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Please read: The Cursor @AhaTheCursor • 6 minutes ago Replying to @Ancalad Well, if we're gonna talk about range... Ain't no one got THIS kind of range! AHA! REPLY GRUMBLE LIKE SHARE Meanwhile, in the Abbadon Triumvirate Base... A few hours later... Rodan Allagi @TheMutator • 1 minute ago Replying to @TheCursor Kid, put the silly plastic wand away. A real master practices their craft... "hands-on". 😉 REPLY GRUMBLE LIKE SHARE

*swaggers in*

Rise of Avylon Xiu is a very, very old dragon interested in reforming some of the patrimony (inheritable territory) that the House of Song ruled over during an age of dragons he remembers and was young in. He serves an an ancestral protector of his House, and though he doesn't control it officially he effectively does through proxies as he... is an educator. If you can educate people to believe and do what you want from a young age over multiple generations, eventually you gain control.Establishing a dragon-dominated government of the dragon actions on the sites to work together, form a mutual defense and perhaps offense pact, help each other achieve goals, form a single, more potent economy by using a unified currency, and working to build road systems and such would likely increase the potential for the rise of a notable dragon-led power.If Avylon becomes a agricultural heartland while having a standing army, and makes other areas increasingly reliant on them, then sweeping the rest of Reno will eventually be a plausible part of the plan to reform the patrimony of the Imperial House of Song. Eastern dragons are incorporated into something similar to ancestral worship. They can pray for good crops, and Xiu can choose to grant it. a magically repressed society of people that can pray to someone to do cool stuff for them? 😛 What's not to love. I need to build a fleet, establish an agricultural heartland, establish a military with a standing, professional army, as well as found the Heavenly Order of the Drakensang (samurai), get someone to RP the leader of the domestic mercenary corps I will loan out and take a portion of their income every tax/tributary season (and so I can call upon them to conquer another one of the Duchies, form the Grand Duchy, and get closer to unifying the Kingdom under me), create a universal tax ledger that covers everything and everyone in Avylon to establish a more thorough taxing mechanism to help fund everything better, establish a central bank and trade agreements, as well as some other stuff 😄 Nede would be a great place to start a kingdom as well, but I'l have to eventually go there, upset the local dragons, tell them of their Mandate of Heaven, and unseat the Avarice to expand the Kingdom. gonna pull a more eastern House de Normandie there 😄 Xiu essentially has a vision of multiple, independent dragon nations working together in several important areas, and ambitions of being a King or even Emperor himself. Dragon Worship I was also hoping to get a dragon worship religion lore page started (tell me if you would like to write it with me? IDK where to start just, yet, so I'm operating exclusively off of a modified version of the RL East Asian concept of dragon worship) and my plotting would be linked to various interactions on board, and one of those things is a plot element of the Mysterious Heir of Avylon, if I get the territory. It is to be heavily based on eastern dragon worship, as I said, though, so... yeah. That's the starting point, IG. I thought that would be interesting in Avylon as Xiulan will likely establish a magic academy of some kind and enable what the church on Revo doesn't. also idea: petroleum is from dragons/dragon ancestors, and can be used to fuel magick and ritual or something even tech, or magitech and there is a TON of it in this area. General So, I know this is a bit of a thunderstorm for my introduction to Valucre, but hello! I AM BLUE! 😄 You can also call me Melinoe.

"Ave, Centurion." "What is it?" He reciprocated, not bothering to wave or gesture to the legionnaire. "Our Dominus tasks myself, you and Arsenos, his strategoi in tow, with intercepting House Plovdiv. She suggests a Novirian Welcome. We are to bring them to the feast and remain aware." He spoke this and was off to address the incoming House. It seemed as though Arsenos was already on the way, with his troupe of commanders foreshadowing his exit from the segmented tentspace. A nod given was reciprocated, to which Keraunos re-pinned his cloak and moved forward, helm grabbed from the table nearest him and pulled over hanging tresses of braided, some dreaded and decorated, hair. A sharp whistle roused the ears of a handful of men who had previously been stationed by the combat space for oversight. He barked an order for them to move along and remain unseen until they were to arrive. With this, Keraunos pulled his helmet on and exhaled sharply. Footstep after footstep delivered him to Arsenos' side, and then past him. It was not a matter of superiority, so much as it was his powerful gait moved him. A glance to Arsenos was made finally as he slowed his stride just before arriving. "A Novirian Welcome is in order. You know what to do. Legatus, you are with Tacitus and myself. " His voice and eyes directed themselves to the strategoi; he knew the Myrmidon men would likely lack a response or even an immediate reaction, but it was to be heard and heeded -- he was sure Arsenos would indulge and follow through. If he did not, he would miss his chance to present himself along with the giant of a man and their guide. Regardless of the outcome or responses, worn caligae slowed firmly to a halt as Tacitus stood firmly on attention. "Presenting: Lord Boris, Tsar of House Plovdiv. " he began, standing ahead of Keraunos and Arsenos -- who stood side by side while the guests to the gathering were addressed. They gave the steeds and their riders no true personal space, standing within reach of the steeds. "Our Legatus Tribii and one of our finest among the Primi Ordines receive you." As the steeds dug at the earth and exhaled from the long ride across the island, Keraunos found one of them - Boris' horse, specifically - to be eyeballing and trying to fix its glance on him. The Centurion narrowed his gaze from within his helmet and stepped even closer, placing a massive hand on the horse's head. A gentle stroke. Firm digits raising sweaty fur from its cling to the beast's flesh. Beasts always had a way of acknowledging the veteran, and not always was it in the kindest ways. A gentle wrench of the bridle was made before a pat to the horse's jowls and a step back was made. Meanwhile, those under Keraunos who had been called upon now waited out of sight, ready to spring at the right time. "The West receives you, Lord.. but if your horse looks at me again like it did, you might have to find another way home.. Nevertheless, we Welcome you." A smile found his face in this moment, allowing Arsenos to take over on formalities, as one of his status ought. The men would lay in waiting for Arsenos and Keraunos' signal -- a whistle. A fairly common sound when growing up among the mountains and foothills.

[outdated- new and final version in progress] DUSK Six weeks in binds. Six weeks waiting to die. Six weeks wanting to die. He could have drawn his blade the second they stormed the court at Noviria. Struck them down, as many as he could have- as many as it took before he himself drowned in the violence. Now he must live with the shame of surrender, of capture... and of mercy. Never again will he falter. Never again will he allow the words of another to stay his blade. Never again will he fail to pay the price that his blood demands. He should have died to the east with his brothers. ... His foot catches in the mud and he curses, stumbling. He will not fall- not now, not so close to Heliopolis. He has walked for days, feebly tracing the high roads through Tellius' Rest, ignoring the agony that his body preaches to come that much closer to his home. For two weeks before the capture of Noviria, there had come no word from the city. No envoys, no messengers... no refugees. He had pleaded for the ruling nobles to send horsemen, to discover why Heliopolis was silent--but he was met with scoffing dismissal. "The warfront approaches," they would lecture, "We can spare no men for a city that has no army with which to aid us." He'd spat at their feet. Heliopolis had no army because they died in service to you, alone and outnumbered and far from their home. He knows not what awaits him over the mountains, now. The road has been empty since he set out despite the end of the war, with no horses or men to be seen. The pain is gone now, replaced by restlessness; and he worries that his body may give out before he crests the final ridge between he and his home. It does not. But he will wish that it had. ... Numbness is all that he feels, now. Gone is the restlessness, gone is the anger, gone is the pain. He does not believe his eyes, can not believe them; but now as he wades through the cold ash of what was once his home, the truth pierces him like a cruel spear to the heart. His gleaming home, built of the strongest stone into the most beautiful hills, reduced to blackened foundations and smoking fields of rubble. The dead are not among the barren stones of the city. He makes his way to what was once the Gate of the Morning; a tall and polished bronze-sealed arch, leading the way from the city out into the golden sea of grain surrounding it. Now the arch is covered in soot, the fires having burned hot enough to tarnish and melt the bronze upon it. It is not a stone's toss away where he finds his people. Men. Women. Children. Thousands of them. All of them. A field of bones left to rot. He sees a weapon in every hand large enough to hold one. Those who could not resist must have burned with the city. Of course they fought. They always fought. Why hadn't he? At last he falls. His body cracks on the ground and he loses himself to grief, letting his cries be heard by all the dead crowding the valley of his home. Arsenos Myrmidon. Blood of those pledged to die in its defense. Alive and sobbing in its ashes. Had he the strength, he would have picked a blade from the ground and ended his shame.

@Ataraxy

"-why we should all take a moment to ponder the absurd circumstances which require genius intellect or thorough study to comprehend," Addison swiftly interjected in alarm, planting her hand firmly on Hawk's shoulder (which looked ridiculous, given their difference in height). Turning him around, she quickened their pace before chirping loudly and purposely, "You are absolutely right, Hawk. There is no time to waste and we should get to work immediately." As they left the corridor, Addison turned around briefly to meet James' eyes, a painful wince accompanied by an apologetic squint and the hardly noticeable glint of gratitude in her eyes. Too much emotion, too little time to convey. They really needed to stop meeting like this.

The Great Hunt. The Kitsune's will start the timeless ritual; it will allow spirits of like mind to traverse into their dream (World) to participate in the festival of the hunt. A celebration where those of like mind join forces in parties, seek out beast, and test their mettle. While there is a reward and a competitive aspect, the ancient tradition is more design to connect the great slayers of the verses with one another, permitting them to revel in each others dance. The idea is to permit them to learn from one another, respect the ancient and new ways across many cultures, and feast as they exchange their retelling of prior conquest. The premise is simple enough, and the reward will be based on a few factors which I have yet to hammer out fully. The grounds will be the White Sands within the Ashlandian Mountain ranges. Those that participate and are from Mild power regions will see their strength enhanced if magically attuned, as the realm literally leaks magic from the sand amplifies the user's strengths. The amplification will be more along the lines of an augmented AOE radius for your abilities, increasing vigor and brawn. I will post more info regarding the ritual, the location, and the prey as interest is shown. What this is not/What it is. 1) Not a PVP event 2) Not an ego measuring contest 3) To hear the call, you can't be a villain, as dark hunters are excluded due to Kitsune culture. 4) Hunters are defined as those that slay monsters, vampires, demons, and spirits. 5) Advanced Tech will not follow you, unless magic Tech, 6) Guns are permitted, if black powder based, think flintlock. Caster guns/magic guns are allowed. Any tools of your trade or artifacts will carry over. 7) Mild-Moderate Power only 8 ) Fun way to meet like minded characters, a maybe form long term bonds with. 9) The way to avoid having this impact your character, is they will assume it to have been all a dream. This way, the player can decide to what extent they wish to have the event influence there character, if at all. I will start working on a bestiary for you guys, as well as some information regarding how your skills will be amplified, if at all. This is more to gauge an interest check, if no one signs up or expresses any sense of desire to pursue it. I will naturally assume this concept to be dead on arrival.

