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Showing content with the highest reputation on 04/03/2019 in all areas

  1. 5 points

  2. 4 points
    Akako Akari

    Sokui no Rei (Jigoku no Toshi)

    Spirit? No, that wasn't right, was it? Was it a slip of the tongue? She was his wife, his mate. The vixen had loved him with every fiber of her being when she lived, and she loved him even now, obsessed over him - worshiped him. Her family was the reason she was unable to rest in peace. Her life was too short, her existence a blip in time that was unfair. The look in his eyes was cruel considering their history. No love was left in his gaze, as familiar as it was. It was cold, apathetic to her presence. It was heartbreaking. Kimi's image shimmered as the crowd moved and continued to pass through her. When she was fully visible to Koji again, the Empress looked as she had when she lived. The vixen stood across from him with long black hair, crimson eyes, and pouty red lips. Her expression was one of hurt, repressed tears shining in her eyes as the full blow of her mate's rejection hit her. Somehow she thought he would enjoy her morbid games, felt that he would remember their childhood and everything they had done together. It was momentarily forgotten that he was building the empire she inspired him to create. The people she caused panic in were once her people. Remember me. The apparition shimmered out of view again, and the panic that had made the people ill began to fade. When Koji blinked, the Empress stood before him; her gaze was hard, unforgiving as she stared up at him. To treat her like a common criminal after everything they had gone through. Did his wives, his harem, experience the excruciating pain of being locked in the Void for loving each other? Don't you dare forget. Her hand reached to his face, but before she could touch him, her image vanished. Kimi's ghost trailed across the way to the woman that held her child. Kimi appeared before her, not looking at the woman, her crimson eyes on the burden in her arms. The vixen's gaze softened, and she lifted a translucent hand to touch her son. Her fingertips trailed over her son's cheek, and the tears that she couldn't truly shed fell. Finally, she lifted haunting red orbs to look at the woman that held her son. She gave the woman a meaningful look before she was gone. Why aren't you here? Everything returned to how it was, the oppressive atmosphere dissipating just as quickly as it had appeared. As the crowd was herded away, a lone woman remained blindly walking, her hands groping ahead of her as she tried to find her way. She was bumped into many times before she finally fell to her hands and knees. Her hair was a dark brown, nearly black, and she wore a simple white and grey hanfu, her long wavy locks fell around her like a curtain. She sobbed quietly, her hands trembling on the ground as she lifted her chin as if she could see. Her hair fell away from her face to reveal a white and bloodied cloth that was tied around her eyes. Without sight, she gazed across the way to the Emperor unconsciously.
  3. 3 points
    Well, if you need your players traumatized.... I'm available.
  4. 3 points
    In 6 hours i can
  5. 3 points

    Cup Noodles & Tears [Year 1]

    No, said the green-eyed boy at the door. He was a new student, the spark of oh-gods-I'm-in-Bronte wonder still alive in his eyes. Hah. Elias met his gaze without blinking, his smile fading into something that resembled sharp curiosity. "Well then." It must've camouflaged itself. He would have to find another way to explore the room. Elias opened his mouth to reason with the boy (or if need be, threaten him), when a string of curses floated across the hallway. Elias scowled. Another consequence of Filter escaping his room: the Flesh-Beast was in charge of keeping his lodgings clean. When it wasn't around, unwanted things tended to... linger. He turned to face his unwelcome guest, sighing. "I didn't take it, Soloveiv," Elias replied with the tired politeness of one who had been asked the same question for the millionth time. His gaze darted to the bedroom door. "At least shut the bloody door. You're paying me extra if anything else escapes." Elias returned his attention to the freshmen. He raised an eyebrow at the invitation. Well, that saves me some breath. He shrugged. "Sure." After a moment's thought, he extended a hand. "Elias Nevidri. Third year. Ilumad. Nice meeting you." Deftly, Elias plucked a beer from Lucas' grip, sauntered inside the room, and sank into the nearest chair. He raised a finger at Frey. "Behave." In a considerably more friendly demeanor, he turned to Damien. "I don't think I've heard of Iowa. Though you two probably haven't heard of Ilumad either." He crossed his legs, leaning back with the languid assurance of a cat who had decided this particular box was now his kingdom, gaze wandering across the walls. "So," he said dryly, opening the can in his hand. "What brings you two to this Sauriel-blessed, top-tier educational institute?"
  6. 3 points
    Hotspot has returned so writing commences this week. Sorry for any inconvenience
  7. 2 points

