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Note to everyone: I will be adjusting the Sanity table (released later) so that it’s easier to succeed, especially for Sanity 2 and down. We’re having trouble over at the Child’s Play thread to do anything at all. The current table still applies until the end of this round for both realms.

"I trust the Wyrm's Bane is secure as much as I trust you lot." Glasmann stabbed, and after blatantly dropping the name of Elizabeth's employer no less. Liz raised a brow as Ms. Glasmann finished goading the company in a commanding fashion. She viewed Glasmann as a liability at this point, chuckling in a childish nod towards her "propositions." Elizabeth had already made up her mind, the answer already more than apparent to the heiress, she was sure. Still, cooperation was the obligation of the doctors presence, and after listening to a few people refuse Glasmann's offer Elizabeth took a moment to respond with a tactful medium. She had a few idea's in mind, stemming from her research into bio-arcane correlation, and the relevance of binary wavelength extensions. These sorts of sciences, or perhaps magics, were often heralded as complex, dangerous, almost heretic. Yet, their applications were fundamental to a scientific breakthrough; a world of tomorrow which few could imagine. "If passing your exams are assurance that I will be identified by the government as a Non-Enrele citizen then I will accept your proposal Ms. Glasmann. My terms of cooperation however, are in the air." Elizabeth taunted, swaying her right hand across the room towards the others in a cautious fashion, as if appealing to them in some way. Elizabeth knew that in some degree, that someone else here truly wanted to help the nation. Perhaps it was the lunatic Argi, perhaps the soldier Emile, the meat head Dauner, or one of the ladies present; but Glasmann, well.. Elizabeth thought otherwise. This whole ordeal stunk of a corporate regiment, something Patton herself aimed to assemble, and a bid for endorsement power and recognition. Liz was guilty of these aspirations, and had no choice but to play hardball in order to ensure that she and Ventrix Technologies would recieve their due credit in any hand dealt. In short, Caeceila Glasmann was a powerhouse figure, one that Elizabeth refused stubbornly to be overshadowed by.

Where did I go wrong? Somewhere along the line, I grossly overestimated humanity's will to survive. A rabid glory hound from the Feast of Blades, an impetuous representative of the Terrenus Military who must have watered down his CO's coffee to score such an ill-fated assignment, with no backup, from the looks of it, an errant carouser who, perhaps, intended to crash the party three wrecks down, the sister of the infamous Mistress standing at the elbow of an apparition I wager is none other than Middy - you look smashing for a dead woman, by the by, a trigger-happy academic likely on Ventrix's payroll with somewhat laxer ethics than I was expecting, a silent magician, content to study this chaos as it unfolds rather than dive in uninformed, or worse - misinformed, a taciturn party of natives skulking in the shadows, and at the center of it all, a rustic who has yet to comprehend the futility of the campaign he wages. The candied cherry to top it all off is that our location has, quite obviously, been leaked to the public. I trust the Wyrm's Bane is secure as much as I trust you lot. Wyrm was not intimidated when Emile aimed his rifle at her. Similarly, she was not impressed by Dauner's machismo. Neither Eliza's passion nor Shishi and company's aloofness moved her. Argi's ignorance and naivete were of some consequence to her, yet she had been fortunate enough to intervene before he launched his little crusade and the crew he had assembled under his banner into the flames. Tommy's tardiness and apologetic overture impacted her least of all. Those who followed Argi, those who had not uttered a single word of protest or support, and Aya were the individuals who now preoccupied Wyrm's thoughts. Slowly, gently, Wyrm extended a clawed extremity and attempted to nudge Emile's weapon aside. His response to her theatrics had, to a great extent, excluded him from her scrutiny. With a twitch of his finger, he could blow a hole in Wyrm, and still, she didn't treat him as a legitimate threat. She didn't growl at him or take anything that could be construed as hostile action against him when she could have very easily mimicked his gesture with her upscale arsenal. If he turned his weapon on Eliza, Wyrm would again reach out and, with the same purposeful gentleness, encourage him to lower his weapon. She was certain they were both human. If we are introducing ourselves, I should inform you that I am Caeceila Glasmann, the gore-spattered heiress of Hell's Gate, and it is with great satisfaction that I appear to you today in a more honest form as the daughter of Lord Augustine Glasmann III and Lady Kore Glasmann VII. While Caeceila Glasmann has appeared in the news several times of late, which is no surprise given that she is one of the more bellicose nobles prancing around Terrenus, she doesn't expect her name to mean anything to this assortment of people. Silver Vision is still in development, and the operations of her private army have largely been restricted to areas adjoining the Glasmann Estate in Hell's Gate. Nevertheless, Caeceila brought three House Glasmann gunships and a squad of drow spooks to Casper with her this evening should anything go horribly wrong. With little more than a nod, the beast continues. If you truly hope to remove the Enrele from Dougton, I am honor-bound to support you, but I will not commit my men to a suicidal cause. Caeceila lumbers forward, helping herself to the space formerly occupied by the table, now a heap of splinters and wooden detritus heaped against the wall. In exchange for my assistance, and the possibility of a handsome reward should all go well, you will all submit to biological screening. Doc-bots will draw tissue and blood samples for testing purposes. These samples will be archived for other projects, when applicable. Furthermore, you will undergo full biological and metaphysical scanning administered by proprietary, Glasmann Cryonics virtual intelligence systems. You will relinquish all rights to specimens collected and the genetic code contained therein. If you are Enrele, you relinquish any judicial rights you may have under relevant Terrenus codes of law and will be summarily executed or contained for reasons I don't care to disclose. This was a non-negotiable agreement, an ultimatum some of the creatures within the dank chamber would never consent to. Caeceila was well-aware of this, yet she made a target of herself all the same. Then, it was time to enlighten Argi and gather input from those he had assembled. Know that, unlike Argi, I have been keenly interested in the Enrele for quite some time. Only Hivemind Aleth manifests as a tentacled blob attached to the torsos of victims. More advanced Enrele Hiveminds replace organs or organ systems and are, therefore, virtually indistinguishable from healthy subjects... Unless you have the proper tools for the job. Moreover, hiveminds are a distributed intelligence, meaning they can only be defeated by killing all members of the hivemind or attacking the collective consciousness directly. Does anyone have any ideas on how to conduct such warfare or otherwise disable the Enrele? For example, I'd like to hear how this Meryam-person might assist. I'm very interested on your opinions on the matter, especially you, Daloth. If you're willing to bargain for your pathetic existence, this is the only opportunity I'll ever provide.

Others have already said it well but “overpowered” is indeed quite subjective. I’d say in general that a PC is OP if whatever they are doing upsets the roleplay equilibrium between what a PC can do to exercise power and what a PC should do to maintain uniform enjoyment for all parties involved. It is safe to assume that most acts of OP do not lead to group enjoyment. Maybe the summoned fire tsunami engulfs too many cities in a split second or the PC never makes a single mistake; a variety of OP scenarios generally make things less interesting for anyone who isn’t the OP PC’s RPer grinning behind their monitor. But ‘subjective’ sounds like a pretty key term because I don’t think that powers themselves are necessarily OP so much as how they are used. If your character is a god who in your own special realm outside of Valucre can burn stars into nonexistence by blinking then power to you, but as long as those abilities are intensely nerfed on Valucre then fair weather friend.

