Leaderboard

A little early to some, a little late to others - happy new year! As we go into another new year I wanted to take a moment to celebrate Valucre. There are some hard metrics I'd like to call out but the thing I'm most proud of is Valucre's community, the deliberate crafting of which has been no less a labor of love than any of the other stuff which makes Valucre what it is For some of the hard metrics: we've been around a really, really long time, we've registered a lot of accounts, have made a lot of threads and posts and articles, have taken high spots in a spread of key words on Google and on multiple top lists - have received what I consider the highest praise from our members, their continued contributions to and interactions with the site, recommending it to their friends, or even returning to it years down the line. Truly fantastic achievements that I'm truly proud of, despite any shortcomings in full recognition of the fact that there's no such thing as perfect But like I said what I'm most proud of is the community itself. I want to be unequivocal about the fact that the community as it is now and as it's been in the past is not a spontaneous product or an accident. It isn't what you get by just opening the doors and hoping for the best. It’s what you get when people come together and make a genuine effort across many different dimensions, day in and day out, for years and years. I’m happy beyond words with what we’ve all been able to accomplish together Cheers to 2020 despite its pitfalls, cheers to 2021 and whatever it may have in store

Merry Christmas / Maligayang Pasko from this side of the world! 🌟🎄 ⛪ I celebrate Christ's birth and the hope He gives beyond this very fallen world, but regardless of celebration reason I hope you all are safe and well and have a good holiday season ❤️ "I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!" — Luke 2:10-11

Hey there! I'm new here and really excited to try this out although I'm a little lost, haha I meant to get active months ago, but I've been having a hard time balancing my workload. Hopefully I can slowly start dipping my toes in the water, though. I probably need to read the new member guide again because I forgot everything!! And might be doing this wrong. However, I still wanted to at least introduce myself and hopefully meet some new people. So hi, I'm Cenna! I have been roleplaying on and off for... I don't even know how long? Maybe 6 years? But don't let that fool you! I am honestly not really that well-versed in forum roleplay, especially. Although I started out on a forum, I eventually migrated to mobile platforms like Amino and Discord because they were a lot more convenient for me. I can barely remember half of it and have no experience with heavy lore, not even any D&D, but I stumbled upon this review on Quora a couple of months ago and was super interested when they mentioned a Gotham-esque region. After exploring some more, I'm both astonished and slightly overwhelmed? There was so much thought and effort put into this place, and all the lore, quests, storylines and characters are so diverse and interesting! I have never seen anything so interactive and friendly all at the same time. So far, Cierno (Nehalen) and Lagrimosa's cities (specifically Hell's Gate and Last Chance) caught my interest. Haha, can you guess why? I love how Cierno combines all these different topics and genres, I mean--demons and angels (I think?) mixed with traditional mafia? Woah! And science fiction is my kryptonite, so literally all of Lagrimosa was crazy cool to me. I don't know what it is, but after checking out a few of the darker regions I was reminded of this brighter character I was exploring. She was/wanted to be a medic, and the thought of placing her somewhere in the aforementioned regions felt like a really satisfying juxtaposition. A small, dwindling light in the vast darkness. Good character abandons their morals, gasp! The cliches never get old for me. But yeah, that was just a vague thought I had so I figured I'd put it out there for fun and possibly regret it later. Anyway, I hope you're all happy and healthy and are enjoying the holidays the best you can. If you actually read through my giant ramble I'm going to propose lol. Have a great day/night!

The Building Basic Layout: Sinners Den is a two story building. The first floor of which is a dancefloor, bar, and if the venue calls, a stage. Its a square building foundation, with a small parking lot, as there's parking in a nearby garage. The second story is a Vip area. Room enough for several booths, with tables that each have drink holders and poles for a private dancer. There is a detached garage where the own Dia parks exclusively. The garage fits two cars when she doesn't park dead center, which she always does. The garage's second floor is her apartment, which is small but lavish. some of the finest beddings, furniture, and amenities money can buy. Exterior: The neon sign is located over an arch doorway. Behind the sign, is a pinup devil girl with a microkini on, laying on her side. Complete with horns, wings, and tail. The main lobby has windows, as does much of the exterior. The exterior is lined with neon and spot lighting of fierce red and plum purple varieties. The exterior doors both have an "18+" sticker. The building has black stucco walls, mild planters of various rare plants she had brought in to match the theme, specifically, thorny rose bushes. Despite being on the main drag, it doesn't smell like car exhaust. One can faintly hear music inside from outside. Interior: As You walk in Your in a small foyer/lobby where the rules of the establishment are on the doors, directly to your left is the bar, with room for about 12 barstool seats. The first floor is mostly standing room. To the right is the stairs to floor 2, as well as the bathrooms. There are various areas where the rules are posted as well. The music selection varies, but during dance nights it will usually be fast upbeat dance tunes, likely popular ones. A live DJ could mean anything though. Dia herself is more a fan of metal, and bands may or may not reflect that taste on a night dedicated to a concert. The club uses cinnamon scented air freshener, one of her favorites. It also maintains a relatively comfortable 68 degrees. There is typical a lot of lighting effects. On Floor two there are abut 7-8 booths. Each has a large table with built in drink spaces, and a pole for a dancer. There is a small stall bar in the back, for servers only. (Garage: The garage is two spaces wide and long enough for almost any normal car or pickup to fit. but little else. It has a bench and space for tools. There's a small staircase in the back, that leads up to her living space. Which has a lavish king bed. There's a 20 gallon fish tank on one side with some decent looking saltwater fish, mostly reef fish like clown fish, starfish, and blue azais. The most notable is the cleaner shrimp at the bottom. She had some reefing put in for her fish. The windows have fancy drapes, and the walls are built to drown out city noises. There's a massive 90" fancy television on the wall across from her bed. As well, there's a pair of gaming towers. One has many gaming systems, old and new. The other, is basically just a 5 foot stack of games. There's a small kitchenette, with a stove, a microwave above it, attached to the cupboards, a dishwasher, fridge/freezer, and in here as well is a small table. Under the bed, is a series of drawers and cupboards for all her weapons and such. There's a small closet for her wardrobe up here as well. The ton up here is much calmer and more personal, the lighting is more luminous purple, less vibrancy. The second floor also uses cinnamon air fresheners, as does her living space. The Staff Hours: Sinners Den is open for wining and drinking with dancing allowed but not over sold Monday through Thursday. Opening at 5pm, and staying open until 2am. Friday and Saturday it opens at 4pm, and stays open until 3am, dancing is heavily encouraged, as well Friday and Saturday are the nights where VIP booking is possible, as well as a live DJ, or sometimes a band. Live dancers as well. Sunday, it is closed. Staff Rules: The staff are all expected to conduct themselves with respect to their guests, and not to go out of their way to start issues. They are also expected to dress proper for the job they are to perform. Staff are, all given self defense courses probono/gratis at a local martial arts academy. Save for the owner, no weapons are permitted on the premises, without absolutely zero exception. Seniority will dictate who gets certain shifts at first, but will only get someone so far. Violating the rules can have signifigant consequences. The Uniforms: Dancers are expected to dress for the theme of the night, which is planned no less than 2 weeks in advance. Assistance is possible with costumes. The bartenders uniform is a fitted corsette, and skirt. Any pair of stylish shoes that meet safety requirements is allowed, hair must be tied back if long enough to require doing so. Security is to where a functional shoes, jeans, and undershirt. And will be provided a short sleeve, long sleeve, and jacket with the title "security" on it. Servers uniforms are a tight fitting brassier with a small pair of demon wings, tight short shorts with a demonic tail, knee or thigh boots with heels, elbow gloves, a choker with an 'SD' buckle, and a devil horns hairband. Beings that already have wings, horns, or a tail, or unique body's such as paws or hooves, may be accommodated. ____________ Rules 1. Do not touch the staff. Ever. 2. No weapons. zero tolerance. 3. Security is trained in law enforcement. By entering you acknowledge this and all rules and consequences. 4. No fighting. 5. No outside food or drink. 6. VIP is for VIPS only.

Hello, Valucre! My name is Little Vicious, but you can call me V. I started roleplaying at a young age on Neopets then upgraded to Gaiaonline back in it's prime. Unfortunately I stopped roleplaying and writing all together in college and now I'm back hoping to pick up the-well...keyboard again. I hope I can rediscover my passion for writing and roleplaying through some good old fashion forum based roleplaying! Ah, my interests! I love fantasy. In particular epic and medieval fantasy. I just finished reading The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss and now I'm working my way through The Lies of Locke Lamora (slowly). I like to read, write, and play video games! I mostly play open world RPGs, such as The Elder Scrolls, Dragon Age, and The Witcher. Playing lots of ESO recently. And I'm working on a couple of books! Also, I'm just a tiny bit obsessed with dragons. If there's a video game that has dragons in it-I've played it. A book with dragons-I've read it. On that note: if there are any RPs that involve dragons, I'm in! I can't wait to dive in! Just tell me where to jump. 🙂

At a table in the southeastern-most corner of the shop sits a tall muscular figure. A young man, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, a beer bottle held in his right hand. For the umpteenth time he asked himself, silently: "What the hell am I doing here?" He had told himself he never wanted to return to this gods forsaken continent. Nearly every memory of his life before setting off for Genesaris with his master and fellow pupil is filled with negative experiences and emotions. The reason, he reminded himself, is because he expressed to his master his desire to face the beast that is his past head on, and to help out around the land he once called home, if for no reason other than furthering his martial arts training. He avoids Hell's Gate like a plague, however. Though it is his birthplace, he has no love left for it, and truly believes it beyond help. Before that, he had decided to take a little time off, thus leading him here, to a noodle shop in a part of Terrenus he had never been to before. He was just about to take a drink from his bottle when he became distracted the door opening, turning to see the odd bunch that just showed up. He hears Kimiko ask about a place to sit and decides to speak up. "There's some room over here, if y'all don't mind sittin' with a stranger."