Charlie's perceptive capabilities were heavily marred by the rage he felt after being killed by 'Tim'. All he could see as he soared towards the robot, his fist raised and charged with explosive energy, was a target. A debt that needed to repaid with interest. As soon as he was in range, he brought his fist forward with as much strength and energy as he could. There was the usual blinding white that accompanied his explosions, but something about the hit felt...empty. When the smoke from his attack subsided, he found himself in a place he nor his lackadaisical narrator could explain with words. It was like a large, dark...emptiness. An expanse that just seemed to go on forever. It also seemed to morph and shift, as if it were alive and moving of its own will. He looked around him frantically, his confusion adding to his anger. He searched for Tim, but could not find the robot anywhere. He also couldn't see Vlad. Or Barrister. Or Junia. Or Melanie. His anger briefly subsiding, he searched the crowd of survivors for the crazy-eyed mercenary and her cohorts. None of them were there. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd died at some point. Had he been there when she did? Had he accidentally incinerated her in his rage? He wasn't given much time to think about it. He began to hear voices. Muffled ones, as if their sources had originated from inside a submarine. Sloshing noises caused him to look down and notice that he was standing in a slippery, black ooze that seemed to be rising with each passing second. Movement ahead of him caused him to look up towards some new noises. Disgusting ones, like the sound one might hear if they eavesdropped on him through his bedroom door in the late hours of the night. He soon realized that he was staring at hundreds of little, worm-like, creatures. Big ones. Just the right size to consider any living thing a potential meal. He looked around for this new voice, it being clear and seemingly detached from anything he could see. It was like it was in his head. Shortly afterwards, however, the vices owner materialized into view. "Whoa…" said Charlie as he took in the freakish looking creature. It appeared to be all muscle, but it's voice was definitely female. He wondered if there was curvaceous woman under all of it, waiting to be swooned into passionate breeding. Charlie turned his attention to swarm of wiggling larvae that were now quickly rushing towards them, mouths open. Jumping backwards, Charlie channeled a bit of energy into his hands and clapped them, sending out a wave of scorching of heat. Many larvae in front of him were immediately vaporized, but it gained him little to no respite. For each one he'd killed, several seemed to appear in their place. "S***!" he cursed, ducking a larvae that would've latched onto his eye-socket before turning to run. The rising sludge at his feet greatly impaired his speed though, so he had to constantly turn around to hurl fireball after fireball to keep the swarm at bay. The rising ooze and moisture of their new attackers kept him from starting any fires, meaning he'd have to conserve energy. But he knew doing so would be fruitless. Their numbers were far too great. He'd probably run dry before a tenth of them were taken out. He'd have to dig up the plant by the root. Unleashing a small explosion at his feet to briefly free him from the ooze and send him several feet in the air, he slung his hand at the Xer queen, sending over a dozen small fireballs in her general direction. They wouldn't be lethal and some of them would only serve to blind her with a small but loud pop, but he needed to know how thick her hide was before he tried to go in for a kill.

As Taurus's meaty fist came hurtling towards her, a large orange field formed around the archangel. There was a splintering crack as divine force met divine force. Cracks began to form in the front of the spherical shield as it absorbed what damage it could, hurtling backward to avoid being broken. With a flare of her wings, Addison slowed her drift, coming to a halt fifty metres from Taurus, just in time to see the God toppling onto his back. "Restrain him!" Addison barked into the intercoms. "We have to weaken him for Hinoka! Begin the ritual, Doctor! Protect Hinoka at all costs!" With a mighty beat of her wings, she returned into the fray, using her aerial dexterity to evade the first few swings of Kyoku's dragon. God help them if he didn't dispel it or somehow manage to break it free. Looping beneath the wide swing, Addison proceeded to land forcefully on Taurus's chest, pressing down against him like an anvil. The spherical field around her bore down into him forcefully, so much so that he would struggle to get off his back with the strength of his core muscles alone. @The North Wind

From the way Hawk put it, it seemed more like a temporal anomaly then any attack. Arguably, it made it even more dangerous. Attacks could be predicted, or quantified. Attacks had a goal. Temporal anomalies were the very poster-child of unpredictable chaos. Not incredibly convincing there. And then there was Hawk's more emotional appeal. Not leaving anybody behind. To recover their own. Noble goals, if impossible. The Custodes and Knights of the Force Majeure knew what was required of them, to make the ultimate sacrifice if need be. They knew that James was willing to make that sacrifice himself, to be left behind, that he never ordered anybody to undertake a mission or ordeal that he would not undergo himself. It was a stark contrast to Addison's organizations, where he had heard tales of her pleading with, or telling her close companions and high advisors that they were too important to risk themselves. Perhaps that was the crux of the difference between her and him now, and by extension, the sort of people that surrounded her and him. Still, James was slightly moved by his determination and loyalty, if nothing else. "Fine. You can fight the creatures. Thats merely the most minor of the issues. How would you find them? You speak as if you know how. Make me that case, and narrow that search down from its infinite possibilities, and I may be able to help you." Otherwise... James nodded his head in the direction of the training pit. "You were the first through the portal on your side. You saw our armaments, men, women and ordnance arrayed against any hostile incursion. That is because as deadly as your attackers seem to be, I've seen creatures that would make them look like children, threats capable of overrunning a world in a day instead of a nation. Those machines down there are not borne out of a fanciful whim, but a serious need for preparation." He turned back to Hawk "So you'll have to guarantee we don't have needn't visit every realm, pocket dimension or hellhole to find your lost nation." James paused. "And I will have to put it to a vote with my fellow Knights as well." It wasn't a yes yet, but it was far better then the answer they received moments ago.

@Ataraxy @Aleksei @-Lilium- @Mickey Flash @King @Csl @amenities @Praetorian

PARDUS LETUM Even in the dead of night, the city of Cal Eteris is a beauty. They face no difficulty in entering it, the stream of travellers along the main road still as heavy as any other month. Two travellers wearing common garb are barely given a second glance. At first, Pardus is struck by the number of nonhumans in the city. Elves, Shifters, and Pereds -- all walked freely, buying goods, conversing with friends, and going about their daily lives. It nearly gives him pause. How quickly six years of blood had been forgotten! But this is not forgiveness -- no, Pardus realizes -- this is apathy. These folk were too quick to bow their heads to human rulers once more, forgetting that even House Hildebrand stood by as their kind were slaughtered. ”There is no war in Cal Eteris”, Pardus overhears someone say. Apathy, indeed. So far, Svanhild has refused to participate in the war. He would change that. He’s taken Keraunos on this mission. He knows little of the man, but that he is a good fighter. The thrill of the promotion still burns hot in his chest. It has barely been two months since he’s caught the Dominus’ attention. A little less, since he’s travelled to the Felgrave, following the whispering at the back of his mind, and found the Oathblade. Feline eyes narrow. Pardus still remembers the sight of it. Veins of metal bloodied with rust. Tufts of grass blackened by rot. At the center of the caldera, a broken blade. He’d grabbed the hilt. It spoke to him. It asked questions -- many questions, it’s voice quiet. Plaintive, almost. It seemed pleased for his company. It continues to ask him questions, all these weeks after. It asks him about the land as he travels back to the war camp, about trees and grass and sun. It asks him about people when he reports back to the Dominus, about the humans, the shifters, the Novirians. The questions begin with a near-childlike innocence, but the blade is quick to learn. It is intelligent. It is only a weapon, Pardus knows, but even he admits to growing fond of it. Why do you hesitate? Ruin’s voice slithers into his skull. They stands in an alley at Flaxtown, across the street from Ravenel Castle. He and Keraunos have been in the city for over a week now. By then they have learned the schedules of the guards that patrol the castle. Spying is not difficult for a creature of the night; walls are no challenge, and dark fur blends into the shadows. Ruin’s power has carved away a portion of the castle wall to create a small doorway hidden behind a bush. This is their entrance. Pardus turns to Keraunos. “Remember, stealth and speed. No shouting. The servant’s quarters are in the western wing of the castle. Himei’s wielder will be there. We go there first.” This was the plan: they would enter the castle. Pardus would use Ruin to rust door hinges shut and prevent guards from following them, or corrode stone into dust to create pathways. They would find Himei’s wielder and take the Oathblade from her. Then they would destroy Svanhild’s royal family. It is time to move, is it not? Ruin sings in his ear. Pardus catches a whiff of rot and rust as the sword materializes in his hands. “It is,” he says quietly. He returns his gaze to Keraunos. Even in the dark, the faint lamplight from the castle’s windows make his eyes gleam like coals. “Let’s go.” @L E V I A T H A N

How I want to be..... What really happens....

Sir, there's no smoking permitted inside the Governor's -" "Shut th'fuck up, jus'do ya' job an' make sure he knows I'm her' yeah?" "Sir, do you have an appointment!? You can just go barging........in" The Ripper was infiltrating, and Jade was listening. A one-way com was nestled into her ear, picking up every rattling sound Tzak Bishop made. She was surprised such a thing existed here. Her time in Valucre had taught her that technology only went so far—but here? It was almost like being home again. She grimaced—whether it was her recollection of the Neo Shanghai Arcology or because of Tzak’s inability to open doors the normal way, she wasn’t sure. Jade was slouched in the cockpit of Stormcutter. Despite looking like a piece of junk, it was uncannily reliable for an air freighter. Her successful string of jobs allowed her to make the right sort of special modifications to boost its speed and maneuverability. Still, it had its flaws but—it got them to where they are, didn’t it? It was parked quietly in a hangar not far from where Bishop was lurking. There was talk—the sort of talk Jade hoped to get away from, yet inexplicably kept getting involved with. She knew of Bishop’s past, but they didn’t talk about much—just as she didn’t talk about her past—or her world—very often. The Arcology was a broken promise. A cesspool. When she was little, she looked at the sky and remembered being envious of how far away the stars were. She became a pilot to get away from it all. She had her deep faults, but also her merits. Hopefully enough to bail Tzak out when he needed it. Bishop wasn’t a proper human—at least she didn’t think so. So maybe he was perfect for the job. Idle hands began to fidget; Jade reached for a pack of cigarettes, meticulously pulling one out and rolling it between her lips. Jade didn’t smoke enough to for it to matter, only when she was feeling trigger happy. “Niao, y’got ‘nythin’ on th’reportss-yet?” She leaned over to call out behind her, mumbling by keeping her cigarette firm between her lips. A gnarled old hand holding a tablet shot out, nearly smacking her in the face, and Jade recoiled, “Shesuz, Niao. Am righ'ere.” She irritably snatched the tablet and swiped through the wealth of information her reclusive old (emphasis on the old) shipmate provided. It wouldn't be complete without a long, inventive string of foreign profanity and griping from her companion about how ungrateful Jade (and all young people) was. Jade ignored her despite the shit-eating grin she wore to focus on the notes of why they were here. “Tranquil…” She murmured thoughtfully, brows furrowing; her face was illuminated by the electronic glow of the reports while movement picked up in her ear and voices made themselves known. “…shit’s sick. Bes’ be carefuh, biàn tài.” She talked to him like he could hear her. It was just another strange quirk of hers. This would be way less nerve-wrecking if she had a visual on what her Russian asshole was up to. If it got too hot she'd go in. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that. She didn't feel like getting shot over someone else's bad manners. Not that she had any good manners—perhaps that’s why they got on so well? Jade grinned hard enough that her cigarette fell into her lap.