I'm unable to do that. While it may be a little eyebrow raising to see somebody doing double sommersaults, the character in question has forgone any armor and seems capable of it, putting it in the realm of the possible, if not probable. It is being allowed because his opponent has not raised any issue with it either. These allowances are being made in general because quite a few participants are not as grounded as others, and it shall be a good learning experience. If you are to go up against anybody and take umbrage at any sort of maneuvers undertaken, you are very welcome to: 1. First discuss it with your opponent, 2. If unable to come to an agreement, ask me to render an opinion, 3. If still unable to come to an agreement, ask me to render a judgement. In that order.

It is often believed that a black cat is an omen of bad luck. Many things among black cats were omens of bad luck. But the black cat... Crossing paths with one brought about death—brought about misfortune; a black cat mask was absolutely perfect for a man considered to be an omen himself. He brought about a fate worse than any black cat, and a tidal wave of fortune more fortunate than Lady Luck herself. A dirty pirate. A captain of a ship you would never want to see on the Madeum seas. His motley crew bathed in fortune and drowned in misfortune. Santana the Longtail, the very same one whose name sent superstitious sailors spiraling into horror, had absolutely loved parties. The king is a good king—he’ll give him that—freshly seated on the throne and what is the first thing he does as king? Throw a masquerade for him and his lucky crew to trash. A good king indeed! They had arrived at another entrance, one that led directly to the ballroom. Or was it the exit? "A-yayay," he said, stopping dead in his tracks to look at his hideously-dressed boatswain. He picked at his mask—nay—his potato sack with a finger. "What is that?" "What’s what?" Bombo said, his voice muffled by the sack. The holes in it were too small for him to actually see anything. Bombo was half-human, often compared to a kobold, though he seemed more like a mangy imp than a man with dwarfism. "I got something on me face?" "Nay," Barcelo said, a beautiful, feminine face with luxurious ginger long hair, big green eyes and the body of a rough man and the voice of a drunk poet. He was also the first mate. "You've gotten something all over your head." It honestly seemed as if God had lopped off the head of a pretty woman and stuck it onto a body of a slender, chiseled man. Santana fixed his feathered hat. One can tell the disappointment in his face, even with a black wooden mask. He flicked Bombo's bottle nose for coming to a masquerade in a potato sack. "Ogh!" Bombo held his nose. "Ogh-" "No matter," he said, directing his attention towards the entrance to the brightly-lit ballroom, "I'll just tie you to the buffet table so you get to guard all the food, and I get to chase the women without you scaring them away." "And me?" Barcelo asked. "You get to chase the men." He laughed. "Aye, cap'n." Santana had brought these two and these two only; they were the most sensible out of any of his crew members, who were all the least sensible, either by being too stupid or being too ugly to bring along. Incidentally, they were also two of the lucky four who had never once died aboard the Cat's Eye. Santana placed his hands on the door, turned his head to the side, and grinned a wicked grin underneath that devilish mask of his. "Remember, lads!" He exclaimed, opening the door to the masquerade. "At your best behavior." They finally entered the room. His men scattered: one left to hog all the food, and the other, flirted with the men fooled by his beauty It was fairly easy to spot Captain Santana—nay—Mr. Smith; with a jolly gait, he left behind him a trail of broken glass and clumsy folk tripping on their skirts and feet. Many dismiss the idea of omens or good fortune, but in the face of a man such as Santana Bacardi, it was quite alright to be a little superstitious.

For all her paranoia whenever and wherever the Enrele crop up, Caeceila's tactical expertise and unwholesome obsession with warfare, particularly her weakness for gambits and ignoble trickery that would compel the Witch King himself to take pause, continue to serve her well. Caeceila set the conditions of this encounter. By her command, drow technicians, under the cover of night, restored power to the Wyrm's Bane several days prior. It was her design that messengers of dubious loyalty and professionalism leak the time and location of this meeting to enemy forces. Caeceila baited the Enrele and played her part convincingly, luring as many of them into her kill zone as her ranting, raving, and the salient threat she posed could attract. She arrived in a draconic form armed to the teeth with a suite of cutting-edge weaponry to coax them out of hiding. From the onset, she challenged Hivemind Daloth, directly, at times. Her performance was magnificent, if she did say so herself, and in the end, she had her "undesired" confrontation with Hivemind Daloth. How they would rue the day they declined to parlay with Caeceila Glasmann: not that Caeceila ever intended to grant them quarter! This sea monster, what everyone else referred to as a Yuuja, had crashed Caeceila's party. Of the creature's identity, Caeceila was utterly oblivious. Whatever this sea monster is, it is a terrifying foe worthy of her respect, to be sure, and it is more than a little worrisome, Caeceila would opine, that it is, in all likelihood, capable of surviving in the waters of Genesaris and Renovatio since that implies Hivemind Daloth is well on its way to establishing a global presence. No matter. This Enrele-aligned beastie and those that must be advancing from the coast to cut off the party's retreat are destined, at the very least, to get intimate with a meat grinder, and Caeceila must content herself with that for now! Caeceila had, seemingly, abandoned the party to their own devices. Shooting the monster and blasting it with energetic crystals would, it goes without saying, draw the beast's aggro away from Caeceila, who wasted no time in racing toward the generator room. Unbeknownst to Caeceila, the party had already inflicted massive damage on the sea monster, which will impress her somewhere down the line; she figured they would deal light damage and fall back to the beach. She entered the generator room, a bulkhead slamming shut behind her, and did her part. She pressed herself against a gene-locked panel on a large, cylindrical tube coursing with mesmerizing light. Before Caeceila learned of the Enrele threat from the Symposium Against Doom, she spearheaded an effort to smother the Legion of Doom at its inception. She worked hand-in-hand with the Terrenus Military and provided some measure of air support during the Legion of Doom's Raid on Last Chance, dismantling several Legion of Doom members and the beasts they deployed to cover their retreat. In this engagement, she witnessed how effective the Terrenus Military's anti-psionic grenades and pulses were against Legion of Doom psychers and later gained access, by leveraging her position as a well-respected Terrenus Military Contractor and the heiress to House Glasmann and Glasmann Cryonics, to this technology. She had stockpiled such weapons in Hell's Gate on the off-chance the Legion of Doom ever encroached on Hell's Gate, intending to cripple Dredge by bombarding him with anti-psionic shells launched by House Glasmann artillery units showcased in her recent open house. Several of the wrecks in this relatively desolate section of Casper's shantytown had been fitted with anti-psionic ordinance by sneaky drow technicians flying Nines's banner days before. As Caeceila manually triggered this ordinance, any psychic in the area, including the Enrele, actively relying on psychic powers, like telepathy, would experience debilitating pain followed by the inability to use psychic abilities for a total of ten minutes. These invisible pulses would temporarily alter the flow of ambient magical energies in the area, yet this phenomenon imposes no disadvantage on other types of magic. Caeceila, who was never optimistic when it came to the Enrele, had saturated the area with such weaponry because she expected a full-scale army to turn up to silence Argi's task force. She had, therefore, also taken the precaution of designating this room as her safe room. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that important except that it contained the generator, anti-psionic ordinance, the trigger for her trap, and a few of her all-time favorite toy: two overcharged wands of flesh-to-stone and a sonic cannon. As Caeceila's Silver Eyes slotted these wands into the turrets mounted on her sides and affixed the sonic cannon to the end of her tail, completing her absolutely ludicrous ensemble, music blasted from speakers tucked away in wrecks across the beach. As Caeceila listened to that cover of Die, Die My Darling she, Nines, Cameila, and Iolanda had recorded during a team bonding exercise, she couldn't help but smile warmly. Nines did well with this little surprise!

