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To those I am in collaboration with, This update should have come weeks ago, so I do apologize for the tardiness in presenting it now. We have moved and-although settled for the most part-have shoddy internet, strange school schedules for the kids/hubby, and I am in the process of orienting at my new job. At some point when I finish orientation and convert back to my usual night schedule, I will return. I may be away right now but I am still very much with you. -Lili 😍 PS: That was supposed to just be a heart but since I am unable to delete it via mobile at this time, you get adoring eyes along with this ❤ and a 🍪.

well you see, long ago, before the fire nation attacked,

@desolate 'X' marks the spot! I am fine with it just being a small power plant, or if @The Alexandrian has preferences for what that area is like to optimize Cae's ritual then I defer to that. Here is where I have everyone on my side placed. Scene 1: Repel Kahd'Xel at the city wall - Michael (me), Marigold (@Djinn&Juice), Stormbreaker (@Metty) Scene 2: Fight off Xelken in the streets - Yshmael (@L E V I A T H A N), TOTEMs (me), Arashi (@Metty) Scene 3: Protect Cae as she performs a ritual near a suitable power generator - Shethid & Shishi (@Zashiii), Li'El (@danzilla3), Cae (@The Alexandrian) If anyone has issues with this say something here and we'll sort it out! 🙂 Working on a post now.

Hi there! I'm ZeeNathan. You can either call me Zee or Nathan. I'm new to the website and am looking for partner to roleplay with me. I have several ideas ready to go and, if you like it, we can costumized it together! But..... Before we get into the plots, here are somethings I expected from my partner and what you can expect from me. It might be a bother, but please read this first so there won't be any problems in the future. Since now you know what I expected from my partner and what you can expect from me, if you met the requirement or if I met your requirement, then, you can continue reading. If there is something you don't like about my requirements, we can still talk about it. I'm an open-minded person. At least that's what most people around me said, not me. Well, enough with that. Let's move on to the plots, shall we? 1. Not The Chosen One [Cross Dimension Adventure] Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Adventure, Magic, Mystery, Action, Romance (optional) 2. We Just Want To Play! [VR World] Genre: RPG, Fantasy, Virtual Reality, Adventure, Comedy, Slice of Life, Modern, Futuristic 3. Your Warmth [Cross species Romance] Genre: Modern Fantasy, Dark Romance, Drama, Mafia, Action, Shadow Organization 4. Untitled [Sci-fi Military School Life] Genre: Sci-fi, Slice of Life, School Life, Military, Futuristic, Action, Fantasy (optional), Romance (optional) There are still a lot of plots that I didn't put here since I don't want this to be too long. These plots is not fixed. Meaning, if there is something you don't like about it, we can still change it together. I also hope you can add some of your ideas into the plot so the story will feel like it belongs to both of us! Welp, I didn't realize its already this long... Woops. Well, if you're interested in one of the plot, reply to this post or PM me so we can discuss things further. See you later!

I say probably because I’m not sure but I’ll update as things resolve. This will be a pretty major update both on the core forum software as well as a theme update and consolidation

His entrance had been loud - however small her skeleton crew, if there was even just one footsoldier then that was a footsoldier who was going to be intrigued by the foundation-shaking introduction of Caden into Phoebe's office. Even one footsoldier was one complication too many. Aside from her own personnel there was a matter of the citizens and other small business owners in the surrounding area. Martial Town's communications arrays were on the right side of sophisticated, which meant that jamming emergency signals would have required more time and setup than Caden could put his hands on in the small window of time afforded him - and time was now, as always, of the essence. The fact that he had put himself in a room with a Dead officer was no less than a direct function of an attack launched between breaths. This interstitial space was one the Vilads occupied, was one of the primary reasons for involving them in the scheme; they could not completely dam up Martial Town's law enforcement response but they could dam it up, slow it down, throttle its flow and redirect it. They both had reason to be concerned about police. Phoebe would want to avoid an investigation, she wouldn't call the cops herself following her militant coup d'etat, but Caden had the more to fear of a sudden deluge of police officers. Leaving the cops to the Vilads, and the remnants of Dead to Liam and Vito, Caden focused on the matter at hand - to wit, the steel and glass desk hurtling at him. Cat's Grace flushed through his body. With enhanced speed and agility Caden threw himself at the nearest wall feet first then kicked off of it, flattening himself against the ceiling as the desk punched through the space underneath, and landing on his feet in a slight crouch. They locked eyes. Caden fought the temptation to rush her again, intuition outpacing his logical mind, years of combat instinct suggesting in a wordless manner that if he got too close while she was expecting it, his might be the next object thrown about. He made a ring with his thumb and forefinger, eyes never leaving the prize, and blowing with a sharp breath into the circle his fingers made; what sprang out at Phoebe from the once empty space was a jet of greasy fire nearly as tall as the woman herself.

I did it! I wrote the summaries and have submitted this thread for canonization. Thank you everyone for reading and participating. It means a lot to me that you all were able to get engaged with the character that I created and the scenario that I came up with. I deeply appreciate every post that people made and every moment that their presence here allowed. I look forward to writing again with you all in the future and hope that you all have a lovely day! -Squid Peanut

I'll be away from Valucre likely until December. Details in my original (updated) AFV post.

It was night. Somewhere, somehow, between the shimmering, flickering, portal, and the lush, overgrown, wall of trees on its other side, they had lost the day. It had just vanished, like so many things were prone to do here, and left them with the black blindness of a moonless night. However, where the team had lost the sun's light, they gained its heat as the sticky and humid air wrapped around them like a too-close dancer in a too-busy nightclub. It was unpleasant, suffocating and handsy, and all-together impossible for any of them slip away from. The forest rolled out eternally in front of the newcomers- a rug, down a hallway, that never ended and never started. It was seemingly impenetrable; their travel would be slow going, for certain, and hard-fought. Vines as thick as a dwarf's chest shot from the ground to the distant treetops high overhead- sometimes, the vines were lashed to the trees with enormous sticky webs; other times, they hung free. Still, often the creepers carried draping plants and tangled birds nests as wide as a family's dinner table as they disappeared into the far-flung canopy. Beneath the newcomers' feet, the ground was soft, almost padded- there was a sense that they stood upon millennia of fallen leaves and degraded scat, with little feel as to what lay beneath that. The roots were so buried they couldn't be seen; here, rocks were rare, though the terrain promised an ankle-turn or two if they chose to take a route toward only visible point of interest- a distant mountain rising to a craggy peak, bare to the clouds and the whistling winds. Besides that, there was only the deep green shadow and a feel of dreadful solitude. As each person arrived, they would be welcomed by a pervasive lack. Absolute silence reigned; there was no wind noise, no crickets, no distant howls or screams. No low and threatening growls; no roar of orcs cresting a distant hill. No roaring fire; no click of a gun; no snap of a twig, crack of a branch, snick of a knife. Just nothing. Nothing. They were here to set a totem in place- to bring Alignak to the uncivilized and spread its word, and its power, across the face of Valucre. An ideal location would be high and isolated, but would they chance the mountain? Would they travel at night? Choices come with consequences, consequences with challenges, and challenges with growth. There was balance in this land; there was harmony. At least until they arrived.

"Hold for a moment please." Adam held- for a moment, he even held in place, waiting patiently, until his natural energy levels bubbled over, and he launched himself upward from his desk and began to pace. There was a lot to plan - build time, travel time, training, retro-fits to the existing units.. He pushed a breath out, letting his cheeks inflate as he pursed his lips, then abruptly crossed toward a second comm-unit mounted on one of the mural-covered walls. A rousing symphony erupted from the comm unit- apparently, Michael's hold music was an old Aspyn battle hymn which Adam found himself humming along to as he activated the second comm-unit. "Janus, get me Geralmo and Rosa." The automated voice responded immediately. <Warning: It is eleven forty-four at night.> "I know." Adam came to a stop, folding his arms across his chest. After enough 'gentle' reminders that his staff didn't keep the same long hours he did, Adam had written the code for this little doozy, which did nothing but irritatingly remind him when he was trying to contact people after reasonable hours. It didn't stop him- just reminded him. "Janus, override polite consideration: contact Geralmo and Rosa when the call with Michael is complete. Advise them that it's a priority call." <Polite-consideration overridden. You have overridden polite-consideration three times this month.> Adam scrubbed his palm over his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. <Call scheduled, I will advise you when it is connected.> The man paced until Michael back on the line, his footsteps marking the half-seconds for as long as it took him to cross his office. The Major would hear his change of position when he got back on the line; much further away now, and moving, enough that Adam had to project to be heard clearly through the phone. "...but it would be ideal if we could depend on the TOTEMs for supplemental or primary support on a third front." "Of course, I wouldn't have reached out if we didn't intend on helping." He paused, mulling over the shortcuts he could take to get the machines in Michael's hands sooner. "Having the Fauxton available will certainly speed things up." acknowledged Adam. A slow exhale escaped his lips as he recalculated, thoughtfully scratching the day's scruff on his chin. "Have the accountants connect in the morning to work out the details. If we can get use of the Fauxton immediately, I'll send you trainers in the morning so we can get your operators up to speed on the models you choose. We recommend one operator for every T.O.T.E.M. deployment along with an appropriate number of model-dependent backup operators. In the meanwhile, we'll keep working on defensive equipment for your men. We're also partnering with Argus for treatment modalities. I can't promise anything, but they've been miracle-workers with previous catastrophes. I'm not sure if you heard about the water troubles in Last Chance, but they saved a lot of lives there. I'm hoping they can do the same here."