Chapter 1, "New Dream, Old Nightmare." Honeyed eyes peered from bronze balcony, the clocks’ ticking, and grinding of gears serving as a sonorous cacophony. The ballad of innovation like a grand symphony, of which she was the maestro. The expanse of bleached rolling gnolls stretching beyond the horizon, as the kerfuffle of a debate from the street, trailed to keen ears. Luscious lips bending into a smile as the shifting of the sand due to times waning influence had sowed discourse. Friction necessary for progress, for it’s through the fire and hammer that metal can be repurposed into an implement. Hand gripping the railing, as lunar light perforated the veil of twilight. Stars were twinkling in the heavens, as a gentle gelid breeze coursed between the spiraling bronze buildings. Locks of raven hair drifting to its call, cascading downward as stray strands obfuscated inquisitive gaze. The mood contorting, proving somewhat malleable as expression bent to the influence of her third eye. Dreams within dreams, an endless expanse of worlds connected by the most narrow of bridges. The tapestry of fate being plucked, the fleeting of one of her kind vexing mind. She was exasperated by the fact she recognized this baneful spirit, this mischievous cur foolishly traversing the abyss between worlds. Djinn were fickle, their mind able to resonate with one another across a vast distance. The epiphany anything but melodious. More like the chaotic clashing of brass instruments as she withdrew into her home. The laboratory housing many trinkets, discoveries wrought through blood and sweat. Combing endless dusty tombs to further her reach. Curvaceous form now exposed, as she would change attire. The white silk dress, while flowery and flattering, was not suited for the road or task at hand. Rummaging through her closet, she’d eventually embellish figure with her favorite traveling attire. The garb consisting of pure black clothing, a jacketed top with an orange stripe running up the center, mounds of flesh leaving cleavage exposed as sexual prowess like any tool had its place in her arsenal. Bottom half and midriff covered in straps of leather, held together by buckles that clasped onto her top. Flowing dress that left thighs exposed, only shielding her bottom from wanting gaze. Fingerless gloves to limit callous from formulating on her gentle hands. Dark leggings and a pair of traveling boots to trek through sand and mud alike. Traction being a vital component when one walks the lonesome road. Once covered, Myrriah would gather her things, tossing in a capsule that housed one of her creations, as well as, food, water, change of clothes, perfume, a few rags into dimensional pocket. Fingers were running through hair, as she meandered within lavished halls, reaching the golden adorned vestibule of her home. She was peering over her shoulder, giving the nest one final glance. Gloved hand reaching for the knob of brass, twisting and pushing the barrier open. Stepping beyond it’s gaped maw, sealing the door shut once past the threshold. The winding streets of metal patrolled by clockwork machines, steam pouring from the grates darted across the city. As the sound of boots making their way to the stable near the city's limits echoed, betraying her approach. Blending into the darkness, only to reemerge into the rays of artificial crystal light, exiting the safety of erect walls, as she rode on the back of a giant beetle, her loyal steed. The portal between realms a well-kept secret, eluding the comprehension of most. Yet Myrriah wasn’t like the common rabble, nor was she comparable to the gelatinous nobility that plagued her realm. The lady of coin a unique breed with unprecedented aspirations that have governed her actions. Why care about one stray spirit? Because a wrathful Djinn can prove quite the blight, and the thought that someone may link it to her world was nettlesome. The empire thrived despite the chaotic rule of the Queen, yet prosperity comes in seasons. For across the near infinite dreams were eyes ravenous by nature, hungrily peering out for new worlds to subjugate. This foolish soul could bring the ire of a nation within these arid borders if it managed to cause harm. Insectoid appendages barreling forward, it’s pulsating belly feeding on the magical properties emitted from the grainy bosom of the sands. Sustenance propelling the organism forward, as the Mistress of shadows would find her way toward the sea of dunes. Within the epicenter of the wasteland, few dare tread, even the most hearty of adventurers she rested for a moment. She was reaching into her dimensional pocket, pulling out a soft fabric like a towel to wipe sweat from brow, chugging down some of the water she had brought to thwart the parching of lips. Dainty fingers ran across the carapace of her bestial friend, the partner while not sentient still had an whimsical perception for the caramel toned beauty. It’s carapace as black as the night, as the soft underbelly seemed lined with organic material, crimson in hue that like air sacs expanded outward before contracting. The hulking beetle pressing onward as the two would inevitably stand at the center, fingers snapping the sand around them vanished, the pinkish light of the rising sun eclipsed by utter darkness. The swarthy curtain was robbing one of sight, the deprivation maddening if one were to lose themselves within the tunnels connecting our worlds. Following the residual energy left behind, like a ghost trapped in time. As the laws of reality differed within this void, the sense of nothingness palpable, beyond dreadful. The harrowing experience troubling the beetle, yet it wouldn’t last. Within that space between space, time ceased to function outside of its chasm. Yet, within, the process felt like hours. The heartlessness of that space giving way, evaporating as the link between their dream resounded. Striking a chord through a complex network of frequencies permitted the two to infiltrate the curtain. Yet the process did not proceed without a hurdle or two. Dimensional travel was a complicated affair, if facile, then all planes of existence within the dream would have been linked already. The tumultuous turbulence vehemently shaking the two beings, their very cells vibrating in the most excruciating of ways. While outside time remained locked in torpidity while transmitting oneself through those blacken halls. Once they reached the pinnacle, the compression unfurled, as time leaped forward. The exact passage unknown, though, enough to permit the other spirit to escape from the entry point. The darkness cracking, as the depravity of one’s soul within the void, dissipated. The wailing brought on by nothingness never got easier with time. Pearly fangs grinding against one another, as grunts birthed from agony, bellowed forth from juicy lips—light beyond blindingly flooding the scene, as both shielded their oculus. From nothingness, everything came into being. Standing now within the wilderness, the labyrinth of trees stretching onward as the melodious call of winged beast echoed. Birds roosting within the branches, their shade provided respite, allowing Myrriah to repose herself. Gloved hands were grasping the reins as she ordered her friend onward. The beetle lumbering forward sluggish at first, it’s oafish approach facetious to observe. The change in magic, the gravity of this planet, and other natural forces, be them greater or lesser, taking time for both of them to acclimatize to. The foliage rubbing against legs and chitin, as the beast of burden, pushed into the brush. Eventually, the two finding a path, the road cut naturally due to the traffic of the local wildlife and indigenous folk who called this quaint world home. Mandibles colliding several times, as a hand gently patted the top of the thorax, the jubilant creature proving contagious as the Djinn smiled. Honeyed orbs peering down the road, tapering as the trail of her officious brother while subtle, didn’t escape her mental grasp. The exact location obstructed from vision, yet the third eye tucked away from the flesh had enough foresight to deconstruct and disseminate the general direction—radiant ray piercing between the green leaves, providing warmth to olive-tone vestige. The humid air a far cry from the arid landscape of her home, as the two continued with merriment down the path. The mind left to wander, evaluating various outcomes and potential ramifications for this interloper. Heart beating like a drum, mind running at speeds twice as fast as that of an average human. The strangers within a strange land out of their element left Myrriah suffering from sightlessness when it came to how this plane operated. Ignorance and complacency two predators she often eschewed, finding their company less than elfin. The ditty rhythm of their unremitting stride juxtaposing impeccably with the natural ambiance, as they incessantly prowled across the scene. The sun setting, seeking shelter behind the edge of the world, Myrriah setting up camp away from the road. Taking refuge within the wilds as stalwart gaze remained vigilant. Her own body’s physiology unique as sleep, thirst, and hunger took much longer to have a toll on her. The rest necessary for her insect, leaning against the bark of a nearby oak. Shuffling that deck of cards that had served her faithfully through many frays. The chirping of crickets resonating, bouncing off the acoustics of the woodlands as the frigid night air caused goosebumps to litter across velvety canvas. The camouflage of darkness working both ways, as eyes adjusted to the night. The evening passing, as dew-kissed the blades of emerald colored grass. She was stirring her mount from slumber as it pushed out hot air from its extremities. Rising as the energy of the land kept fueling the creature, the magical properties not as dense as that of her motherland, but enough to thwart off starvation. Their travels were recommencing, as the moisture clinging to the brush stained skin and exoskeleton, once more trodding down the muddy road. Crisp cerulean skys were holding up, as the sun crawled across the heavens. For nine days, they repeated this process, cleaning clothes in the river, drying it off with a spell, gathering water, fending off beast, receiving curious glares, and intimidating a few bandits. The dried salted meat she packed providing nourishment, while not a delicacy by any stretch of the imagination, it did suffice. On the morning of the ninth, the Djinn could feel they were close. She was holding a polished silver mirror, combing hair, beautifying herself with the makeup of crushed plants, cactus, fungi, minerals, and insects as the fragrance of honey and berry perfume was applied to the skin. The ritual of maintaining her ravishing visage proving somewhat therapeutic, even if no one was around to revel in the fruits of her toiling labor. Once more, the beetle would shake off atrophy hold, shuffling to its feet as it wiggled thorax. The two are now approaching a ruin, covered by the natural growth from the land. It’s jaws open, as a harrowing, frigid gale escaped the mouth. Myrriah was reaching into her pocket realm, pulling out a crystal on a pedestal, placing it near the entrance as she would set up camp. The crystal would consume the vile chi irradiating from the beating heart of the evolving being. Its current form would slowly corrupt her or any organism within its grasp given enough time. The process would take a few hours, and so she would sit on a stump, shuffling her deck as nimble fingers provided showmanship. The tarot cards from her word vanishing from fingers. Flicking wrist for them to appear once more between the other hands digits. She was repeating this process as she hummed an old folksong to herself, as if trying to soothe the nervousness washing over that hourglass form, fending off the insipid nature of the mundane, allowing placidity to take root. @Fierach

All of my characters went through the Trial of Thought. They had to endure me, their maker, as I reverse-flayed each and every one of them into existence. Beyond that, since most of my PCs are able to defend themselves, they all underwent otherwise rather generic training. Some were trained by masters-at-arms, raised in knighthood, fighting pits, trained as assassins since childhood, learned through experience not chosen but forced upon them, brought up in warrior cultures, or something else so profound. One reason I like this thread is because it makes me realize how much I have not really thought about how my characters received their combat effectiveness. I've taken it for granted due to an almost subconscious requirement of making most of my characters combat-ready, due to prevalent PVP on other sites and, really, the convenience of it for a lot of roleplay scenarios. I don't think any of my characters apart from a few went through 'Trial of Something' like you'd find on TV. It's not something I really think about but, as I said, this thread is enlightening because maybe it can serve as a tool for me to put more thought into such things.

Myrriah art came out perfect, I am gonna work on some pictures of my older character Somber next. Gonna try and do her kitsune form, will be fun. ❤️

@Phaedara has an upcoming house. Tagging her here in case she'd like to collaborate 👀 Link me the lore article for the new kingdom when it's up please. Also let me know if you want territory lines for it drawn on the map. I'm assuming this is happening in the future and hasn't been canonized yet. I'd also appreciate a date for when House Mythal left UM to place on the timeline - did it happen before or after Milorian supposedly got kidnapped by pirates?

@Sombersong I'm not entirely sure what the breakdown is here, however, from what I've read @Darthgamer101 has repeatedly indicated that he had expectations regarding what type of thread this would be, and simply wants clarification from the OP so that he can adjust his expectations accordingly. To the best of my ability, I can't find any instance of him saying you are wrong, and he has routinely stated that he's seeking clarity for himself. Additionally, he was, rather clearly, providing context with the above quote to explain why he had developed his expectation. Rather intentionally, or not, you are mischaracterizing Darth and what Darth is saying. And that is disingenuous and dishonest. With that being said, @Sombersong you have already stated that you no longer intend to partake in this thread. If that's the case, this conversation should be done. We are approaching the point of beating a dead horse. If you intend to rejoin the roleplay, then clarifying perspectives and reaching a mutual understanding is important. Otherwise, please vacate this thread so that the discussion can return to relevant aspects of the RP. If both of you would like to continue this debate, for whatever reason, we can move relevant posts to a new topic. However, at this point the discussion as it stands is no longer relevant to the RP or the OOC RP thread.

Moving near-silently through the gnarled trunks and twisting branches, Briar tried not to flinch each time the sharp snapping of wood sounded behind her, she was feeling a little on-edge surrounded by so many strangers. It was impossible to recall the last time she had been with a group this large, if ever. Remarkably, despite her frequently wandering attention, she didn't once falter or trip over the snaking roots and thicker brush, creating obstacles in her path. Briar was grateful that the journey was leaving little room for conversation as they walked, she only hoped this wouldn't change too drastically when they stopped to make camp. Once they finally did stop walking, she positioned herself close enough to the fire to feel the benefits of its warmth, but far enough that she felt confident she wouldn't be roped into conversation. It seemed she had little to fear in that regard when it came to some, a bitter scowl not too far away was a clear sign of a similar disinterest to engage, though, Briar was a lot less hostile with it. Listening to the story intently, all the talk of wizards and internal maelstrom made it impossible for her mind not to lapse into the unwanted memories of her own past. Picking at the spongy moss idly where she sat, she felt the sense of unease begin to settle in her chest. Despite her best efforts to control her breathing, it still felt as though she wasn't getting any air. Putting on her liars face and ensuring the signs of her internal struggle would not be apparent, she continued to listen to the story in hopes of a distraction. Glancing behind her with some concern, it seemed most others at the camp were not ruffled by this possible threat. Near the comfort of the warm fire and a sense of safety in numbers, it was easy to forget about the dangers of the wild. It did ease her mind that the group she was travelling with seemed more than capable of putting up a formidable offence and defence, should the need arise. Still, she stared a moment longer into the gaps between the trees, as dark as the spaces between the stars. Indeed a chill did find its way sharply down her spine, so she turned back to the fire, noticing the black cat for the first time. Immediately she was overcome with the desire to cuddle the creature, sure that its soft pelt and warmth would do wonders to calm her nerves. When she realised who the cat was, however, it seemed a lot less like a good idea. Briar made a face, the feeling of multiple tiny legs crawling over her skin setting in, making her rub her arms in an attempt to liberate them from the disgusting sensation. Reaching inside her recently and illegally acquired satchel, she produced three equally lifted apples from within, their rosy skin catching the firelight in a very enticing way. After hearing Mads and Eli discussing their relatable food situation, she was reminded of her own hunger. "Hey, Eli, Mads." Tossing a fruit to each of them, she hoped it wouldn't catch them off guard. Briar figured taking an apple to the head would not be the best attempt at creating new friendships.