    Lords of Shadow [Artifact]

    They should have known not to build so close to the dark forest. Near the rats, no less. Turning the doll over in his hands, the Outsider frowned sadly down at the children’s toy. It was old, with a missing eye and seams as new as they were obvious. Much loved, he thought as he slid his thumb over the buttons on the doll’s dress. He was in a bedroom adjacent to the master, in a house as empty as all the others he had searched in the hours since he and his companions had entered the quiet town. It was a small room, both gay and bright in color and furnishing. A girl’s room, he thought. Rising from bended knee with doll in hand, the Outsider looked at the evidence of a struggle, of a family’s effort in vain to deny the inevitable. A dresser had been pushed in front of the door. He looked at the rents in the floor where the wooden legs had dug into the floorboards, testifying to a bitter contest of strength between those within and those without. Roen had found the dresser on it’s side, the door ajar when he entered. A father’s strength overcome, perhaps. A mother’s desperate holdings against invaders. A sibling’s protectiveness. Roen cradled the doll in the crook of his arm, his gaze moving slowly. There was scuffing on the floorboards, the impression of footwear and bare feet in evidence, all in various sizes and sexes. Most were leading into the room. Three, four intruders, both male and female, Roen hazarded to guess. Two sets tapered off towards a far wall, others still went to the furthest corner, and it was there the Outsider’s attention settled, his thin lips compressing into an even thinner line. The walls at the intersection were battered, nicked and chipped. There were spatters of blood. He went to the corner and stood there, fingering the dents. Bladework, as ferocious as it was reckless, with it’s wild swings befouled by the walls. The dents ranged in height from just below his chest to his knees, a progression of aim that steadily descended as the victims fell. He grimaced. _____ Closing the household door behind him, the Outsider sighed and placed his face in the palm of his hand, taking several moments to compose himself. An entire village, gone. All signs indicated a pitched battle, but there was nothing to indicate just who or what assaulted the village, or where the bodies had gone. That disquieted him most of all. Raising a hand to his ear and padding the stud, the Outsider activated his communicator. A relatively tame element of technology, he had given one to each of his companions to keep in contact with them in case they were separated. He could have relied on other, more esoteric and intimate means of keeping track of the pair, but -- no, he wouldn’t, couldn’t. Better the mundane effort. “Anything?” He asked in his tired, mellifluous voice. They had split up an hour ago, looking for answers. A threadbare doll hung at his hip, cinched to his belt loops beside the sheathed Worldsplitter.
  8. 2 points
    I'll post the mechanics this weekend! Get ready, you'll need to make some simple choices to build your character skills! Any other players interested in GMing a nightmare realm?
  9. 2 points

    NARCollections OOC

    Oh i tbought it wa your turn! Ok ill post after school So in about 6 hours
  10. 2 points


    ardís valkyrja The dwarf isn’t going to make it. White whirlwind of chaos aside, the wind howls like ghouls in their death throes. Ardís clenches her teeth, notes how the wolves’ fangs gleam in the firelight like the glint of her sword: dangerous and deadly and bound on a collision that can no longer be derailed. There is a truth thundering in her bones, even as she watches the world crawl to a snail’s pace, the way the white blur pounces forward with the intent to kill, the way Aron raises his axe a beat to late, trying to block the enemy even as time slips past his fingers. The dwarf isn’t going to make it. Had she not been depowered to this pitiful, overwhelmingly mortal state, she could have called upon the power of the heavens, the ichor of the very gods, saints’ halos and sinners’ horns to smite all in her path. One of the strongest amongst the angels, a warrior goddess of her own right, brought down to the lowly dirt. Ardís summons whatever could have been left of that glorious power surging in her veins and hears nothing but silence. However: she would be damned before someone tries to die on her watch. Without thinking much of it, Ardís surges forward, sword piercing forward in an attempt to stab the wolf mid-pounce, or at the very least divert its attention away from the man it’s attacking.
  11. 2 points