That's me being lousy at explaining. I'm trying to write with more conscious word choices and characters that relate to water as opposed to, just as an example, death. Nymphs, sirens, ocean themes, etc. vs. graves and death and the like.

Vito watched from outside, sensory scrying random kobolds at will. It provided him some insight into the ongoing, from a safe distance. Some of his men lasted longer than others, with most ending with a single blade swing. The battle went both as expected and desired, mass death and allies breaking through enemy lines. Limbs flew as his soldiers threw themselves at the skeletons as if they wanted death, with the thirst for blood coursing through them. His allies had created further entrances, only catering to the hoard flooding inside. Blood began soaking the streets outside, the pavement quickly becoming a dark shade of red. Mass death was to be expected, along with mass mess. Even with but a few minutes going by, the number of combatants seemed to drop quickly. Vito's left eye began twitching, a slight twinge of regret nibbled away at him. Knowing that many of his people had died in an avoidable conflict, something that always came about such battles. But deep down he knew such a sacrifice could serve a greater purpose. "Serve the cause, serve the one who waits for you and serve your clan. The dead are but examples of what you'll avoid if you battle on." Vito whispered, his voice echoed by his shamans to all of his warriors. The soldiers let out a second battle cry, fusing all their weight once again to push enemy lines further. A temporary, but effective measure to ensure his position in the engagement. The wave crushed a portion of The Dead's foot soldiers, torn apart by a flurry of claws and crude swords. But the swarming tactic could only last so long before the enemies organised tactics took control, leading to yet another back and forth battle line. 'I knew we should've just bombed the place.' As time progressed, the raider began questioning the tides of battle. His number of soldiers dwindled further and further, he'd lost sight of Liam and his men as they broke enemy lines. He could sense waves of magic being cast, with no way of knowing whether or not it was a killing blow. Was the raider going to have to join in the bloodshed? Would it even make a difference at this point? But as things seemingly always go between the two, Caden somehow managed to escape the hoards of enemies half alive. With an obvious queue, Vito leapt down from the building and began making his way towards the others. Upon reaching the exit, he was presented to the now unconscious bodies of Caden and Liam. The remainder of his men seemed to be finally retreating, knowing their mission was complete. "Okay, I think it's home time." With a second thud of his sword, it let a similar but higher pitched hum. From a distance, it would appear that a large black cloud had begun descending. But from inside, an enormous swarm of kraul nymphs began to take over the area. They scavenged the dead bodies, tearing flesh and drinking the bodily fluids. The dead kobold bodies were reduced to shards of bone and scraps of organs. Little trace of the raider men remained, with even the blood soaked floors near clean. The Dead's foot soldiers gnawed to nothing, with little but bone dust remaining. Even at such a young age, the natural scavenger tendencies and hive mind caused the nymphs to loot the area. Taking any objects that were shiny, metallic or remotely abnormal. From shards of glass, gems, swords to pots and pans. Even some dead bodies were brought up, much to the raiders dislike. The many tiny kraul surrounded the remainder of Caden's forces, gripping them with a thousand tiny hands. With the combine numbers of the kraul nymphs, the survivors were flown upwards to safety. Even some foe's were dragged upwards, unwillingly brought along. An airship waited above, a near identical one to that of Caden's own. With some of the dead foot soldiers being dragged upwards and later secured. Once safe inside, the group was transported to the Vilads safe house. Vito kept the ship slow and silent during its travel, stealthy enough to ensure they couldn't be tracked back and current location unknown. Vilad Safehouse Vito sat in silence, unsure of how to proceed. He simply sat, waiting for the others to talk.

Arthur listened to Archibald closely, standing by his bulging rucksack as he considered the learned man's words. His interest was piqued when the older scholar mentioned that they'd been corresponding but suddenly went dark. Considering the conditions in Yh'mi, there was really only three ways to communicate with Inns'th during an expedition. The first involved magi-tech devices but Inns'th wasn't connected to Empire's power grid, and such communication devices added unwelcomed weight to an adventurer's pack. The other two ways involved sending a runner either half-way (meeting a runner from Inns'th itself) or the entire way to Yh'mi to deliver messages. In the latter case, the runner often came back with extra supplies from Yh'mi. Of course, sans technology, the messages were possible to deliver but incredibly dangerous, splitting off from the main group and treading the wasteland on their own. "That doesn't bode well for Dr. Heydrich, but perhaps only their runner has gone missing and they're prioritizing searching for them before contacting you," the black mage replied hopefully, though a sense of skepticism shrouded his words. The mutant wanted to hope for the best, but it wouldn't have been the first time he sought missing persons only to find them dead. Arthur maintained a confident look for Archibald's benefit as he reached out to take one of the sketches from the scholar's hands. "These don't look like anything in Yh'mi's bestiary that I've heard of," Arthur noted with some curiosity, studying the crude drawing and the notes written in the margins as Artanthos returned from the stables. Grabbing his massive rucksack, the mutant settled the straps over his broad shoulders when the erstwhile knight suggested they depart. "Agreed. None of us seem very tired and we have a lot of ground to cover before we reach Dr. Heydrich and the others." With that, the black mage began leading the way towards Inns'th's gate and the wasteland that lay beyond. @Spooky Mittens @Fierach @Phoebe @Damnatus @Tenkai Matsumoto

Fudge, sorry. I'll edit it now.

Hi, my name is Calamity Hawk, or you can just call me Hawk if you don't wanna have to say both. I've been role playing and writing for a few years now, let's say 3 to 5 years and I'm a teenager, and so because of that I am in school and busy quite a lot, with doing my work and taking care of my siblings. I enjoy music, drawing, writing, and reading, my favorite song is "Requiem of the Crazies" by Rusty Cage, I'm not the best at drawing but I am trying to learn, I haven't wrote something really but I do really enjoy, and my favorite book is probably "The Hobbit" by J. R. R. Tolkien (even though I have many I will say I enjoyed this one quiet a lot).

A flame of memory flickered before his mind's eye. The net was already cast around Phoebe and Caden already in the process of tightening it around her, of forming that net into a noose, when an unbidden memory bubbled to the fore of his mind and interrupted the needle-like concentration required to bring his spell to full maturity. It took only the name and face of the man who had set so much of his life into motion - Elnic Fuller. The sudden recollection was more odd, less potent, not a transportation to another point in space-time but a curious glimmer of color and shade. The second memory was stronger, full-bodied, commanded a headier bouquet. It clouded his eye against the incoming I-beam, which struck Caden on the side, cracked a rib, winded him. An infernal marriage of momentum and inertia stayed the man's course for him and their two bodies collided. Caden's eyes were blank, still in that faraway place. The memory was of him and his uncle fishing in the lake north of Last Chance. Caden as a child on the cusp of manhood, small and skinny, his uncle in the prime of his life, the young man chewing the end of a cigar he never seemed to light, the young boy sulking as he cast his line. The uncle slapping him on the shoulder that he knew the boy had bruised losing a fight against two other kids. 'That kid knew that no leader rules alone so he used one of his loyal subjects to help him win a fight he knew he wasn't going to be able to win alone. If you wanna cry about it go ahead and cry about it then get your shit together and plan your counterattack.' His third memory is holding his uncle's hand as the man slips into the patient, waiting arms of death. A mage's meteor swarm summoned on him while he was walking his grandchildren towards the wishing well, because they didn't care who got caught up in the crossfire, if their war swept up civilians along with the soldiers. That was his enemy, and Caden would adapt to them. Holding Elnic's limp hand in his own, trembling with plummeting grief and electric rage, he swore to do no less than to exact the same price from his enemies as they had made him pay. Caden's eyes resolve to clarity just as his hands find Phoebe's neck. Tears stream from his face and drop onto hers in a bitter rain. "You took him from me." The pulsing veins distorting his face and twisting the landscape of his arms make clear that the strength Caden is plying on her is supernatural. He intends to die just as he intends to kill her - here and now. But alas, the best laid plans . . . From his vantage Caden lacks the insight to identify the nature of the reprisal. He only knows something strikes him across the face, breaking his nose and stunning him. In that brief moment of bedlam Phoebe escapes his grasp. In the moment after a massive force snaps onto him from above; his legs withstand the force but the ground gives way, and without a platform to brace himself against, the force above sweeps him down and slams him into the ground, cratering the floor. Caden lies unconscious behind enemy lines.

