin arrived. The woman knew that scent anywhere. She and the dragon kin had met many times before, perhaps too often for her own comfort. "Arashi," she mouthed with those full lips of hers. Before Arashi could ever leave, the woman would grab hold of the dragon kin's shoulder. "My, my, I did not think someone like you would be interested in the High Lord's blade of all things. Arashi, sweetie, it seems you've matured since I last saw you."

Looking to sink my hands into these territories. I am happy to run interactions on the water with Nymerians or on land with a few different characters. If you’ve got any ideas feel free to catch me !

She ran, as fast as she could, weaving through the trees like a guided arrow as she fled before the two beasts that chased her through the forests of the mountains of Daern'aath. Even in the failing light of sunset, the things looked like grotesque failed mutations between wolves and bears, their stringy, mange ridden fur was matted and patchy, lesions and pustules of rotted flesh oozed a clear slimey liquid that she was sure it wasn't healthy to touch, and mad beady eyes that rolled around in their heads. They were called Necro-Beasts, and many high shaman and priestess of the Drow commanded these perversions of nature, using dark magic to reanimate the corpses of dead animals and fuse them together to make near unstoppable machines of death and plague. She had been eluding this pair of Necro-Beasts for days now and they had finally caught up to her when she wasn't expecting them to find her. They had surprised her, and though one lost an eye, it tasted her blood as it had sank it's fangs into her right shoulder and attempted to rip it off. That was two days ago, and she had not been able to outrun the pair since. It was like they had a lock on her now that one had tasted her. And it wanted more. She had to find an open area, somewhere, to fight these things. In the trees, she knew they would overwhelm her. Climbing ever higher, she left the tree line, and raced up the steepening cliff until she lost all speed and was nearly diagonal to the ground, the beasts slipping and sliding back repeatedly as they lost their momentum. For a split second, before gravity took over, Serune could see nothing but sky then turned, and began her descent, running back down the cliff, straight towards the two, and gained speed, kicking up a trail of dust as she zoomed down the mountainside, and right before she reached the beasts, she threw out her left hand and grabbed the edge of her long black cloak, using it like a wing to guide her, the rush of air filling the cloth as she pulled the right side of it in close to her body, and she turned with ease, shooting off to the right and back into the forest as she continued with the momentum she'd gained from the descent. She could hear their angry roars growing ever more faint. She was toying with them, but that was only because she knew if she killed them, their masters would know where she was, so they had to continue to not die by her hand, again. It was well after dark before she finally stopped again, breathless, exhausted and feeling rather dizzy. Leaving the trees again, she found herself in a wide field, the sky overhead dark and starless, and a thick fog was rolling in. Uneasy, she pulled her hood up to conceal her long, silvery hair, and pointed ears. Some people loved elves. Some people hated them, it just depended on whether or not you were A High Elf, or the Drow. The Drow were vicious, ruthless and showed no mercy to their captives, which were usually sacrificed to their God, the spider queen, they believed to be mother to all things malicious and greedy, birther of all things that slinked and slithered, Ungoliant; a cavernous spider with thousands of eyes, fangs as long as the Ancient Elms roots, and power so dark that even the darkness was afraid of it's own mother. The High Elves, however, called 'Surface Dwellers' were quite the opposite. They were kind, and much more inclined to heal, but were not afraid to fight if that was what it took. The Fog swished around her in an odd way, drawing her attention back to reality. It moved around her, like an ethereal being in the mists, it's shape only to be seen as a slithered movement in the fog. Then it trailed on ahead of her, then circled back like it wanted her to follow it. The injury in her right shoulder began to burn horribly and she gritted her teeth. She couldn't do her magic out in the open like this. The thing traced off through the fog again, and without a second thought this time, she followed it. It wasn't long before she found herself in a town, when a building materialized right in front of her in the fog and she ran directly into it. Straining to see, even her eyes had trouble with the fog, she stepped aside to avoid a worn down old cart, being pulled by an even more worn down old horse. It creaked and clopped ever so slowly past. She'd never been here before, but it did not look like a very friendly place, as there were no chidren anywhere, most of the buildings were boarded up or piles of rubble, and the stench was horrendous. Death, disease, sewage, filth, the unholy, all mixed together. People lay or sat in the street and up against buildings, coughing, vomiting, consumption was running rampant amidst the more frail inhabitants of the town. Luckily, she didn't get sick, but still, she was getting some rather undesireable looks, and she might just have to kill someone, as she noted she was now being followed by four large men wearing face coverings. Of a sudden, it was like a geas had grabbed hold of her and she felt compelled to turn down a side street and go ever further into this cesspool she had stumbled upon, until she came to a stop next to a figure slumped on the ground, his dingy, tattered brown cloak covered in dirt, spiders, cocroaches, fleas, every undeesireable crepy crawler you could think of, even had a giant centipede attacking and eating the other insects as moths of all sizes fluttered before the old man's face. In his hands he held a scroll that she recognized the markings on, and her eyes widened "Oh no, no no no what are you doing you have to st..." But she fell silent as her eyes suddenly went blank upon hearing his incantation as he began reading from the scroll. "Shelob Ungol evisera houl. Shahasti lym'nri sauud." He repeated the phrase over and over in a rhythmic sequence, rocking back and forth as he held a satchel with Pur virgin bones in it over the black candle he had lit, the smoke climbing slowly up the bag as he moved onto the next phase of the enchantment, reaching from the scroll he had in his hand, and suddenly her cloak just evaporated, as well as the sleeves and shoulders of her shirt, letting the cloth fall away to reveal her under shirt, and her long silvery hair came loose from it's braid, only to begin floating around her like she was submerged. Symbols began to appear in a line from the back of both hands, trailing up her arms, and across her shoulders, to meet a large symbol on the back of her neck, then travel down her spine to her tailbone. They were the spell that sealed in the power the old man was tring to use. She tried to fight it, but was too weak from fleeing and fighting for days in a row. She lifted off the ground as the wind picked up, and the old man continued to chant, rocking back and forth ever faster. Cycloning around her, the wind picked her hair up and tossed it around her slender form, the silver dark against the pale near porcelain complexion of her skin. Dark blue eyes turned into glowing red embers as the symbols tattoed across her skin lit up one at a time, all turning the same bright red. It hurt so badly, it felt like her body was being ripped into with each rune that ignited across her skin. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, but she couldn't move, couldn't blink, the only thing she could do was breathe, and even that was barely. Her hands lifted with her palms to the sky, and the runes burned even more crimson as little golden lights left the bodies of those who lay or sat in the streets nearby, the life energies coming directly to her, stealing the life force of dozens to created the influx catalyst the monk needed. Moving her hands to in front of her, she aimed her palms at the ground, and released all that life energy she had just absorbed and fired it into the ground a short distance away, where thr ground would then proceed to crack open a wide maw, and produce forth in a jet of steam a relic of Lost Time, a gate made of stone. She would gasp suddenly, as it felt as though a hand had reached into her chest and began to ciphon off the Darkness contained within her. Then the gate glowed brightly and creaked open, about an inch. And then she was falling, for what felt like forever, as the light faded from the runes, and she hit the ground, drained and unconcious. The old monk cackling maniacally as he looked around at all the dead bodies. Perfect, everything was now ready.