Amazing the difference a quick change and brush of the hair can make, the muck (mostly) gone, a new change of clothes. Kimiko’s victory with the delicious fish a distant memory now that she stood just within range of the Sharpmate’s noodle shop. The promise of karaoke, noodles and beer, how exciting!? It wasn’t often she got to be considered a guest and not the entertainment. A rare treat for her as well to attend something that didn’t have the airs of a tea house or a tavern. The typical haunts she chose to park herself in to earn a fair bit of coin or a nice bed to sleep in. “What a nice change of pace.” She commented to her escort, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been into one of these places. Shall we?” Without missing a step, she began to nearly lead her escort with her down the boardwalk towards their destination, hoping they would stumble along enough to make it look like they were leading. “Do you think there will be warm beer?” She wondered aloud, “I do enjoy a toasty brew....” Typically subjected to teas and sake, the warm beverage proved to be a guilty pleasure of hers. While some enjoyed cold beer, Kimiko found the thick stouts she imbibed were best served at room temperature or warm. Her rather excited musings continued as her shoes clacked on the ground beneath her feet, quickly shortening the distance between herself and the noodle shop. Leading the way in, she soon realized a blind woman was likely not going to be the one to find them a space large enough to accommodate them all. So up went her hand politely, a motion she made so often when entering a tavern and announcing her presence. “Large group incoming!” She cheerfully alerted the staff. “Do you see any spaces large enough to accommodate us all?” She turned her attention to her escort.

I have to admit, this year the holidays feel somewhat perfunctory; a box ticking exercise that we have to do before we can move on to the new year. 2020 has been a brutal, disemboweling nightmare. Many of us just want it to be over so we can be cautiously optimistic about 2021. Yet through the horror and misery of this year, Valucre has been a refuge for me. Writing here is like escaping to another world; and has often been a much-needed break from real life. More than that, I have found a community here that I deeply value. On this forum, people know me, many of them seem to like me, and at least a few respect me. I am incredibly grateful to be able to share this hobby with such a wonderful group of people. No one can know for sure that the coming year will be any better than the one that is rapidly approaching its end. Despite this, I find myself filled with hope for the future. As we march forward, I am proud to be a part of this community, and I look forward to writing with you all in the new year. Merry Christmas.

Plans to bring Crystallo Stella to life, to bring it to the forefront of Valucre.

It was past midnight and the house was silent when she woke up in a cold, nauseating sweat. Lisanne Orlos lay next to her husband, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. Eyes that had before been restlessly shut had flown open and stared with brimming anxiety into the void of a lightless bedroom. A nightmare had preceded this unpleasant awakening -- great looming dark figures had crowded her in dark, red halls, chattering down at her in a mumbley kind of language she didn't understand, and she'd felt heavy... far too heavy. She had tried to run, but as was the way with dreams, she only felt like she was running against a current, her legs slipping out from under her, the figures keeping easy pace... even now, in her wakened state, she could hear their muttering. She tried to lift her arms. Her fingers barely twitched: she was paralyzed. She had felt unwell before bed, but had thought nothing of it at the time; something about dinner, perhaps, she had thought. They had visited a friend that evening, and the feature was some exotic bird whose name she couldn't pronounce, and she began to feel foggy, a bit nauseous shortly after they arrived home again. A bit of indigestion, maybe: some sleep would surely fix it. But as she slept it settled in, a growing, gnawing, heavy pit in her abdomen that seeped into her blood and made it sluggish. Even in the dream her head felt thicker, near to bursting, and was beginning to hurt; a sickness rolled around inside her that felt like it desperately needed to be expelled, but would go nowhere; her mouth tasted foul, old, and sour, and despite her greatest efforts she still couldn't move. The room swam with darker shapes than the shadows, and she could see swaths of that too-red place creeping in and out of the walls, the ceiling, peeking with invisible eyes as her own watched in growing panic. Seeking something to focus on, something that might bring her back to reality and end this awful paralysis, she shifted her gaze around the room -- and it settled on something that sent her panic skyrocketing into sheer terror. At the corner of the bed, one of the figures from her dream still stood: it was tall and thin, like an emaciated shadow with no face. As she watched, its featureless, awkward-looking head tilted slowly, and she realized quickly that it was staring right at her. For several horrible moments that stretched ever onward, Lisanne held her gaze on the creature until finally, her will broke through and she forced herself to sit upright with a scream. The bedside lamp on her husband's side flipped on with a click, and she turned to him quickly, breath hitching in terrified sobs; he was a rational man and could certainly talk her down from-- All her gasping and whimpering stopped. Next to her sat not her husband, but a sagging, crooked thing, with stringy, wet dark hair, soggy skin, and a sharp hunch in its back. Rags in the vague shape of the nightclothes her husband had been wearing hung off its lank form. As she watched, her heart all but hammering right out of her ribcage, and it twisted its head around to look at her. It's eyes were deep, huge, and cavernous; its mouth, dripping with rivulets of thick, yellow saliva, stretched into an unnaturally wide and shark-like smile. "Darling," It purred. Lisanne found her breath and gave another cry of disgust and dismay, and tumbled out of the bed, tearing a path towards the door and the stairs that went down to the first floor. Behind her, Edward Orlos sat dumbfounded where his wife left him, sitting up in bed, having flipped on the bedside lamp. His brow furrowed in a mixture of concern and complete confusion; lifting his arms, he examined his arms and legs -- she'd looked at him like she'd just seen him kill a man, but he could find nothing wrong with himself. Realizing something must have happened with her, Edward hopped off the bed and hurried his way downstairs, hearing her rummaging around somewhere down there in a panic. "Liz?! Hey, what's going on?" He called out to her, pausing on one landing to listen, but received no answer. With a sigh and a frown, he continued and followed the din into the kitchen. Inside, Lisanne hunted through maid-organized drawers and cupboards, her hands shaking so badly they could scarcely grab any knobs or handles. The room seemed to swim in and out of focus, in and out of shape, and the foul taste was getting worse. She could hear voices, distant, but layered and aggressive as rushing water, and she couldn't understand what they were saying. Finally, her hands found purchase on an object she rarely held, but certainly recognized, and just in time to hear footsteps nearing, and entering the doorway. She whirled around to see it creep in, and it was much, much taller than it had initially looked: it stooped low to enter through the kitchen doorway, its disgusting hair and yellowed strands of spit hanging and waving as it moved. Lizanne shrank against the counter, whimpering, tears running down her pretty middle-aged face, but too afraid to make any other noise. "Darling," It crooned again, its enormously long legs making painfully slow strides across the tiled floor -- its voice changed, becoming feminine, disapproving: "You knew this was a bad idea, didn't you? You knew he was no good..." "Mother....?" Liz Orlos barely managed to eke out, and now she did start to sob, airy and weak like a little child. "I told you over and over again, he would get you into trouble. He's not a good man. I told you." "No....." She breathed again, "He... he loves me..." "He's buying you, just like we did. You've always liked being spoiled. Do you even care where the money is coming from?" The thing stepped closer, but she had nowhere to go. She tried to avoid looking right at it, tried to parse out her other escape options, but in her terrified state she found none. "Please...." She begged it. "You're such a stupid, selfish girl." Lisanne screamed as it came within arm's reach, and thrust the knife she'd been holding up, aimless, just hoping to hit something -- and the taunting, the rasping voice, all stopped, replaced by silence and an ugly, feeble gurgling. Still crying, still shaking, she let go of the knife and heard the thing collapse to the floor. The voices ceased. The room began to settle, and the foul taste in her mouth faded slightly. Exhausted, she sank slowly onto her knees on the floor and sat there quietly, sniffling, sobbing, and trying to collect herself. When her thoughts began to finally organize themselves, and the subsequent nausea of panic leveled out, she finally took the risk of looking at it again; just to make sure it was dead. Cautiously, she turned her head towards where the dark shape lay. And began to scream anew. On the floor, of course, was not a horrible-looking creature: Edward Orlos lay on the floor in his sleeping clothes, the handle of a kitchen knife jutting out of his mouth. As people began to gather on the street outside, and as law enforcement rushed in to investigate the disturbance, the tall, black, awkward-looking figure that had spied on Lisanne Orlos as she lay trapped in sleep paralysis, slipped easily out the back door, and made a silent but cheery waltz through the alley away from the scene of the crime. *********************************** And about two hours later, Lala Besschentyil silently waltzed into the backroom of her next victims. It had been all she could do to keep from humming with pleasure, and it had been all she could do not to laugh at Edward and Lisanne Orlos: Edward was a crooked businessman who owned a mill out in the sticks, one staffed entirely by prison inmates. Since it was somewhat remote, and nobody cared about criminals, they were frequently underfed, lodgings were uncomfortable, and some had even died when their hearts simply gave out, unable to keep up with the working conditions and demands at once. Lala didn't exactly have a bleeding heart, but when she had seen how much Lisanne enjoyed being spoiled with things that came from the money made from such an enterprise, it was simply too good of an excuse. And momma had always taught her never to pass up an excuse to do something nasty. An annoyed, barely-audible hiss escaped her dry teeth, filtered out through black cloth. It was a simple but effective disguise -- she just clad herself entirely in swaths of black cloth, wrapping even her face and head, and not only was she harder to see, but those who did see her often thought her some uncanny-valley hallucination, a shadow that was human-adjacent, but not quite close enough to be picked out. It was what she wore beneath her brighter daytime robes, beneath her mask -- she had seen it in a mirror once and decided right then and there that she absolutely had to do night-crawling in it. Her current location, about halfway across the city from where Lisanne Orlos was being arrested and interrogated, was a dingy wine cellar in the home of Duane Leeds -- a business partner of Edward's, and as far as she knew, just as low on scruples. It would be an easy enough procedure: poison his precious wine, of which he was a collector, and watch him Work. The biggest issue was getting in and out of the cellar unseen, but currently it seemed no one was home, so she had a free pass on this one. The second biggest issue was figuring out which bottle to spit in. For a couple of minutes she stood stock-still in there, looking around at the countless amount of bottles from different locales and of different persuasions, and felt her spirit Frown. This was too many choices. "O, to be a rich fuck," She whispered, and spotted out three bottles that were out standing on a ledge near the stairwell. They seemed to have been recently cleared of dust, and she boldly assumed that this meant they would be taken upstairs and consumed sometime soon; and even if they weren't consumed tonight, they would be eventually. Delighted by this new revelation, Lala walked silently up to the ledge and took the bottle closest to the stairwell, pressing the top against her face in the vague region of the mouth. To the naked eye, nothing was happening -- but a close inspection would show the cork darkening rapidly with the contact, and through the tinted glass of the bottle, a brackish sludge oozing its way through the cork and down the neck of the bottle into its contents. Several moments passed and Lala simply took the bottle away from her "mouth" and set it back on the ledge where it had been before, the cork regaining most of its former color, then crept up the stairs into the main house. With the coast still clear for the moment, she picked a suitable hiding place within its many rooms where her black-clad form would not be spotted out... ...and waited.