"You know you're going to die here." The misdirection, amidst the crash of glass and the clatter of steel, as the grandious table was reduced to a waterfall of crystal shards and ruined supports. The man was well-trained- an eight foot wide desk and he'd lept it like a tabby leaps an inconvenient gate. It was frustrating, to say the least, and Phoebe took a few steps backward and drew her telekinetics inward into the thin, flexible, armor that usually covered her curves and valleys. In this case, it smeared the blood trickling from her wounds, a garish display that wrapped the First in a murderous mask. She tracked him as he landed, graceful and silent. It began to settle with her that this wasn't a mistake; he wasn't lost, this wasn't an accident, and he wasn't here for Amirah. It's funny, this wasn't the first time someone had tried to assassinate Phoebe- but it was the first time they'd managed to get this close. Her expression settled into something hard and unforgiving- a glimpse of Skeleton behind the woman; the ugly truth behind a pretty face. The First was already moving as Caden circled his fingers- she lived with a mage, married him even, and had been around enough to know that absolutely no good comes from random hand movements in battle. If it didn't make sense, dodge, so she did- tumbling to the side in a pained movement that ripped through the wound on her stomach as Caden's fire lit up the room in an orange flare. She came up stumbling, holding herself as she narrowed her eyes and shot a streaming waterfall of telekinetics out at Caden, aiming to push the man back and keep him away from her. He wouldn't see it; not unless there was more magic about him than the fire, but he'd see its movement in the effect it had on the once-organized papers his blast had scattered about the room. There was something eerily familiar about the man, Phoebe considered in the space between breaths- something just tickling the edge of her memory, distant, a face in the crowd somewhere that she should've remembered but just didn't. She'd seen so many faces- brown hair, green eyes, scar.. wait, the scar. Phoebe racked her brain as the blast shot forward. Who the fuck was he?

@Noko @Dupin @Rabbit I should have the IC thread up in the next few days and will post it here when I do. Above is the "session zero" for the things discussed with everybody through DM / PM / etc, trimmed down and consolidated into the broad strokes. If you feel I left anything out please call it out and I'll add it in. Otherwise, see you in the game! I think Noko and I made need a round or two before the others post but then it should break up pretty even

"Well,me'h personal opinion,But I'd keep it close...ver'a hidden for certain worse then a blade which can bleed,or cut anything.is one within the wrong hands.I'd only use such a weapon on enemies.moreover,against those who'm threatened anyone that mattered to me.And when I wasn't in use of it? I'd hide it,either on myself.within a hidden pocket,or beneath floor boards in a place I lived in."¥Celestia murmured,purple-Turqoiuse irises glanced over,lips quirking into a impish grin.¥"Ye'r asking such a question with purpose.t'a see not only our opinions and feelings...but to have an idea of the murderer correct,Gabriel?"¥She queried.Chuckling softly as they walked,Brisk night-air seemed to always put her at ease.during times like this.¥

The game of 20 questions really is quite remarkable as a medium for getting to know the players, and sometimes a single question tells you pretty much everything you need to know. Emilio's answer had notes of adventure, skill, and triumph. Pablo's answer was boorish, simple, and involved farts (I hope). Drift's answer was...Drift's answer. Each development in Drift's story about the great garbage pit debacle was met with captivated nods from Pablo--the type of vigorous nodding that conveys a real "I know what you mean, brother" that is alarming given the nature of the story. By contrast, I was trying my best to not show disgust as I wrote down my own abridged version of the tale. Soon after eliciting those two responses, Emilio began answering Pablo's question about bag placement. "...wherever it fits, it may go." The subtle silence punctuating Emilio's sentence was like the bang used to start a race, but this race has no clear finish line and the only participant is Pablo. The dopey aspiring adventurer immediately set off on a meandering search for good places to lay down the bag. With him scampering to-and-fro, left-and-right, back-and-forth, up-and-down, and in-and-out, the group of four was left with just Drift, Emilio, a full glass of wine, and I. Luckily, being a good host, Emilio didn't leave much room for awkward silences and kept on rolling out question cards from the deck. Yet again, my conjecture about a single question being enough in games of 20 questions was re-affirmed: Drift gave yet another characteristically Drift answer, Emilio gave a very pragmatically Emilio answer, and Pablo would surely not disappoint. Moments after Emilio asked Drift to expand on his answer, Pablo worked his way back to us while visibly relieved to have ditched the heavy bags. He picked up his wine, twirled it in the glass, sniffed it, and performed other unexpectedly purposeful maneuvers with the wine--he was clearly performing tests on the beverage while waiting for a chance to chime in and catch up in the game. During this short pause between Pablo's re-integration and Emilio's question being addressed (or not), a stranger might even confuse Pablo for a non-idiot with sophisticated hobbies like sommeliering--let's see how long the illusion would last...

Linixy did not turn his gaze when he felt the touch of Celestia. An all too familiar feeling consumed his mind. Where ever he traveled, poor were just... just nothing... *How do I find this man? The words came out dark and grim. And what do I do with this dagger once I have it? The bartender puts the ordered drink on the table but it seems Linixy is so caught up in his rage, nothing is of interest anymore. Nothing but bringing that murderer to an end. And maybe use the dagger on the people that stood by and did nothing.

Michael faced without fear the greatest of the average men's fears. Their aberrations, the things crawling out of their darkest dusty corners, spiders with the million glistening eyes of their thousands of venomous children studding their backs, the most impenetrable evils, Michael would unerringly shred every iota of smite to pieces. To do to evil what evil did to good, soil evil even as its cretinous claws scraped to undo good, was Michael's mission. Michael would destroy, defeat, smother utterly the Dredges and Schreis and Liliths of Terrenus until either they or he prevailed, pervaded, and the other made themselves scarce. There was one, however, who he had caught whiffs of. The outline of whose face he saw in the shadows of his nightmares; the final remnant in Michael's life of the omniversal scourge Faustus Clemens: Cain Rose. Would Michael not someday crush them underfoot the same as he did all the rest? He would, he told himself in the fitfulness of his unrest even in the wake of former successes, scour all of Valucre one day as its overseer. Its savior. He would unite all the lands, not just Terrenus, and not just if they let him. He would unite them under one banner regardless. And in the process, he would eradicate all evils, even the ones who yet haunted his darkest dreams. As of late it hadn't simply been the Faustuses and Cains of Valucre who eluded and enraptured him; there was another who was less elusive but perhaps comparatively illusive. Word had reached his desk of an army of unknown wretches. Oh, he didn't know to call them Xelken yet and he didn't know to call Kahd'Xel a smoldering piece of shit— just yet— but he would learn in due time; he already felt it in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right in the lands he held dear. Something else emerged. Not in the pit of his stomach but in the cockle of his hardened heart. A magnetism, an active drawing of him to something. So one night, following the string of crystals he'd planted all across the continent, he found himself within a couple miles of the beacon that had called him. The beacon that was the Lion's Lantern. Little did he know who the owner was. Somewhere near the Black Tower outside of the destroyed Tia, Michael walked through a black forest ridden with ghouls and the tainted souls of Tia's ruin. He walked past husks of goblins, vampires, humans. The light emanating from him seemed to drive them away. Soon the pain of hundreds of thousands of souls began to torment the exterior of his conscience. The pain of others was almost as visible as the fog hanging in the black air around the sacred youth. Why, he wondered, was he drawn so irrevocably to this moving thing? Just as the threat in the northwest must be taken seriously, so too must this beacon. After the uncontrollably empathy of their pain came the smell. The stench. Death, not fruit and not vegetables; meat. New meat, old meat, a blend of it, cooking not with a controlled temperature but over the volatility of a fire. Up ahead, he could see the glow of unnatural flame. Suddenly, living in the waking world, Michael found himself mentally manifesting within one of the nightmares where he sought out one of his greatest demons: Cain Rose. Rounding this tree, ducking under that fallen trunk, Michael eventually neared the clearing where the warbling green sun prevailed. What he saw was a horrific sight, even for the seasoned Peacekeeper, even knowing it was Cain upon who he might emerge. Maybe he had been expecting a nightmare, but he had been so focused on the heart that he had hardly noticed the gore around him until it was practically draped over him. Draped like a net across the branches and over the clearing within which Cain stood, sizzling in the web that had been intentionally strung over the green fire and the boiling cauldron, were the intestines and gore of what must have been hundreds of people. Hours ago, perhaps a day or two ago, there would have been limbs protruding from the cauldron. Instead, now, there simmered within a red broth that sickened Commager to think of its composition. 'Sir!' Tori's voice was as alarmed as it could be. 'This is a high-threat criminal. Surface analysis of the biological tissue shows that these bodies were infected with Maleficince, but there must be at least... 60 bodies involved in this ritual.' Michael, peeking through curtains of gore, saw Cain before Cain saw him. He only knew the demon for his energy, something Commager had faced before. Cain Rose wore a crimson robe, and over his face a skull. Extended from the skull was a surreal aether of antlers. Peering from within was a white miasma of distracted chaos that seemed to be attempting to focus on absorbing the contents of the boiling cauldron. Cain was certainly in some sort of daze. Looking closer at the cauldron, Michael saw that the flames were a healthy natural orange, but exposed to him by Tori was a continuous wave of energy coming from Cain's body that seemed to affect the flames neon, thereby absorbing the latent energies of the poor creatures boiling.