As Mathias pulled swathes of the swarm into his flame the others continued to be attacked. It was quickly becoming apparent that he didn't have a strong enough gravity well to exorcise the mass of deadly insects. Realizing that his options were dwindling down to one, he braced himself to ignite the airspace, and burn away all the immediate oxygen in the air. The ramifications could not be anticipated with little time to think, but he knew the damage would be immense if he followed through. Extinguishing the flame and gravity well, he preps the energy he had to begin a chain reaction, cringing at the thought of the impact from the impending explosion... When Mara called out to them, he gasped a sigh of relief only to suffer the pain of insects entering his throat. As he scrambled into the bag, he dropped the contents to the ground. Blood welled up on the damaged pores in his skin as he extracted a laser from its case. With little time to attach a power source he swung his arm to the side, throwing off a gauntlet, and proceeded to jam his hand into the power casing of the laser. Tattoos on his arm ignited in a silver glow as he powered it. Using the last of his willpower to ignore the pain and focus, Mathias aimed the laser into the swarm. With the pull of the trigger the laser bursted out in a vertical line to ignite the swarm. If it didn't do the job, he'd have only one course of action.

It was a striking change from recent experience for Shane Haydes, who found herself being practically given the red carpet treatment as a guest of honor, rather than being viewed as a filthy peon like always seemed to be the case otherwise. This was her first job since she had been baptized into the Blackspear Cartel during their joint expedition with House Karradeen, many months ago, and she was more than a little nervous. There was nobody to back her up, and what's more, the Mistress had entrusted her with secretly protecting her sister, who was one of the other guests. As Shane stepped off of the carriage and was escorted toward the mansion, she spotted the blond-haired woman that she presumed to be Middy's little sister, though she quickly averted her eyes to avoid staring. Glancing around at the servants, the decorum, and finally, the woman who was to be their host, Shane suddenly got that distinct feeling like she had come underdressed. She was wearing nothing more than blue jeans (albeit, nice-looking brand-new ones) and a dark green sweater with white and scarlet patterns, as well as plain brown work boots. She did also have a black coat, ostensibly to keep out the winter cold, though the actual reason for her possessing it was because it was the standard cartel uniform (though this coat was absent the cartel's emblem, for the sake of anonymity during this mission). Although she didn't anticipate trouble, she did have a gun hidden under her sweater. Their host spoke, calling the group a "lovely bunch", fitting given that all the guests were women it appeared. Even so, being referred to like that made Shane turn a bit red, as she was not used to being referred to as such, even indirectly. She twitched a little upon realizing that she was probably blushing in front of everyone, and quickly straightened herself out. She was internally cursing her own idiocy as their host led them to the warming room, when suddenly the declaration that introductions were in order reached her ears. That sent Shane into a brief, internal panic, as the sudden stress made her forgot her plan on how to handle her own introduction. "Oh right, I wasn't actually going to try and hide it... sheesh..." she thought to herself in annoyance, before forcing a smile and responding to Ms. Luna Claws, "My name is Shane Haydes, though people just call me Shae. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, uh... ma'am."