    slithered here from eden

    “A wise choice.” Quinton nods to the knight, and then extends a hand toward the Seeker. The woman fixes her hands into a number of strange poses, drawing light and sound to her palms. With a long slither and great radiance, she summons a small syringe into her grasp, which she then deposits in Quinton’s expecting palm. The liquid inside is a dark red, nearly black, and seems to drink in all the light around it. “Liliana, where is the wound?” The seeker steps closer. “Her right side.” “Would you be so kind as to open the dress a bit, then?” Liliana nods to her employer, but as she moves closer, cuts a sympathetic—or perhaps pitying—gaze toward the knight. At the bedside, she adjusts the unconscious Varda onto her left, lifting her right into the air. The jewelry on her hand begins to glow, and as she runs a single finger along the fabric, it sizzles and splits, exposing a strip of the woman’s lovely pale flesh. The wound looks to be healing normally, but the seeker’s expression is foul. Her true sight allows her to see the real infection, coursing through the noble’s bloodstream like poison. “This is the source,” Liliana says. “I can see it.” Quinton nods, paying Iyalon a final look. “This will all be over soon.” He injects the serum side by side with the wound, and immediately, the seeker’s grim expression lightens. She can see the concoction spreading like wildfire, purging the curse on all of its metaphysical levels. But it doesn’t stop there and continues to burn, scorching away her arcane genetics, severing the incorporeal threads tethering her to the world’s ‘other side’. In a matter of moments, Varda is utterly normal, this reality reinforced by the serum welding itself to her being. They lay Varda back into the bed, covering the slit of her exposed side with cloth. “She will make a full recovery,” Liliana says. Then she excuses herself from the room. Quinton remains sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap as he gauges the knight. Another moth to the flame, hm? It must be painful for him, he wagers, forced to protect the woman he loves but can never possess. Strange how often these narratives are in these second-world countries. “What you did was very brave,” he says, looking at Varda. “There aren’t many men or women that would have the courage to make the decision you just did. It shows your absolute dedication to Lady Varda.” Eventually, he rises, and as he passes the armored clad man, he stops to place a heavy hand on his metal shoulder. “You will both stay here the night. Varda should awaken in a few hours, but she is in no condition to travel. Make sure she rests. I’ll see you both in the morning for breakfast.” Then he's gone, the door closed behind him, leaving Iyalon to ruminate over what he's done.
  12. 2 points

    I mean, really now

    lycoris romanova Lycoris follows the rest of the group through the tent flap—and stares. For just a moment, however, and entirely impassive all throughout, because she will cling to her self-preservation, damn it all. From beside her, the young girl avatar giggles, nudging their leader as she whispers lowly to him, and even the orc, with the hulking figure that he possesses, opts not to pose any questions or statements in the direction of the apparent Falcon, instead giving Eldwine the floor to do something, anything. She blinks once, then twice. Well, surely one of them should ask this man if he is in fact the actual Falcon, at the very least? Lycoris steps one step forward, affixes a pleasant smile upon her lips. "Good day, sir, you—wouldn't happen to be the Falcon, would you? My friends and I have been enjoying what the Hypnogeum has to offer so far, but the tour mentions we strive to meet you, specifically." The man peers down his nose at her for the briefest of moments, glasses near opaque, before he responds to her query with what is perhaps one of the smoothest voices she has ever heard in her life, dark satine and spilled wine, quite at odds with his formidable appearance. "Hmm? Hmm! Yes yes sure sure, I am he that is the Falcon. I don't know what tour you're talking about though. It feels like you maybe are being sly with your words, hmm? I'm not very good at parsing cumbersome verbal cues. What do you want?" Lycoris’ smile grows wider, fabricated delight curving along the edge of her cupid’s bow. "Just a little mingling." She shifts her stance to angle towards Eldwine, then, passing over the metaphorical microphone into his grasp.
  13. 2 points