Not entirely apropos of nothing, I'm peeking my head back into Valucre for a short time to offer up this AMA for folks who are interested in writing or publishing -- whether you've considered pursuing the idea seriously or just find yourself curious about the inner workings. @supernal and I have talked about the topic on occasion, but with the publication of my most recent credit in this anthology I wanted to give people the opportunity to ask questions about writing as a profession and the attendant ups, downs, and quandaries of publishing. Which is an awkward segue into the question: why ask me when you can probably find answers from writers who are household names on Youtube, or Reddit? The answer is because I'm not one of those famous authors. I'm published as a professional (per SFWA standards) and I've won an award (Writers of the Future), but I'm still in the nascent stages of my career. The period that a lot of authors reminisce about is still part of my immediate frame of reference. Besides that, having come into the field much more recently, I'm much more aware of the ongoing changes in the publishing industry regarding things like independent/self-publishing versus traditional. Authors who have been established for ten or fifteen years predate the self-publishing explosion that came with Amazon's Kindle store and many of them have little interest in the most recent social media platforms (Twitch, Youtube, the gram). I'm also one of the only authors I know to transition from freeform roleplay to professional publication, so I know very well the strengths and weaknesses that freeform roleplay gives to a writer. In as short a biography as possible: I started roleplaying in 2006 and stopped in 2012, returned in 2015 and went on break again in 2017. I started writing with the goal of making it my career in 2014 after earning a history degree in 2013. I won Writers of the Future in 2017 and made my second pro-rate sale in 2019. I've written five novels (and going on six), so give or take one a year. I've written maybe two dozen short stories, which explains why I only have two credits with that medium: award or no, I don't write much short fiction. I've shared tables of contents with Brandon Sanderson*, Jim Butcher, Larry Niven, Tim Powers, Kevin J. Anderson, and others; I've also had the chance to talk directly with a lot of these authors (and more besides) about their own processes and approaches. I'm going to try and make regular checks on the site from now until Sunday and answer any/all questions I can. I might try to stretch my time a bit longer than that, but right now I'm somewhere between 3/5ths and 2/3rds into the rough draft of a novel, so after that I'll have to crawl back into the word-mines and get to work again. I'll try to answer every question; my only request is that you don't ask for critiques. At some point in the future I might offer to do critiques or beta-reads, but I don't have the time to do so now and it wouldn't be fair to anyone who asked. This AMA is "1.0" because I hope to have more iterations -- 2.0, 3.0, 4.0, and so on -- as I have more of my work published and claw and climb my way into something resembling a writing career. With a little luck, each successive AMA can chart the path I've taken into and through the industry for the community's edification. Ideally, it'll end with X.0, wherein I retire as a strange and reclusive hermit. (*Just because I have the image on hand: here's a picture of Brandon Sanderson getting my autograph at the Writers of the Future award ceremony. I'm inordinately proud of having that picture, even if I had to let someone dress my hair and knot a tie around my neck for it.)

Well, excuse me, princess! If your domain is Predator's Keep, your domain is an open sewer. I surmise your Order is headquartered there because the land is especially cheap. I digress. If your celebrated Order could, as you claim, handle the Aleth hivemind then why, pray tell, haven't they? While we're at it, where in the world were you while your sister was rampaging through the countryside with Mister Bwahaha Iamevil Lookatme? "Oh, I was busy saving the world." Sure you were. Shishi could not help but frown at that. Clearly, there is no need for such unwarranted aggression but she figured this was the true face of the head of Hell's Gate. Quite unbecoming of a woman of her stature but who is she to judge? Unfortunately for this Glasmann woman, she barely hit anything right. "That is why I'm here. To determine the danger of this hivemind and if taking such action against these being would be within the Order's interests. That and bear in mind that I am just a lowly worker within the order and have no real authority unlike you. I guess you would know that seeing that you could say such words in front of a lower ranking member like me and not in the face of say, someone like James. But I guess I should be the better woman and let this one slide." Frowning, she mulled on her words and then turned her face away from Cae's. "I think you mistook my sister for my mother. She was never there during the raid at Last Chance nor was she part of the Legion. Maybe you meant the Lady Blackbush not the Mistre..." Her voice trailed away as she felt something else. Everything else seemed to fade out into background noise. Was it intuition or her natural sense for danger? Whatever it was, Shishi could sense something approaching. Something really big. What was it? She could not figure out. Was it friend or- Then it hit. Like a large whip-like appendage scything through the dilapidated ship. Her world seemed to rock and shake from the shock. She had to scramble for purchase, her need for self-preservation giving her the strength to move. The limb barely miss her and she was thankful for that. Her trials, however, was far from over. She would still need to survive. As the ship broke into two, she manage to right herself and gain purchase by propping herself on the nearby wall. Finally, she turned her attention to their assailant. A leviathan of the sea. A sea monster. A- "Yuuja," her sister spoke, Shishi had to shift her attention to the source of the voice. Sure enough, there was her older sister sitting sashaying on the side of the hall, a stick of cigar on her mouth treating their life-threatening predicament as if it was a walk in the park. "It seems that the stories are true. It is quite the majestic creature!" the woman continued, her voice filled with awe and amusement. "Any ideas?" Shishi cried as she tightened her hold. "Can't you take it out on your own?" The older sister laughed. "Are you serious? That's ridiculous! If this was Genisaris or Renovation perhaps. But not here, not in this land. I suggest we run away. Or fly away more like it. I doubt this beast could reach us in the sky" "What the hell? Then you're useless! I'm starting to regret bringing you here." Shrugging, the older sister inhaled a lungful of cigar smoke before she spoke. "I'm only here to ensure your safety. Not do stupid things like fighting bloody yuujas." "Safety my ass!" Shishi yelled while her body began to traverse the dangerous terrain. She needed a good spot to make her shot. Emile did a great job with cutting off one of the beast's limbs and she figured she should help too. "Look at the size of this thing! It's bloody huge! Well not that huge. I've seen bigger. No pun intended. There was this one time in Nehalen..." her sister's voice rang through the sea air. Stabilizing her posture, Shishi braced herself for her own attack. She needed to time this right making sure she did not miss her only chance. Even her sister's words were like background noise as she focused all the power in her chest and with a cry, a beam of magical light shot from that area head straight into another appendage, replicating Emile's actions earlier. "...where I fought a mountain! You had no idea how fun it was to have that huge ass mountain titan do a belly flop on me. After that came the upper cut which sent me flying way up high. Ah Good times....." the grating voice of her sister, still keeps on droning and droning. As the limb fell down, Shishi rolled away from where she was previously standing. She needed to keep moving. There's no telling when the beast might retaliate. Her senses were mostly returning now, much to her dismay. With her earlier concentration done, she could once more hear her sister's annoying voice. Perhaps it's best to just ignore the blasted woman and focus on keeping herself alive. ...the good old days. Have I ever told you that Ursa Madeum where I had to fight a volcano. A volcano out of all things! It was one of the weirdest things I have ever seen....." "Can't you just keep quiet for one goddamned minute?! I'm trying to survive here!" "Spoilsport. Killjoy. Party pooper. Wet blanket.... "...Oh dear! I think the beast is looking directly at me. Shishi, would be a dear and help me out here?" "Shishi?! Anyone?"

It's actually peaceful. The residents of all the major cities are clay golems made for attracting supervillains while the real citizens sip martinis in unnamed towns and villages.