Lexicus had gathered the last of his things, he would wait no longer for last minute entries. "Jaw finder, madame, it is time." The merchant rose from his chair and walked for the door. He gave a light nod towards the tavern keep and would begin his path towards the cart. The large beast of burden was more than ready to get the move on. Lexicus took his position at the front of the cart, taking the reigns in hand. "I regret to inform you both that being the cart is laden with quite a burden I cannot take on more weight, however there are horses for rent if you would rather ride on a beast than walk. The journey will take some time, however my old pull is more than capable to bare this weight for a long time to come." Lexicus would flick the reigns, giving a quick whistle to signal to his beast he was ready. It took the message and shook off the feeling of restlessness. The beast was large enough to bare Anna's weight easily for long distances, however it was to only thing to pull the cart. Unhitched, the beast was a danger to anyone foolish enough to give it a fight. The best description of this beast was that it was a mass of muscle and fat reserves looking akin to a buffalo only larger and with horns akin to Water Buffalo with thick hide that most weapons had a had difficult time penetrating. To top it off, this one was laden with a few enchants to make it even tougher, harder to pierce it's flesh. It'd seen combat more than once, being a descendant from many different species of cattle. The beast was a species known as Agroks, commonly used by a tribe of orcs and their ogre allies of the Tishnagal tribe...off world beast. The pace was not very quick, but it was sluggish either. Faster enough to be quicker than regular walking speed, more like a jogging speed. Had the cart not been weighed down with supplies, the Agrok would been able to move nearly double the speed. Lexicus would slow the pace if need be but not by much. "Plenty of ground to cover today." The weather was agreeable enough, partly cloudy with the sunshine owning a majority of the land. There was a light breeze as well, crisp air, fresh from a night rain. Grasslands with splotches of trees and some wildlife grazing. Some adolescent deer showing off their dominance to one another, quiet overall.

Go for it! It's made to cut through rock and metal and carve out tunnels, so I suggest not pointing it at the other members of the party, lol. The beam can be modified to be a single point or a line like so: https://giphy.com/gifs/laser-cleaning-rust-KKpiJO1Piov16

The Imperial City though what had seemed to steady from it’s growing dynasty calmed to a quiet nation of residence for Genesaris. However, it’s people were at a constant strive to ascend their martial prowess year long. After Tsukimi events for the recruitment of students seeking to learn the ways of the Rising Sun each Moon was given briefings to complete once their basic three-months finished as further hands-on-training, (various scrolls containing missions assigned by the Ookami) grouped into packs of three according skill/individual talents supervised by a Senior Full Moon or Ookami elite. Mikazuki, Ozu, and Akira were one anticipated of greatness as they’d become a trio essentially working as a unit to achieve excellence. Students fresh from the Dojo received the lowest D-level consisting of odd jobs such as farming, babysitting, assisting the elderly in Jigoku. The highest ranking mission was the S-level assigned strictly to the elite students and other Ookami clansmen to carry out VIP assassination's for the Province, to transporting highly classified documents across the region to and fro proper ranking officials. New Moon disciples were challenged with understanding the concepts of their own true self, awakening their Aura through meditation, while eagerly learning to control their unique life energies over the span of three months. In the first and only known exercise of this phase, students were to place their hands in front of their chest and imagine forming a ball between them every day for five hours a day for sixty consecutive days. This exercise was intended to develop the ability to feel one's own aura, to grasp an awareness of the life energy circulating their internal meridian systems, essentially produced by their one mass and focus. Then, only truly able to sense and perceive the leakage from these pressure points escaping the body and feel it's presence without being aware of it's existence. Students should have been somewhat capable of maintaining their auras temporarily both defensively and offensive with basic Kuji-in handseals in their instructed lessons. Time had pass a course of maybe a month since the unexpected forfeit in the Feast of Blades tournament. The Soke's word inviting Arthur to the Dojo for a rematch waited to see itself be answered. While having finally touched down home soils again Kenshi dedicated to his own practices in his temple the last few weeks, secluding himself from the rest of the world whilst training, consisting of push-ups and situps of almost five thousand daily. Meditation for the mind of the spiritual warrior was a countless ritual in his unwavering state of Mushin for the mind, soul and body. Having the eye of a heart and the mind of a god. No mindness meant one was not fixed or occupied by thought or emotion, thus allowing oneself to be open to everything. When the eye of the heart is blinded by egoism, vanity, jealousy, money and ignorance, one's true path can never be found. There is an absence of discursive thought and judgment, free to act and react towards an opponent without hesitation or disturbance from such thoughts. At this point, a person relies not on what they think should be the next move, but what is their trained natural reaction (or instinct) or what is felt intuitively. It is not a state of relaxed, near-sleepfulness, however. The mind could be said to be working at a very high speed, but with no intention, plan or direction. It was this philosophy instilled by teachers of the ascetic mountains that drove Hinode no Gakko and it's pupils to the peak of their fighting abilities. Exercising day in and out to sustain one's mushin was key to every Swordslayer, Shugenja, every Wolf of Jigoku. Kenshi honed this mentality, his entire life's working at a time ago was solely to improve, to become the greatest, to reach nirvana in his pilgrimage. However, this was a life long journey for the Ookami hanyo. Kenshi stood smaller in build an ectomorphic up-close and even with age of nearly 200 odd years, his countenance remained very youthful. Stepping towards the sixty New Moons scheduled to gather in the grassy fields, the peachy sun kissed the earth radiantly across the Imperial City. Without the company of artic wolves this new day, donning himself in the carmine red and black Akatsukizikiyo summer robes of the Okami. The blind wolf gazed briefly at the twenty groups before his presence gauging their auras from the distance for the slightest of change and growth from those whom improved at the top of their class, while others were taking baby steps towards progression. Raven tendrils cascaded down the back in abundance with all the shorter hairs falling across the face as bangs. In particular, his dilated bereft of sight orbs concentrated on the adolescent pups his nephew and younger Cousin in company with the hopeful Akira. Deciphering from nearing into the plains with his acute sense of smell, the familiar approach of each one of their auras willingly expressive as they'd no clue he was observing them they remained composed and steady in their reading. As he’d come to discover the progresses of their individual training on a separate occasion from the last three months the confidence amongst them, how they've matured and disciplined he'd perceive it with his blindsight. Stopping short before them gracing them with his excellence, his lips parted kindly and his oriental eyes squinted. "You've all grown quite adept over the course of your training, haven't you? Furthermore, seems that your aura has much to express." @Twitterpated@Hani