    Singlance House Party

    The brothers paused to admire the trucks. "You think mom would-" "-let us ride one?" The first thought for a moment. "She wouldn't care, about us riding-" "-a motorized vehicle. But we have an image to uphold among the Ursa Madeans..." "... an image of sorts," the first repeated with a dry smile. They headed to the front door. "How do we introduce ourselves?" the first asked. "Maybe super-casual, like, hey, we're the Empress' sons. Oh, you didn't know we existed? That's 'cause we didn't until up until this year!" "Maybe we don't mention that last part," the second said, shooting his brother a look. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit, adopting a gentlemanly demeanor. "I'm Lenore Paralios, and this is my brother, Pallas. Pleasure to meet you. Just like that." "Hmm," Pallas said. "But shouldn't we be... more casual?" Lenore sighed. Pallas rolled his eyes. Both reached out to knock, rapping twice on the door.
  14. 2 points
    Better Than Gore

    Church On The Hill

    "Lovely." A heavy sigh complimented his sarcastic tone. One didn't have to necessarily have a memory to understand that a first impression was important, and here he was... ripe. That word didn't quite do his current aroma justice, the sheer fact that Ioreth and Mythandriel were in close proximity was surprising, at least they fortunate enough not to be downwind. He carried himself differently now that he was in the presence of others. Which was difficult, as there were so many new things he wished to interact with, especially the horse. It could have probably held a better conversation than the cow. Ioreth was kind enough to oblige his request, deviating from their path wouldn't have been the nicest thing to do, so he resisted the urge. But damn was it hard. Then there were little creatures surrounding Ioreth; of course, he knew they were children, but he could hardly recall ever seeing one previously. “She’s obsessed with the one about the talking horse.” He knew it. Cows suck, horses are where the good conversations are at. "He's smelly," That was a fact, but that didn't keep him from sticking his tongue out at the little girl in response. Children were brave, that's for sure. Or at least this particular one was. All this talk of horses intrigued him, it certainly made him regret not approaching the one they saw earlier. “Many blessings. God smiles upon you and all that.” "Thank you," And with that, he b-lined straight for the bathing quarters, clothes in hand, and he made sure not to get them anywhere near his current attire. It took some time but after a while, he emerged a new man. The clothing they provided him with must've been tailored to fit a human's frame, it fit, but it quite tight. The shirt barely confined the sheer mass that was the Orc, his gray skin exposed and rippled with muscle that was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. We won't even go into detail about the pants... they didn't leave anything to the imagination and we'll leave it at that. His raven black hair was loosely tied up into a topknot. "Now what?" He smiled. @Witches Brew @KittyvonCupcake
  15. 2 points
    I'd also like to type, as a former Gaia Online roleplayer, is that these tournaments foster power playing and power players, which is one thing I wanted to leave behind (as well as the stagnant RP community centered around an endless amount of tavern threads).
  16. 2 points
    Minuet of the Nightingale