I understand that the primary "currency", in so many words, are contracts. So in terms of gaining financial and political power that is not tied to a character's ability to negotiate with people or navigate byzantine laws, two questions: 1) What are the most liquid forms of currency in Absalom? I assume it has some of the usual suspects, shops with registers, small banks, large and heavily secured banks with safety deposits, private vaults, etc. But want to make sure that's actually the case 2) Are there the equivalent "bearer instruments" in Absalom? Such as bonds that pay out to whoever is holding them and/or an equivalent of bearer instruments for contracts? I think it would be interesting if there are valuable contracts, or deeds, that are under constant guard because the rules stipulate that whoever has them is technically the owner and you can imagine the heisting hijinks that ensue Not trying to argue for either, just wondering about them

~ Alexis ~ So little! She felt her cheeks flush from the alcohol and realized that her tolerance to the vine hadn't improve much, at all really. Much to her chagrin, she would have to keep track of yet another thing that she didn't particularly like that other people enjoyed so much. She hummed a few bars quietly while the pirate and the wizard exchanged banter, about magic, and things, of the sort of we-probably-know-a-few-things-in-common-but-have-secrets-we-must-guard-with-our-lives-because-reasons. "Look who knows a thing or two." the wizard said with a smile. "Yea, I can take up that sort of handy work. Sleep does not always grace me so easily, so forgive me if I sit around with my eyes closed." She found this to be a bit of an odd thing to say. Waiiiiiiiiit, she narrowed her eyes slightly looking into the fire. Is he going to be watching me sleep? She found this idea less than appealing, but at least she could hide in her bedroll. He had seemed fairly normal during the day, but... She watched him set up his little spell, craning her neck slightly to watch the process and noting the assorted ingredients, spell components, she corrected—she noted the assorted spell components and then blinked as he finished. "The trees ought to wake us before we are happened upon, so do not fret if the leaves sing their song. You will know." What does that even *mean*? She arched an eyebrow and glanced over at the nearest tree. You can't sing, she thought, you don't have lungs. Or a brain. Or a musical instrument. She stiffened. Do trees sing? Is that the best tree to make an instrument out of? Should she be cutting down these trees? She found the idea of doing manual labour, especially at that particular time and under those particular influences to be an objectively dumb idea. It's not dumb, it's... She waited for a moment before shrugging and humming away that thought. "Do either of you need anything..? I have a bedroll on my sack if you can put it to use. I do not see myself lying down. Alleviates some of the burden on the spell." "Nope. Not a thing." She said after a moment of consideration. She puffed her cheeks and blew hair out of her eyes. "I guess that means that we're calling it for the night?" She asked. She got up and stretched, yawning loudly and standing on her tippy-toes to get the maximum stretch possible. Looked around briefly and found the ideal spot, there was a felled tree with a large enough log. She picked up her bed roll and bag, and made her way over towards the log. "Good night boys." She said grinning as she dropped her stuff on the other side of the log, bed roll and all, and then tried to pivot her body over the log, she slipped with a bit of a yelp, landing on her rear hidden from view. At least they didn't see it, she thought. "I'm okay!" she called out, unrolling her makeshift bed for the night while rubbing her sore rear. Classy, she thought. She slipped into the fabric and used her bag as a pillow. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it wasn't terrible either. God I want a bath, she thought as she pulled her blonde curls in front of her eyes, trying to look at them in the dark. Quietly, she sang to herself. She didn't mind if the others heard her, but she wasn't making the effort to be heard. "They sent me my love o'er the ocean's blue, they told me she'd never return. They sent my love to the far off waves. yet the love always will burn." She felt the softness of the night wrap its arms around her as the song soothed her mind. She remembered when she learned it; she remembered her mother's voice as she sang it to her. "They found my heart in the waves, he'd come for me they said. I'd wait and ponder the waves of blue, and the love will keep me fed." Alex felt the night take her and melodies danced in her mind. ~ Asleep until Morning ~

Cool sports fields, gyms, artificial bodies of water. Maybe a superdome kind of thing. Besides that let your imagination run wild!

1) It does. Priests are able to bless items and dioceses to bless land 2) It is. I mean this exactly as "commonly deployed". This doesn't mean flawless compliance or expert-level skill across all imaginable circumstances but as a rule of thumb that suffices 3) Generally speaking, anything "unnatural", a definition for which can be found in the quick reference guide: https://www.valucre.com/lore.html/lagrimosa/gaianism-a-quick-reference-guide-r46/I think another good rule of thumb guide is the creatures D&D lists in protection from evil and good (celestials, fiends, undead, etc): https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Protection from Evil and Good#content This is definitely one of those very mobile intersections of freeform where people can, and have, come up with exceptions to a standard. I don't expect all vampires to be allergic to garlic or all demons to have a decidedly Christian bent and exist beyond redemption or all Outsiders to come from identical circumstances and so to respond in identical ways to stimuli, but as a general "here is a map and remember the map is not the terrain" I hope that gives a sufficient outline

Caden was unconscious just long enough for it to matter. Less than a minute. The kind of spectacular knockout that plays itself out in a prize fight and decides the bout but which reliably ends with that party on their feet and walking away, if a little bruised around the ego. But this was no sporting match. In less than a minute soldiers in a war would descend upon him, vultures on roadkill, ants on a wasp, and tear him apart for their queen. If he had his senses about him Caden could devastate many among their number while simultaneously making his escape. But, for less than a minute, he floated in a miasma of naked vulnerability. A child could straddle him and slit his throat. Caden was already beginning to regain his composure, to clear the first layer of starstuff from his eyes, when he feels something deadly splash against the back of his throat, something which tastes like a riot and hurts on the way down and radiates that hurt from his stomach into his limbs. He uses the pain to dredge clarity out of the murky depths of a flickering consciousness; when Vito arrives at the spot marked by Liam's flare, Caden is motionless but his eyes are wide awake and his voice is audible, if barely, over the register of the still hissing smoke. "Isolate the nymphs that fed." A deep, ragged breath. "We want them for analysis, but don't know if they can be tracked." Another, like tearing cloth. "It's fine if we leave any behind all we had were numbers for this one what matters is we get to see how what kind of equipment those pricey footsoldiers got." A cough. "She surprised me I guess." # in between Caden had dreams as he slept the short time to the safe house; dreams of memories or memories of dreams or fever-fueled fabrications disjointed from reality. It was Caden and his uncle. Fishing. A lake north of Last Chance. His uncle is young and Caden is younger still. The scene is familiar but the details are not - the words are different and, he can tell, not his own. "A suicide mission isn't a plan. You can do better than that." "Intelligence gathering." Caden offered in a gruff, old, tired voice by way of explanation. Not totally a lie, but enough of one. "She was in your head. You were surrounded. Your generals -" "They're grown ups." "They trust you. They should. You're a capable leader, a valuable peer. You're respected but that's a tree that doesn't water itself Caden. That's why I had to get you away from her. What you want is a nice, clean, win that makes use of every one of your advantages and exploits every one of their weaknesses. Do it better." # safe house "First thorn in my fucking paw. I had something for the psychic motherfucker but she had something for people that had something. So that shit's gotta go." He had a button down shirt on because it was easier than a pull over. It was open because he was among literal and figurative family, and unconcerned about showing the wraps around his ribcage. His right arm was in a sling, so he used his left to awkwardly procure a stoppered vial of translucent purple and held it out to Liam. "I had to use twice as much of the goods during the dreamwalking as I thought I would so take it out of my paycheck or something." He nodded to Vito here, acknowledgement that his supply had been crucial. Then addressing Liam: "That's as close to a 'psychic fingerprint' as I could get at. Let's chop up some ideas on what we could do with that. "Thorn number two. This motherfucking bitch MOTHERFUCKER!" Caden slammed his good hand on the table, winced as pain splintered and fragmented from his right side to everywhere else. "The last time she showed her face she took out FAMILIES and grabbed half of Last Chance by the balls. This time around they just worry about putting hands on one club. Okay. We find out why. "Three. She's been in my head. Like I said I came ready to put a little whammy on her so she didn't get very deep, what she got maybe wasn't as clear as it could be, and hey if information was all it took we'd be kneeling to historians right? Am I right? But okay. I'll be more . . . careful." That word looked like it hurt him more than a broken bone. "So?"

Like in addition to having connected to the nymphs to learn physical descriptions of the people who attacked as well as having seen direct memories from Caden? I think the information is already decently asymmetrical but if you feel I’m overstepping and you need additional advantage to compensate, I have no issue with it if Rabbit doesn’t

I am legitimately laughing right now. Well done!