I don’t know if this idea is now all Star Wars, but I was still laughing over the adults turning kids. Lol. I created a thread or two where the characters switched bodies with each other. Same personality, different powers/gender/species, and not having a clue how to use the new body’s powers. That was pretty fun. Put a bunch of RPers names in a hat and drew out the pairs that were switching.

While standing in the corner searching for his target he couldnt help but botice the kids amongst the crowd. Pickpockets obviously, he chuckled to himself. Majority of the people here wouldnt miss anything they lost to the hands of the children. They were just trying to survive. He flicked some coin to a passing child who nabbed it and look up at him, wendin just smiled and nodded off to the side. The child taking the hint quickly scurried off back into the crowd "no sign of the target" the voice spoke "perhaps we were sold out or he was tipped off" wending thought on this for a moment "Na, hell show, charismatic little shit like that wouldnt possibly miss an event like this" As if on cue an extravagantly dressed dwarf entered the tent reeking of powerful cologne and whiskey. Sitting near the side of the tent he almost immediately began bidding, throwing out some large numbers and getting more than one persons attention. He was all smiles and laughs, buying drinks for those around him and holding conversations between items Wendin smirked , he had a scar on his left cheek "Gotcha" "hmmph, well we found him, best wait untill hes alone or goes to collect his items after the auction to take him down" "For once" he muttered to himself "you and i agree"

We've all seen the elite spies, the ones who dress in nice suits, seduce targets into giving up information while driving luxury vehicles that do the opposite of blend in. We've all seen the special forces operators. The guys who eat lightning and crap also lightning; who have access to all the best toys and weapons. Those guys are cool, but they aren't what we're about. Aphelion is a Hyperian black ops outfit more akin to Suicide Squad than James Bond (not the movie). Members are all criminals, mercenaries, assassins; the kind of people that are traditionally not considered good members of society. They work in total secrecy, unknown to even the Empress herself. Their one and only objective is to protect the Empire and her interests at all costs. But most importantly, we want YOU to help with more than just the dirty work itself. We want you to suggest targets, equipment upgrades and gadgets, and more! If you have a character you think would be a good fit, please comment below! https://www.valucre.com/topic/43358-aphelion/

@Vansin I use a "launchpad" approach to prewriting. I'll world-build, character sketch, and outline until I feel like I have a sufficient mass of material, and then I start writing whether or not my outline is complete. If it is, great; if it isn't, I'll work off of what I have from that foundation and then complete the outline when the shape of the story reveals itself to me. My "complete" outlines are basically bullet-lists of scenes: a couple of sentences to describe each scene/story beat and nothing else. I can't quantify "sufficient mass" except that I know it when it happens because I'll lose interest in things like world-building and start thinking more about how I want to shape my prose. For short stories, I'll sketch an outline just to have my thoughts on paper and then go from there. I do all of my prewriting work in notebooks, even if I draft on a computer. It lets me write while at work and I tend to do a lot of visualization work (circling, line drawing, marginalia, etc). I've tried testing some of the prewriting methods other authors suggest -- like Ingermahson's snowflake approach -- but they never offer as much as working through my thoughts and ideas and letting the story take shape naturally. They might be more beneficial to writers who want to outline methodically, though, so I don't discount them.

Thot is more like a parody of a feminist. lol

Taken on balance, it was a rather nice day for mass murder. The sun was out in force, its noble brilliance dashing away the shadows wherein the dastardly most liked to lurk . . . not that it mattered, Adime and Gore hadn't waited until night to do their hunting. The breezes were light, downright capricious, and skipped through byways and down the main street with stuttering presence. Though not a constant force, those jovial winds did their part to dissipate the thick cloud of death billowed out just beyond Adime, half-cloaking the still, lifeless bodies of Taen citizens caught in the worst of it. now it might take a dozen minutes to die, rather than just one. With more time lapsed that window continued to widen, so that soon it'd take a half hour, and then a full hour, before death, and beyond that the gas would be so scattered as to merely hurt, rather than kill. Well before that, meanwhile his gas presented an evergreen threat, Adime watched Sebastian make his choice; he dismissed Adime to focus on Gore and Adime simply walked off the main road to the nearest alley. He left blood where he skid across the street but customized coagulants coursing through the host body made quick work of that, scabbing the wounds in real-time. The host didn't need painkillers, Adime simply blocked the brain's ability to uptake pain signals so that the throbbing in the arm was minded, but not a distraction. No sooner was her occluded by the buildings hemming him in on either side than Adime's body underwent a quick, radical shift. His legs bent at the knee, in the wrong direction, giving the man an appearance of an ostrich or an emu; the tendons along his legs lengthened and strengthened; and like that Adime was off on foot, hitting speeds in excess of 30 MPH. He put a reasonable distance between him and the crime scene, the ongoing conflict between the sheriff and his antagonist, and sought some low hanging fruit by way of hapless fool whose body Adime could hijack for his purposes, leaving the apothecary clerk to be found rotting by some eager detective. (tentative exit of Adime)