No, brother—it does not. Rahab thought to herself. Her eyes stung that she might cry—that it would come to fighting for Nymeria to bring it back to glory. That so much unrest had divided them in the years since her brothers had retreated to their respectful fancies. Her lips twisted unpleasantly as she swallowed her sadness—her anguish. She looked away and gave a flourish of her hands. When no one answered her brother—when nothing but reigning silence and sworn fealty remained, “Take them back to their respective clans to be done with as they pleased.” Proper burial, chum—what difference did it make at this point? To some—to many—these two were heroes to Nymeria. Passing poisonous words out to the people, enticing them back into the grasp of gods long thought to be dead. Perhaps the gods never died, Rahab thought with a wild spark of fear. Perhaps they had skillfully been manipulating Nymerians even after their so-called defeat. She suddenly wanted them gone—as far away from possible, lest that influence creep into any more unsuspecting minds. The Legio Fluctus remained poised and silent. Rahab adjusted the Alrandwean net that was draped along her skin. “I stand before you not just as your Queen, but a woman of Nymeria. Would that I could speak on behalf of my brothers, but I speak to you of my own volition. Hear me!” Rahab paced the perimeter of the chamber, carefully to step over spilled blood, her voice pitched loudly and passionately enough for the chamber to hear. “We do not cow before the old gods and their honeyed words. Have we forgotten the mighty nation we once were? How we flourished under the diarchy rule? We are soon to be at war, and we must fight to preserve the very nation that gives its lives for the glory and principles our nation was founded upon!” She stooped long enough to pick up the butt of her spear and slam it against the cobbled ground, snarling fiercely. “We are Nymerians! War runs in our veins! It calls to us like a sweet song. We cannot—will not perish under a lull. We will not suckle from a bosom of sweet nothings.” She could feel her grip tightening—the full might of her own passionate words and raised voice crushing the spear’s solid, lacquered shaft. “Nymeria will sit idle NO more. We will bleed for the rights of our people. We will fight!” The Legio Fluctus had stood like silent sentries. Imposing in their armor, their shields and their blades at the ready to attack on behalf of their newly minted rulers. It had begun with one. The flat of a blade rapping against shield. It was joined by two more—then five more. A steady, thymotic rhythm that echoed and filled the chamber. They all spoke their answer. Spears hit the flooring to join them. They all heeded her. And then? a ringing silence. “Go,” She commanded, “We will call on you again in the days to come.” The floors were to be cleaned and scrubbed spotless. Rahab knew that Raveena would disapprove of a declaration of war spilling out in her chamber. Still, a heavy hand had been dealt—necessarily though. Rahab turned to her brother and—with careful hands, lifted the helmet from him to reveal his face once more. She wanted to see him again—to truly take in all that had happened on this day. “You fall from the stars and declare yourself king.” She teased him gently, something to wash away the terrible moments of earlier. “Surely you hit your head on the way down.” She was so very small standing before him, so much so it was a wonder she could hold such a heavy helmet in one arm. Still, she managed—just as her brother had taught her to. There was still much to be discussed between them. But it would wait—wait until the sound of marching faded; the congratulations and the parting words of the remaining tribesmen; the sound of bristles and water and soap washed the blood away. Wait until there was just she, and he.