As I play Pokémon Sword, I can't help but think of how many of the bad situations Thurgood Singlance would have murdered Galar out of. Chairman Rose wouldn't live past the conversation at the top of the tower, Sordward and Shieldbert would have their smug asses ventilated after they forced the first Dynamax, and Sonia's new "assistant" would be suffering for three days with a horrendous fever before dying of sepsis from being impaled Vlad-Dracula-style. Guess that's why he's here on Valucre instead of whatever planet the Pokémon games take place on... ...oh, and Oleanna's life would be in danger too...

airdinghy

Lau Chihu Created by Meraxa Some… thing that lives among the forests of Faejarhé. Any shade beneath a tree, really; it is a figure that is known throughout the continent, despite the distances and disconnect otherwise expected of the cultures at large, while not being a figure of outright folklore, either. There is little consistent story with Lau Chihu, save that of their existence; the anecdotal tale of an encounter that one can find recurring all too often. This figure, which can be identified by the general description of, ahem, “a dancing cactus with limbs like a man”, seems either innocently naïve, or utterly apathetic, to the general state of things. All it seemingly desires is to share its enthusiasm for life; to invite someone into a spontaneous party, if it should be encountered. Though, if it does find someone to be a bit… preoccupied emotionally, as to party, it is willing to offer up ‘secrets’, supposedly whispered to it by its friends (one might reckon, trees) that might help to lift a person’s spirits, such as the location of a nearby spring, or a beautiful flower. To some, this has resulted in merely learning of a pretty sight; for others, it has been how they found what was needed to cure their ailing spouse. To that end, Lau Chihu may not always be welcome, but it is so often tolerated. Back to Index

Hello everyone! Been a while. The holidays hit me with a fun mix of seasonal and post-traumatic depression so, I apologize for the hiatus in my work! But I bring updates. ❤️ 🧡 Been refining the sketch for @-Lilium- 's (double) character portrait today, and I'm excited for how it's coming along! Oh mann. Look at this:

If you haven’t seen the original twilight zone, treat yourself

Until the end of the internet!

Enshrined in her well-appointed Tactical Operation Center (TOC), the nerve center of HGA's operations in Aspyn, Caeceila Glasmann directs the defense of the HGA-occupied zone with the same ruthless efficiency she strives for in single combat and small unit engagements. Silhouetted against the austere radiance shed by banks of tactical displays, servers, and monitors, she scans a holographic projection of Aspyn with gelid eyes. Intricate solid models of structures and landscapes shift and rotate, the local frame careening through firefights and crashing, like a heavy tank, through walls as Caeceila processes sitreps summarizing troop dispositions and damage to critical infrastructure throughout Aspyn, tracks the trajectories of incoming and outgoing missiles, artillery shells, and their magical and biological equivalents, exploits the holo-display's gesture-control scheme to expeditiously edit and review audio recordings and visual footage captured by ground teams and dedicated surveillance equipment, and issues orders to subordinate tactical officers, communications officers, commanders, and engineers via the ruggedized transmitter integrated into her headwear. Through the glut of coaxial cables protruding from her spine and skull and snaking through cable trays suspended overhead, Caeceila maintains a mind-machine interface with the facility's droid controller and Virtual Intelligence, Invidia. Senior staffers, tasked with supporting leaders at and below squad-level, are outfitted with wireless headsets and interface with Invidia through blinking consoles arrayed in semi-circles surrounding Caeceila's dais. Mobility and communication are vital to these staffers since Caeceila requires that they collaborate in small teams to predict and rapidly implement solutions to dynamic battlefield events. This procedure grants HGA units a tactical edge while protecting command staff from the hazards involved in "leading from the front," provided communications are reliable and manpower is abundant. While one might assume from her typical pugnacity that the dastardly heiress would froth at the mouth and savagely, if not bestially, bark orders at her underlings when under fire, she falls into her rage and acts not as an insensate beast but as a fell strategist who ignores codified rules of war for the sake of her soldiers and the glory of Hell's Gate. This is no great departure from her baseline, and her people take some comfort in that revelation. She belongs here, amid chaos and corpses. Her mouth is set in a grim line and her voice drips with distilled hatred and supreme authority in equal measure as it carries across the chamber. Articulate. Logical. Succinct. At her bidding, Heavy Machine Gun Teams and Light and Medium Defense Teams setup in positions overlooking the South and Southeast approach to the Power Plant and Heavy Defense Teams stopper gaps in the Power Plant's walls. They blanket the South and Southeast in overlapping fields of sustained fire. Rather than line up shots and pick the undead off one-by-one, they pepper the approach with a high volume of energy beams and bullets, firing and reloading without more than a perfunctory attempt at aiming. Such tactics - tactics revolving around massed fire - are as old as the matchlock and, while no longer in vogue, continue to be effective against the massed charge of creatures like the undead. The remaining Artillery Units and Turrets lay down saturation fire to the North. As with the Heavy Machine Gun Teams and the Perimeter Defense Teams, accuracy is not a priority. Indiscriminate shelling of the area - stripped of cover weeks prior and rigged with explosive ordinance to boot - is a half-decent tactic, but the undead swarm is relentless. Undead creatures violently explode into clouds of goo and gore and the Artillery Units follow shortly thereafter, 15-meter balls of fire and smoke igniting the night. Blackened metal husks lie uselessly on the asphalt as horrors, jaws working as though masticating flesh, drag themselves past. The doors to the Platform burst open and lines of violent purple energy streaming from Backup Turrets and grounded Aircraft fill the undead with smoldering holes. They reach the hangar only to be pelted with scores of Silver Eyes, hovering, modular robots equipped with dinky welding lasers that don't pose much of a threat to any large Xelken except in large groups. The Xelken push forward, crushing Silver Eyes and peeling open the metal birds to feast on the crews within. They climb over the motionless body of their fallen, some pausing to spill Stitch Worms onto the ground as particle beams shear them open. Torpedos scream toward the entrances. The ground shudders as gravity wells envelop corpses, undead, men, and machines. The Mage Corps and the Eldritch Assault Team reposition to compensate for the loss of the firebase. Dashing through underground tunnels to reinforce the Platform and blockade the main route by which the Xelken, they are utterly dumbfounded when they encounter a 2-meter thick granite wall obstructing them. Obeying their mistress, Camelia Sorina, blasphemous creatures hew at the wall with wicked talons and disintegrating rays. Caeceila's private communications channel crackles to life. Cammy delivers her report. Color drains from Caeceila's face. She grips the holo-display in front of her to steady herself. Betrayal! Her people are dying because the Terrans blocked their access tunnels! All eyes are on Caeceila as she wheels around, grabs a Terrenus Military official by his throat, lifts him off of his feet, and slams him into a wall. She broadcast the resultant exchange with the traitors on an open channel. This is a nonviolent corralling meant only to protect Aspyn to the maximum extent possible! No, this is a breach of contract! You're killing my men because your death-worshiping superior hates unnaturals more than he loves his people! You intolerant bastards! No - When I commit my people to the field, I do so knowing some of them will die. Tomorrow, I'll have to look their children, spouses, and parents in the eye and tell them their father, mother, husband, wife, son, or daughter is gone and there's little anyone can or should do to bring them back. If I can substitute something - a zombie - an abomination - a robot constructed for the express purpose of waging war - for a human life without impacting my ability to accomplish my mission, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Why? No one mourns a pack of zombies. My people are paying the ultimate price for your intolerance, and before you try to justify sabotaging us, let me remind you and the whole damn world of your deeds. You let Dredge rise to power. You let the Enrele snatch our people. You let widespread poverty shake the foundations of Hell's Gate. You restricted individual liberties with your damned Safeguard Act. And you're too afraid to act openly against those who hurt the people you've sworn to defend. I quit, and so help me god, if you don't knock down those walls, I'll gut every last representative of the Terrenus Military I can lay my hands on and overload this goddamn reactor!