Pilgrim's Square 0127 Hours It was nearing an hour and a half since the assault had begun, and thus far, Krieger's spearhead had made the greatest progress. The Forsthaven City Hall, a very old and impressive structure, loomed ahead of them. But the defenders had dug in around it, forming a tough shell that even the tanks would have trouble breaching. The defenders had positioned what was left of their outdated cannons into perfect ambush spots, blasting at the weaker armor around the tank treads or even at the rear of the tank, when possible. Unfortunately, this usually meant the gunners were already behind the Norkotian advance by the time they fired, which made them susceptible to being overwhelmed by infantry soon after. Many elected to surrender, forcing soldiers to peal off from the main force to escort them away from the front lines and to guard them wherever they were being held. It wasn't a perfect strategy, but it was weakening Krieger's lines, or at least, it was initially. Reinforcements from the rear were being funneled in now, as men who had escorted the refugees out of the town were now returning, in addition to reserve units being finally deployed. Even so, Krieger would rather have bolstered his army, rather than simply maintaining numbers. The more men he had, the easier he'd be able to break through the defensive lines around the capitol building. At last, his patience wore thin, and practicality won-out over the naive, idealistic orders he had been given by the executor. "All units, there will be no further prisoners taken until the mayor surrenders. Repeat, no prisoners!" he barked into the radio, both to local infantry commanders and to his own tank commanders. By this time though, most of the ambush damage had been done, and several more tanks had been disabled and had to be left behind. And militiamen continued to harass the infantry even as they tried to position themselves for a push on the city hall. Even so, there was a brief stall in the advance as the spearhead gathered its men into position for a major push. As infantry and tanks all caught up, Krieger ordered a bombardment of the square and surrounding buildings, hoping to soften the defenses there. The hall was spared, for now, as Cordoza was wanted alive if possible. * * * "We're reinforcing the front line," the soldier replied, "I don't know much else than that. I guess we're trying to take the city hall. If we wanna get there in time to be any help though, we need to get going!" "HEY!" the sergeant then stepped into view, "Fall out, soldiers! Gawk on the way, if you must!" They were on the move again soon enough, passing along very trail that had been blazed by the squad accompanied by Linda, Khaki, Sera and Naherin. They passed by a group of wounded soldiers being tended by medics, bodies of dead Norkotians and defenders scattered about around the makeshift field hospital. The medics didn't even look up as the reinforcement squad passed them by; they had more important things to attend to. Further ahead, they found a small prisoner holding area, with a scattering of soldiers with submachineguns holding the prisoners in place. As the squad passed by, they heard a couple guards talking about some orders that had come down the pipe. "Wait, we're shooting prisoners now?" one asked. "Not us, just the ones at the front," the other replied, "Something about taking no further prisoners." "Thought for sure we had orders from--" "I think it's the colonel's orders, and since he's in charge in this sector, what he says goes. I for one won't mind not having to watch anymore than we already have to," the second continued, motioning to the already significant sum of militiamen and insurgents being held there. "That's cold, bud..." the other began to respond, but by then the reinforcement squad was already out of earshot. It was not much further when they reached the rear of Krieger's advance. Soldiers were gathering and preparing for a massive thrust into the gauntlet, hoping to blitz straight to the hall itself. Much of the square itself was in ruins now, though the hall still loomed tall and proud above all. If the mayor had not been moved yet, and indeed, she had not, this would be the sight of her last stand. A young corporal, field-promoted to lieutenant by the platoon commander after his superiors were killed, approached the arriving squad upon seeing them. Coincidentally, he was the one now in command of the unit that the former Blackspear women were attached to. But they had lost a fair number of men, enough that they barely had enough for one squad, much less a full platoon like they needed. "It's about time!" the kid quipped in an agitated tone, brought on by his frayed nerves from the earlier battles and his sudden, unexpected new command, "The colonel is going to give the order to advance any minute now!" There was barely time for the sergeant to respond, when a radioman barked to the lieutenant that the orders had come, and they were to begin advancing immediately. "Shit! Alright, you take our left flank, we're gonna go over the rubble on the right! Keep low, and whatever you do, don't stop moving!" the lieutenant quickly directed, then rushed forward to take command of the other unit. The tanks had ceased their bombardment and were now advancing into the square, infantry alongside. The defenders had little artillery left with which to strike back against the tanks, but small-arms fire was blazing from behind chunks of rubble, within bombed-out buildings, and in-particular, from the windows of the capitol building above it all. It was into this inferno of bullets, arrows and minor spells that the two squads now had to charge. The soldiers were following orders, but were the mercs so inclined to do so as well? @Thotification @zackrobbman * * * The radioman stood little chance of reacting, and he was soon slumped over his equipment, soaking it with his own blood. Another man tried to rush over to move him away, but he was sniped in the head before he could do much. Two of the men took off and made a run for it, but the militiamen shot them down before they could get far. One lunged at the custode with his rifle, as the commander went flailing backward past him, his chest torn-apart by shotgun pellets. Another tried to position his submachinegun, but his view was blocked by his allies for long enough that he got no shot off before one of the hostiles was able to tag him too. One of the soldiers drew a combat knife and tried to take the seeker in hand-to-hand. Of all, he was most successful in landing some minor cuts and stabs, but ultimately Norkotian hand-to-hand training was not a match for what the Seekers likely had undergone. With the unit almost entirely exterminated, the last soldiers lost their nerve. Another of them tried to jump up and run, but at this point there was barely anyone left to shoot at, so he got perforated by nearly every militiaman in the vicinity. The last man, seeing no other escape, tossed aside his weapons and threw his hands in the air. "Wait, I surrender!" he screamed, fearing the same fate as his fellows. @Fierach * * * The Lift 0151 Hours Tynes's unit had now split. One part of the force continued straight, linking up with the experimental armored units of the Castro Twins somewhere near the river. The main column, under Tynes's direct control, now turned eastward. Its sights were set on the sheriff's headquarters, where the defense was getting most of its arms and tactical advisement. It was also possible that the mayor could get moved there, so it was vital that it be taken. This would also put pressure on the city hall defenders from the rear, and hopefully force a capitulation sooner rather than later. The battle was nearly two hours in, and progress had been relatively rapid, but very costly. Joseph Tynes hoped that the next hour would see it finally cease hostilities, so the process of rebuilding could begin sooner rather than later. This was the pinnacle moment in the battle Forsthaven. * * * The City Hall 0151 Hours From a high window, Mayor Cordoza glanced out at the battle below. Her aides desperately warned her to stay away from the glass, for fear that a sniper may mistake her for an enemy combatant and shoot her. Yet, she heeded their advice not. She could see far across her city, smoke billowing burning in many places, and once proud buildings lying charred and bombed-out. Was this all her fault? No, she refused to accept blame. This was Joseph Tynes's doing. It was his decision to use violent force to get what he wanted, and she had no desire of letting him succeed easily. If she must go down with her city, if she must be a martyr for the people, she would be so. She was no warrior, nor general, but she counted her resolve as equal to any man or woman with a weapon. Perhaps moreso, given she elected to stand against them without one. She was proud of her people, or at least, of the ones who stayed and fought. Those who died, defender or civilian, would all be blood on Tynes's hands, and maybe that would be his undoing. Finally she left the window and slowly sat down in her desk. Her aids and secretary all continued to urge her to flee the hall before the invaders reached it, but she had enough of their cowering. "Leave me. Go look for your own well-being. I will remain here, until the end." Some were reluctant, but ultimately they all did as she wished, fleeing from the building or finding places to hide at lower levels. But at the highest level, in the ancient office of the Mayor of Forsthaven, the current leader awaited her uncertain fate...

This all by itself and with no other context is a pretty funny sentence

Good to know; I've been pretty comfortable just letting the two of you run wild on this particular raid, doing as you see fit, and I haven't been disappointed so far. I support y'all a hundred percent.

Rufus Ignis ViridisQUICK SHEETNAME: Roo-fuss Veer-I-disIS A(N): Half-elfGENDER: MaleAGE: 80MARITAL STATUS: WidowedSEXUAL PREFERENCE: BisexualHEIGHT: 6'2WEIGHT: 180 lbsALIGNMENT: Neutral GoodSTATUS: AliveEYES: BlueSKIN: WhiteHAIR: Long, braided auburn hair, auburn facial hair BODY: Slim, strongOUTFIT: Red suit.PERSONALITY: Traumatized, cynical, compassionate, loyalABILITIES: Viridis Druid ArtsPARAPHERNALIA: Carved wooden pipeBIOGRAPHY Rufus Viridis was born in Ursa Madeum as the first son of the Noble House Viridis. Living a life of ease and comfort, he would marry a man from another Noble House that has since been wiped out. When King Damien came to power, he and his husband were thrown into the dungeons to be tortured and eventually publicly executed. Rufus' family staged a rescue and managed to retrieve him, but could not save his husband. The family then fled to Taen, where they remained until Damien was deposed. Now he has returned to the land of his birth to fulfill his fathers last request to restore their house to glory.PERSONALITY Prior to his time as a captive in the Tyrant Kings dungeons, Rufus was a cheerful, laid back person; kind to everyone he met. These days that kindness still remains, but has been tarnished by years of grief and pain. Formerly an optimist, Rufus is now quick to see the worst in people; and expects that things will always go wrong. Despite this, he still possesses a strong sense of justice, and will not hesitate to help a person in need. Though still polite and friendly, he no longer makes friends as easily as he used to.POWERS AND ABILITIES Rufus is a master of the Viridis Druidic Arts. Though not as skilled as his family members in their respective disciplines, he is able to use all of them. This is considered especially impressive, as being able to use more than one is considered exceptionally difficult. PARAPHERNALIA A carved wooden pipe made by his husband is all Rufus has to remember him by.