No where, the risk of contamination and plague is too frightening. owo

Gonna throw in a few. This seems most like what you'd hear in a cafe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD7H2hE8YD0 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lAjs75dkho More fantasy-wanderlust-melancholy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A76a_LNIYwE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJy2R31xpl8 More sad-melancholy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzR8BCmV9Ew

The term huntress made her face grimace, the Kitsune wasn’t fond of feminine titles, even if accurate given her vocation and appearance. The fox often found them unbecoming due to how it put her in a box, the world raising and lowering her station on such a fickle as gender. No genuine harm had been inflicted, and the tenuous relationship she had with society did birth this quandary. Vexation fading, given way to the hunt, Katana gripped tightly as she continued traipsing backward. That scarred face was displaying feigned fear, like a confused, exhausted herbivore limping for a ravenous wolf. The guards were foolishly rushing forward, their tunnel vision eliminating the subtle signs in peripherals. While Somber could easily have dispatched of these three, she wanted to study him closer. The samurai learning that warrior best communicate through the fray, as oppose to conversating with words. Her tongue hardly silver, possessing little in the way of social graces. But, on the battlefield, her muscles portrayed more than ten thousand finely woven words ever could. The guards were stepping beyond the hall, as Beris lunged from the adjacent passageway. One of the guards caught off guard, found themselves in his web as the glacial dagger plunged into soft tissue. The guard pinned, legs shaking as crimson fluid coursed downward, succumbing to gravity’s spell. Skin flushing white, eyes were dimming, as the soul untethered from the mortal coil. The other two stopping, hoarse whisper of steel friction against steel resounding down the hall. The metallic clashing of limb betraying approaching, as Somber used the opening her now drinking buddy had created. The first soldier was raising his blade skyward, ready to send it downward with full force toward the other prisoner. A streak of metal reflecting the flicker orange hue slicing upward. The man’s eyes widening as blood sprayed from the wrist, the hand severing as it still clutched hilt. Falling to the floor as it fidgeted on the gelid floor. She was desperately clenching the hand as he stepped backward, plate colliding against the stone wall as he was left vulnerable, a tasty morsel for the hunter to devour as he saw fit. Somber wasting no time as she dropped her Katana, jumping onto the remaining guards back, Legs were wrapping around his waist, as the cannon arm strangled the boy from behind. Frantically the solider slammed the Kitsune against the wall, trying to break free as oxygen was denied. Somber latching pearly fangs onto his ear, biting it hard before snapping her head to the side. The ear bitten off, severed from the side of the head as the Kitsune spit it away. Dread, agony, regret all emotions contorted visage displayed, as eventually the guard succumbed to her grip. He was falling on his back, as Somber twisted the neck, a soft cracking sound teasing ear. The vertically challenged samurai pushing him off as she rolled and rose to her feet. Hand grasping the Katana while doing so, as it appeared in her gloved grip once she hopped onto feet. The wounded guard panicked, blood loss weakening the vessel as he panted heavily, sweat running down his cheek as the color had faded from the face. Somber’s peach eyes were narrowing, eyeing the man before turning around. Her kimono flowing flawlessly with her stride, the fox was leaving him for Beris if the man should choose to take his life. “Have fun.” Halting as she spoke, bratty tone reaching ears as her own bent backward. Pink tail flicking as orb peered from over her shoulder, wiping blood-stained lips against the kimono. Parched lips were bending into a wide smirk, as the blunt end of blade tapped against her shoulder rhythmically. “Drinks on me when this is done. If you were paying, I’d drink you into bankruptcy.” Stated with such confidence and conviction, that one might wonder if she truly believed that. She was leaning against the wall as she waited for him to finish, knowing that they weren’t far from the warden’s office. If he had touched her booze or pipe, Somber would decapitate his head, which one would remain a mystery. @Fennis Ursai

"Knight initiates! This is the governor of Midway and Harcester, Douglas Azelhart," she indicated to the Knights assembled behind her before turning back to the man. "I hope you have a lead. We've been marching around blindly for hours led by the simple guidance of a pre-determined patrol route." Striding back to where she had once stood, Addison picked up the squirming sack of larvae. "All we managed to find was this. The trees are loaded with them." She noted Maelstrom's response. "False, initiate. We are not 'sacrificing men'. Any individual is just as vulnerable on the ground as they are on a tree. If you've signed up for this task, you've accepted that you life might be put at risk." @Xoco

James studied her with a measured practiced eye. Her dress invoked past memories and lessons, of peoples native to sand wastes, mysterious, and resilient. He breathed in deep, scenting the woods, and also catching something from her stronger then perfume, a sense of magic, inhumanly so. Could she still be human? It was possible, but he doubted any human would be looking so immaculate in such an outfit out in the wilds. She was quite beautiful, downright entrancing really by any estimation, but only made him somewhat more wary. Seduction was old of the oldest tricks in history, and still remained one of the most effective for good reason. When she bowed, he paused, and then brought up both armored fists in a martial salute, his own style of formal greeting. Myrriah? Was that her name? Her real name? It didn't matter for the moment. "I am James Eredas" he responded in kind, before looking up at the ruin. “I assume you are here for the spirit as well? Tell me, Sir, what do you know of it?” He looked back down at the woman. "So you know its a spirit too? I can see you're quite magically inclined. Perhaps the spirit is yourself? Then I would only know what you tell me" It wasn't a hard conclusion to come to, even if it was incorrect, although James didn't know that. It seemed whoever the strange lady was, she was quite formidable, a spellcaster of no small ability or wit. James's talents laid more in the realm of the physical, although he considered his own cunning equal for the task.

Rysorian was...vocal. At the very least, Eli could appreciate that. "I think the pain of loss exists to offer proof that what we loved was real," he offered slowly. "And I think Laff's erasure was disrespectful to his lover and him. Very punishing, if you look at it like that." "I've always believed," Mads laughed, "that you were wasted as a sword for hire. You and your consuming thoughts. Messy. Very messy." Eli arched his brow, trying not to laugh with her. "Gods, he seems upset. I guess I should've tried a different story. Haha." He snorted drily, watching as Rysorian stomped away. "I'd guess that he's lost a lot. Still, it's not my place to pry, huh? " He scratched his head, then turned when Igni addressed them. Wise words from a dragon. While the creature in his story had been made up, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. Dragons and creatures like them had different perspectives. Better perspectives, I'd say. "I think Jonathan Laff would have made wonderful ballads," he said after a moment. "Songs that would pull at the heart. Songs that would tell the tale of his lost one and do him justice. I wish that was the path he'd chosen, as I would wager he and Xyrdi could write a song that changed lives." The fire crackled, his stomach growled, and the wind howled. It took him longer than he'd like to notice that there was something else howling alongside it. At Igni's question, he sighed and glanced at Mads. They'd both lost so much, starting with their humanity. Not enough time in the night to enter that topic. Clearing his throat, Eli shrugged. "Oh, there's not much to my understanding, Igni. I'm just very astute." "Think you meant obtuse," Mads chimed in. "How can I be fat? We haven't eaten in weeks." "And yet you still find a way. You made them all sad." They should be, he thought. Eli grit his teeth and rose, frowning at the feline -man that had spoken previously. Merindas had seemed to take a liking to him before, though the golem knew better than to get too close to the human man that was preparing to rest. Eli opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Rohini," he began plainly, "why were you a cat? Actually, how... how were you a cat."

We've already talked in discord but yeah, welcome! New Member's Guide is always a good place to check. Lagrimosa as a whole is magitech/adventurepunk in setting, though sci-fi areas like Martial Town and the Frontier exist. If you like medieval fantasy, Ursa Madeum is pretty active! Do you like urban fantasy? There's a loot(?) quest based in Chesterfield that's travelling to Biazo Isle. There's one slot open, you might be interested in it if you're looking for something to dip your toes into. See you around the site ^_^

Legatus Arsenos Myrmidon, Anax of Ashes, Oathblade of Light Arsenos Myrmidon PERSONAL Name: Arsenos Myrmidon Race: Human Male Age: 30 Birthplace: Heliopolis, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Heliopolitan Anax, Legatus Tribii under House Arcos PHYSICAL Height: 6’6” Weight: 245 lbs Hair: Shoulder-length and blonde, pulled back and loosely braided. Skin: Light Bronze Eyes: Gray Build: Lean and well-muscled, extremely athletic. Voice: Notably accented and of low tone, often tautened by anger or impatience. MENTAL Temperament: Choleric MBTI: ENTJ Hailing from the once-gleaming city of Heliopolis, Anax Arsenos Myrmidon is a bitter and vengeful man of six feet and thirty years. During Taen's invasion of Thrace he was assigned to counsel House Arcos personally in Noviria, sparing him the fate of his family and countrymen- a fact that brings him nothing but shame and anger. Arsenos is a cunning and ruthlessly effective general, giving credence to the reputation of his blood. His cohort acts as a vanguard, fighting to reclaim the glory of his people from the front- some of whom yet fight by his side in full Heliopolitan regalia. The Anax himself dons a striking set of heirloom armor that he pulled from the ashes of his family's estate in Heliopolis, one which dates back to the earliest years of House Myrmidon's eminence. Ornate and resplendent, the ancient metal was released from an age-gained patina in the conflagration of Heliopolis, and is now polished to an almost blinding reflectivity in direct sunlight- lending him the appearance of a wrathful demi-god reborn and set upon the field of battle. With great restraint he wields Aether, Oathblade of Light, found at last among the smoldering embers of the Heliopolitan Temple of the Sun.

@ReachForStars it's your turn now 🙂 I'd prefer to use the same thread. If it's just the three of us it's simpler that way.

Shanna has a goal to collect items of power in an effort to combat the Whispernight. All things considered, I dont think she is anywhere close. Disaster happens too easily.

Amelia recognizes Chesterfield as a city where unimaginable good and unimaginable evil are equally possible. She must establish a reputation, a residence, and a degree of authority in the city so that she can do her part to guide the city toward the good and away from the evil. She is currently unknown in the city, a hostel-surfer, and the only authority she has is the authority to govern her own conduct (and even this only insofar as she follows the law). The babiest of baby steps.