"OK. I can work with that." Wige, like many of his contemporaries, like many of those who worked in fields of employment such as these which operated in the shadows and which dealt in precious intangibles, understood the survival benefits of a healthy dose of paranoia. As reasonable as it would have been for him to ask for details as an employer, it was doubly so for Arthur to want to play his tactics close to the vest - you never knew when you were being setup, by law enforcement, by rivals against your employer, by ancient enemies. So he dealt with it. "I can get you that list of buildings." Wige pulled out his own CCD, sent a few terse, coded commands out to his own base of operations, and waited the few minutes it would take to get something back. "The power thing, a little harder to swing. All of Glass Road? No way in Wyrm-shit. The building? That I can do. The whole block? . . . tougher, but doable. Seconds? Minutes? I got a guy can maybe make it look like an accident sort of thing but we'll need the timing to be tighter than a flea's puckered mouth." The information came back. Using a narrow-beam transmission Wige sent the list of buildings directly to Arthur's CCD once he set it to 'listen'. "I'll be on-prem for spot cleaning but we'll need mid-range comms. I can get encrypted crystals unless you have some preferred method." @Voldemort

The Void Cain’s golden eyes observed the Valucre Cain’s companions, head cocked in curiosity as they made their inquiries, made ready to fight? Their queries about battle were met only with the confused quirk of a brow. After a moment its pale lips split open like dry skin, a not sharp but predatory grin heralding his amusement unto them in the form of a laugh drier than bones. Its hollows echoed with the same, feminine laugh that skittered softly across the brain pan like acrylic nails. Phoebe would feel it best: The sensation that they were all standing in a haunted snowglobe being watched and, occasionally, shaken up. "Although I 've always preferred the non-violent option, I won't hesitate to fight if it plans to obstruct our path. I did bury a couple of these so called 'gods,' recently. Dealing with this one shouldn't take that long." As the Dead Mistress spoke, the ship that presumably held the Void versions of the Dead docked on the black beach and traversed the white petals littering the dock en route to them. It was almost as if the three fated figures hovered to them, ghoulish in their appearances. Void Phoebe was perhaps most like its original. Her flesh was a pale tint that fit the black-and-white thematics of the realm they had entered into. Around her face, covering her eyes was a tattered black cloth. Beneath the cloth, where Void Phoebe’s left eye would be, was the first sign of color in this realm— an orb of violet light penetrating the thick gossamer that blindfolded Void Phoebe. Void Shikai was like a hulking orc. He actually dwarfed the original Shikai at about twice his size. Utterly obsidian flesh stretched tight over thick muscles, a great mane of flowing white hair twisting surreally in impalpable winds. Within its hand it held a black rendition of Mykur, except this creature didn’t seem to hold the actual Mykur, or in fact any blade ready for battle, but merely as an attachment of his hand— as if it could never leave. Void Shikai’s mouth was a mess of stitches. A similar emanation of violet light peeked through the seams in its sewn-shut mouth. “What’s that!? You’re going to have to speak up.” Lastly approached the Void Mistress. Her hair was black, her eyes black, her skin powder white. She was remarkably similar to the Mistress. Void Mistress kept banging her ear on her hand as if she were trying to get some water out of it. From within her left ear there glowed a’something violet. “You might as well put your sword away, Shikai,” said Cain, eye level with the Void Shikai’s chest, the most threatening-looking one of the bunch. “I don’t like it any more than you guys, but this ‘god’ isn’t like any of the other ones you’ve encountered. Can’t chop this one up with brute force.” Cain brought the black rose up between him and his Void counterpart. Within the black rose held by Valucre Cain, for the first time, there illuminated a violet node. “You want this?” he said to Void Cain. Something carnal overcame the humor in Void Cain’s expression and he suddenly snatched for the black rose, but Valucre Cain yanked it back. Hissing as Cain withdrew the petaled flower, taking on a serpentine expression even for an image of Cain, the Void Cain regrouped. Phoebe would feel that the expressions and feelings of their Void versions were broadcasting through the whole realm. As Void Cain regrouped, the Void creature regrouped. “I still have three other pieces,” he said smugly. “Hey, what’s he saying?” said Void Mistress to Void Phoebe, who stood with her arms folded listening sternly to the altercation. “He’s saying we’re about to play a little game,” said the blind-folded Void Phoebe. Void Shikai’s blade quirked at the words, a war-grunt rumbling in his chest, but the beast was visibly restrained from speaking by the seams shutting its lips. Ocean water lapped with mysterious gentleness against the dock. They stood way, way out on the wooden platform that led out to the middle of the Isle. It seemed, because there was a whole island beside them, that they might venture in since, according to Void Cain, there was no great battle about to ensue. Void Cain stepped forward. The three Void Dead members stood behind him, pointing to the hulking ship far off in the foggy distance. “There’s your stupid ship,” Void Cain said with impunity. Now, as Void Cain spoke and Phoebe became better acquainted with the Void creature’s aura that wrapped around them like a blanket of 1960’s filament, she would hear the feminine voice in the background speaking in unison with Void Cain, perhaps even powering it. “But I’m not gonna give it to you.” Void Cain turned to face them, and the wrinkles in his face were innumerable, his brow a piercing crucible of anger and judgment. His body swelled like a monster in a dream, looming over them with an illusion-like frame and anger. “This is the last thing I hold dear!” “That is..” Void Cain continued, “unless you complete my three riddles.” “The first riddle!” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to Void Phoebe, Void Shikai, and Void Mistress. “Which monkeys are these?”

"Aww, mommmmm." In the wake of the disappearing banshees, a broad smile bloomed, bright and unapologetic, as Phoebe craned her neck backward and ruffled the small ghost girl's hair. "I know, love. Next time," she promised, prompting the girl to extend a pinky out and into Phoebe's face, which the woman met and hooked with her own. They enjoyed the brief but frail respite-- a break in the dumpster fire that best described Phoebe's third foray into the hidden dangers of Haunted Glen. In comparison, her first two trips had come much closer to killing her - so, success? "Swear?" "I swear," replied Phoebe as she let the Mindgorger's wicked tip drift downward, glinting as it caught the light and reflected it against the dark, muddy ground. She relaxed, a breath pressing out into the humid air as she sought Shikai, but found a single, wicked red eye staring back at her. "You forgot to remind me about the vampire," murmured the First, teasing as she chastised her daughter and reached out, seeking the beast with her thoughts. It disappeared alarmingly fast, though, slipping through her Will driven claws as she snatched at its form and provoking a grimace from the First as it disappeared. She barely had time to register the syringe before the single glowing orb reappeared; she heard its impact, felt it wrap around Shikai, and swore as she turned, "..fucking hate vampires." It was true-- there wasn't a good one in the bunch, as far as she was concerned, and her recent forays into Umbra hadn't changed her mind a bit. They were all murderous beasts, to the one, incapable of self-control and unable or unwilling to reign themselves in despite the pretty masks they wore. Monsters, no more than that, and why they didn't eliminate them en masse was beyond her. Whirling toward the leech, she shot a barrage of psionics at its clinging body, knocking the thing free before she could scoop its feral flailings up in a tangle of Will it would find impossible to escape. It raged; she smirked, glaring from beneath her sharply angled brows. The journey wore on her-- all this pain, all this aggravation, for an answer she would only half believe at its best. How was she supposed to take the word of a blood-drunk fiend as to the science and the state of her being? How could she even consider its expertise as anything other than recognizing her as prey or not? Maybe that would be enough; maybe, just thinking she was food or not would answer the question, but it'd be nice to understand with some intellectual capacity. She walked toward Quin, as remembrance of the syringe falling bubbled up like the blood from Shikai's lips, and she sighed, dismayed and disbelieving as she tilted her head up toward the sky. Was this Quinlan Nash? Fuck. Exhausted with the turn of events, Phoebe let her head drop down and stared flatly at the bound vampire. "I'd normally wrench your head off and call it a night," she stated, words drifting into the face of a ravenous beast, "...but I have a sinking suspicion you're why I'm here, so, are you in there or do I need to beat you senseless and hope you wake up in more of a mind to talk?"

Self Promotion was not always something Leon was best at. The act of selling the services of oneself never really implanted itself in Leon’s set of skills, moreso because he simply still wasn’t used to the point of business interaction at that level. However, when Dreggz told himself and Ira about a new bar opening, Leon knew there was a chance if not for a good deal but to put their names out there. Whilst Leon and the others took their stroll towards the back entrance of the bar, their rented van parked and open with their equipment inside. Leon took a deep breath to get himself acclimated. It would be their first show together as a band and Leon himself while not nervous still held pause in the rest of the band. The eccentric Partners he came to join up after a chance job at an enchanted bookstore. They were good players, absolutely no doubt and in terms of a performance, he’d be shocked if he didn’t shoot the lights out with their stage presence. It was everything the fuck else. The personalities that came with the band in question that left Leon in pause. They seemed like for the most part your standard Terran rockers. Talented and filled to the brim with potential, but volatile and wild. It would take a certain approach to lead them forward, but that’s exactly what he was going to do. The sound of The crowd was already notable from the outside, the lights brimming out of the windows of the establishment whilst the crowd mingling and drunken debauchery cascaded the ears of the alien. He put on his smile and turned back around to his band. “Get off your asses crew, we got some faces to melt!” He was pretty sure the band itself was still higher than their own opinions of themselves, Or at least he assumed so. He would be happy he was wrong, While he was sure this type of scene wouldn’t mind them inebriated, he wanted some concentration going into their first gig. He leaned toward the intercom next to the door and gave it a ring. “Oy’ Your band is here…Mind helping us out with the equipment!?” While he certainly had no issue with carry his own (Lone) Equipment, lord knows Dreggz’s would have quite the baggage to get up on stage. Hopefully she stayed selective on what she actually Needed. Lord knows getting it ONTO the van was a pain in the ass all it's own.

hola everyone, it's ya fifth so glad to have been invited to this groovy lil shindig

Lots of loud bangs in short succession. Torie wasn’t used to guns. The sounds hurt her tiger ears and she flinched as if shot, whipping about, looking to the source of the sound as the source of danger. Usher stood there with a determined look on his face, smoke rising from his pistol. Torie followed his gaze to Dia running back to them, something large and spider-like following close behind. Again Torie’s head whipped around, checking back on this Severick. If there was any time for a monster in human form to strike at them, it was now.