Update to hell's gate Highlighted opportunities below; more within canon post of thread Caeceila Glasmann, Ilyana Sevryn, Camelia Sorina, Aislyn, Iolanda Sorina, and Nines are out and about preparing to take down the Enrele in and around Hell's Gate. If you want to participate in this campaign send me a pm indicating your interest and we will work something out. House Glasmann patrols have increased within Hell's Gate. Before, House Glasmann only patrolled the Glasmann Estate. Now, their patrols ship large containers to secure storage facilities scattered throughout the area. Investigate these deliveries at your (player characters') own risk. Club Tablillas is open for business and may be used as a setting for future threads (please notify me if you intend to have a character pump the place full of lead or burn it to the ground when said character attempts hostile actions at Club Tablillas, including prep work like sneaking weapons into the building).

Wing is the first anime I ever watched. Despite many flaws, it has always maintained a special place in my heart. I don't think Heero fits the Gary Stu bill. Just because he has certain abilities doesn't make him one. The anime never really gets into how he is what he is, though; it's mostly left to the conclusions and imagination of the viewer. Same with Trowa.

Sounds like exciting and exhausting had some offspring!

Something about this method of communication felt familiar to the amorphous being, glimpses of a time where conforming to the language of his surroundings never entered his mind. The vivid imagery Lun’silth slid into his labyrinthine mind drove forward with the purity of emotions that had just been unearthed, leaving Agony frozen in place and overwhelmed by a past that only served to wound him now. The sting of betrayal pierced through the intangible portions of his being and caused a wail that echoed through the forest around them. Obtenebra was just as affected, tortured by the same emotions that had begun to suffocate its companion. It too remembered. It too suffered and yearned for retribution. The ooze whipped around violently, not wanting to endure the power of what it felt until it resigned itself and pooled along the floor. It could not prevent Lun’silth’s onslaught of truth and it knew Agony could not either for it was the stark reality of what was that they could not ignore. They were here because others had discarded them. People they thought were family had cast them down to this realm simply because they did not agree with him or his companion. This was why the desire for power and survival had been ingrained in every single action. They must live to see beings such as those within those images removed from their lofty perches and placed beneath the boots of the oppressed. Power was what would help them achieve that. Power is relative. Absolute power.. unattainable/does not exist. ‘Enough’ is relative. But I... teacher... return/re-teach what was yours... and more. Lun’silth’s attempt to teach Agony and Obtenebra a valuable lesson regarding what they sought sunk in just as Agony began to sense hordes of creatures around them. Every mile within the Broken Plains became known to him through the eyes of those creatures who called Yh’mi home. Sparks of sentience and emotion could be felt throughout the land. He could feel the peace that he had forced upon the Saevion once again and see the Saevion spawn looking calmly at their mother. He could see the chitten frantically exploring the many dark caverns throughout the plains in search of sustenance. Agony’s vision switched to a large gutterfiend surveying its surroundings as it’s heavy steps lead it forward. No manner of creature within the Broken Plains was beyond this sight he had been granted yet that vision became dulled and the caveat was presented. Lun’silth desired devotion much like Lirrey the Eternal Star did. Whatever this ‘Eater of Stars’ was that they feared required that they amass beings as assets to their cause but Agony was wary. What if they too intended to discard him as all others did? What if they simply sought to consume him for the power that dwelled within him? This was what he had feared concerning Lunara and Agony was not oblivious to the possible hypocrisy of accepting what he had just been offered. Obtenebra was just as wary though it had already begun its own preparations to ensure that it and its companion would survive no matter what. Whatever Lun’silth was, Agony could sense it was also tied to Lirrey as well. The trepidation he had felt for Lunara before had begun to slowly creep in but Agony ultimately snuffed it in favor of a new perspective. If she is bound to suffer from her bond, I will share her suffering and help her overcome it. Lun’silth would sense Agony’s acceptance. Dedication would be offered should Lun’silth be true to the offer that had been presented. Something within Agony knew that should it come to it, he would defy existence itself to make sure he would survive to finish what he strived to accomplish.

Congrats! What's your prewriting process?

Hey, I’m gonna start a post today, but idk if I’ll be able to finish it tonight. I’m working in the library rn and I have my game group this evening.

"To your stations !" James roared over the din just inside one of the primary embarkment ramps. "Move!" Outside the din of battle became muted, but they could still hear the endless bellowing of the chaos horde. A sharper sound came, a screaming that grew in intensity immediately before it terminated in an abrupt jolt, the vessel shuddering. One of the Towers had gotten within range and was lobbing fresh shells at the airship. The void shielding held, but the impact could be clearly felt. James stretched out an arm to steady himself, and then helped up a slumped Guardian, foisting him off on a comrade. “Get the wounded to medical, now!” he glared over at Lena and the inquisitor Alexa, the former who quailed under the battle-fury still present in his eyes. “One job, Guardian! Get Ms. Caelestia back to the infirmary!” his voice was no less thunderous when he turned to Alexa, “Inquisitor! You are wounded. You will desist from using your psyker powers in your condition aboard my ship before you lose control in your weakened state and tear an opening in the shielding from the warp!” It was not a request, more like a statement of fact, as if the Daemonslayer’s own indomitable will could change reality to fit it. In the bridge of the ship, matters were no less hectic. Captain Clavis displayed his mastery of the frigate’s abilities and his command of the crew and coordinated the vessel’s escape. More shells rattled off the Imperator Bellum’s shields and the ship responded in kind, lancing out and devastating many of the smaller daemon war machines on the ground as they made good their escape. Two miles away from the battleground they made their exit, the experimental engine opening a new tear in unreality for the ship to pass though, to continue on their path within the Harrowing. The battle was over. The war went on.

Jaistlyn’s post broke down Valushia’s stance pretty well. I think the fact that she had to ask a series of qualifying questions to get to a point Valushia should be able to make much more succinctly is telling but believe the argument basically boils down to “people who opt in for something totally open should be willing to roll with randomly introduced changes”, which is the nature of what it means to opt into something totally open. It really isn’t something to disagree with as a tautology or even argue about since the qualified premise contains its own answer. Further discussion doesn’t appear to be generating anything worthwhile or not redundant My two cents anyway!

D&D.

Late, but we got a new house & house establishment thread~ I'm working on editing the UM roleplay guidelines I posted in the doc link a few posts to make it more concise. Also probably a pirate rp, but no promises. I'm still half-dead/schrodinger's csl, but midterms seem to be over.

It's fine, I'm still getting use to doing this all on my phone! So sorry for the mild waits, I don't get direct notifications. With that said I'll start on my post right now! Glad to hear for ya. Also Luke will test the pool like the rest!

Oh wow! Thank you! I can see it now

Oh yeah, everything’s fine! Just a combination of being tired from work and juggling responsibilities / hobbies. I’m also a really slow writer, so RPing often ends up eating a lot of my free time when all I wanna do is relax. But I appreciate your concern!

Junia found herself unable to shoot at the Mother as she came in, frozen in her anger. Her vision began to swim, her past catching up to her in the wake of the current nightmare, magnified by some unholy aspect of the present. It was all she could do to even bring her weapon up in time, blocking the worst of the Mother's assault, but the claws ripped into her Seeker's garb all the same and drew blood. Barristan for his part couldn't believe what he was seeing. He knew Junia, she should've been able to dodge such a blow cleanly. "Junia! Get a hold of yourself!" he cried out to her desperately. "Its not real!" Not real? Junia heard him dimly through the pulse pounding in her ears. What a stupid remark. The blood dripping down her outfit felt real enough. Through the worsening haze of her vision, Junia made out her chosen enemy. Barristan's words were useless for her mental stability, perhaps a result of his inability to ascertain the truth of the matter, or his inability to reassure anybody spreading from his attempt with the child now to his partner in battle, but it did ignite her resolve. There were things a warrior could do even while struck deaf, blind and dumb to protect themselves.