Soooooooooo. I have an idea, maybe @Rabbityou want to play along. Here's my thinking: 1. Gross 2. So the nymphs just ate all the dead Dead, but the Dead have weirdo blood contract going on that can be used for remote viewing - i.e. the Architect or the First can actually look through the eyes of another Dead. We rarely play this, but it's in the lore. I think it would be cool (if you agree, of course) if Phoebe could very temporarily look through the eyes of the Nymphs and see all of y'all on the sky ship. Then that's it, it fades and it's gone. No more remote viewing. 3. This list is already falling apart numerically. 4. If we agreed this is a thing that could happen, Phoebe would still not know who anyone is, (edit) or where you're going, but she would know what people looked like. It's almost entirely useless information except to make it easier to continue this story from my end. Thoughts?

"Woah Lass, keep your knickers untwisted." The seated pirate raised a hand upwards, bad memories swirling around in a vortex of bronze around the half-witch. Her frustrations, her rage, her melancholy, the spirals of mixed, muddled color, of emotion, spilling off of her dull enough for the pirate to finally address her straight-up again. "I ain't offended, none. I... Don' really care, t'be honest. If'n anything, I'm jus' more curious why he avoided the question I asked." Even with the alcohol on his breath, and the slurring of his words, each one came out measured, distant, as if spoken through a tube, rather than the throat of mankind. "Calm yer'self, lass. Gonna give yer'self a conniption thinkin' that hard fer' other people. 'Cuz I can guarantee that ye've got no idea what manner of thing is going on in my head at all that." The facade not yet dropped, he retained a sense of good humor, but irritation plucked at the strings that held his mask in place, as if fingers were trying to pluck the drunken, happy facade off of him. "I am not you. If'n we're 'avin' a conversation about such things, an' ye're uncomfortable about 'em, then ye' should be the one t'take a step back." Cool-headed reason prevailed from the man's tongue, as he made a vague gesture aside. "That be yer' history. Not mine. An' I'd appreciate ye' not attributin' yer' feelin's to me, 'cuz there ain't nothin' further." There was no venom in the baritone words. Simply a direct cut, an unspoken statement that being angry on his behalf was foolishness, plain and simple. He turned to the retreating figure of the jealous young lad, skulking towards the exit. "Lad, ye' know nothin' about me a'sides the fact that ye' think I'm a handsome. If'n I'm honest, I think that says more about you than it does about me." His fingers laced around someone else's drink, the lush apparently satisfied by the flavor of it, as he choked down the hard liquor in a matter of gulps, before returning it to the bartop. "But I don' think yer' right on that one. Taste is taste. Swagger ain't universally attractive. An' mos' importantly, if'n ye' find my body t'be so attractive, an' fulla features that ye' enjoy gazin' upon, or think fair lasses enjoy gazin' upon, then it speaks t'me more that yer' not addressin' my question about why you choose not t' try and take those features fer' yer'self by changin'." Hard truths. Compliments as meaningless to the pirate as a glass without liquor. He didn't care about the insults. They were never important. What mattered was the fact that the lad hadn't addressed his real question, and with the good humor dying on his lips into an alcohol-fueled decay, the heart of the matter was pointed to in no uncertain terms. If you're jealous of me, and find me attractive, take what you like about me for yourself. Anything less than that seemed to be what drew the pirate's annoyance, something so much less than ire.

Acknowledgement of Lieutenant Barret happened in the flow- polite, but easily lost in Michael's commanding control of the conversation. At his desk, Adam propped his chin up in his palm and and, with the other hand, activated a data crystal set on the opposite side of his desk. Immediately, a haze of light fanned upward and displayed a series of holographic folders. He began to browse through those with the tip of his finger, swiping the floating rectangles from side to side, and occasionally dipping in to explode the contents into a square display which overtook the entirety of his desk. "Now to cut to the chase— as I see it, lives are lost for every minute we waste— in relation to the numbers you gave us Mr. Nial, is there any other part you can play in helping out? Before you respond, I'm infinitely grateful for the information to begin with. You have already done us an incredible service that I can't thank you enough for. It's just.. I think we could use all the help we can get." Unseen on the other end of the communication, Adam nodded to an empty room. While removed from the danger of the situation, he felt its gravity- felt the weight and purpose of the call as innately as Michael may. Methods aside, when Adam had founded the Uriel Group so many years ago, he'd codified their purpose in a single mission statement, that they would always move toward a Better, Safer, Tomorrow. He actually meant that. "I think there is," he said after a moment, after sorting through and pulling out the analysis he had been provided. "We have significant tactical information extrapolated from the invasion of Treedell and the observed behaviors and movements of the forces across Lagrimosa. We can let the pencil pushers figure out the finances over the course of this week, but I don't want to hold up your ability to prepare and respond. If we're in agreement, I'll send you the information now." It was a bold choice for Adam- an enormous extension of trust to a man he knew only by reputation, but we weren't going to get to a Better, Safer, Tomorrow on a foundation of shadows and mistrust. Still, he was a businessman, and while Michael surely understood that he may not know how deeply Adam cared about his employees and their well-being. What he did here- goods before payment- gambled with the salaries of his employees and the liquidity of his business.. but there was a demon horde marching on Aspyn and Adam couldn't remain idle. "Also, based on the enemy's observed tactical capabilities, we began re-architecting the TOTEM series to provide offensive and defensive capabilities geared for this specific engagement- I'll send the schematics over. If we remain on schedule, we should be rolling out the new versions of TOTEM shortly. If you're interested in deploying those to support your soldiers, have the accountants include that in the negotiations. We could potentially start moving machines early next week." Casting a blue eye back to the map, Adam pinched his chin and examined the projections- they would make it. They had time.

The lights from the tavern were blinking bright. The looked like a beacon, calling for Daemon. Opening the door, he hands over his katana at the weapons counter. Walking down the bar, he sees two familiar individuals at the counter. Taking of his wet jacket, he places it on the counter and shakes his head vigorously, sprinkling a little water on Celestia. "Sorry about that lady Celest," he apologized with a mischievous grin. "Some bloodwine Vaddok if you would please?" He says turning to the nice bartender. "Certainly friend. Good to see you again." He said as he turned around to the shelves. "Like wise Vaddok." A nice mug of bloodwine was placed in front of him. He thanked Vaddok, and takes a sip. "Mmmmmm I missed this." He said as he tilted his head back savoring the taste. He licked his bottom lip as he turned to the others. "Hey Linixy, who you talking with?"

To be honest, Tak thought he was about to get shot. A lot. He'd just been enjoying the blast of cool air after the tense, stuffy, exchange with Bishop. He'd been thinking about who was going to win the game tonight, and if he was going to be able to get his reports done on time, and hoping that his wife made lamb for dinner, but as the sleek black car pulled up to the rear employee lot at the Neon Trails he drifted to a slow, expectant, stop. A loud crack sounded as he crunched through his lollipop and watched car doors open.. and the fucking Enforcer got out. Holy fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Tak swallowed; he stared at his scars, at the Enforcer's empty eyes, at the immovability of his frame and decided immediately that retreat was his best option. His feet scuffed on the broken concrete as Tak backed up, claiming space, gaining distance and some semblance of something he could confuse with safety. "Uh.." "Please go inside and escort the lady out of the establishment. I will wait five minutes, and then I will proceed." He immediately nodded, blank-faced as his thoughts rocketed around in his mind like five-year olds at three am after too-much sugar and a night out. "Yup, sure. Ok." Again, Tak nodded. He didn't need to, but he did, and then just to be sure nodded again as if all of this made perfect sense, then turned away from the Enforcer and fished inside his suit pocket for his pipe and the dose of pick-me-up chemical in it. Actually, maybe pick-me-up wasn't a great choice now. Slipping it back in his pocket, Tak walked back toward Neon Trails, but inside of a step or two his walk was quickened, then picked up to a jog, then a frantic sprint as he hit the swinging kitchen door with the flat of his hand and burst back into Neon Trails. "OUT, EVERYONE OUT!" Grabbing his badge off of his belt, he waved hit around and looked for the regulation-required fire alarm that should be installed in this goddamn kitchen. His dark eyes swept the disorganized mess, combing the walls for that familiar red box, before he found it and smashed his palm against the glass. Immediately, a high-pitched screech erupted in the club, combined with a woman's mechanical voice the blared notice of the alarm activation throughout the club. Hopefully the Enforcer wouldn't take offense to that... Taks' next frenzied steps brought him back to Daisy's office, where Daisy half-stood, her wide, blue-rimmed eyes flitting with annoyance between Tak's newly arrived face and the flashing fire lights. "Tak, what the fuck?" Everything here was on the edge of panic, wicked and raw. "Get out. FRONT DOOR." Tak spat the words as fast a she could, trying to ensure the staff got out as far away from the Enforcer as possible. The gravity was palpable as he looked at Daisy, then for Bishop. The big man had disappeared, so at least that was one less complication. "Outoutoutoutout. NOW. Get everyone the fuck out. I swear to god Daisy, GET OUT. FRONT DOOR." Tak gestured wildly, pointing toward the front exit. For a moment, the woman was silent - but she had lived on the street, kept house with dangerous men in dangerous times, and knew a wildfire when she saw one. Once she'd absorbed the information, her eyes hardened. She gave a clipped nod, then echoed Tak's yell and ran from the room. "You have four minutes!" His warning, along with his eyes, chased her out before returning to look over the now empty room. He shook his head, paler and sweatier than he had been earlier, with a panic in his eyes that wasn't at all reassuring. "What a shit show," he said, turning and giving the empty kitchen one last sweep of his eyes before he slipped around a counter, hopped over a giant mixing pan, and jog-ran toward the front exit.