Backstory Not much is known about Stormbreaker to the general public other than she point blank refuses to talk about her past unless it's to people who'd absolutely understand what she meant. Other than her unknown past, Stormbreaker is known to be damn good at what she does and highly dislikes killing unless if necessary. She is known to be extremely scared of a certain character and does her best to avoid them for reasons only she knows and refuses to explain. A few things that she has said however is, this isn't the same version of Valucre she remembers; it was shattered and broken where she came from, she woke up on this version of Valucre near death's doorstep and nursed back to health before she went and found the current job she had. The reason she constantly wears armor and never takes it off is so that she never gets mistaken for her apparent counterpart who loves causing trouble to everybody around her. Having her unmasked would only make her job a lot harder, as many people would refuse to talk to her mainly due to what this Arashi did. Stormbreaker is known to mainly only use her electric powers as those have the best chance of appending and arresting a criminal without serious harm. SPOILERS:

Dunno. I should have an answer for you, but I don't. I, without googling, can't tell you the difference between boat and ship. And from a legal and technical writing standpoint they are usually called vessels. "Recreational vessel, commercial vessel, etc" Sometimes the term ship gets used when you need to be more specific: tankship, container ship" because vessel includes self propelled and nonself propelled watercraft, whereas ship is almost exclusively used for self propelled. But even in legal writing that isn't consistent. The term boat is almost never used professionally, with the only exception I can think of being lift boats. I'm sure there is a nuanced difference between the three, and each probably had a specific use at some point, however I can't tell you why something is a tank ship, another is a lift boat, and another is a towing vessel. My best guess is that it's regulation incorporating the language of the regulated, which has resulted in technical meaning being lost.

TREASURE PLANET We have come full circle

James Eredas remembered nearly every fight he had ever been in. He remembered the faces of every person or creature he ever killed. Therefore, it was indicative of a greater problem when he realized he couldn't remember the last time he took a break. A real break. Not like parties or celebrations of any sort because even at those he was always engaged in some capacity, networking, studying, or weaving the bonds of diplomacy. So this was a unique sensation really. Not at all unpleasant. Trusting the operation of the Force Majeure to others for a day or two, James surprised Selene with an invitation to join him at a hot spring. He doubted she had heard of or experienced such a pleasure before, and looked forward to her reaction. He presented the scroll that was their pass to the guide, before turning to reach his hand out to Selene to help her find her footing. The base of the mountain was where the trail got irregular and difficult, and quickly too. His cloak billowed in the brisk wind, and underneath it the Daemonslayer was still more or less kitted out as he usually was, in his furred mastercrafted armor. Some habits were hard to break. At least he didn't carry his swords on this date.

Yatari Nomads of Khaznah, master craftsman, builders, and hunters. The Storm Chasers of the realm that tread the dangerous sands of beaches to follow lightning as it strikes. Breeders of the P'e'ki. Forever on the move. Outsiders may view the Yatari as aimless travelers with no means by which to live, and no motivation to stay put. However, this small-mindedness is a mistake in assumption. Having honed their skills over many generations, each Kuroopu [group/tribe] of Yatari seen wandering about is duty bound to their chosen path. And each bears the mark of their forbearers, to define them as they are meant to be. Kilat | Lightning chasers, trained by those who came before them to follow the storms of Khaznah. These specialized teams descend upon the sands where Argolyte is formed; better known to the rest of Faejarhé as Conduit Glass. Towering trees of lightning glass that rise anywhere from 200 to 400 feet in the air. Like electrically charged crystalline forests. The Kilat break down and harvest these sky reaching veins in order to process, trade, and sell them. Traditional means of refining are generally left to their Rajin brethren. In some parts of Khaznah, thin tubes of conduit glass are chained together and wrapped with Furtaq made by the Kirali to create power lines to run lights or 'electricity'. The magical element of the lightning is always preserved by the Kilat’s harvesting and Rajin’s well refined processing techniques. Ternak | Known in common speak simply as Breeders, are the Ternak. In many a place in Khaznah one might come face to beak with what are referred to as P’e’ki, or ‘pecky birds’. These tall feathery long-legged creatures have been bred over generations to instill the qualities best fit for the areas in which they are traded and used in. Ternak are a prideful group, believing in the importance of proper breeding, feeding, and caretaking not only of the P’e’ki, but of all the animals that they caravan with them. Eburu | Marksmen of the bow, notably some of the best hunters in all of Faejarhe, are the Eburu. Their skills rely on hunting, gathering, and farming the necessities their people need. It isn’t unusual to see pack animals carrying carefully woven baskets full of soil and vegetation. For those herbs and greens not found all over in their travels. Rajin | Despite the continuity held in movement. The Rajin take from the other Kuroopu the materials that can be crafted and used to create other things. They waste little to nothing believing that to waste what the land has blessed them with is punishable. What this punishment is they do not speak of, referring only to a word; Quejar. Believed to be the most handy of their people, the Rajin have remarkably refined techniques to process, create, and build everything they touch. They are the ‘intellects’ of the Yatari. It is not unusual for travellers to come across ‘ghost towns’ or empty stone and rock forged villages throughout Faejarhé, merely the remnants of stopping points for solstice trade and festivities for the Yatari, built by the Rajin. From time to time, depending on the destination, it is common to see them return to these places. Along with P’e’Ki birds, the Yatari use wind propelled crafts much like sled boats when travelling. These are small two to three person crafts capable of catching wind gusts, especially in storms to help the Kilat to move more quickly without threatening the lives of their P’e’ki steeds. In each of the Kroopu an elder is chosen based on their age. Inheriting the position as the oldest after the other has met their final peace. These four heads make up a Meuraat [council], deciding which paths to follow, marriages, when and where festivities will take place, and how to deal with obstacles to their paths. Youth, at seasons 8-11, are given four heritages. One from each Kuroopu. And are henceforth sent into the lands of Khaznah to learn its will as well find which heritage calls to them most. For this is how their Kuroopu is chosen. Skill dependent on the blessings of the lad, to further the continuance of the tribes. Being born in one Kuroopu does not mean the youth will stay in that Kuroopu, as the land will eventually show them their gifts and where they truly belong On death, the Yatari view it as a gift for whatever life they’ve been blessed. Having been granted the ability to travel the lands for as long as it allowed them. Their dead are cremated and placed inside gourds perforated with holes. Being that they never stay too long in one play, they use this to spread the ashes of the dead, giving back from that which was originally given. Knowing their kin sink into the soil from whence they came to grow again another season. Back to Index #Khaznah

This is unacceptably acceptable. Welcome aboard!

Nah. Can't see that happening *shakes head*

That's too bad, supes. However, it makes this a good time for me to pull out of the thread, count my scene with Houndy above as a test-run and do something in a closed thread. I am grateful for the interactions I've had in this thread, discovering RPers such as @Venus Sprite and @DarkHorse. I hope I get more chances to RP with y'all in the future, you both especially. Sprite mainly, cos something's started with Chidi and Igni and I want to see where it goes, though that'll have to be after a certain slow-moving thread off-Val he's involved in. I'd just plotclone, but this thread involves faeries, who knows what could happen? I could leave one of my charries behind to interact with Sprite (or anyone else remaining), though I'm not sure who yet.