Getting to these posts tonight ❤️❤️

The Holy arrow struck the greater horror with a mighty force. This force diverted the screaming monstrosity as it slammed into the ground a couple of feet short of where Aethelcília had just been. smoke bellowed from the creature's core as the flesh bubbled around the embedded arrow. The arrow fell to the ground with a clump of bubbling goo. It was quite clear that far more damage had been done by the holy power than both the impact and landing combined. Never the less, the voices of four innocent people called out in unspeakable agony as the pile of rancid flesh charged towards Aethelcília on a myriad of haphazard legs. a number of tendrils emerged from the mass and opened to reveal seven toothy mouths desperate to feast on new flesh. a larger mouth was forming on the main body, but the bubbling wound was unresponsive and the mouth was only half formed. The abomination that Gozen attacked was little more than a burnt pile of bones and guts, its decimation had been so rapid that even the creatures puppeting the flesh were unable to scream out in pain. The covering fire shot by Stormbreaker in turn, hit far more of the lesser horrors, but to a far smaller effect. the insects controlling the stitched together bodies cared little of the blood-soaked hosts being mildly singed. one horror, that was made of seven legs and a old woman's head, was able to deftly dodge one of the flames. These creatures charged towards the pair of relatively young dragons with unshakeable resolve as the stitch worms reinforced the joints and the puppeteer bugs got the hang of piloting reanimated corpses via trapped souls. Likewise, the host of unmounted stitch worms and puppeteer bugs had begun rounding up the collapsed humans in the surrounding area to begin constructing more abominations. the victims unable to even scream out in pain as their flesh began melding with that of their neighbors. three abominations flailed at Stormbreaker as two charged suicidally into Gozen's fiery body. They intended to strike their targets with no regard for self preservation, these attacks would strike with the force to break their bones upon their enemies. or at least, the bones of their cobbled together corpse suits. simultaneously, the roof of the resturaunt burst open as Kahd'Xel lept and landed nearby the two brave heroes, and squashing one of his abominations in the process. "Miserable spawn of winged newts, Your childish embers are nothing to the light of truth!" "You shall perish here and aid my crusade!" "Muwyrikdy weisl ao sulqyv lyszw, hafr tmudvuwm ypkyrw vory lazmulq za zmy duqmz ao zrfzm!" The Demon said with its ensemble of jaws. "Haf wmidd eyruwm myry vorv iuv ph trfwivy!" with that, Kahd'Xel bellowed a great cloud of toxic fumes that covered the area and obscured vision, He then struck with his tree like arms at Gozen, so as to strike him even if he dodged the abominations. Also through the deadly cloud came the loud buzzing and assorted cutlery of the Five insect horrors. Who assaulted Stormbreaker with murderous fervor, and whose humanity was little more than tattered clothing and the occasional vestigial finger. The Fungal horror had yet to join the melee, either out of strategy or simply lagging behind. OOC: The greater horror has taken noticeable damage but charges at Aethelcília with its ravenous mouth stalks. Gozen has slain a lesser abomination but is now caught in a poisonous cloud with two lesser abominations trying to body slam him and Kahd'Xel about to strike him with his clawed hand. Gozen is within the effective range of Kahd'Xel's eyes Stormbreaker was able to damage four lesser abominations but missed a fifth, the damage is superficial since no damage came to the puppeteer bugs. Stormbreaker is also caught in the poison cloud and is being swung at by three lesser abominations and all five insect horrors who are attacking with knives, skewers, and meat hooks. Stormbreaker is also within range of Kahd'Xel's eyes the fungal horror has yet to reveal itself. the swarm of unmounted stitch worms and puppeteer bugs are amassing the bodies of three incapacitated villagers and have begun melding them into a more powerful abomination. Thus, the current count is 90 devoured, 31 lost but not eddible, 29 incapacitated, and 50 who are still hiding. villain team: 15 lesser abominations (3 near Stormbreaker, 2 near Gozen, 10 in transit), 1 Greater horror (attacking Aethelcília), 1 ??? abomination (being created by the bug squad), 5 insect horrors (attacking Stormbreaker), 1 fungal horror (somewhere), and 1 Kahd'Xel (attacking Gozen)

@The Hummingbird She is literally the most supportive... @King @Raptor

“I’m an islander like you boys, if a little far from Biazo. No, this gal is from Orisia.” “Oh wow, I’ve never been there before!” said Matte before drinking his entire glass of water, asking for another to sandwich the wine in his stomach. Matte Daemon was not, in fact, a native islander. Nothing, ever, would eliminate his inner Michael Commager’s first memories. He was seven, sunken and scraping face first against destitution, almost definitely destined to die. There were no programs in a falling city to take in a boy like him, and few homes willing to take in a stray long enough to clean it up once and give it a meal before pinning a participation badge on their lapel and never helping another one again, if he was even lucky enough to be that stray. Things were different back then, though. A boy had become a man, and now an even differenter man sat before Tyra! He had become more than just a man, but one of many hats and faces at that. As their food arrived, Matte and Tyra both snapped out of very different reveries to received the meals all three of them would enjoy. "By Her Will.. Is this what you eat all of the time?!" “Only sometimes,” laughed Matte, patting his young-looking belly. “Don’t wanna get fat!” “...I’m something of an explorer myself. That’s what brought me to Chesterfield this very morning.” Matte quirked back to Tyra readily. Talk of his own ventures interested him little, for what he was willing to say about them was a short conversation. ‘We’re just headed back to Aspyn actually,’ is something he probably would have said, but Tyra’s conclusion invited him to continue concentrating on her journey. There was no rush back to Aspyn, and in fact the culmination of someone else’s search could be what he was looking for too. “An explorer huh?” he said, looking intently at but not having touched his food yet as both of them dug in. He grabbed one napkin and unfolded it, placing it in his lap. He took one deep breath, brushing a couple hairs off of his shirt and taking just large enough a sip of wine to douse his tongue with its lush fermentation. “What are you looking for in Chesterfield?” Deep inhale. Deep exhale. While listening for the woman whose name he didn’t even know yet, Matte began devouring his burger in a truly carnal display of satisfaction. His first massive bite was a matter of savouring taste and texture, chewing with indomitable force against the great mass in his maw. His second bite was just as massive, but now he churned the meat and onions and sauces together, swallowing and biting again over and over at a truly impressive rate for a little-looking guy like him.

"I don't much care if they hear me or not." Hawk retorted, lowering his tone just a bit as he crossed his arms. "Best I stand." Before saying anymore, Hawk simply stood and stared. His face bearing the look a stern disappointed parent would give their child as he took a second to gather his thoughts. Where to begin? "What am I to you? A pawn? A fool? A conductor to keep 'your' men loyal? Don't feed me some more bullshit. I want the truth." He began, his tone quieter, yet angrier. @Phoebe

I am in!

Somber "Stranger in a strange land." The realm of rolling blanched gnolls, where the land flowed not with milk and honey, but the blood and fire that is tribulation. The domain of her forefathers testing the mettle of those that called grainy bosom home, showing no clemency from that inferno toward all inauspiciously caught in its melancholy song. The dirge of those unworthy, deemed unfit to survive by the will of the sands ringing in the back of mind. Their silence was proving daunting, as the insipid chords from this cushiony kingdom birthed with it solely impuissance. The vapid inhabitants were woefully ignorant, going about their mundane affairs, blissfully accepting the deception that had woven like a beautiful tapestry. The obfuscation serving their ruler well, a monstrosity, an abomination wearing the disguise of their queen, yet was anything but benevolent. A contract, signed in blood and gold, had brought the kitsune out from the warm belly of her maiden land. She was traversing the labyrinth of tall oak trees, rich fauna, and enriched resources. Yet vigilant eyes, an inquisitive nature, successfully thwarting off complacency, the greatest bane to wilt away at one’s roots. The illusion of peace, the falsehood that is tranquility, needed to be fended off constantly. The universe by its nature was hostile, a truth though somber, was all but prevalent no matter one’s home. Yet the severity of strife, the extent of the wolf at the gate varied. Frivolously the monster hunter carried out her contract, attempt to fell the beast, hubris proving her undoing as the darkness overpowered her. The guards were hastily whisking the fox away from their regal ruler, unaware of the insidious agenda and maleficent nature in stupor behind elegantly poised visage. She was carried off first by carriage, then by boat, across the crashing waves of the sea, eventually reaching the remote island that housed the nation’s prisoners. The katana vanished, it form long dissipated into nothingness, causing many queries, though her watchers were now assuming answers can be harvested later. As the samurai refused to talk, the soldiers concluded her to be ignorant of their flavorless dialect, in truth, their tongue's perniciousness proved far too belittling. Meriting the void that greeted them, yet the foreigner understood what was soon to transpire. Pondering out loud whether she was sent by a foreign government to destabilize their pitiable way of life. The truth seldom so whimsical, often ignorance aspiring such grandiose fears and conjecture. Yet stoicism was all the greeted them, the discipline, battle hardened soul in absolute control of their emotions, knowing the next play to unfurl due to prior experiences. The black and white cloak that shielded ample form now rend from body. The golden clasp supporting it tearing free, as one of the soldiers would send a punch toward their captives abdomen. The blow landing, as the fox leaned forward, smirking as she strived her best not to display any visible signs of pain. The men, a bit taken back, as they’d brush it off, pushing her forward as iron shackles collided with one another. The friction of their force piercing the ambiance one might expect, as the kitsune had being led through the gaped maw of the prison. The pallidly lit heartless stone walls reeking of blood and humidity, the lamentations of those unfortunate to call this hell home, like an orchestra bellowed forth. Yet their torment did not bring with it a gelid realization, nor did it vex weathered soul, rather, a sense of serenity. Luscious lips bending into a smile, as the pure husk of this land gave way to its true inner swarthy form. Finding relief in finally penetrating the lie, seeing their world for what it truly was, the devil tucked away from the privileged prying eyes of the commonfolk. The soldier gossiped amongst one another, waiting for one of the wardens to figure out what they should do with her. The stubby ears flicking behind wild cherry blossom mane, as the idle banter of her captures amused the samurai. They were speculating on why she had a missing arm and leg. As well as how those metallic prosthetics had been designed and fitted for such a small frame. Her appearance the source for much befuddlement, as it’s unique and battered nature proved beguiling to one’s curiosity. The sounds of boots rhythmically colliding with grime covered floor, as the warden with a few guards, would relieve the tiny fighter from the soldier’s charge. The armored clad knight saluting the clear leader, before the maestro of that song would grasp the chains, dragging the kitsune forward. Somber lumbering behind rather clumsily, feigning a lack of grace, while maintaining the sense of fragility throughout their little march. All the while, thinking to herself how much she will enjoy killing this smug human once the timing was right. The knob of rust coated iron turning, as wooden barricade would be pushed open, the captive being shoved inside as one of the torturers had been waiting. The warden was conversing with the fellow for a bit, as the guards fastened the restraints onto the oddly complacent prisoner, tying her to a frigid stone slab. Once the lot had departed, and the door slammed shut, a soft sigh would escape from the fox’s moist lips. The interrogator stepping forward, slapping a wrinkly, leathery bag onto a nearby surface, rummaging about as various tools of his trade placed into her peripheral. The instruments not even clean, as the dried, crusted remnant of blood still stained the metal devices. The man was humming away rather gleefully, showing unbridled acceptance with enthusiasm as the rare sight of a foxkin like a muse. Various questions would be asked, yet nothing would greet those ears, mulishness inspiring a wide, near toothless grin. The man finding it best to do it his way as is, yet the work now delayed, as the warden intruded once more. Befuddlement staining the artist face. The authority figure snatched her wooden pipe, satchel, and a large jug of Sake, shaking the worldly possessions in the face of the kitsune. Demeaning her, in some clever misplaced attempt at psychological warfare, displeased it elicited no outward response, he gave the interrogator a nod of affirmation. Stepping beyond the threshold, as the door closed shut once more. The flickering orange hue, of a nearby flame from within a glass lantern perforating the shade, as the professional would get to work. Mentioning how much he would enjoy eviscerating her body, enthralled by the prospect of working on a canvas so unique. For an hour, he would make incisions, pour water over her face, grind salt into wound, and send a flurry of punches her way. Resolve did wane, as a few grunts of pain, finally departed from formerly sealed lips. The first session proved uneventful, bearing not the fruit they had desired. The body often proved rather resilient in the torturer’s eyes, but the mind was rarely so imperishable. Opening the door as he would cry for the guards, the men undoing the bindings as they would carry the bleeding woman from the room, dragging feet across the filthy ground. They led her to a nearby cell as they would pin her to an adjacent wall, shackling arm and cannon to the contraption, so her back was forced to rest uncomfortably against the wet surface. The men of this realm ignorant of her magic, unaware of her craft, assuming even the cannon couldn’t function without gunpowder or some iron balls as ammunition. The fox left in silence, refusing to speak even as the other prisoners cried about their fate, finding their pity anything but admirable. Eye rolling, as time and it’s passage seemed to have little context within the cell, yet she didn’t intend to stay for long.