    What tangled webs

    Ampelos certainly knew his business, she almost wasn't sure he even needed her presence... not that she was about to offer up that little bit of insight though - it would be like shooting herself in her foot. She wanted away from home and this opportunity had presented itself in her perfect manner to give her some freedoms and slap her name on achievement while she was at it. She didn't have many of those, but she was eager to start proving herself and earning a proper place at the adult table. Even if she wasn't entirely sure what was so special about this particular arrangement; from what she could tell, it was a good but the standard type of deal you could hope to make. So either she understood what was taking place far to well and this whole endeavor was really just that jarringly simple, or she had failed to grasp the larger plan... Given what she knew about the blonde haired man holding this little gathering, she had a hard time believing it was the former. Victra had never been the type who learned by having others speak at her - she was much more hands on and 'in the moment' type of learner so it was pretty easy to assume she simply had missed the genius of the plan. But that was fine, she was here to deal with people, not the logistics of trade agreements. If Ampelos needed her to brush shoulders and make friends somewhere along the line, she knew she could do that. The young woman swirled her glass, watching the ice chase each other in circles while pretending to think about the information she had just been given. There actually was something, a barely recollected mention of the company tickling at the back of her mind; a change in ownership, was it? That seemed right and yet not entirely at the same time. Hopefully the information Ampelos had for them would clear that up. "I'm good to leave within the hour in all honestly, I won't have much to bring," she slanted her gaze towards Icarus next; "And If you need help getting things together, just ask."
  17. 2 points
    Come on gents!
  18. 2 points
    Witches Brew

    Bubblegum Space Princess

    Amaranth MacGuffin Name: Amaranth MacGuffin Age: 21 years old Height: 5'5" Weight: 145lbs Hair colour: Bubblegum pink, with cotton candy blue tips Eyes: Bright blue Occupation: Smuggler Birthplace: Unknown Relationship Status: Married to a lovely Cat lady named Kitty Skills: - Sharp Aim: She can hit almost any target without trying very hard - Exceptional Pilot: Despite being so young, she is an excellent pilot, she knows how to maneuver around any space rock. Leadership Material: Despite being a party of two, she knows when she has to take the lead in any situation. Personality: She's an explosive personality. She's usually calm and levelheaded, but when it comes to certain things she's all emotion. She loves her wife dearly, and will destroy all who try to touch her. She also very much hates dumb ass pilots who can't figure out how to work their space crafts. Despite her short temper, she always makes sure she gives her wife all the love she deserves. (This is short and sweet and it kinda sucks but, this all came from a dream Kitty had.)
  19. 2 points

    Predator's Keep OOC

    When there is no leader or a not involved leader, the area tends to go the way of Tazarek or San Yara or Ursa Madeum (pre-Taen). It can look pretty but it will pretty much just sit there. If a place has no activity it isn't appealing and if it has activity but no change management that activity doesn't go anywhere or do anything tangible so people lose interest and we get back to the first When there is an involved leader, we tend to get Ursa Madeum (post-Taen) and Yh'mi, which changed hands at least twice (from creator to second leader to existing third leader, jaistlyn) and has flourished in activity and complexity since I want PK to sustain and succeed, that is I'd prefer option two to option one above, but I don't have a personal investment in PK and so have no intention of changing the lore or the direction of its plot. I just need to find someone to manage the area, if that person even exists, that makes sense either from IC perspective (because their character belongs to a council) or from an OOC perspective (because the IC justified people either don't have interest, time, or don't make sense in leadership positions) So that's where I'm at right now, just for clarity's sake @Twitterpated Is your character one of the people listed here by any chance?: https://www.valucre.com/topic/30546-predators-keep-informationquests/?do=findComment&comment=533276 If you're going to manage the quests I would suggest posting an updated quest thread that you, or someone else, can freely edit since right now that information is posted under Red's account It's great that you've got this interest and I definitely prefer keeping the property in the hands of someone already involved but given that you've got a couple of soups cooking I worry that it'll simply lead to burn out, bringing your quality down across your other projects for having yet another one to manage. So let's call it temporary triage? It might be a good idea to run it by council both IC and OOC, so that management and plot direction of PK is shared (maybe bewteen Twitterpated, Fierach and Akako?) so that you have that built in redundancy of when one person gets too busy there are two others, but would still need one person in charge of basic logistics - aka the actual updating of "this quest is free" or "taken" or "completed and here are the results"
  20. 2 points