"..gods, I must lie really well," commented Phoebe as she looked Riha over, taking in the length of the woman's tangled limbs and the shift and skew of her clothes. Her dark hair in a fan put the bow on the present, one delivered to the boys with the food cart, and Phoebe laughed softly to herself as her attention slid to the food set before them. "That was an award-winning performance, by the way. I'm not sure anyone's that good, but I am sure I won't be lonely in this tavern for quite a while," she went on, her amusement trailing off naturally as she lifted each metal cover to check the spread beneath. The chicken alone drew an audible growl from her thin stomach, and she ripped off a leg and gnawed off a bite before stacking a rough wooden plate and carrying it over to Riha. She handed it to her, then settled down cross-legged, still chewing her first bit of meat. "Your other worldly groupies hitched a fucking ride." Riha grumbled, "Stupid assholes are eating up my energy like little gnats." The reminder carved a frown in waves across Phoebe's brow- it was bad enough that there were ghosts apparently circling her like vultures, but to have them siphoning energy was a new and complicated problem. She shook her head, then swallowed and scrubbed at her scalp with an empty hand. "Can I help, I.. " She wrinkled her nose, pointed the half-stripped chicken-leg at Riha and took a breath, then shook her head and took another bite. In the arcanosphere around the First, her essence stretched and searched in tendrils - Riha could see them crawling, probing, looking around as if she were going to find the ghosts somewhere. The planes don't cross, though, and in short order, they drooped, sagged, and slunk a retreat back to Phoebe's thin frame. YOU HAVE EATEN YOUR LAST MEAL! Uh. The deep, building-shaking vibrations extended all the way through Phoebe's aura, casting ripples across its solidness like a boulder into a puddle. Her back was to him; hell, she was still one-handed buttoning her shirt and convincing herself that the whole ghost problem was something she could deal with later when the window shattered and reflex stacked Will atop Survival, carved a circle, and ran a line like an igloo until a thin sphere surrounded Riha and Phoebe in totality. It was a mess; she was drunk, the sphere was way off center and tore a quarter-inch gash the wooden floor, but it worked. The heat rushed in, but was cut off as Phoebe shot a wavering glance back over her shoulder and swayed at the sudden movement. "..fuck me." Riha's scream eclipsed her astonished murmur like the moon over the sun. I AM KULBRAST, TAMER OF DRAGONS, THE FLAME OF RUIN! "What the fucking fuck is this shit?!" AND YOU ARE A COWARD! STRIKING FROM THE SHADOWS, STABBING ME IN THE BACK! A TRUE WARRIOR WOULD AT LEAST STAB ME FROM THE FRONT! "Fucking delusions interrupting a nice dinner with whatever this is and....and..." BUT I AM A MERCIFUL MAN. I WILL GRANT YOU THE HONOR I WAS DEPRIVED OF! THE HONOR OF A WARRIORS DEATH! "You said there wasn't ANYONE that would come after you!" Riha's tone was drunken and accusing as she continued to yell, adding to the chaos and bedlam building up inside the small room, and inside Phoebe's head. "Who the fuck is this guy?!" <SHUT UP!> The counter roared, absorbing all of the space inside Riha and Kulbrast's thoughts as Phoebe's command echoed within their skulls, leaving no gap, no breath, no sliver of space in which for them to do anything but hear her, even as Kulbrast's form collapsed, disintegrating into hundreds of fiery flares that pulled inward, like a sun had been born in this shit-hole tavern. It rushed them, trailing a brilliant wildfire that scored the floor black in its wake. The First stood, drove her boot against the wood planks and warped the psionic sphere out into a wall to meet his onslaught. The impact was immense, flattening the blaze to the sides of the room as it drove Phoebe all the way back to the bed, to Riha, until the First had no choice but to plant her foot against the wall and use the full measure of her body- a body, it was clear, that was not going to survive the effort much longer. She stretched long, parallel to the floor with her hands planted against the psionic blockade, hoping the tavern's exterior wall was built to withstand this amount of stress. It creaked; she groaned. "..Kulbrast, gods - STOP - this is not honorable! This place is full of people! Let them go..." She struggled, her face rapidly flushing a panic-worthy red as she fought to keep the searing sun from collapsing her Will. "I'll follow you out!" She shouted, scrambling for any solution - any tiny advantage she could pull, even if it was just a break and a change of scenery. "We'll duel!"

@The Alexandrian just so you're aware the Terran military was never firing on your people. We had a discussion directly about how the Terran military was not attacking HGA, so how did your misunderstanding subsist through that conversation? xD

Her chin tilts upwards, even as it shifts to a more pointed extremity, before resuming its rounded, gentle look. This took only the span of a few seconds, as Shanna watches him desecrate his would-be love with his ill-temper. He presses on delicate flesh, rending her unable to speak as she chokes on nothing and everything at once. The dimpling of the flesh is missed, but the desperation of the act is not. Though he releases Isabella with her newest wounds of his love, Shanna has already made her decision. Even as he takes a thundering foot forward, her own figure steps back, hand tightening on the wheel of the ship as though an unspoken threat. She is not moving out of cowardice or fear, but merely to cement the promise of her actions. His face, however tired and sorrowful it may be, sways not her decision, for he only proves that he is man, though perhaps closer to a devil. To present himself as the savior of the very woman he just abused was folly, and Shanna’s golden gaze narrows at him, condemning his actions. Confident in her own abilities, the lithe figured mage stands before the behemoth-armored man and defies him with every ounce of her being. Fingertips caress the wheel, before she lifts one finger from it, as though there was some contemplation that measured the weight of her actions against the question that lingered in the air between them, the pregnant pause giving way before Shanna’s lips curl into another smile. She had obviously missed Isabella’s cue to give the man what he wanted. “Yes…yes it is.” She offers him no response to the rest of his question despite his looming form, before suddenly shoving the entirety of her back against the wheel in defiance of his second question, the airship groaning and creaking as it suddenly nose-dives for the ground. They are not so low that their impact would be anything but disastrous, but are thankfully not at a terminal velocity. At the exact moment her body slings backwards, Shanna’s hand outstretches towards Isabella, magic flicking from her fingertips. It envelopes the woman, wrapping her in the gentlest of barriers – one meant to protect and encase, however, there is a pulse before the power goes wild for the briefest of moments – lashing at everyone in the room before it finally settles in its chaotic nature and resumes it’s peaceful thrum as the airship careens forward. Shanna has no hold on her footing at this time, and instead she grasps desperately at the wheel as she threatens to go ass over tea-kettle, in a manner of speaking. There is rapid beeping on the dashboard, their elevation quickly diminishing as they become closer and closer to the potentially watery grave where the airship may fall. It is obvious that Shanna has little care for her own life, as the magic around Isabella strengthens as her resolve does the same. They crash into the waters of the Coconino marsh, closer to Blairville than not – the hull of the ship giving way to the impact, splintering and crumpling inwards as water rushes onto the bridge and to fill the rooms below. The bow holding them upright before it falls backwards as the end of the ship slaps the surface of the water. The crash is no doubt uncomfortable. The impact throws Shanna from her position and the magic that she held ruptures for the briefest of moments, caressing each person in the room with a tender touch as it tugs away from them their memory of the last twenty four hours. First Shanna finds herself hurtling forward, slamming into the wall just the other side of the bridge door. A cry leaves her throat as a splintered piece wedges itself into her right shoulder – but despite her pain, the bouncing ball that has become Isabella does not lose the power afforded it. As it bounces about, no doubt causing a bit of discomfort to Isabella – it finds itself slipping into the waters that ebb and flow into the ship before being engulfed by the waves as it floats onward beyond reach. It tumbles through the tumultuous waves. Thomas’ sleeping body snatched from the bridge by those same chaotic waves, and Shanna shakes her head from the disorientation of losing both her memories, and the pain that plagues her quickly chilling limbs as water clutches at her like a scorned lover. She finds her footing loosen and suddenly is swept away by the current as she twirls in the water – finding herself drug along the bottom of the marsh. Isabella has no reason to fear, however, as long as Shanna remains conscious her magic will hold. However, Shanna was quickly losing the battle as breath rushed from her lungs as she hit a rock along the bottom. Dizzy and spinning her figure stops as she closes upon stiller waters. Shanna twists, using her one good arm in an attempt to draw herself upwards as her legs kick desperately to find the surface. The murky and disgusting water of the Coconino marsh threatening to overwhelm her senses before she finally breaches like an uncoordinated whale, gasping for air as her bleary eyes seek salvation in the form of a shore.

Hi and hello there Vegetable. It is a pleasure to make your nutritious acquaintance. I will follow upw with TypeTen (I see you!) to give them a virtual, germ-free pat on the shoulder for leaving bread crumbs behind them that a fine vegetable like yourself was apt to follow If you have any questions feel free to send me a message. Looking forward to seeing you around on the site!

Style: T1 Ruleset: UFS Characters: Sabine Fenvaris vs Thyphainne Gladesinger Terrain: Randomly Generated via terrgen; Val Equiv: Velhatien Desert Prize: The 4th Sfera of Khaiperion, Earthshaker @Zigzag The Velhatien Desert Bones of massive, once-majestic creatures lie hot and steaming in the sands. Clouds that have never borne any rain shift overhead, preparing for a night colder than any the South has ever known. The wastelands of Genesaris is filled with vast ruins lost to time, roaming with creatures strange and hostile. Hunters and warriors alike search the desert for hidden treasures, encountering things never before seen, with much more to discover and tell of in tales... should they return alive to the kinder plains and forests of Genesaris. The magical, golden desert of Velhatien is by far the roughest and most brutal of lands in all of Genesaris. The few nomads and clans that make their living in the rolling, shifting dunes are known for their strength, will, and ability to adapt to the cruelest of environments. Suspicious of outsiders, these stoic inhabitants respect only the hardiest of visitors, standing no nonsense from the occasional foolhardy tourists. While at first glance Velhatien seems mostly devoid of life, many creatures roam the desert. Fire elements of all shapes, sizes, species, and families are known to hide beneath the sands, emerging daily to hunt and forage for the scant food available to them. Other, less volatile creatures hide in the small oasis scattered far into the desert, taking advantage of these small paradises as sources of water and much-needed shade. These tiny areas of grass and trees and pools of fresh water are often seen populated with the nomads and clanspeople of the desert, who are no less appreciative of any mercy the desert has to spare. Once, the desert was a place of worship - likely by those who prayed to the Fire Elements - but now all the temples and churches lie buried in the roiling sands, holding what many consider to be great treasures and artifacts there for the taking by those brave enough to seek them. Undoubtedly guarded by ancient forces wise and strong, few have actually ventured into the heart of the desert where the most cruelest of forces life - the Fire Plains. The Velhatien Desert temperature reaches -38°C at its coldest and +42°C

Trey drank from his bottle again as he observed the commotion, thinking on Kimiko's words about singing. In truth, he did know of a few songs that he could probably sing if he wanted, but that was just the problem; he never really wanted to. He continued giving it thought until Kimiko asked to know more about the White Tiger school. The change of subject was quite welcome. "It's a style of Tiandi Wushu, made up of techniques centered on boosting physical strength by channeling qi for powerful close range attacks. Strikes, throws, locks and all that. One of the first things I learned was how to channel qi through my whole body." The large young man closed his eyes and breathed slowly in and out. His skin reddened, and a bright aura resembling a solar flare emitted from his body. He opened his eyes, now also red and shining, and as quickly as it appeared, his aura faded. "It's called Full Body Infusion. It drains your energy fast, though, so it's only good for training. Not really a White Tiger technique, but I can't really show you any of 'em here. Ain't enough room for one thing, and even if there was, I don't think the owner would appreciate me tearin' his place up. And for another thing, I don't think Master Ren would like me usin' my skills to show off. That's not how students of Tiandi roll."