The man yawned, stretching backwards, watching the beings with curiosity as they didn't bother to make chase with the entity used as bait. He made a small noise, curious as he disregarded the sounds of music, and instead, decided to test out whether or not the undead posed a real threat, or if the party's (And his own) simple prejudice had caused them to believe a rather primitive fact. Disregarding all former thoughts after seeing the almost intelligent glances the the creatures had half heartedly thrown towards the golem that had been used as bait, he walked with confidence. And thus, he moved away from the party, light travelling boots making small taps as he moved over rocks in his path, acting as if a kid in which he would jump from stone to stone, when provided the proximity. His target was rather easy to notice, as he began getting closer to the nearest undead entity patrolling the accursed sands, not paying attention to where he was going while he walked as he was focused on something else. As he eyes and hands where focused on digging through the satchel, the sounds of clanks and bumps coming from various items being knocked into each other within the leather bag, came into existence. Walking as if on autopilot though his chosen path, he appeared to be looking for something within the bag as he casually approached the ghoulish figure, humming to himself. His focus situated on the bag, and what he was trying to achieve, he shortly stopped in front of the "monster" and from the bag, retrieved a smaller bag of rations, which he held out to the being, a small smile on his face. @Raptor

Truth be told, James expected the worst. He was ready for the eye to suddenly open up into a vast, toothed maw, or for a thousand tendrils to come flying out at him. He would have gladly sacrificed every pound of flesh on his body to ensure his blade dug deep and banished the creature back to the abyss. He could expect no less then to die performing the duty to which he tasked himself. But he didn't. Fate intervened in the form of Myrriah, reappearing at the cavern entrance. Her attacks, her distraction granted him the moment he needed, and he did not waste it, burying the deathly weapon deeply into the eye, twisting it, working it. With a victorious roar, he ripped it out, dragging with it lengths of severed sinew, and other less identifiable organic matter as the djinn recalled him with her strange magicks back to her side and he felt himself ripped through the air, borne upon her arcane powers right before the heart of darkness beat its last and detonated with a display of gore that would have been fit for the most depraved of blood-letting flesh cults. Landing upon his back, with his ears ringing, James immediately sheathed his weapons before wiping away the foul gunk that had begun to collect on his mask with the back of his arm. A temporary fix, he also struck himself in the temple with his palm, in an attempt to dull the ringing with pain of another sort. The bodily sewage that had filled the chamber began draining away towards the giant hole where the heart had been. So Myrriah saved his life in more ways then just one. But their ordeals would not be over. Tremors began to shake the chamber. James cursed under his breath. He wished for once in his life that these lairs not self-destruct upon the death of their leader. As he went to Myrriah, he shielded himself from the first of many falling rocks. "I-It is done. Go...Leave me. Make it out while you can. I will only slow you down. I can die knowing We succeeded." "No" came the reply, like quiet thunder, clear even in the din of chaos around them. He would not leave her here. That thought was never entertained, not even for the briefest moment. Even the thought that he wouldn't be able to make it out anyway even if he abandoned her, never came to pass. "Never" he pulled her to her feet. If she could not stand, he hoisted her inelegantly under his arm, shielding her as best as he could with using his own body. Thus James carried the djinn, protecting her, If only fate would prove to be so kind. The rockfall intensified. As much as he dodged or weaved, or pushed through, James could not evade them all. They took their toll on him, until he realized that they would not be able to make it. But James Eredas made his own fate. He had one last card to play. He looked for the largest boulders falling. Whole sections of the ruins, still-intact columns or pieces of foundation. He found one. Holding Myrriah tight in his arms, he tackled it with his back, setting it upright at a slant against other pieces of fallen stone as leverage. The last burst of strength from his barbarian's belt granted him that much, enough to pull off one final feat to create a small pocket of air, a temporary shelter underneath hundreds of tons of rubble. And the world went dark. . . . . . . "Myrriah?" he gasped, calling out for her. He knew she was still there. He could feel her body next to his, pressing against him. He dared not use his powers for light, in such close proximity for they would harm her.

She searched in all the places she thought her baron would be. She made the mistake of searching inside the army camp. The numerous stops, whistles, and snarky remarks made her leave as quickly as she arrived. It was then that she felt him calling to her. Faint yet distinct she made her way to the blacksmith. She felt so stupid for not thinking of looking in such a place. As she approached him she felt another presence. It was odd feeling but nothing worth giving attention. She dismissed it as another peasant with magical capabilities within them, untamed and raw. The brilliant armor and golden hair signaled to Myrinda that Rhean was inside the forge. She called out to him while walking closer, "I've finished up on my work!"

Von Becker's plan was relayed to Nelson. He knew that Howard hadn't planned for any troops to come up by the road from New Acheron to the Turbines. It seemed the fleet would need to be split up. He radioed to Kingly and told him. "Becker leading force up road to NA. They need firepower." From this, Kingly split up the fleet. The Goddess would maintain her course for the Turbines while the other 2 queens would aid the possible detachment of enemies walking towards New Acheron. Naturally, a secondary plan was made just in case the ships were needed at the Turbines. The Engines would never be turned off and two men would man the ships wheel at all times. The fleet proceeded to split up, the 2 Queens awaited news and held their position along the coast at the middle point of the road between NA and the Turbines. The Goddess carried on.

A villager watched in horror as his friends and family were eaten from about thirty meters away, he begged to the gods that this was the end of his life as he watched in horror. All of a sudden there was a crash behind him, a white suit of armour crash-landed into the area behind him leaving behind a small crater in their wake, standing up from the crater they made, they looked over in the direction, the warnings on their screen showed "High Radiation levels detected". They sighed and looked over at the human, standing there now in even more shock at the fact there was an armoured being that crash-landed in the vicinity of the demon. The armored being sighed. "Leave at once, this area is dangerous." The being said, as the man ran off. The armored being, looking over at the demon, smirked from under their helmet. "By authority of the Terrenus Military, I, Stormbreaker will end you personally demon..." The being known as Stormbreaker was a terrenus military contractor but held deep regard for saving others and had a no kill rule mainly, but this was different, as she looked over at a group of civilains hidden in the nearby distance, Stormbreaker shouted out to them, giving them a simple order. "Evacuate everybody you can! I'll deal with it this piece of shit here!" She barked as the civilians began to leave the area, leaving Stormbreaker to herself until she noticed an archer nearby firing arrows at the demon. She didn't know what type of arrows, but this demon was dangerous and still had civilains on him, with her explosive flames, she blasted in the air around the demon, making sure she had enough room away from it to do enough damage as well as obviously making sure there was no civilains in her vicinity, going to eventually stop, holding herself up in the air by fire coming off her feet, creating enough draft to lift her upwards. Leaving no seconds to spare, Stormbreaker compressed her flames into a small ball, launching it at the back of the demon, which would cause the attack to cause a small explosion on impact. TL; DR Stormbreaker appears, introduces herself. Gets the remaining civilians to evacuate the area. Bounces up into the air using explosions created by her explosive fire, and circles the demon to find a good spot to attack as well as keep a good distance away. She then keeps away for a bit, stopping in place, surrounding herself with enough fire to keep her in the sky, and fires a small ball of fire that would create a smol explosion on impact.

I deleted it, the mood is sour, my mere presence defies limited perspective scopes of others in what they feel they can work with (as is their right owo). Even if Squid was fine with it, I don't wish to detract others from joining, or appreciate having bile thrown my way tarnishing my character either by flawed perception, or unintentional actions. Seeing my post has stirred the hive, It's best to withdraw so that others don't feel like they can't contribute. It was never my intention to be seen as abrasive, a thread stealer, or any such titles. I feel we can all agree that this is for the best, given the available reception. For every one poster, there are maybe ten who may have joined, but feel alienated. For those that did read it, I hope you at least enjoyed it. I will be sure to thoroughly ask for clarification in the future. @squid peanut If you care to read the post, to get context, I will gladly send it via PM. If not, let's move on. ❤️

@Sombersong lucid said that you had to censor it to post it on Valucre. DM me the uncensored. Plz. Either here or on WSD

Its all good, I look forward to the post! FYI to both you, and @Xoco, I am trying to canonize this thread- So read up on that, if you haven't, and Xoco, just another reminder to please go back and edit your posts back above the 80 word mark.