    Predator's Keep OOC

    I've been around roughly since the beginning of PK. I have ironically recently made plans to try and bring activity back to the board as I'd hate to see any of it go to waste. Currently my plans were to complete the list of current available quests one by one while transitioning the canon into a workable plot to explain her absence IC, in a way that allows her an easy way back in if/when she returns. Otherwise the region keeps moving. Make new quests, I have a great plot in mind for some good old conflict around PK, though I have to see if my buddy is willing to participate as the antagonist in this case. If it makes the move from board to tag, that's fine, I understand. But I don't wish to see this go into the wrong hands of ownership and drastically change from what it's originally, currently meant to be. I'll throw my name in the hat. My pace is slow because of how many different things I'm doing at once, but I've been making good progress course correcting and setting limits to be able to better focus on projects I'm running. That being said, I'd love and be open to collaborating with others that are currently or have been involved in the Keep's history, and just as willing to concede to their technical ownership. Another returned face to us whom has been heavily involved in the past is @Akako Akari. Currently I have an active thread running plot relevant to this all, actually, it's Akako's thread but w/e. @Enk Razorwood idk how much help I'd be, but my two characters involved pertain of one Scarlet Council Member, and his son whom is the Prince sans his illegitimacy. The latter is still likely too young to call any real shots, though if plot spins right, the council member will be in PK, indefinitely.
  21. 1 point
    It's time, ladies and gentlemen and others! Tales of Redemption is Open for Entries! Here's a refresher on the definition of "Redemption" we'll be working with: Redemption doesn't have to be big or totally transformative, but it does imply a moral shift in behavior or perspective. Your main character doesn't have to go from being a devil to an angel in 2000 words, but someone should probably become at least a little less awful for at least a small, significant moment. HOW TO SUBMIT AN ENTRY: PM me with "Tales of Redemption" in the subject line, along with the title of your story and a word count. I will respond when I have received it, but please give me 72 hours before poking me; life things happen to me with a disturbing frequency (see: intended contest opening on April 1st). OFFICIAL RULES: 1) Submissions will be accepted from now until midnight on April 29th! NEW DEADLINE: MAY 15th! The entries will be posted in random order on April 30th MAY 16th!, and voting will open May 1st MAY 20th! 2) Maximum length is 2000 words. There is no minimum word count. 3) Stories can have any tone, from grimdark to flight-of-whimsy, as long as the central theme is redemption. 4) Entries must be original, unused work. Do not plagiarize, and definitely don't plagiarize yourself. I will be checking. 5) YOU ARE SWORN TO SECRECY! Your submission must be known only to you and to me. Do not give anyone any information that they could use to easily identify your entry. 6) One submission per participant. Revisions or substitutions will be allowed up until the deadline, but only one entry per contestant will be posted. 7) Please double-check your formatting. The only editing I will do to an entry is to fix any errors that happen with the copy/paste function. 8 ) Entries MUST HAVE A TITLE. I refuse to post a dozen stories all named "Untitled #1", "Untitled #2", "Untitled #3", like happened in Spinal Chills a couple years back. That was maddening as a participant, and probably would have been maddening as a voter, and in any case it's my contest so it's my rule. Give it a title. PRIZES: Prizes depend on the number of entries received by the deadline. Five or fewer entries: 1st Place: A custom user title, courtesy of @supernal! (if the winner already has a custom user title, then we'll come up with something different and cool, but I just now at this very second thought of this problem, so that's my bad.) Six to Ten entries: 1st Place: $15 Amazon gift card, courtesy of @Veloci-Rapture! 2nd Place: A custom user title! Ten to Fourteen entries: 1st Place: $25 Amazon gift card! 2nd Place: $10 Amazon gift card! 3rd Place: A custom user title! Fifteen or more entries: 1st Place: $50 Amazon gift card! 2nd Place: $25 Amazon gift card! 3rd Place: $10 Amazon gift card! Honorable Mention: A custom user title! [NOTE! Gift cards require a valid e-mail address to send them to, so be prepared to provide one!] WORKSHOP THREAD: Finally, if you've got questions of a general "how do I write stuff goodly?" variety, come on over to the Spring Contest Workshop Thread! It's been pretty dull so far, but I'm hoping we can give out lots of advice as the timer ticks down! Don't be afraid! Let's have a great contest! Give Valucre your best shot at a TALE OF REDEMPTION!
  22. 1 point