The blind geisha resigned herself to sit back quietly and allow the ebb and flow of people around her to run its course. Emilio’s joining in on the fun by declaring them all family brought a small laugh from her. Good natured jokes, ice broken and thawed, now yet another could join in with their forging of friendships and adding to their ever growing family. She didn’t doubt the charming old man couldn’t have the whole shop included in on his party by the end of the night. Something she mightily looked forward to see if he could pull it off. “My singing voice ain't that good, so I think I'll pass. Besides, I don't know any songs." “It doesn’t matter if you are good or not.” Came the gentile reply, then a wink, “It’s whether or not it is fun for you....Besides, you could just invent the words if you don’t know them, makes for better songs in my opinion.....” Her voice trailed off as her warm beer arrived, with a thick layer of foam on top! Just the way she liked it! “Ah!” She clapped her little hands together excitedly, “Thank you!” As conversation does, it moved on, the flow of it shifting away from Karaoke and onto other things - such as dog tags that the newcomer was wearing. Oh how her blindness robbed her of the ability to find little details such as that to ask about! Well adjusted as she was, she did miss being able to detect small things such as that. But a sip of warm beer served as enough of an offset to that minor disappointment. Kimiko sorely wanted to ask about the White Tiger school, and about Tiandi Wushu - however other members of their party, already having relocated to the shop, made themselves known...loudly. “Your friend's here, Kimiko. He says to ask: 'raamen tabemasu ka?', which is 'eat ramen' in Japanese!” The loud voice over the already loud shop grated. Kiko gave a small tilt to her head in acknowledgement of the statement and kept her hands wrapped around her mug of beer. “Ni’m sorrime, ni pole-’t lar- tye, could tye eques i a titta louder?” She replied quietly to Cassie before taking a sip of beer. The temperature continued to be perfect, it hadn’t cooled down to the temperature of the room just yet, and since it wasn’t cold - it couldn’t get warm and ruin the taste of a beer best served cold! “I hardly think an order for singing is necessary.” She said in regards to another question she heard floated out amongst the din, “I heard Igni here needs at least two beers before she said she will sing.” Yes, she held on to little pieces like that in her mind, the devil is in the details after all. Choosing to draw her attention away from the more raucous of the crowd, she turned her ice blue and unseeing eyes back to their target. Ready to sate her curiosity. “Tell me about this White Tiger School -“ she gently insisted, “I am most curious to know what it is!” @supernal @Venus Sprite @Reflectsor @Houndy Poochykins @Purple Eagle

@Fallen Joy @Dabi @L E V I A T H A NN I'm going to skip @Sirloin if he doesn't post by tomorrow

As silence hung, Mariela could feel it slipping its way round the neck of the conversation, and strangling it. The conversation was quick to move on, however it seemed Michelle wasn’t quite done with it. Staying completely silent, Mariela simply let the events unfold as they were, she knew when to stay quiet and when to speak up. Though she was considered obnoxiously opinionated, Mariela knew when to shut up and look pretty. Michelle’s explanation of Argus was quite succinct, and as she rose to stand politely dismissing them all, Mariela stood as well to follow. They paused for the briefest of moments before the Philanthropist called out something they’d all seen earlier. The person in the Oni mask fleeing over the wall. Afterwards she promptly dismissed herself and turned to leave the room. “A pleasure sharing tea with you.” Mariela added, as she gave a polite bow and made to follow Michelle out of the room.

The banshee's claws rained down on her like a hail of spears, their sharp hooked edges tearing and slicing into the First as she curled up in the muck, covering her head and her neck and piecing together the fractured remnants of her concentration. The scream, that mind-blighting wail .. it had shattered her, ripped her Will from her command, and dissolved it like so much salt in the ocean. Shikai was not getting up. In the back of her thoughts, she could feel the remnants of James stirring as she faltered, as the banshees converged over her like hyenas over a dying elk. He was so weak now, almost subsumed by the First and her monstrous assimilation, but as his healing abilities knit her flesh back together, they clashed with the one skill she hadn't stolen - lightning - and its searing, crackling burn skittered across her flesh like stones across a pond and jumped from her flesh to the Banshees. The First took advantage, following suit she rose from the water like Atlas to the sky, exploding in a telekinetic wave that birthed lightning like the flashing anger of the condemned god. It drove the banshees back, plowing them down through the mud, as the lightning caught dry leaves and hanging moss ablaze. Phoebe fixed a hard, hateful gaze on the flailing spirits. Energy poured from her- loosed like a tsunami, she split it: one monstrous force plucked Quin from mid-air, caring nothing for the sudden about-face she would experience, and heaved her forcefully at the furthest of the banshees. The second she fixated, focused like a fire hose, and rammed into the sidhe. She drowned it in her Will, ripping at it with a million tiny fingers that hooked and snatched as it rushed past. She surrounded it, suffocated it, beat it a thousand blows from a thousand curses in her onslaught: one for every insult to her flesh, for every tear, for every grain of mud she'd swallowed as she'd knelt in the mud, as she'd bent before their attack, back when they thought she was prey. Only once it was helpless, its wispy frame contorted and struggling to maintain its manifestation, and she was sure the other was quarry beneath Quin's frenzied claws, did she shift to her most important concern. The child. The imaginary child. Phoebe's blood poured, but only momentarily - diluted in the water, it ran in torrents that cascaded down her soaked hair and torn flesh, then pooled at her feet. It slowly thinned, wound then wept to droplets, as her flesh knit and her energy faded. She swept the area, cast an emerald green gaze wide and listened for the secret sounds children made when they hid and believed they were invisible-- they never were. She spied the girl in short order, though no one else would. The machinations of her mind and the twisted ministrations of the Glen were absolute- it had its reality, and she had hers, and they had agreed only that both could live, so the girl's apparition sat atop the reality of the Phoebe's fight and she stopped, for seemingly no reason at all, and extended her hand out to nothing. To her, she extended it to triumph- to success, to the pinnacle of maternal victory as her child ran sprinting from a trampled scrub patch, safe, and latched onto her hand with the unmitigated strength of a child who doesn't know mediated effort. With the shift of her weight, Phoebe hauled the child up onto her back, where she latched onto the First like a too-tight travel pack. "You're never here to protect me, Mommy.. " The whisper was insidious. "They're going to get me!" "Not today, love." The statement echoed with finality even as she spent the last of her effort to keep the banshees fixed, pinned in place like grotesque fragments of the women they once were. The last wave before she exhausted her arcana was an anemic swell that faltered, simpered, and fell flat as Phoebe hefted the Mindgorger and placed it between the horrors and her child. Her overwhelming expenditure of her Self had been foolish on one hand; it assured only a temporary victory, but kept her child safe, and left her bare until she could recover. Even has the whorling runes scrawled across her back and forearms activated, shining bright with their awakening - she would go into the any next attack without them. Which is not to say she was undefended. "They're going to slice me up!" "Tut tut, " came the correction, "Worry doesn't solve problems, planning does. Now, tell me what do we do here, dear.. " prompted the First, waiting her for her child's answer as she settled herself between her feet, stretched the spear's wicked tip forward, and watched her banshee rise. "We kill them all." "That's my girl."

I’m fine with that. Any reason why they’re fighting?

Noooo, please, join us anyways. I get that the holidays are busy. Our characters are meeting on a rooftop to get the heist started. Please, feel free to join us. @sapphicSphinx

This was as far from home as the girl had ever been. She pondered this as she looked over her shoulder at the walls of Viridia, a mere twenty feet in front of her. Admittedly, it wasn't that far. She sighed and tightened her cloak around her shoulders as she made her way into the woods. Just as the sun began to set, she stopped and found a place to sit on a pile of pine needles. This was good enough, she thought. She rested her head against a tree and closed her eyes. This wasn't the first time she'd snuck out and slipped into the woods. Some would say that it was her rebellious nature. They said she was a child full of fire that only acted out to give her father grief. But to her, out here amongst the trees and the earthy scents was the only place she felt at peace. When she opened her eyes, she saw a door. It was a simple door, wooden and rounded at the top with the frame included. Perhaps it was a silent wish she made, or perhaps it was an invitation from the gods-she knew not. There was no building attached and she could have sworn it was not there before. Cautiously, she touched it and felt the solid wood under her finger. It must be a trick of the fae, she thought. Less cautiously, she knocked. No answer. So the girl turned the handle and pushed...and found another world behind it. The smell of roasted chicken, fresh bread and ale washed over her. She could hear the sounds of laughter and music and it was all so infinitely warm. So she stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind her. "Ah!" She looked behind her as if to double check and discovered the door appeared different than the one she had walked through in the woods. "Oh," she said.