Need to create a new opening thread for the Black Isle Mines.

“RP-... nevermind.” My head was starting to hurt. I stop examining the statue with the candle to answer. “What would you even do with a club? If we’re wishing for something more helpful, I’d ask for a tank. Or a map.” I shake my head vehemently. “No, nope, definitely not.” I cross my arms and shoot a wary glance back at the shop. “We know what’s going on in the cathedral. I don’t want to know what going on in the butchers. That place is bad news. Also, I’d be careful of any meat you find around here.” I put the items back with the statues. It would be hard to carry all of them and we could come back later if we found something. “The clock tower sounds like a good plan. It can’t be worse than anything else here...”

Now this was a more appropriate foe. Or it would've been, if Sheryl's author had posted in time. But the author didn't. But the author was graciously allowed this post to count by the GM, even as said author lost two other large posts that he was working on because, thanks for not saving anything Google Chrome. Damn internet browsers. Sheryl got to her feet calmly as one of the large beasts charged at her. With the slightest of motions, she slipped its lunge, and poleaxed it with a powerful downwards chop of her hand, targeting the neck, sending it collapsing to the ground in its lunge. She went after it in a measured assault, powerful strikes to the vitals with her fists while channeling her wind aura around her to keep a defense ready against a counter-attack. Don't know if you ever seen a woman beat a bear to death with her bare hands, but Sheryl was certainly going to at this rate. --- Round 2 Edit: The large hellhound passed right through Sheryl, as though she were an illusion. It might've turned around in confusion, that its pinning attempt failed, but it should be even more confused as the woman proved to be solid after all, landing another powerful blow to its face to stun it. The finishing attack came when the Knightess grasped it by its throat, hoisting it up into the air almost comically for the beast was taller then she when it was was on its hind legs. The discerning eye would be able to see that she was floating off the ground to make it happen. Wind gusted out from them, and in an instant, a miniature cyclone seemed to materialize from thin air, tearing the hellhound to shreds, with the blonde woman looking looking unharmed and untouched at the core. Sheryl would spin about in place, ready for the next threat, or perhaps one of the others needed help.

Ilyana listened concerning the status of the Hell’s Gate lab, nodding in acknowledgment and agreement. This network of communication she was beginning to establish with a variety of key individuals needed to be safeguarded but she silently knew she would ensure that the Ventrix presence in her city was heavily monitored. Swirling black eyes scrutinized the vials of colorless liquid before her. She could sense the runic structure as she slid her fingers across each one. Visually they were not all that appealing and the logo alone would not be enough to increase their customer base. Many have strayed away from considering Ventrix as a necessity in their lives. The Redeemer knew she had much to do to change that. “As long as the length of the boon is enough to get many through their daily tasks then this is acceptable or if the weakened state can be recovered from quickly then that is easily marketable. We need these products to be effective enough to give anyone an advantage in whatever field they are in. This competition will force those who do not adopt the product to reconsider as others excel in their fields.” Ilyana assumed Patton already knew such things, her words more of a declaration of her stance on one of the ways she wished to market the product than a demand. The unexpected rumbling and sounds of moving objects caused the black fabric of her attire to ripple along her hip briefly, revealing to a keen eye that Ilyana was not wearing just a simplistic outfit. The movement was so brief, however, that it could have easily been mistaken by a shift in the light in this room. As the true lab was shown to her, Ilyana arched a brow and kept silent for a bit as she walked forward. She was mildly impressed but given her expectation of Elizabeth’s abilities the amazement did not last long. "You're safe here to speak off of the record Ms. Sevryn. Go ahead." “Before I discuss what I need to, I will need to verify I can trust you Elizabeth.” She lifted her right hand, palm facing Liz before she continued. “I will need you to disrobe and prove to me that you are not compromised in any way” The serious expression along her face made her request even odder but she made sure to continue. “Once you enter what I assume is your private chamber here, we will both confirm we are not compromised. What I need to ask you requires intimate trust as it could affect the lives of everyone in Terrenus.”

(Oh,its sunny everywhere,sorry.) A part of you feels like its the most normal thing,the sun grinning at you from a perfect sky,much like that of a child's drawing of an idealic world.here in this.....place,its anything but.

The skeletal man leads the veiled congregation onto his boat. I watch from afar, hidden behind a corner. Only my face shows as I peek at the procession. There’s a disturbance in the line and another face catches my eye. I stare in astonishment as another human breaks through the lines. Where they like me? Where had they been hiding? Why were they with the congregation? A memory of an echo chills me. If it was no echo that I heard inside the twisted cathedral, then I had unknowingly left a human- another person- to their fate. I risk a glance at the cult. Their masses have not moved in pursuit of the other person. I grit my teeth and run after the human. I cut through the courtyard, hoping to intersect their path, and staying away from the sides of the buildings. Charging headfirst around this hellscape had brought me nothing but trouble, but I was desperate. I couldn’t let the first “normal” person I saw get away. Unless I am stopped, I run behind the cathedral. The wasteland beats down around me, but I am focused on the other person. “Person-“ I hiss, too wary to yell, but unwilling to get close enough to easily speak softly. I don’t know who this person is. I’m aware I look insane; I’m gasping for breath, eyes wild, my red-brown hair is matted and grown past my chin, there are patches of unkempt scruff along my jawline, and my white collared shirt had a smattering of blood around the bottom edge from the fountain. “-Human- are you human? What the hell is happening?”

They all head down to a river,a boatman with terribly diseased skin gestures them aboard.one of the figures,blessedly normal and without a veil is on the bank still,waiting.they are the one actually normal thing in this hellscape so far

Artamese had no idea what to wear on these types of things. None whatsoever! She had received an Imperial summons from the Empress and quickly left the safety and comfort of her Kyrosian study to answer them. Had she gotten in trouble with the Chapel Alliance again? Had the Sisters scorned her enough for missing her duties to the Alliance? She had studied all things Sorcery yet barely had any magical talent whatsoever. Artamese was the middle child of three gifted women in her family—the eldest was a prodigious herbalist who became a prolific advocate for Gaianism. The youngest had become the youngest Artificer recruited by the Chapel Alliance. It put her to shame. Raveena knew and understood something about her talents that Artamese did not—but she also knew the Chapel Alliance was trouble despite their philanthropic appearance. Artamese had been blind to the Sisterhood before; she had dropped out of the Gaian Academy to study in Genesaris, leaving her Patian home behind to unearth her Affinity in magic. She failed to discover what that Affinity was. Instead, she developed something new and unusual—she had the ability to study magic in real time; to dissect, unravel, unmake it and study its components. It was not the usual that students were tested for. Thus, she had become a Scrivener—one who reported and recorded new happenings in the magical world, including the discovery of new magic. Honestly, she hated it. She had all the makings of a decent Artificer—or so the Empress thought to have taken her into the West as quickly as she had. Arty knew she was a pawn in a game, but even her companion Simon understood that there were far more honorable intentions on this side of the fence than what the Chapel Alliance had in mind. Artamese wanted to study artifacts. She wanted to study the past, not the present or the future—only how it could impact it. She wondered if that’s why she had been recruited for this expedition. A friend of the Empress still made Artamese wary. It’s not that she didn’t trust Raveena’s judgement—she just didn’t particularly care for people. After all, her only companion was a Hell Hound. There Peregrine swayed serenely before them and Artamese peered down at Simon. He sat on his haunches, leaning against Arty’s hip staring apprehensively at the ship. Simon was unnaturally tall—and though he passed for some Great Dane, wolf hound mix—he was certainly not of this world. Her companion was far too lazy to show it unless pushed to such extremes. He heaved the deep sigh of a spoiled brat who was bored and Artamese cuffed him by the ear before they made their way to the loading dock. It was only mildly frustrating—albeit hilarious—the way the crew skirted around Simon. Simon was equally miserable—he did not care for the swaying of the ship, nor the open ocean. Only when Artamese bumped into him for the fourth time did she halt, hands on her hips, “For bloody sake, Simon—stop acting like you’ve never been on a ship before and stop acting like a mewling whelp! You’re embarrassing me!” She adjusted her glasses up her nose and straightened out her uniform. It was a standard Enforcer uniform, though her insignias were custom. The first was a golden lotus on a black field, a sign that she hailed from the Hyperian Court. The second patch was a silver outline of an open book on a light blue field with five stars arched over it denoted her as a Chapel Alliance student professor, Scrivener and Artificer. She did a double take when she noticed Xartia pacing. She had seen his fashionable presence at the court well enough to know it was him, and yet! Gone was the pale, effeminate pretty boy Pendragon as Simon sometimes referred to him. Here was something else entirely. “Well that’s curious. Come on.” They made their way to meet the man their Empress had tasked her to work with.