-Racial Traits- Speed- A kitsune is able to reach a max speed of 30 mph due to its heritage as fox spirits. Making them quick opportune hunters, able to chase down their prey for extended periods of time with the right cardiovascular workout routines. Strength- Throughout the White Sand’s history, the Kitsune have served as loyal guardians and warriors of the state. They were being seen as a spiritual reflection for the cunning will of the people. As well as a manifestation of their inner spiritual strength. Their people, while far from the most physically strong creatures of the realm, can be as much as 2x stronger than their human counterparts. The increase in muscle density to make this possible also, in turn, makes their muscular system more durable than your average mortals. Flexibility- Nimble and agile by trade, the proud kitsune race are the embodiment of a graceful predator. Able to bend their form as much as the most efficient human contortionist. While benign able to jump up to twice their total heights. From a young age, they are trained in the acrobatics arts, for it is believed that combat is an art form much like a fine waltz. Even those that never taste blood still have an appreciation for the art due to their ancestors and cultural beliefs. Smell- Kitsunes can smell up to 2 miles away in favorable conditions. Aiding them in tracking and chasing down their prey. An evolutionary trait that has surprisingly not weakened with time. While not perfect, the predators can pinpoint the general location and approach of their target. But like any animal, this sense can be tricked with enough wit. Hearing- Their animal-like ears are well-developed tools of their craft, the product of countless years of evolutionary progress. A kitsune's hearing is 3-4 times greater than that of your normal human, permitting them to get the general location of their foe even when their vision and other senses are robbed of them. Poison/disease resilience- Down in the resilience/weakness section of the sheet. Temperature resilience- Down in the resilience/weakness section of the sheet Moth form- The Kitsune form is a state of being only the wisest, and most skilled hunters can achieve. Being able to manifest their inner spirit to the flesh, they are often revered by their otherkin as the apex predators, selected by the ancestors to guide the people with their wisdom and strength. As such, being able to manifest this unique racial transformation is often considered as much as a curse, as it is a blessing. The form ebbs and flows with the inner spiritual will of the host, proving rather malleable in nature. While this form is achieved, their physical strength will nearly double and be allowed to move at speeds up to 200% faster at burst with a 50% boost in sustainable mobility. Their ability to jump increases from 2x their height to 2.5x. The form is often depicted in folklore and art as being a bone-white exoskeleton, with tribal markings embellishing the bestial appearance. Some have fur, others spikes, but all have the same, terrifying demon-like mask depicting the animal they represent. It is because of this mask that many races once thought, and some still do them as demonic spirits and tricksters. Aquaria’s own form is a bioluminescent blueish spiraling pattern throughout, bone-white exterior, and moth-like hair protruding from the cracks and joints of the exterior shell. With two pairs of bioluminescent wings the permit him to fly across the battlefield. His exoskeleton like a chitin able to deflect most sources of piercing damage, yet is susceptible to blunt force such as Warhammer and other such instruments. In this state of being Aquaria becomes the avatar of the moon, fulling embodying its influences. -Unique passive/stances- Stillness (stance)- The Devante art, passed down from generation to generation of the line. A rare, potent ability that grants the user the ability to sense magical properties with semi clarity. This means that while Aquaria can sense something is coming, the exact nature, velocity, angle, mass, or nature of the attack remain obscured. Imagine it like that of the hairs of a fly, while it informs the host of a coming attack or intruder, it doesn't provide a perfectly clear vision of the source. The second effect is the ability to suppress one's own Chi to a near 0, coming off as unimpressive. The mask fading whenever an attack is ready to be made. Making it, so the target has a far limited time to react when contrasted to most users of the arcane/spiritual arts. When achieving this state of mind, the body emits a soft white outline. Magic absorption- Aquaria can grow a pulsating bioluminescence set of moth wings, that will consume all nearby magic from the environment. This does not work on opponent's attacks, however, it can clear up a few magical environmental effects such as fog, sand storms, static lightning clouds, frigid winds, borning winds, cyclones, and steam that is magic-based. Yet darkness or shadow environmental effects will remain unaffected. It can only be activated while in his moth form. Moth stance- This allows the transition of the lunar cycle, the Solar and Lunar arts. After years of practice, Aquaria can combine this dance flawlessly with that of the Stillness art passed down from the generations. Dream walking- A unique noncombat passive, Aquaria does not sleep rather absorbs the energy from the moon to rejuvenate his energy. One negative aspect of this mutation is that he can at times unknowingly slip into the past via echos, or dreams encapsulated in time. While visiting the memories he is unable to alter them, only serving as a passenger to witness the events unfold. This is an ability used for story purposes only, and will not be utilized to gather information unless every party involves in the RP agrees. -Resilences/weakness- +25% Physical and blunt force trauma when the Moth form is active +50%- All light attacks or dark attacks depending on stance. (Only active during Moth form, shadow magic remains unaffected) +50%- Resilience to poison and disease based attack due to racial passive +50% resilience to the effects of temperature. This does not mean ice and fire attacks, rather the cold and heat they produce/ -50%- To current stance, if light darkness (not shadow) if darkness light (not fire or lightning. Only in moth form) -Abilities- Description: Aquaria, is duality made flesh, much like that of our celestial body known as the moon. Two sides of the same astral body blessed by the spirit of the moth. As such, his abilities will contradict each other. Meaning, if he uses a light attack, it will destroy the effects of the dark. And if he uses his darkness abilities, the light will dissipate into nothingness with no mana being restored. Each successful attack will add either a solar counter or a lunar mark. A successful attack also means one that is blocked or parried by either the target or an object imbued with their chi/magic/energy. After five markers, he can unleash his ultimate special abilities. If five solar, just the solar. If 5 lunar, just the lunar. If both dualities can be achieved, the light behaves as superheated particles in the shape of moon crescents, sharp as glass similar to a searing blade. Burning and cutting through unprotected flesh, dissolving shadows, yet having little true mass. As such, even a wave of this attack will not cause a target to budge. Being that the inferno is light-based energy, the burns occur from the inside outward. Unlike fire, which is an exterior burn. Similar to burning an ant with a magnifying glass. While the darkness is more of a heavy mass, generating crushing force and weighing a target down, being struck by a mobile attack is like hitting a thick stone wall. It is important to note, both can never be activated at the same time, minus when 5 markers of each have been collected. At which point, he can shift and maintain both effects for three turns. Before they cancel each other out. (as far as how counters work, each ability will be specified. Keep in mind things are subject to change based on player feedback, and mod demands. As such, feel free to contact me with any concerns. I am rather receptive.) -Solar Abilities- Luminous wings- From the back large elegant, luminous moth-like wings with detailed patterns will sprout. Made from light magic, they don’t provide any utility for flight. They are instead sending forth a blinding pulse of light before flapping forward and backward, generating burning hot winds that can clear debris, hazards, and burn targets launching them backward. The flaps create what appears to be light like dust particles. The burns are far from lethal, yet the kinetic energy generated by the gust at 6 ft can shatter bones depending on the psychology of the target. The force can send anyone or anything under 500lbs flying backward with a max effective range of 20 feet. The winds are cone-shaped and influence both the front and the back. Thus virtually leaving the sides untouched by the effects. This ability doesn’t add a counter of solar. If he moves, the wings will cease their flapping. Yet he can dodge and isn’t locked fully into place. Lunar crescent- Can create a single 6 inches thick and 5 feet wide, crescent shape attack of heated light, capable of burning and cutting flesh yet utterly dispersed by armor or barriers resulting in no apparent effect aside from burning any shadows nearby (2 feet of impact). Incapable of severing limbs or slicing a target in half, as the cut will only be 1 inch deep. The wound will be cauterized from the heat and tissue being cooked from within. As such, the target will not bleed outside of the initial impact. This skill only adds a solar counter if the flesh is hit. Moonlight beam- Able to fire a straight beam of light energy, the beam can only last for 2 seconds at a time and is six inches in diameter. Capable of traveling up to 25 ft, at which point it loses any damage potential beyond that range. Within 15 ft, the beam can melt through steel if held for the whole 2 seconds, anything beyond that, and it can be dispersed harmlessly by armor or magical barrier. If within 15 ft, this adds a counter if blocked, hit, or parried. If beyond 15ft only if the flesh is hit. Solace slash- The blades become coated in superheated light, emitting white fire that when slash creates a line of laser that follows the blades extending their reach to 7ft. Due to the attack being near massless as it is light, the extensions will have no effect on the target as far as kinetic energy is concerned. It can be deflected and dispersed by a magical barrier but can heat armor. While not melting it, causing the skin and flesh behind to be burned by the heat after two slashes to the same area. The beams can not linger unless the blades are in motion. As such, blocking them, or having them strike against armor would result in them fading. Only adds a counter if the flesh is burnt. Lunar flame- Aquaria can conjure a stream of superheated white light resembling that of a flame from his fingers tips. Burning the flesh from all nearby targets as it erupts in a cone-shape. Maximum reach of 13 ft in length and five feet in width. The attack burns the target from the inside out, can be deflected by armor or magical shields of darkness (not shadow). Adds a single solar counter on impact. Solar Ultimate: Moth growth- If five counters are achieved of solar, pincers of light. Capable of attacking a nearby target. The effect will last for only three turns. The pincers again do not provide kinetic energy, can only burn what they hold, and can be deflected by adequate magical barriers. -Darkness Abilities.- (As specified, any use of darkness will end all Solar effects but not the counter. This includes the ultimate.) Shadow Obelisk: Can erect up to two barriers from the dark side of the moon (One per turn), each standing 10 ft tall and 8 ft wide. These dark obelisks are capable of deflecting and protecting against most attacks. The barrier can be consumed by flames but will swallow any and all light that hits them, which are moderate or lesser in scale or power. Intense light attacks, however, will disrupt and disperse them into the wind. The barrier can be erected within 8 ft of the caster in any direction. No counter added. Dark hairs- Able to grow dark, moth-like hair on his palms and feet, permitting him to scale up walls and hang from the ceiling at the expense of constant mana usage. Flame or light attacks will incinerate the hairs, causing Aquaria to fall to the ground. The tiny sharp fibers can pierce through his gloves and sandals, permitting them to be used even when covered. No counter added Abyssal Shard- This permits the generation of a dark, jaded like a spike. Unable to do anything but pierce an opponent through light armor, will appear from the shadows of nearby objects, or from the shadow the opponent may cast on an object other than the floor and their own body (To include even the body of Aquaria). The crystal-like matter can be consumed by Aquaria to add one Lunar counter. It can be incinerated by flames or powerful light sources, Even shattered with a high enough frequency. It can only form within 20 ft of the caster if foreign shadows are around, or an object from which the opponent can cast their shadow. Inky stain- Can create a 20 ft long, 20 ft wide line of slippery darkness serving as a slick road, allowing Aquaria to slide at speeds up to 45 mph across them to evade attacks. In the end, he can fire another to extend its reach; if not, it will end after the 20ft limit. It can also be coated on walls and ceilings to use with his Dark hairs' ability for further utility. It provides no counter and can be incinerated by flames or powerful light attacks. An opponent may slip on the material, however much like any slick surface, it can be negated. Void fingers- Aquaria can coat his fingers in darkness, encapsulating them in a hard diamond-like martial that is jagged in nature. The artificial claws can extend up to 12 feet in length or be launched as a projectile up till 25 ft in a fan shape pattern. Drilling into the flesh of targets in impact, capable of piercing up to light armor. Adds a Lunar counter on a successful hit. Dark Side of the moon- Aquaria is able to create intense darkness, covering a 25ft diameter around himself. The blackness is so potent; it can be felt. No light will illuminate through it; however, large amounts of fire or a powerful gust can disperse it. The thick shade from the moon will remove anyone's sight within, minus the caster. As well as alter their sense of feel slightly, however, the ability to sense magic will not be affected, nor smell. Furthermore, any light-based attacks will be consumed, furthering the reach of the effect. The darkness also will muffle any and all sound, as it’s a sensory deprivation field. It does this by manipulating the vibration of air molecules within. The lack of sound and alteration of the sense of smell, however, does impact Aquaria as a two-edged sword. It is said that those trapped within, given enough time, will go mad. (This is a rumor and doesn’t actually happen unless the player is fine with it for story sake.) The Kitsune can consume the dark field to add a counter. But doing so will remove all beneficial effects it provided. This ability has a three turn cooldown AFTER expiration and may only last for two turns unless light attacks are fed to it, in which case a turn is added per attack. Lunar ultimate: Man on the moon- Covers himself in darkness from head to toe, blurring his movements while also providing a magical armor capable of deflecting lesser magic attacks (Such as a basic magic missile). It provides a boosted defense from physical while enhancing the kitsunes speed and strength by 35%. The armor itself can be dispersed, or burned away with either fire or light magic. Lesser attacks will cause the darkness to wither away from the point of impact, reforming next turn, while potent sources will instantly turn the coating into nothingness. Streams of fire or light will be defended against for 2 seconds before the armor dissipates, giving way to exposed and vulnerable flesh. Ths suit may only last for three turns. -Aquaria's Bio- Prelude War and the pain it brings not even time can fully mend. Though the peasants may move on, and the sacrifices are romanticized by the generations that follow. And even if the scars somehow heal, the influence of those wrinkles forever alters the composition of the land and its inhabitants. The foreboding truth is war has changed; the era of technology has forever shaped the landscape. The eons of honing one's craft rapidly dissolve and fade into obscurity, as the quick resolution of the caster rifle has served as a catalyst to bridge the gap between seasoned, and more green soldiers. The white sands empire is undergoing a cultural, technological, and spiritual metamorphosis that will only further sow divisive seeds of discourse. A storm lurks just beyond the horizon, a battle for the very soul and future of my homeland. My story, my story, is just that of a humble man, thrust into a spiral of self-destruction. A pawn of the state, a weapon of war. Hero to some, an insidious demon to others. The reality is seldom so easy to categorize as the truth often falls in the middle. Like all who live by the sword, I have done terrible things for the right reasons. But good intentions seldom bear benevolent fruit, if only the world were so simple. This is my story, one of the last masters of a dying craft trying to find their place in this ever-shifting sands of his world. Chapter 1, “Forged in fire.” Like all young men, I honored the old ways. Finding peace in “simpler” times, my naivety clear now with the gift of hindsight. Yet during those blissful days of my youth, I found myself blinded and enamored by the honor of conflict. My father instilled in me from a young age that a man’s merit can only be achieved when properly tested by the inferno of war. Like a furnace, the clashing and smoldering heat hammered away a man’s imperfections, leaving behind the true mettle of one’s worth. Even now, despite all that has transpired in my life. I can appreciate the truth in those words. My father never lied to me; rather, I misinterpreted what it was he meant. Casting aside his wisdom and subtle warnings as a sign to further my arrogant delusions of grandeur. It is with great disdain, peering back through the lens of time, that I wish I knew then what I knew now. Like many, I also envy the road not taken, frivolously pondering how things would have turned out if I had turned left and not right. But we are each the masters of our own destiny, the path I set was my own. A reality though bitter and bleak still must be accepted if progress is to ever be made. For the truth is rarely pleasant to behold, easy to shy, then to accept the errors of one’s ways. Easier to find a scapegoat, some nefarious will to cast blame on like some sort of temperamental child. No one made me join the military; no one forced my hand. It was by my own volition, compelled to prove my worth as a man to my father. Through blood, steel, sweat, and tears I would carry our family banner with misplaced pride. It wasn’t till I first gutted a man, and saw what we are truly made of did I understand the folly of this course. I still remember the smell of burning flesh, hair, and the sound of lamentation as we set our enemies' lands ablaze. The trauma of war has two outcomes, it either breaks a man's psyche like a glass bottle into a thousand pieces. That no matter how much you try to glue the pieces back together, they will never be perfect again. Or breaks the man into a jagged weapon, while never hole he can learn to use what he has earned through the tribulations of the war machine to further himself. I was the latter, returning home after my first campaign a different man. Seeing my younger sister training, the sight of which caused my heart to sink with anguish. Matsumota seemed destined to make the same error. Staring into my father's eyes, I finally understood what he meant all those years ago, I have proved my mettle refined like the ore to forge a blade. Yet like a smith, I never once asked myself what it was I would be sacrificing to achieve the end result. I was no longer a boy, no longer a young man in my father and mother’s eyes. But another fool forged in the fires of conflict inheriting the sins of my father. Chapter 2 “The dark side of the moon.” Years passed, two campaigns later as I relaxed within my empire of dirt. I was peering out across the vast expanse of the desert, walking along the edge of the gaped plunge that is the obsidian canyon wearing my metaphorical crown of thorns fit for a liar. The pink sun was rising, it’s soft, inviting glow reaching just beyond the horizon's edge. Most may have heard the orchestra of the birds, succumbing to the dreadful illusion of peace. Yet I heard the rhythmic drums of wars, the distant hoarse singing of steel friction against steel. Dark rumors were reaching my ears days in advance, the local tribes of beastkin uniting, refusing to bend the knee to the changing laws of the land. A hungry, ravenous empire was gorging itself with anything unfortunate to be in its path. Tightening its grip as slowly, I watched our freedoms and future erode away from the tides of “progress.” I felt a kinship with those “less civilized” folk my empire sought to subjugate. Their free will and untethered nature as a culturally enriched nomadic group fascinated me. So one could imagine the depression setting in when the letter arrived, informing me that the crown demanded my blade once more. Gathering my things, I bid my sister farewell. I gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, ruffling that pinkish hair as the bannermen gathered outside of my estate's gate. I remember her tears, yet despite the cherry blossoms being in full bloom that time of year, nothing was truly beautiful that day. Feeling the insatiable need to be strong, serving as her anchor, I would callously march off to war once more. Though deep down inside, I wept, not for my life nor the possibility of death's unforgiving grip. But for the pain war had wrought on our relationship, my lifestyle wounding all those I shared bonds with. Like a fine woven tapestry, we were all interconnected; what disturbs one strand would loosen them all. Like lambs to the slaughter, our superior organization, resources, wealth, technology, and training proved too much for the uprising. Riding on armored scarabs back, with blade drawn, I would barrel my forces beyond their line. The war machine was stampeding rapidly, carving a deep wound that even the bravest of their generals couldn't cauterize in time. It seemed this would be a quick campaign; unlike my peers, I took little enjoyment in torturing and prolonging this conflict. I wanted to end it swiftly, mercilessly, and with an ounce of humanity still left intact. The taste of war bitter, stomach-churning like rotted meat to the palate. The sea of white dunes painted in crimson, littered in corpses to feed the scavengers who waited on the sidelines. Longing for us to depart so that they may enjoy the bounty of our slaughter. Gnoll, Lizardkin, Wulfgar, Goatkin, Giant, Orc, and Ogre alike fell to our blades. The newly formed caster rifles proved a pivotal piece of tech. Even then, staring at the bronze barrel, I could sense what was to inevitably come given enough time. Yet no respite would my weary soul taste, the quick resolution I painted for like fawn does water from the oasis would be denied. My queen wanted to set a new standard, make an example of these foolish primitives who dared to stand valiantly against the winds of change. Riding on beetles back, we traversed the Ashlandian mountains, coming across what my commanding officer mentioned was an encampment. Yet using our spyglass even I could see it was a village filled with women, children, elderly the wounded, and noncombatants. I implored my captain to stand down, pleading that these souls were innocent. As if that would absolve me of guilt, for ultimately, when my words fell on deafening ears, and the order was given, I paused momentarily. Before joining the assault, cutting down a woman trying to flee the onslaught of death. Till this day I hear their screams, I see their corpses and those I considered brothers descended on the innocents like a pack of wolves. They were leaping for the jugular with but glee and unbridled restraint. I did nothing; even as I froze, all I could do was watch in horror, with judgemental eyes cast not inward but on the powers that be. My righteous indignation focused on the wrong target, like a fool seeking another to pin it all on. When the dust settled, the ash caking on the corpses those remaining weeks would bring the end of the conflict. Those once free, those spirits I admired from afar broken, forced to carry the yoke of others. I received many medals that day, shook many hands, and was praised for a job all done. All the glory, joyous celebration of the Emerald City, and new hunks of metal deafened by those cries. I was turning to booze to silence the screams, unable to face the sins. Instead of finding it easier to drown them out with poison so I could get a few hours rest every night. I returned home not like the prodigal son, the envy of the town, and my family. But as a broken, distraught and destructive man. Peering up at the moon, I felt a kinship with the symbol of my birth year. Not for it’s the luminous glow that penetrated the night and veil of darkness. Rather the craters were darting its surface like the wounds of my soul, and the side forever touched by darkness like my battered heart. Chapter 3 “Redemption.” The years rolled by, day in and day out the same routine. Drink myself awake, neglect those around me, drink myself to sleep. I was periodically being called on by my fair queen to squash another rebellion and uprising, birthed within the White Sands borders, as well as beyond. Many more ingenious tribes slaughtered by my hand, their cultures extinguished by the gears of the machine that was the empire’s wars. It seemed for a while that this was the only place left for me in the world, my own dark corner. A job that I was qualified and suited to do. Yet no matter the coin, no matter the fight, no matter the booze. The guilt only grew, the burden becoming heavier with each day as the gaping wound in my heart was left to fester. The infection was running deep, tainting every facet of my life. Even my sister found herself feeding on the negative Chi emulating from her older sibling. Returning home one day, from a foreign concept, I would see the plumes of darkness barreling to the heavens. The house of my fathers, the life I knew ablaze. As the empire had turned its guns and swords toward that little, I still had left to cling to. The soldiers accompanied me, drawing their blades, as I swiftly usurped their ghost from corporeal shells. I was leaving behind the eviscerated husk of my enemies as a testament of the wrath and anguish growing within. Was this the old one’s punishing me for past transgression? No, the so-called higher beings didn’t care about mortals and their existence. If they did, they would have intervened centuries ago to stem the infection our darker nature can bring if left unchecked. There was no grand plan, no design, no purpose behind the slaughter of my people. Ironic, for the first time, I no longer had to guess what my own victims felt like as I turned their own world into pillars of salt. I could experience it, laughing as I drifted down the narrow road, certain death would find me too. Fleeing the desert, I found myself within the fungi forest, wandering the maze of giant mushrooms as the sun would settle from sight. The lesser celestial bodies were twinkling in the sky as a cold autumn eve greeted my flesh. Dropping to my knees, I would place the tip of the blade against my abdomen, convinced ending it all was the only way to find peace. Not because I truly wanted to die, but because I wanted to be released from the cries of the damned who haunted my every step. The lack of booze prevents the sound of silence, let alone a muffle from greeting vexed mind. Yet before the tip could plunge itself into my abdominal cavity, the sound of something crying for help reached my ears. Having nothing to live for, I figured why not die in battle instead. At the time, it seemed poetic, perishing as I lived. But the source was not some fair maiden or a lost merchant on the road being harassed by some highwaymen. But a moth, as large as an eagle emitting a soft glow trapped by a carnivorous shroom. Sorrow filled my heart as I cut the creature free; the intelligent insect showering me with needless unmerited praise. The pest was refusing to just float away, instead of following me as I prepared to once more end my bleak existence. It’s radiant warmth, otherworldly glow, and soothing alien voice placating my demons long enough to speak wisdom. The will of the moon, an ancient spirit of folklore and legend informing me that redemption is never out of grasp. And that if I followed her to her people, they would be able to assist me at a shot at finding acceptance with my devils. Feeling I had nothing to lose, we would head out across the forest before exiting the land I knew as home. Traveling through many foreign sights until stumbling across a pyramid-like structure, tucked deep within a thick, unforgiving jungle. Here moth humanoids greeted me, thanking me for saving and bringing one of their own homes. For many years I would practice my art, fusing it with their own unique style of blade dancing, learning the value of equilibrium between the light and the dark. Edification brings with it a sense of belonging, wholeness, and, most importantly, peace. I dedicated my life to their monk-like ways, studying their ancient tomes and basking in that honorable society. From the moment they wake, till they sleep. Each member worked diligently in the craft to further their own from the greatest aristocrat to the lowliest of stations. I have never seen such commendable discipline. Oneness with the universe and their place in it. While I couldn’t undo the damage wrought by my bloodstained hands, I could use the darkness and the light to bring about a better world. Though what constituted a better world, even their Wisemen and medicine women refused to illuminate upon. They were claiming that every soul, no matter how ill, brings forth good Chi to the world. And no matter how holy, brings forth corrupt Chi. That life wasn’t a matter of good or evil, dark versus light. Rather the balance of the dream, and one’s own position within the cosmic order. -Epilogue- In a dream, I saw it, dragons returning, an undead horde, my motherland at war, and my dear sister suffering. I thought she was dead, foolishly my presumption leading to abandonment. Sweet, innocent Matsumoto now walking the same vile path I did, her own light being encapsulated by darkness. Bidding my friends farewell, I left, traversing the world before me trying to head home. Maria followed me, the moth I had saved earlier. As she said, we were bound, our souls linked ever since I prevented her digestion. No matter my protest, her will, and stubbornness never waned. Begrudgingly I would accept her request, though secretly I enjoyed her company. I pray that whoever may find this will learn from my mistakes, learn that good and evil are merely constructs we create to classify the world. I could have filled these parchments with stories of success, grand ambitions, and my greatest feat. But I, Aquaria Devante, saw fit not to, for we can learn the most from our stumbling. The fall never matters rather how we get up and what we do once we avert our destructive tendencies.