Heyo! Sorry for the long delay, I've been pretty busy with the holidays and have hardly had the time or energy to spare for Valucre, oof. But my schedule is opened up now, so I should be able to put out posts at a faster pace and get this sucker done. ... A month or so between posts is better than no post at all, I suppose, but I personally would like to be more speedy than "glacial" lol.

As the fingers of fate curled around her, disguised as the will of his most macabre power and stopped her thus from escaping yet another scene of what surely would end up as the third blood-bath of the evening, Gabriela had a painful thought. This moment, in its entirety, was the sum of her actions coming together -- the final deciding factor of her existence. It was her reckoning, and there was simply no escaping it. Human fear had reduced her to a coward, but in the end it was her own feeble foundations, centuries in the making, that had cracked. In the end, she always ran away. And perhaps there was nothing shameful in the act of running, especially not when one considered the insurmountable odds which always seemed stacked against her. But the one thing that was unforgivable was the lie that she kept telling herself over and over again, which was to say that she was not in fact running away, and that she was not in fact a coward. That she did not embrace the reality of her own situation meant that she endangered others constantly. She didn’t accept her position, her name, her situation, and so she did not invite anyone else to do so and did not allow them the opportunity to properly access the risk of taking up in her service. That was one of her sins -- but the other was worse, darker perhaps, and now that she was forced back by his side, she had to come to terms with it all. There was Shanna. There was the woman that Gabriela had hired and brought upon her private vessel with the intention to kill. It all made very little sense in the end. Shanna was a drop of golden sun in the bleak and ugly world that Gabriela inhabited. From long ago, when Shanna had visited the Black Queen of Orisia, back when Gabriela was under the thumb of the Blood Emperor himself, back when she still carried the devil’s living child in her womb -- back when she had offered charms of protection with nothing but sweetness and sincerity, back from then, when they had first met, back when Gabriela was still a vampyre, back so for back that Shanna herself did not seem to remember anymore… From that long ago moment, and that gentle kindness, Gabriela had decided the young woman’s fate. And it simply made no sense, not unless one took into full account the severity of Gabriela’s selfishness. This new life had been bought at a dear price. Her immortality had been traded for the sake of escaping Raphael’s ever-seeking and all-seeing eyes. She had literally drained the life from her veins to finally sever her connection to her cousin, and in doing so (by becoming human) ensured that Tenebre would have his heart's desire in a few short decades, rather than potential millennia. That hefty price could not be for nothing if all her secrets were revealed by one who had clumsy stumbled upon her, if Shanna in her blind loyalty to Raphael, should ever mention who she happened upon while traveling on the other side of the world. If the girl so much as breathed a wayward comment concerning some creature who so resembled the Black Queen. It was a lot of ‘ifs’ and many ‘maybes’ but nothing that Gabriela was willing to risk. With more ice in her veins than she had ever had as a vampyre, she decided that she would end Shanna before she ever made her way back to Genesaris -- or back to him. Roen, devil that he was, showing up to dole out punishments was oddly appropriate even if she never admitted her dark designs. This was fate. But it was still difficult to be brought face to face with the only semblance of guilt that could be held over her head. And it showed. With her bare toes pointed downward, brushing the floor as she stretched her legs and shook from the tension in her muscles -- in a useless attempt to escape the influence that held her floating -- Gabriela struggled against the invisible hand that squeezed the strength out of her. Besides him, but in the air, she watched through narrow slits as the armored monstrosity that she had once called lover, stretched out his hand toward the waif of a girl -- Shanna. It was difficult to take stock of the room, but she managed well enough to see the controls of the ship, the observation deck with its thick synthetic glass and the abysmal black of night just beyond, and at their feet's, the sleeping man who had been most mercifully delivered from the tragedies that were about to unfold. “Your reckless flying made my lady lose her footing.” At her sides, her hands curled into fists. But a tight squeeze, delivered from the devil’s mind, juiced the will and fight out of her before it could manifest to anything more than groggy bewilderment. She stared, through strands of dark hair that had fallen over her face -- looking like a rather savage thing with blood painted across her cheek from where Roen had touched -- at Shanna with nothing but her eyes to convey her pitiful rage and nearly overwhelming fear. “Where are we bound, captain.” “S-s-she doesn’t...know.” It was difficult to speak through the dark and wicked magic that held her upright. It wasn’t so much that it was a harsh thing, but rather that it was foreign and ugly to her human sensibilities. The devil’s influence stirred no desire or temptation in this human version of his beloved, but rather went to the other extreme. It made her ill, uneasy, and clearly uncomfortable. “I told her...I told her north...that’s...that’s all she knows.” Did he know where they had been? Did he know where she had started this journey? There were secrets -- things she did not intend to tell anyone, not yet anyway. Her final destination was most certainly the most precious of her secrets, and even in the face of all of this horror, and even Shannon’s potential torture and death, she was unwilling to reveal the truth of it all.

Dressed in greyed and black leathers to protect him from the climate of the region. Severick rested on the back of Lucille with calmness. His black boots shined dully in the light of the day as they aligned one over the other as his long legs stretched out on the motocycle. The monster cycle was quiet beneath him as he rested with easy. The young man with light blonde hair on his chin. As the young man was regarded, he did not stir or move. All about him was silent and quiet. Not one molecule of power or interest stirred. No one not even the creatures within the young man's shadow moved or made mention of their passing. As the group left to go to the village, awareness from the group stirred. The shadow beneath him writhed and moved as if a living thing independet of his actions. Its form expanded and flipped in anticipation. "Collection. . . a collection. .. . .a fine group. . . . several .. . interesting. . . . somethings are here. . . . in this town. Exciting." Several voices spoke from the interior of the shadows as they danced about the area. The creatures were interested in having something new to play with. Severick smiled. "We'll see. They may not need us at all." He said as he sat up with a sigh. "Aaaaaaah. The young man stretched and looked in the direction of the others. "Lucille." The motorcycle growled a low sound at its master's beckoned call. "be nice and quiet. You got us out here. Rest while I go play nice." Severick rose and walked behind the other warriors. He wanted to shout and wave at the group with a friendly greeting of a long handed gesture. "Hello with a wave." He would have shouted. He would have smiled genuine and wide. "The name's Severick of the WYLD. " The words bubbled up to his lips and died on as they bordered his teeth. He sighed as he drew closer to them. "Its nice to meet you. " He whispered too low for anyone to hear him. He had watched more groups than he had joined. He had tracked more heroes than he had shared bread with. He had yet to truly bond with anyone. Perhaps it was time to change that. Severick thought. He listened as the others interacted with the towns people. His sensitive ears picked up on the attack that occurred earlier. The young vhersi sniffed the air as he was observing and thinking to himself. He noticed Torie. His grey eyes watched as the tiger ate the chunks of sheep. "OOoooooo." His full lips pursed. "Nice." The Vhersi's deep voice became deeper as he watched the sheep filled area. Severick's interest peaked as he watched the carnivore in action. A large black tongue moved over his sharp teeth. and slid back behind his teeth. "Interesting. Interesting. " He held back from leaping in and enjoying with her. Instead he took a deep breath and sighed deeply at the aroma of the large hunks of meat around the area.

The Thing

An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.

Sitting in the snow, frustrated with the situation, Ashton briefly abandons self-pity to take a moment to assess the situation. In that moment he gazes upon Samuel, only to have a puppers gaze back, and immediately his mind floods with a level of conviction he seldom feels… I… will… boop that snoot. The invigoration brought on by the realization that a doggo is on the team is fleeting, and with the arrival of the horde his mood is smothered within the depths of depression. All at once the cold becomes the cupcake of evil, the swarm of bloodthirsty fiends little more than soured icing and moldy sprinkles on the disappointment cake. With Dia darting off to hack, slash, and blast her way through a swarm, perhaps fueled by insanity or death wish, Ashton notes her obvious lack of a plan and holds back. Not because he’s worried, but because experience has taught him to weigh his options and leverage his efforts in the most effective manner possible. Effectiveness usually means combining efforts, not dividing, and at the moment they are both divided and outnumbered. Pushing himself to a stand, his left and right hand ascend, fingers dancing wildly as his wrist twist, streaks of iridescent amethyst light forming merging glyphs that unfold into a web of runes. By the time both arms have married above his head the individual formations have assimilated into a coherently coded construct. From it humming, whizzing, and sharp cracks as innumerous objects rocket from a depthless two-dimensional plane. A volley rises, and a volley falls. Countless near translucent black orbs descend from the sky; peppering the top of the ship in a near perfect line that travels from the winged fiends, through the charging line that is bull rushing Vassago, zigzagging across the three heads of the largest monster, before falling scatter shot among the horde that Dai is trying to bathe in. The individual explosions are unremarkable, akin to a firecracker, perhaps strong enough to maim a human’s fingers, but certainly incapable of doing appreciable damage to demon spawn. That, however, isn’t the point. Between beating wings the small explosions disrupt airflow and create downward force, throwing off the cadence of flight and forcing those in the air to descend. For those looking to bullrush it’s a sudden distraction immediately in front of them momentarily pausing their charge. To something with multiple heads processing three times the sensory information, it is a sudden blinding and deafening flashbang that robs them of their awareness. And for the horde, it’s chaos mainlined directly into their minds as a sword swinging lunatic carves through their ranks. Admittedly, the redhead doesn’t normally play support. However, with the heavy cloak, shitty traction, and the general cold sapping his motivation… it is the best fit, for now.