Wanted to suggest something along with my post - So I left it open ended on how much damage is actually done to the brumak and can be easily swayed on this but am at the moment thinking we should have caused it enough damage to *hurt* it and make it lose interest in pursuing us as food. But not kill it. Make it a mutual wound-licking kind of deal, and make the presence of one (or more) brumak in the area something they (House Dali) just have to figure out later or work around in the long-term while maybe focusing on clearing smaller monsters?

@Csl Just as a heads up, I've used your material lazurum in the production of an airship, just in case you're wondering about its current uses.

Baiden Oor frowned at Luz' command. She spoke with authority, a trait she'd long since adopted and he'd long since gotten used to. Still, that didn't stop him from hesitating. It didn't stop him from shaking his head. His will was stone, but her's was iron. Indeed he'd found that to resist was possible, yet he found that he didn't want to. Not this time. Curious. Still, a few moments later he grunted his affirmation. "As you command," he murmured. The impact of the order could be felt on the vessel. With Luz getting rid of her Illyrian defender, she was now at the mercy of two foreigners. What did that mean? It was possible that she was making a mistake. That she'd succumbed to the poison and wasn't thinking rationally, mind abuzz with machinations of decay and madness. He recognized the possibility of that, but didn't feel satisfied. Likewise, if the crew and security were truly of Illyria, they'd discount such a scenario immediately. Luz Yllende didn't make such errors. She was too smart for that. So... Whatever is on the Ancient One is important. Important enough to call me away from her side. Baiden accepted this clause with a brisk nod. He passed Luz to a nearby crewman and whirled around, facing the railing. His coat flapped with the motion as he shouted his own set of orders. "All relevant personnel are with me! Get your supplies and meet me down there. You all know what to do. You've all been trained for this. Trust in our commander and trust in the Light." He hesitated, then turned to gaze at the man named G. "And" he spat, "trust in me, your Soldier, to take care of this pest. Now. Move." There was a pause, then a tide of Illyrians followed Baiden over the railing. Where they rappelled down, he vaulted over in a fluid motion. His arms pulsed with innate energy as he fell through the air. At the last moment he seized a rope at his side from one of the previous squads, clutching it tightly to slow his fall. The thread grew hot from friction, but pain didn't register through the magitech. Soon he was on the ground, adjusting his glasses and venturing forward. Luz hadn't been clear so...what exactly was so strange that it would stand out? The Ancient One itself was an oddity to him.

Yeah, it's got no ceiling. Meanwhile, all the characters are relatively low-power. XD But honestly, I always consider that better, since they can't just get out of everything easily then.

The opinion she was forming of the Carmine Emperor grew darker the more she heard Gabriela speak of him. It turns out he seemed like any other man in a position of power, willing to impose himself upon that which he desires no matter the pain he may inflict on that which he obsesses over. Ilyana had a distinct fear that one day she may find that her own savior would turn out to be much like those she despised but she clung to the hope that the power he was amassing was only meant for the good of those underneath his shelter. This freedom she now indulged in couldn’t really be just so she could be a puppet to another…right? She would never allow it! Ilyana walked beside Gabriela, nudging anyone who got close to her away gruffly though she was not a woman of much taller stature than the Black Queen herself. Still, Terrenus was more her home than it was the golden-eyed beauty’s and it was this advantage that she knew she could lord over the woman should things grow sour. Thankfully the agreement was well on its way to being finalized as she could see by Gabriela’s presentation of terms and Rodan’s acceptance. She was glad she didn’t have to step in as mediator or participate in any arbitration. Now she could begin fashioning her own rapport with Gabriela by offering something she knew the queen would be hard-pressed to get in a land that wasn’t her own. “A win-win for both of you….wonderful. Such a delicate process warrants a facility equipped enough to handle such an intimate procedure. Both of you are fortunate to have met me then. Might I suggest this intricate procedure be conducted aboard my airship? It will grant you both some much needed privacy. Then, I can escort you wherever you may desire or we may part ways once business has concluded.” She stood between them yet again, sliding her gaze from Rodan over to Gabriela slowly before she continued. “Burdened individuals such as yourselves might have trouble finding a better deal. Of course you are free to decide for yourselves what benefits you but with a man as resourceful as Raphael Bartolome you might find the Redeemer and those allied with me who hold no true allegiance to the Carmine Emperor or the Terran government invaluable assets to buoy your aspirations.” Her right hand moved forward to rest on the bar top between them, the peculiar black ring that decorated her middle finger swirling much like her eyes seemed to if one stared into those abyssal pools. She then stepped forward again, not caring whether she brushed up against either of them in the process. Motioning to the barkeep, she continued. “I will pay for whatever is not already taken care of for these two as well as my tab. Make sure to let Rian know I will pay for the damage to the bathroom wall over there as well. All he needs to do is pay Ilyana Sevryn of Hell’s Gate a visit…” A smirk fell on her lips before she cycled her sights upon Gabriela and Rodan. “So do you both accept or are you going to let me leave here all alone?”

Rodan was exactly where Gabriela had left him, as patient as ever despite his pressing need. Every moment he spent here would be lost time he should have been spending en route to Rafael's fortress, should Gabriela prove incapable of assisting him. However, when she returned, her first words were to indicate that she could help break the bloodbond, which alleviated his worries considerably. Her specific requests were a minute price to pay, by his estimation. "Your terms are accepted. Once we part ways, you needn't ever see my face again," Rodan nodded, "Let us then find a more private venue." He stood up and glanced at Ilyana, who he assumed would join them, then headed for the exit. Diego needed no queue, as he could clearly see his master was leaving, so he stood up and followed them out at a distance. Once they were outside and could more easily speak without the deafening beat of club music, Rodan conferred with Gabriela again. "Wherever you wish to go that would be most comfortable for you. I can work wherever, but I know not what you will need to do to accomplish your part." He expected they might choose a motel room, or perhaps a secluded park. Even a back alley would suffice, though it would hardly be the cleanest or more desirable location for Gabriela to begin her life anew. It was all up to her, however; as he did not wish her to become too unnerved and back-out. He needed this as much as she did.

It’s open! You can just stroll on in!

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