Michael’s jaw, while set, wasn’t what one would call blocky. His nose and chin formed a perfect vertical line and a faint but deep line of scar tissue bisected his left eyebrow from forehead to cheekbone. The persona he donned on that day however, a medium cry from Daemon, wore a round chin and nose and a mess of sandy hair. He wore black boots and seafarer’s grey trousers with a white sash, a leather vest and undershirt. "...That's not a trick either of you boys know, is it?" Hela’s finger flame was not the only trick the supposed Brother Tumnus had in his artillery; in fact, just like his face the very broadsword at his hip was a trick of light. The manipulation of light and fire were Michael’s innate callings, his greatest gifts and greatest vices wrapped together. He had fostered these carefully, honed his skills so that he could project almost any image within an unobstructed mile’s radius. So it was that Brother Tumnus stood before them. Tumnus’ attire was not so telling that he would appear either a mere apprentice or a Peacekeeper in the flesh, but so that he could slide between the lines in a proverbial way; deal with Fjord from a position of leverage that he chose by emerging out of total anonymity. "Who am I going to be selling this to? You can't just drop novonium in a market square and expect it to be bought." “Good to make your acquaintance, sir.” Tumnus stepped forward, hands clasped respectfully before him. “While I don’t think of myself as a trickster,” sad the trickster, “I do think I have some lucrative connections in the construction and military industries with a lot of interest in novonium and deep pockets to boot.” Despite Tumnus never having appeared to visit the bar, a buxom waitress wearing not quite the tavern’s uniform walked by, handing him a drink to which he raised a glass in return to Fjord.

Where in the light of day a man could no longer travel without being accosted at every corner— here for a picture, there for a lost relative— it was as the Daemon grey that he patrolled his Fracture dear. It was by questioning himself and his place in faith, by putting his trust in Gaia, that Matte had not only survived but thrived across endless countries and battlefields. After all of it, he saw that being as tempered and steadfast as diamond was also about being as fluid and changing as water. His footsteps were as heavy as mountains, but he walked as if he weighed nothing. With knowing one’s self, though, did not automatically come endless worldly knowledge. Still, wonder cracked like a whip in his cerulean eyes. Free in his rank to do as he please, Matte Daemon set his sights on wandering Fracture, learning to live off of all its lands. One of the ways he took to this was by searching out river and mountain faeries, trading wares from his endless cloak for secrets and stories. Sight-seeing as much as he was looking for trouble, as men of faith frequently are when fateful things happen to them, Matte had heard from some oreads in the Badlands about a magical golden carp in Coconino Marsh. So there sat the stocky brunette skipping rocks across one of the larger pools of the Marsh. He rested his chin on his left hand, his left elbow on his left knee. A brown hooded cloak hung off one shoulder; a cloak that had weathered a stormy sailboat ride across the Sea of Regrets firth, a journey into the Badlands where its snapping in the mountaintop wind had almost drowned out the tale of the golden carp who granted wishes. Gentle pulses of white smoke lapped away from the shore at his feet, probing the Marsh for the carp. It only took a couple hours. When the smoke rolled back inward from the Marsh, resolving in the massive silver ghost of a double-crested cormorant, the Marsh’s message was clear: The carp was gone. Frowning, the daemon slid an oak switch into the confines of his likewise-disguised Flowing Postern, picked up a handful of rocks from the riverbed, and headed north to do some camping. Gonna get outta here and go find meeeee, the tune paused as he spat what looked like a pebble-sized crystal into the water, a couple more of them nymphs. A blip of significant energy emanated throughout Blairville. Matte didn't know which gauntlet had made it, but he was certain in this area they thought it would go undetected. Even if just by happenstance, they were wrong. Only by being willingly given the gauntlet's biometrics from one of their owners, working closely with him for weeks to create a tracker for the gauntlets, that Matte and the artifact's owner were painstakingly able to create this device for finding Zengi's Gauntlets. After having integrated the tracker into an artifact called the Stalwart Crystal, Daemon experienced intermittent periods of time where the tracker worked and puzzling, almost maddening lapses of time when it didn't. He had yet to decipher whether or not this was because of tweaks that needed to be made in the tracker or a lack of use of the bracers, but now he'd found a trace of something. He would patrol Blairville's inlets and outlets for the coming weeks. Black locust trees were some of the best for bows. He found a recently fallen branch and, using a fixed blade taken from the cloak, sheered its belly down to a fine length of wood that favored the tiniest curve. A couple notches and some twine later, Daemon sat against the tree’s trunk flexing the wood against his foot. He had already carved, made nocks, and feathered some arrows that sat beside a smoldering fire nearby. Killing for food wasn’t a regular habit for Daemon, but more of a delicacy he saw granted to him by the Mother. An assortment of nuts, fruits and cheeses remained in his cloak, but there was nothing quite like the taste of a fresh kill to Matte. The smell of his burning fire promised a cooked meal in the near future, as long as he hunted upwind from the smoke. He almost drooled just thinking about something hot to eat, palpably slurping saliva back into his mouth. It was then that he realized that he had been utterly, completely silent for two days since leaving the Marsh— then, in that way one does when they become hyper aware of a certain sense, that he heard something far off. Nearby, where the forest dropped off into a mountain pass that few travellers threaded, there echoed the sound of shock; the vibration of death. Slinging the bow over his shoulder with its string taut against his chest and gathering up his arrows, the lithe Matte soon found himself sitting upon the middle of three crags tiering down into the mountain pass. Seven heads above the ground level he sat, bouncing his boot heel off the rock face and watching the bend ahead framed by some daring trees that poked out from the stones. The sound of a drunken sprint preceded a real vagabond rounding the corner. He looked like he’d been blasted in the face and torso with shrapnel, his clothing and skin tattered; but from the look on his face it was evident that the adrenaline from his fear was staving off the pain until he fancied himself safe from whatever was up there. "Not all mad dogs are actually 'mad dogs'. Some of them just bite cause they're hungry." A familiar voice trickled down the pass and tingled Matte’s ears with pauseful recognition followed by some cries from a definite other. The voices were growing nearer. He didn’t unsling his bow, drew no arrows, just sat and watched the jagged outline of the stone crop around which the voice stood. There sat about seven meters between him and the corner, so he judged he would have enough time to make a nonthreatening case when they rounded the corner. Clutching the cauterized wound become of his achilles, the last remaining bandit would be left or killed as the two pleased and they would be on their way. In no time at all they would round the bend and see Daemon’s figure. He was clean in a forester’s sort of way, any holes in his garb patched handily and a fresh wash in the bay nearby ridding him of any unnatural stench. His eyes lighted upon Jericho, an endeavorer he had shared paths with once before, and he smiled a full smile. Ever aware of the afterfroth of violence, he made no sudden movements in his sudden appearance before them, simply raising a hand at the wrist resting on his knee to greet them. “Ho’, yon travellers!” He slipped humbly from the second crag down onto the first, now about four heads above them and twelve paces ahead. His movements were unassuming and easygoing. “How do you suppose two straightened arrows like ourselves cross paths twice?” chuckled Matte sarcastically to Jericho, the humor in them not only unaffected but bolstered by the blood that covered Yshmael and the obvious events they stood in the wake of.