Scarlet opened the door and walked into the room. Scarlet looked all around the room, she saw that everyone was scared at what Howard was planning on doing, but she found it interesting for she already saw the plan. She took a step up on the stage looked at Howard, knowing he was not going to like was she was about to say but did she care 'no, not really'. She looked back at the people. She took a deep breath and sighed before saying. "I would not mined being a part of this, I looked at the schematics and I think this could work. I don't have kids and Howard you love ships as much as I." She said as she slightly looked at Howard before looking back at the crowd and continued what she was saying. "I know it's not rightful to ask someone to give up there life so easily, I know some of you have kids. So, I'm not asking. I have been working and making things for almost all my life, I somewhat know how ships works. I think I could be a part of this ship and not minded it" She reached for Howard's hand and took it in hers as she kept looking at the crowd. She held his hand tightly as she had a little bit of tears going down her face but she tried her best to not show it. She kept talking with her voice getting a little shaky. "I know I might die, but I have come to terms will it and I'm not scared. I volunteer to be apart of this ship and the others." She had finished with what she wanted to say with a sigh and tried to stay as brave as she could, being slightly scared but she knew she had to keep it together. This was going to happen, she just hoped Howard would not be mad at her for saying this as she let go of his hand.

There was a bit of a grumble as the good doctor deferred from helping, but to be honest Ben's arrival had brushed that aside with a well-timed rescue- not to mention an adorable mop of hair. The pair held their look just a hair too long - love, in the time of the archdemon - before Doctor Morton approached and redirected the girl's attention. "Oh, my name is Doctor Morgan Morton, pleasure to meet you. As my title implies, I'm a doctor that will help with the wounded," he mentioned. The Doctor looked around. "Truly, we'll need the tents so I can properly attend to the wounded," he replied. Natalie pawed at the poles as they shifted again, ever a mess of titanium cats to herd, and flashed the incoming Doctor an authentic smile. "Hey Doc," she said as she and Ben began to sync up in preparation for their move down the hill toward the town- the man paying just a bit less attention to the poles than he was to Natalie, but hey - gotta make your sunshine somewhere. Natalie, however, was now focused on the rubble which had once been the quaint town of Treedell. "Couldn't agree more," she was saying, "Ya think you can get one or two'a those bags? I think that's yer equipment." A nod and the jut of Natalie's chin indicated a small pile of duffels and hard case bags, each marked with a red cross. "Need some help, love? I've pitched a couple of tents in my day." A new voice; a pleasant interjection, which drew Natalie's blue eye and the flash of that same wide and genuine smile alongside a case of the juggles as the poles shifted again when Natalie turned to look at him. "Fuck, these fucking.." Her grumble had the same authenticity, just the edge of a storm on the periphery of a clear blue sky, and swept aside with the brush of the wind. "Natalie." She corrected him off-handedly, indicated the same pile of bags with an glance, before she was forced to start walking as Ben began travelling down the hill. A quick step caught her up and she threw back a shrug toward the newcomer and words in the shadow she left behind. "..Help the doctor with those bags!" Ben, it seemed, was not so naive or distracted and chose to deliberately make eye-contact with the well-built newcomer, clearly displaying his intentions. At the outskirts of the town, where pasture met packed dirt, Natalie and Ben joined the other numerous volunteers who were setting up shop. Some of the first line medical personnel had already headed out into the ruins of the town while the scientists were garbing up, fitting re-breathers over their faces, and Argus-branded hazmat suits over their jumpsuits. "...most recent images show a collapsed school in the north-east, a ruined church across the street, and the marketplace is absolutely destroyed.." "We don't have that data back- could be fatal, for all we know." "..not sure? Based on the reports, more dead than not. Expect amputations and chemical burns. Who knows what else." The group got bits and pieces of data from the bustling personnel around them, but as volunteers they could easily ask for the pieces of information related to their jobs - where the destruction was, where the wounded were, what types of wounds. The workers here were focused and purposeful, but friendly. The sense of camaraderie was palpable and genuine and it would be reasonable to expect that they would assist in any reasonable request. Even now, you could feel them building up - prepping and psyching themselves up to face the horrors inside Treedell. The poles were set down in a clatter. The noise drew a handful of workers over and they began to methodically sort out the poles and connectors like folks who had done this a thousand times before. Natalie gladly ceded the responsibility, slowly shedding her good mood as as she cast a distraught gaze over the town. "I mean, whatdya think? We could go get assignments from the volunteer coordinator, or just head to the church or the school? Doc, I figure Dr. Flores has a station getting set up for you? Doesn't make sense for you to go digging through buildings with us, delicate hands and all." In the almost oppressive destruction, the girl found the humor to tease Morgan, tossing the friendly jest alongside a wink. "Man, I'd love t'be a doctor. Helping all those people..'