Maelstrom was rather pissed that his idea was ridiculed, taking account that sulphur is highly flammable and toxic, Elrick seems to underestimate the power of gas fires, but to his own sense he had concerns of his own, regarding the wellbeing of the initiates "Ms. Addison, I'd advise to clear the designated encampment site of trees, foliage dark cycles means there would be less breathable air for us to breathe and to fuel the fire, the trees would serve as good firewood but there's another issue regarding the larvae, I heard that Sulphuric gas is highly flammable and toxic, I'd advise travelling west where there is less of this gas and camp there" looking at Asher, realising that the concern Asher had not said had been represented. He is a bit happy to help someone with the same idea with him, regarding the camp he continued "As for the camping formation I'd recommend the centralisation of horses in the camp, to prevent anyone from forcibly walk back from this patrol as for perimeter guard I would volunteer, and I guess Mr. Nightwalker would love to do it too and for the total amount of perimeter guard, I'd advise 6 personnel to be placed and guard in 2 or 3 times 3 hours so that everyone could get an equal amount of rest, this behaviour is encouraged by nomadic people who had to move constantly, so I guess that this method is foolproof" Seeing that the nightwalker and the Templar does not made a good combo he stands between both of them "Enough you two, you were both equals in this group, I don't care which God you pray to but for the sake of the others calm down" The cheerful crackles arose from inside of the armor, as if the banter that just happened were nothing more that two kids fighting over a cookie

"I am Li-El ben Avinoach, and I shall walk this path." "Shethid Fakir. Professional locksmith and traveler from a distant world. I'll take Gaia's offer and walk the path she has laid out for me." "Marigold Orion Ravenspire, I wish...to walk in the sun once more; Please teach me how" Michael wore a look of unabashed satisfaction as each of them responded. In total transparency he celebrated their official first steps into the light of Gaia. In his head, there already gestated ideas imparted from on high for their evolutions under the All-Mother. Michael saw a crown of light, an iron key broken off at the base, and already the mask that Li-El wore being put to great use for the betterment of these individuals, the sovereign Terran Cities, and all of Valucre. “For you I see a crown fit for the king of this Imperium,” he said to Marigodl. “To you, a key will be born,” he said to Fakhir. “Broken though it may seem, it will unlock every door you could possibly imagine and more.”No longer will scores of evil run rampant in our world. We will bring the might of the Goddess down on their heads.” Lastly, his head turned to the Apostate. Gazing through the jaws of the mask on the prisoner’s eyes, he felt remorse for the letdown Li’El must have felt when whatever it was that happened got him imprisoned. “Life isn’t a straight line, but one thing is certain: you’ve made it here, and I’ll never let you be betrayed again.” “And I reaffirm my vow to follow my Mother and spread her will until the day I die.” They sealed their vows with one last drink before retiring for the night. In the morning they departed for Aspyn, where they would convene for their future plans and approach an unexpected foe.