Okay, I'll move us to the next scene tomorrow!

"Whatever," Erin rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders at everything that had been said, "You guys are the bosses, so whatever you wanna do." In reality, Mara had a good point, and Erin was less inclined now to investigate further than she initially thought she was. That said, she also didn't want to appear to have not thought of those things, or to have changed her mind so easily, so she defaulted to just doing what they say without arguing against, or admitting she was wrong. She moved ahead in the direction they had been going, taking point if the others elected to follow, though she stopped a short way out to make sure she wasn't just wandering off alone. "Are we going or not?"

The flight was lackluster to Tatia, her eyes often drifted through the personal cabin of their aircraft to always fall upon her beloved. Time was of no concern to them as they were eternal, leaving her to wonder when they would finally arrive. With all smooth function the ship landed effortlessly in a place that would seem to be unworthy of their presence. Lein’s voice met her ears like a soothing melody, her icy blue orbs shifted to meet his own. “Yes, I too am excited to see this place up close.” As she stood to walk hand in hand with her love off of the airship, her eyes focused on the butler after he warned her not to cause any problems with her allure. “Bolthezarr, I will do my best to keep my wiles at bay.” Giving him a smile knowing he was teasing her, she gave just the slightest bow of her head. Looking up her eyes following the party of vampires that moved with their butler, her smile faded to the armor clad knights that dared to stop them where they had landed. Before an all out brawl could happen, Tatia felt the power resonating from her lover. Tingling came from his hand that held her tightly, moving its way up her arm to her body like a snake. Silently she stood watching what the knights would do, would she have to step aside to watch the bloodshed? Or would she decide this gown wasn’t worth losing those who so faithfully served the Choisel name. @Etched In Stone

@notmuch_23 Knightess Sheryl Wainwright was a beautiful young woman, fair of hair, noble in stance and bearing. Her outfit was a cross between that of a military uniform and a religious habit, and the serenity in her eyes masked a wild streak, the madness that all OFM Knights had to pursue such a path of service and battle. After a brief introduction and welcome, she dug right into matters. Sheryl was sure that the Singlances had much to do, as did she, and would appreciate expeditious and straight-forward aid with their cause. A skilled organizer, first Sheryl would ask the duo a set of questions to better tailor any training regime they would create. Such questions varied, if this was to be more tailored for a counter-insurgency role, or a battlefield role. If their squad had any prior training in close-quarters combat, and if they had any standard of equipment or weaponry to facilitate the role. What their overall battle-gear was to look like, to account for maneuverability, weight-distribution that might help or hinder CQC. The types of threats they were expected to face. The eventual outline would likely include lessons on "point-shooting", or a method of shooting a firearm quickly and accurately that does not rely on the use of the sights in close quarters, to incorporate their existing weapon systems into melee.