Dr. Quinlan Nash Photo credit:https://www.behance.net/gallery/17157029/Wylona-Hayashi First Name: Quinlan Last name: NashNickname: QuinnRace: Human Vampire Marital Status: SingleGender: FemaleAge: 35 at time of turningJob Class: Vampiric Physician Novice Necromancer Medical *clears throat* Researcher [Physical] Photo Credit: https://amenteemaravilhosa.com.br/esqueca-o-ontem-nao-guarde-rancor/ Voice: Smoky, low, sultryEyes: Silver One is silver and one is red, this was a result of a psychotic break she experienced when she became a vampireComplexion: Tanned with freckles Her skin tone fluctuates between pale and almost translucent to a lovely shade of death blue, her freckles stand out like black dots on her extremely pale skinHeight: 5' 4"Weight: 135lbs 110 Her weight fluctuated drastically due to drug addiction and physical illness when she was still a human Build: Curvy, full, Thin, "fragile," muscular Hair: Black with the occasional red streak (from blood) It is very long and straight Defining Features: Silvery eyes, non-removable silver slave collar around her neck. Slave collar around her neck, two toned eyes Extremely red lips despite the fact that she is "dead" [Mental] Nature: Cynical, sarcastic, blunt, determined Unstable, needy, unpredictable, curious, geniusHopes: Make money, live independently, own and operate her own medical clinic Make Ira Chittenden forever bound to her (through drinking all his blood OR thralling him) Become THE expert at all Vampire anatomy, ailments and healing To find SOMEONE that will love her Fears: Spiders, the woods at night, illness, Being alone for eternity Being used and manipulated Ira dying Going into a blacked out psychotic rage - again Likes: Smoking a pipe, beer, reading, researching cures to unknown illnesses Researching and studying vampiric transformation and anatomy Creating creatures she refers to as her "children" Dislikes: Violence, cats, children, Being reminded of her human past Bering referred to as "crazy" or "unstable" Being alone Creatures weaker than herself [Gear] WeaponsDagger, Pistol She is a WMD all on her own Magic Ability to remove pain Detect illness Detect and break magical barriers Tracking Abilities Magical and non magical healing Calculating finances and numbers Growing rare herbs Picking locks Breaking enchantments Tracking humans when she has tasted their blood Charm Decelerated Aging Enhanced Strength Accelerated speed Enhanced and accelerated healing Growing dangerous and carnivorous plants FamilyMother: Tiffany Rolfe A woman that was often homeless, always drug addicted. She abandoned her daughter with her father and vanished for 4 years of Quin's life. After 4 years she reappeared, kidnapped Quin from her father's home. After spending less than a year with her daughter, Tiffany became addicted to "dust" and was homeless again. Rather than returning Quin to her father, Tiffany sold her daughter to a brothel for drug money. Occasionally throughout her life, Quin came across her mother while walking the streets of Genova. The spoke very little, in fact, Quin went out of her way to ignore Tiffany any time she saw her. Tiffany died before the Namur - Lydon war. Quin was called to the scene of her death as no respectable doctor would go near the dead body. Upon seeing her, Quin identified her as "no one of consequence" and determined the cause of death to be a "dust" overdose. Tiffany was tossed into a pit with the other dead unnamed homeless. Father: Vincent Nash To the best of his abilities, Vincent was decent towards his daughter. While he abused Tiffany relentlessly when he was with her, he spared his daughter his cruelty and attempted to provide the little girl a decent home. After his daughter's kidnapping he did his best to find her, with little help from local authorities that cared nothing about the lower class. By the time he found her, Quin had already been sold and he didn't have the money to buy her back from the brothel. He had a dozen other children with 5 different partners. Throughout her life, Vincent visited his daughter as much as he was allowed, though he was forced to pay to see her. Quin lost contact with her father the night Genova was attacked, she assumed he died in the assault on the city and was never able to locate him again. Daughter: Lilli Chittenden-Nash The daughter of Ira Chittenden and Quinlan Nash, she was born in an abandoned warehouse while her mother hid with an underground faction from the new government order. With her were her Aunt and Uncle (Quin's oldest brother and his wife). Because Quin was wanted as a war criminal she gave her daughter to her brother and sister in law within hours of the baby being born. They fled the country with Lilli and currently reside in an unknown location, her adoptive parents work as weapons smugglers supplying their home country with weapons to help the rebel faction take back their land. Lilli's estimated age at this time is 15. Brother Rufus Nash Quin's oldest brother and the only sibling she had contact with. Born from a different mother, same father, Rufus is 12 years Quin's senior. While he could do nothing to help free her from being brothel raised, he frequently visited with her around town and spent time mentoring her and teaching her how to understand numbers and letters. He played an active role during the Namur-Lydon war by supplying the Lydon army with weapons stolen from the Namurians. Within the fleet of smuggling ships he owned, one of them transported Quin's beloved Ira away from the country to save him from persecution as a war criminal. Friends (Note: this term is subjective for Quin) Ira Chittenden Samuel Chittenden (Deceased) Quin and Samuel formed a close bond merely due to her constant proximity to Ira. Their bond grew it's closest after his death. After she was re-taken by the General that originally enslaved her, Samuel and Ira spearheaded the mission to get their medic back. Samuel was ultimately the one to kill the general, unfortunately he sustained injuries greater than Quin could heal. He died in the field while Quin tried to safe his life. She still holds herself personally responsible for his death. Tatia Choisel Alistair Istrefi Leinhart Choisel Cariella Enemies General Quixan (Deceased) Troy Marksmith (Deceased) Quin previously kept Troy's eye in a jar as a reminder of her torment done at his hands. Tiffany Rolfe (Deceased) Aiden The Back Story: Childhood - Teenage Years Quin lived with her Father for her early years until she was kidnapped from his home in the middle of the night by her mother. After being homeless and passed from home to home, Quin's mother sold her to a brothel at the age of 5 for "dust" money. Quin's service to the brothel began as chore work and cleaning up after the whores. Starting at her extremely young age, Quin demonstrated magical abilities and talents - a rarity for Genovan's. She was caught breaking the magical seal on the brothel safe and picking the lock without having to use tools. After being thoroughly punished, (beaten with a rod), the Madame of the house decided Quin's value was not in whoring, but in a more lucrative and much needed business - doctoring. She arranged for Quin to attend the Genovan school for Magical healing arts. While most graduates completed their programs with 10-15 years, Quin graduated in a mere 8. Becoming the youngest magical healer in Genovan history at the age of 18. Once registered as a Doctor, the Madame insisted Quin pay off the debt accrued by the house to put her through school - thus entrapping Quin in the brothel and securing her profession as the "healer of whores." Due to the short life span of whores, Quin learned never to become too attached to any one person or child. Young Adulthood "The back story" Quin's service as a Doctor and magical abilities lent her trouble in her early 20's. Her country was invaded by a neighboring power, whose citizens lacked any magical abilities whatsoever. Her status as a Magical Healer resulted in her enslavement, complete with collar and slave number. It was in this time she met and befriended two farm boys Ira and Samuel, both caught up in the skirmishes within the city. With the help of Quin - whom they freed - they managed to escape the city through the sewers with thousands of other refugees. Now homeless and wandering, the two boys decided to join the Lydon army and become rangers. Not wanting to see harm come to such untainted and kind people, Quin followed in their wake and became their platoons medic. The three dedicated their lives to defending their country and keeping it safe from the invading power. Eventually Quin was discovered and re-captured by General Quixan, who'd spared no expense in retrieving his rare asset. His actions created a domino effect that eventually saw her returned to her platoon, with quick thinking, Ira and Samuel were able to free Quin once again, and manage to kill the Namurian army's head general. Samuel was injured in the skirmish and died as Quin attempted to save his life. All three were labeled as war heroes to their country. The Namurian army labeled both Quin and Ira enemies of the country and put a bounty on Ira's head, and an even higher one to have Quin brought in for "the program." The death of Samuel brought Quin and Ira closer together, eventually transforming their mutual attraction for each other into something more. As the war drew on, Lydon looked less and less likely to survive the invading onslaught. At a final stand battle, Ira and the rest of the Lydon army were forced to retreat and flee the field, driving them all underground and into hiding as the country was lost. Both Ira and an injured soldier Aiden, hid away with Quin until she could secure them safe passage out of the country. It was during that time Quin realized she was pregnant with Ira's child. The day her brother informed her he was able to secure safe passage on one of his smuggling ships, she intended to inform Ira of her pregnancy. During that time she learned the Namurian army had located "highly dangerous war criminals," knowing it was Ira and Aiden, she chose to send them both away on the ship with a note stating she would follow on a different ship - a lie as it was the last Lydon ship allowed to leave the harbor until the country could be secured. Quin spent her pregnancy in underground hideouts and abandoned warehouses. Days after birthing her daughter and ensuring the child safely spirited out of the country, Quin was captured by the Namurian government and transferred to a research facility. There, she spent 6 years as a test subject, with a forced addiction to Dust to keep her compliant. She managed to survive detoxing herself from the dust and injected a lethal dose of it into the arm of her tormentor Troy Marksmith. Before he could die she carved out his eyeball and placed it in a jar with preservatives as a reminder of her revenge. Once she escaped the facility, she stowed away on a ship and found safety within a different continent. Once out of Lydon, Quin spent her time wandering and healing until she stumbled upon employment with Leinhart Choisel. The Choisel Chapters Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V

If you do a separate thread I’d probably like a slice of that!

Thomas looked over at Emilio and the worn down tracker. The design itself fascinated the butler, who was always keen on collecting tools that might help him provide only the finest services. "That small device of your's Mr. Arellano is quite fascinating, and quite handy as it is now showing. Might I ask where you acquired such an item?" Thomas asked in passing to Emilio. "But definitely, we should make haste to the building that Ms. Letariat has seen, like you said, chaotic magics of this nature tend to show diminished presences within closed environments. Luckily, the way in which this magic intersects with my own allows me to have some awareness of where the bending of space is the worst. As such I would suggest that both of you follow me down to the building's entrance." The jowly butler proceeded towards that Lab's entrance with his eyes shut. As he went he would often stop to walk around innocuous patches of ground, making sure to mark a perimeter around each with the tip of his umbrella. It was a strange and silly sight in a way as a man who appeared wizened and reserved moved like a young gymnast. There were several times where it looked like he would even preform a pirouette. There was not much difficulty getting to the Lab's entrance, although there were a couple instances where the path that Thomas drew for his companions was notably winding and narrow. The inside of the building was quite different from the landscape outside. While outdoors much had been twisted and contorted beyond recognition, within the laboratory's walls there was not much amiss besides a layer of dust and some of the outside jungle growing in through a broken window. "While I am certain that Mr. Arellano is familiar with the concept of magical density, I'm sure, Ms. Letariat, that you might have questions as to how there can be a kind of logic to such a chaotic force. The reason that a building such as this would be less effected by the 'dream' covering this city is actually quite simple. the ability for magic to persist unaided for an extended period of time is dependent on density of the magic itself. The more dense that a magic is the slower it disperses and loses its potency. This also means that particularly dense magic has difficulty passing through solid objects or covering the entirety of an area, which allows interiors to be far more safe. However, given enough time , even dense magic like this will seep through the ground and solid material and twist places such as this as well. In somewhere around 100 to 200 years this room will be overtaken by the jungle outside. However, rest assured that we will be done with this expedition long before that comes to pass."

Everyone has needs. During his years as The Apostate, Li had often lived a monastic existence; eating and drinking only what was necessary, and living in sparsely furnished rooms. When he wasn't hunting or planning an attack he would meditate, often for hours at a time. He would also train for at least an hour everyday; keeping his skills sharp for when the time inevitably came that he would need to rely on them. It was a hard life, but it was the one he had chosen for himself, the life he thought he deserved. But there was one thing that he could only ignore for so long. His sex drive was as healthy as any young mans, and unlike hunger or thirst it was not easily sated or ignored. Eventually he would always give in and find an outlet for this energy; usually in the form of a sex worker. Now, during the interminable waiting for the attack on Aspyn, he had felt the old urges resurface, but this time he thought he might have a different solution. Marigold was exactly Li's type. His slender build, delicate features, and shy mannerisms had made him instantly attractive to the former killer. For a time he had mulled things over before he finally just propositioned the doctor. To his surprise, Marigold had said yes. Now Li sat in his quarters, wearing a simple pair of black trousers and a dark blue tunic. When the doctor knocked, he would answer. @Djinn&Juice

Black was a force of nature. His black hair didn't need wind to sway, it seemed to do so at the very behest of the flagrant words and ideas exuding from his person. Palpable gravity weighted the space around him veritably so that citizens he passed by looked back in subtle, misunderstood fear at the man wearing a black admiral's jacket with brass buttons, a captain's hat of his own acquired a long time ago. Whatever past chasm had formed between Black and Cain must have been made of momentous stuff. Framed by discrete undead bombsicles, Black made his way to the aforementioned corner of the Akari estate. Dropping off the team's bomb dummies at that location, Black made his way to the other southern corner of the estate, taking position at the bottom of a flagpole bearing the Akari banner. Black reached his hand into the satchel at his side, withdrawing a scrolled up flag. "Blow them!" Came his voice over their psychic connection as he grasped the pulleyed rope in one hand while unfurling the Black Fleet's flag in his other.

"Quin ... It is me. Martis. How are you, doctor?" Shit. Fuck. Damn it! If her blood could run cold, it would have. In fact, she felt it plummet a few degrees colder than it already was - which was pretty frigid. Quinn stayed quite still, a statue couldn't have stayed more still if it tried. Her brain swirled with options, none of them ideal, all while a fissure of fear spread down her spine. Could Alistair sense her at all times? Would he know she was in deep shit....well, they were going to be. The bat was out of the bag and she had no idea what to do. Not that she expected him to swoop in like some kind of knight in shining armor. In fact, since the first time they hunted together - she'd been left very much to her own devices. Alone. She'd had a knight before - he didn't do shit about sweeping in and saving the day. In fact - her knocked her up and took off - because she told him to. The solution was up to her, no saviors, no one swooping in to fix the day - just her. Should she play the modest woman just caught in a bath? Scream and holler and hope she embarrassed him enough to cause him to look away then use the opportunity to bolt. Not likely, it was no mystery Quin was brothel raised. Modesty was never something she subscribed to, hell, she had two men in the bathroom while having chunks of vomit cleaned out of her hair....Pretending to be the chaste maiden would just be in poor taste. Perhaps charming him would be best, dazzle him with a smile, say sweet things...lull him into a false sense of security and then - what - kindly ask him to walk her home like a gentleman and not report back to the master or tell Ira? Besides, charm wasn't really a strong suit of hers. She could run - recently fed and full she might be able to outrun him. But so far, he wasn't being aggressive, if she ran - he would chase her. Then things might take a turn for the worst. No, she needed to kill time until they would walk back on their own volition or help came. The possibilities were just dizzying, she'd been so careless, so stupid. She should have just hid in Alistair's room until the end of time - problem solved! How had she not known he was there?! Inexperience? Obliviousness? She was a shitty human and it looked to be like she was even shittier at being a Vampire. He asked such a simple question, one with an extremely complicated answer. Finally, she moved, delicate and pale hands lifted to wring out her hair. Red tinged water trickling down from the black locks thrown over her shoulder. Then, she forced herself to move, looking over her shoulder to see just exactly where Martis was. Once she caught sight of him she was glad she didn't run. He planned for that, the distance he positioned himself, the tense posture, it told more than words. The habit of sighing hadn't quite left her, and her chest rose and fell unnecessarily with the sigh, before she turned completely to face him. She didn't bother masking her paleness, he knew. Her alabaster smooth, marble white face tipped slightly to the side as she considered her answer. The movement caused her hair to slip off her shoulder and hang for a moment before she swept it back with a shaking hand. Red, now tamed instead of crazed, eyes looked back at him. Even at the distance he was, his image was quite clear to her. A notion that drew her interest for a moment could she see even further and in more detail if she really focused? A small shake to her head drew her attention back to where it needed to be. Again she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down a moment. "I haven't seen you in a while." She pointed out a fact, but didn't quite answer his question, "I was a bit worried about you." Was an answer really necessary? Did he truly want to know how she was? She doubted it. "I think we both know the answer to your question Martis." Her voice drifted like a ghosts whisper, "The question is - what are you going to do now that you know?"

Now it was Linixy's turn to be surprised by Daemon. The amount of loyalty towards people he knew for a day was admirable. *It's nothing he has done, Daemon. Thank you for having my back though. Apparently a man or woman is killing the poor not too far from here. Gabriel was just informing me of it. That is wat angers me. *We were just waiting for you to join us on this adventure.

"Linixy?"¥celestia queried even further,seeing his mannerism.grasping his shoulders,Turning him around to face her.even though she had to crane backwards in order to meet his gaze.¥"I shall go with you....But i need linixy...my friend to return...t'a me...don't drown within a sea of rage..."

Celestia already seamed to be comfortable in the lounge. Because when the guys came in, she was reading what looked like a romance novel, legs crossed and seated comfortably. "Indeed it is a wicked area." He said, still trailing his eyes around the whole area. Turning to Celestia, "when did you get here lady Celest?"

"Rest assured Selena. We will go shopping once the sun rises." He said patting her shoulder. "You see," he added "I too need a change of clothes. So you need not worry." He assured her as he downed his last mug of delicious bloodwine.

Daemon was really having the time of his life. It had been long since he laughed as much as that. Then watching Linixy laugh and fall to the ground made things more fun for the young adult. Thinking for the moment about taking up a quest, Daemon waved away the thought for a while. He wanted to enjoy himself. "Say, Linixy?" Daemon called, with laugh still within the confines of his throat. "How much of that ale have you had".

Linixy quite literally falls on the ground, launching realizing his mistake. After a few minutes, he crawls back on his chair, still laughing. Hearing Selena's question, Linixy looks around for Celestia. *She is probably having a chat somewhere, she is very social.

Cocking his head, Gabriel frowned. "You believe others know you better than you know yourself, then? Traveller, that is a unique perspective. Quite fascinating. I'm of the opinion that nothing is certain, however, so perhaps you're onto something. Still, I can't do much with that answer except philosophize, and I do think I do that too often as it is." It wasn't the poet's place to comment on the stranger's self image. A thief who stole for the poor was still a thief, after all. In Gabriel's experience, persons of a trade usually fell back on those skills when down to the wire. How could one trust a man who takes what is not their's? He shrugged. This was why he sat here. Minds were complicated constructs. The lies one could tell themselves were equally complex, and that complexity lended itself well when Gabriel put his pen to paper. He scratched his stubble when the woman spoke of her home. What is she looking at... From his position in the tavern, Gabriel could see the two at their table. He just couldn't make out what the woman was reading? He rose from his stool, picking up the glass and stumbling over. Gods, the room was swimming. He definitely needed to slow down. Steps unsteady. Mouth dry and eager to take another sip. The floor boards creaked as he made his way over then reached them quickly, humming a low tune. She was reading herself. "You write too, hm? I've never tried carving, but I can see the benefit." His free hand found a nearby chair. The wooden legs squeaked as they rubbed against the floor. He fell into it and listened to her story, eyes betraying the pity he felt. "The Tavern of Legends," Gabriel began, "exists as a waystation." He set his glass down and gestured to encompass the building. "Most of those who enter are never meant to stay. If you arrive, the end result will always be your departure, and in most cases that transition happens quickly." He tried to find the words. It should have been easier for him, but he struggled all the same. "Luna, I don't know if your savior is still here. I believe he may have shown up, but it's entirely possible that he eventually left to Valucre. Do you have a description? I'm here often. Maybe I know something."

"A Robin Hood, I see." Selena smiled, her mind ringing with the faint sound of laughter and screaming as she heard the word 'children'. This time, her smile was as genuine as it can be for she has always held contempt toward the overly blessed and sympathized with the poor. It was ironic how she hated the very thing she was in the past; a money laundering noble that's ignorant about the worldly affairs and the increasing poverty of her town. Her gaze flickered to the poet as the conversation seemed to come to a dead end. She wondered if he will share a memory with them, just as they gave to him. 'He said he was a poet' Selena wondered if he could help her find her savior. It was just a fleeting thought though, as Selena knew that nothing in this world is free. 'I am not that shameless to take advantage of our friendship for my own benefit.' Being someone easily attached, she immediately thought of the two strangers as her friend just by their simple act of kindness. 'I will get them to write their names for remembrance.' She smiled, the corner of her eyes slightly turning up. Being someone with little to no sense of presence, Selena was happy that someone asked her about herself. Even though it's about something she does not know, anyone who shows concern for her is greatly appreciated. She guessed that this must have happened too many times. Someone will be kind to her, and their name will add up to her collection. Her body was filled with different names and hand writings she can't recognize anymore, but looking at it makes her happy as it reminds her that this is the number of people who cared for her. And her collection might have two more names in it.