"Wonderful! This way!" The first and last time prior to this experience that Xartia had visited the city, is was to meet, ironically with some fellows in kind that wished to undertake this very quest he seemed to have stumbled into. Rookhelm was the tavern they'd met in, in which the motley crew easily drew the attention of the locals, and at the brink of the civil war that ushered in the safeguard act, the quartet easily ended their experience here poorly. Despite his demonic mutations having completely subsided, Xartia wished to avoid bringing such a notable location any unnecessary, unwanted attention. For that reason, the Cambion led them to a smaller, more quaint location to regroup. The Purple Axe. While he hadn't yet experienced the location himself, whispers on the wind told him of them infamous import, Biazo's Volcanic Wine. Xartia was sure to slow his pace soon enough between alley ways to catch his breath. As he walked still somewhat briskly, he smoother out the fabrics of his clothes. Fortunately, the cooler season kept him from perspiring; and thanks to his active lifestyle, his legs were far from tired. His lungs far from exhausted, even after his little scuffle. Once they rounded the corner, Xartia's hands found his pockets and fished out his soft pack of LongStride 100s. His personal brand of tobacco. Shaking the pack he applied a slight grip, leaving a single filtered tip ejected from the small opening in the top of the pack. Placing it twixt his lips, he took a reassuring drag in which the opposing end seemed to ignite into the perfect cherry of it's own accord. Where they some sort of magic smokes that self lit, or did he in fact light the cigarette in his own discreet way? Either way, they soon found themselves entering the establishment he'd determined a kosher spot to plot in, he held the door open for Noah and anyone else still with them. The young elf wouldn't be much more help to them at this point in time, the best they could do was make her comfortable in a booth. Once seated, the Magician wasted no time in requesting service. "Could a get a few glasses and a chilled bottle of your most mature Volcanic Vino de Biazo? Much obliged." The half orc bar keep seemed confused by the speech if only for a brief moment. There was literally only one drink the strange, beautiful gentleman could be speaking of. It didn't take long at all for him to bring them a total of four glasses for now, and a buck of ice complete with a bottle of Volcanic Wine. Xartia mouthed his gratitude and smiled charmingly until they were left to their own company. Looking to Noah, the Cambion gestured with a single hand to a glass, silently asking him if he'd like one as his words spoke completely of the more pressing topic. "Noah was it? Tell me, can your surveillance determine approximately how many bodies we face in opposition? Also, how well do you know if this old boss and his cronies? If we remove the head, will the body fall...Or will we be facing some wild tantrum of vengeance so long as the lot of them breathe?" @danzilla3 @Zashiii

The first thought that came in Jack’s mind is that he let his guard down. A nasty one for the man of his profession, yet the fact he was alive enough to process that king of thought intrigued him. He found himself lying on the floor along with his companions. He attempted to move his limbs a little. Both his hands felt a bit numb, while his left leg was reminding of itself with a nagging pain. Yet it moved freely and firmly with no restraint. Jack noticed a tight bandage around the left shin and smirked. Now he recalled something… Unlike the rest of the pack, he was conscious most of the time. He managed to lead them inside what happened to be a pharmacy lab. But before they could investigate it for any clues, Capria suddenly collapsed on the floor along with Raven in her hands. Jack rushed to help them, but he tripped and fell down himself. He felt that his left leg… No, he did not felt it at all. It was infected up to the point when Jack wasn’t in control of it anymore. But just when the mercenary was about to prepare for the worst, Capria suddenly arose and walked toward the desk, ignoring her comrades. Strangely enough, he was searching through chemicals with such determination and confidence, as if she were there before. Alas, the memories of her further doings were vague, as Jack’s mind was getting affected by the infection. The only moment he remembered clearly was her applying syringe with a muddy substance to his shin… “Alright, alright, I’m awake.” – Slightly irritated by Raven’s voice, Jack slowly stood up, trying not to put too much weight onto healed leg. Having made sure he was keeping the balance, he turned to Capria, who still suffered from the infection’s aftermath. “Well…” – he spoke softly. – “I guess we are all owe it to you.” The mercenary glanced again across the lab, then looked at the table with a bunch of vials and mixtures. Capria’s behavior, the way she manipulated the concoctions and the fact she got it right in the first try... Needless to say, the path to their salvation seemed to be way too simple… “But there’s one thing that bothers me...” – Jack moved his artificial eye toward Capria’s eyes. – “When you were making that antidote… Was it really you back then, or…?”

Charlie braced himself for the harpy’s banshee-like scream, fully aware of what’d happened the last time he heard it. “No!” he shouted, turning to run as he covered his ears and clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His efforts were in vain though. As if his ears weren’t covered at all, the harpy’s shrill, haunting, screech pierced his mind and soul with such great intensity that it felt like his muscle sinews were whipping at his bone. He screamed in agony and fell to his knees, desperately waiting for the screams to stop. It felt as if the blood coursing through his veins was being replaced with the sound of nails dragging across a chalkboard, rattling his very being. Agony became his reality, and his conscience soon followed. BANG! “AGH!” Charlie yelped, letting the the revolver he’d been holding to the side of his head fall from his grasp and clatter to the ground. He held his shaking arm where the bullet had gone through, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward. His vision was hazy and swirled about an obsidian room he had not previously been in. He tried to get to his feet, but fell back to his knees due to a sickening feeling in his gut. He had no idea what was going on now, the pain in his arm not making it any easier to figure that out. As his vision became clearer, he began to see the others in the room. He recognized most of them as being the intrepid explorers he’d ventured into Yh’Mi with. He sniffed and whipped the tears from his eyes. “Not real.” he said to himself as he attempted to get to his feet again. This time was a success, but there was another pressing matter in his mind. His eyes fell on the gun he’d dropped. He recognized it as one of the revolvers the Norkotians carried. He walked over to it and nudged it with his foot. It was real. His mouth hung open slightly as he came to the realization that he was less than half a second away from killing himself. He was certain he would have, but someone had shot him before he could. He looked to his left and saw Scoot Deckel holding a smoking revolver in his hand. The expression on his face was one of shock, like a man that’d just seen a ghost. Charlie stared at Deckel, not moving, not speaking, not even frowning. He just looked at him with a blank expression, holding his bleeding arm. Then, without a word or any sign of acknowledgment, Charlie turned away and began walking towards the double doors. He wasn't sure why. Something was drawing him towards them. It was like that feeling you might get when you're near the edge of a massive cliff. You get that urge to just step over the edge let gravity decide your fate one final time. The doors were like a hole that sloped off into a massive pit, and he a ball rolling down towards it's edge. He wanted oblivion. Annihilation. Both were things he desired for many years, but this time was different. He no longer wanted these things for the world. He wanted them for himself. He wanted a release from his life, but something was holding him back from doing it. He stopped walking and looked down, putting his hands in his pockets. He could venture no further, for he knew that if he took one more step, that would be it. He'd finish what he'd been about to do. So he started thinking about things. Anything, really. Most of his thoughts consisted of people he savagely murdered, but in between those were other memories that stood out like a sore thumb. What the woman had told him earlier were not things he could ignore, but he also couldn't ignore these other thoughts. A little girl with a crutch giving him an arts and crafts present from school. A woman taking him to see a play. An old man struggling to teach him how to play a guitar. A family thanking him for saving their lives by inviting him over for dinner. A crazy-eyed punk taking him to the hospital after beating him within an inch of his life. A crazy-eyed punk taking a point-blank shotgun blast in his stead. A crazy-eyed punk teaching him how to tie a tie. A crazy-eyed punk sharing his meal with him. A crazy-eyed punk angrily chasing him after an explosive outhouse prank. Yes...that one was funny. Charlie wiped the tears that were starting to drip down his face and looked up. "One day at a time, alright?" came the distant echo of a crazy-eyed punks voice. "Just take it one day at a time." "One day...at a time." repeated Charlie. He then took another deep breath and held a hand over his wounded arm. He could feel warmth within him again. It wasn't a lot, but it was there. It was not gone. He focused to try and heal his arm, but something strange happened. Some kind blackish good trailed up his leg and to the wound, causing him to grit his teeth in pain as it began to slowly fill the wound. He could feel it solidifying inside his arm, like a serrated rock pinching and cutting its way through the bullet hole. Then, almost as quickly as the pain came, it was gone. Now where there was once a gaping bullet hole, there was a hard, obsidian substance. Freaked out and thinking that he had just been infected by some new horror of Yh'Mi, he held his hand over the former-wound and focused as much heat into it as he could to expunge it. But this didn't happen. Instead, his body became surrounded in revolving flurry of cyan fire. But this fire was not hot, as the many onlookers would notice. The flames twirled and circled his body, becoming brighter and bigger as he focused. The flames lit up the room in a calming, blue light, moving faster and faster until finally, they exploded outward. The cyan flames collided with many of the people around him, hitting them all like a refreshing gust of wind on a hot day. The fires seeped into their wounds, sending waves of relief through their bodies as their wounds glowed a fluorescent blue and healed. Charlie stood there, blinking with a look of bewilderment on his face. He looked around him expecting to see a bunch of smoldering corpses, but everyone seemed to be fine. In fact, they looked slightly less roughed up than he remembered. Figuring that he must have just had a lapse in memory, he looked back down at his arm. "Really!?" he shouted, the obsidian substance still within his arm. He then started picking at it with his fingers, but the material wouldn't budge an inch. "What is this stuff?!" He looked around to see if anyone would answer, but averted his gaze to Soryn when he saw him opening the door to the right. Charlie expected something sharp and jagged to jut out and impale him, but Soryn was unharmed. The door opened into another room much like the one they were in, only the floor wasn't cracked and about to give way. Charlie felt a sense of great unease at the thought of traversing into this new room, but he didn't really have the option of sticking around. "Really...getting tired of this place." said the young mercenary nervously before adjusting his backpack and following Soryn.