    Darkest Dungeon Cameos

    Alright ladies and germs. I am going to continue (or start) a brand new Darkest Dungeon game, because I haven’t played that since the Shieldbreaker and the Color of Madness came out. Incidentally, I’m going to start naming all this cannon fodd- er, I mean noble sacrifice-, sorry, brave adventurers I’m sending into the dungeons. Therefore, I’d like you all to throw your character’s names into the hats for consideration! Don’t worry, I’m actually quite good at the game, so you guys won’t die horrific deaths… too often anyway! –evil laughter- So pick a class (or custom class, since I’m playing with mods now, but be aware space for them is quite limited), and have the name of the character you want represented. List of Classes: (and sacrifices) The Crusader: A stalwart frontliner, he has both a strong sword arm and righteous fury. Reynauld, Fidelitas, Eshara The Highwayman: A thug, a thief, a skilled duelist, with dirk or flintlock he kills his enemy. Dismas, Jinsoku The Bounty Hunter: An efficient executioner, a competent tracker, he is always ready for battle. Teddy, Ebris The Plague Doctor: The best place to learn medicine is the battlefield, using her toxic plagues and healing vapors. The Vestal: A sister of battle, with holy light and divine condemnations. Shishidlean, Risa The Abomination: A cursed existence, a man trying to keep the monstrous beast within at bay. Ragnar The Antiquarian: She is a scholar, researcher, and archaeologist, she can see what others can’t. Kalmuli The Arbalest: Definitive backline fighter, an anchor with her powerful crossbow and support abilities. Jorahel The Houndmaster: A lawman working outside the law, bringing justice with the help of his faithful beast. The Jester: Deadlier then any bard, a performer to the last, he wishes for his final performance. Leontias The Leper: Adversity and existence are the same to him, felling foes at the end of his executioner’s blade. The Grave Robber: A fallen noble’s daughter, she prefers the glint of gold and dagger point, a nimble rogue. Capria The Man-at-Arms: A veteran of battle, he has survived where others have not with shield and mace Corvinus, Seigfreid The Occultist: There are some things should not be known, there are those who study that lore and turns them upon their mad creators. Senvarin The Flagellant: A madman, he seeks martyrdom, blood drawn by his flail, from him, or his enemy The Hellion: Death or honor, with glaive in hand, the barbarian princess seeks both at the fore of battle Tommy The Shieldbreaker: Deadly as a viper with her spear and shield, she hails from the shifting sands, pursued by her dreams. The Musketeer: A markswoman of renown, she seeks a new challenge and new targets. Alexa List of Custom Classes: The Falconer: A defected criminal, she now hunts her former kind with the aid of her hawk. Available! Khalan The Thrall: N/A The Cataphract: Adept in the front lines or as support, he fights with his spear, and calls upon the spirits of his fell horse, . Available! The Lamia: Viviana The Wraith: Tenkai The Acolyte of the Sun: N/A The Omen Seeker: Rou The Abysswalker: Tenris, Azytzeen The Dragonslayer: James
  23. 1 point

    Tavern of Legend OOC

    Oh. That is also followed. I think I follow it anonymously. I think though. I've been making sure I read everything and get notification of everything I'm a part of (unless it's a general chat because as with real chatting you don't have to participate with it all the time). Edit: Reason behind not remembering, no TOL IC notifications leading to not remembering.
  24. 1 point

    Toil and Trouble

    It was an especially beautiful day in Coth. On such magnificent days Constans could not help but think of God, of the world God wanted him to create where all days could be as serene as this one, where all places could be as filled with peace as Coth. It was a monumental undertaking, to change the world in such a way. Yet looking up at the bright sun and how it spilled its warm light with such favor upon the sleepy civilization which had risen on Coth's idyllic hill, Constans believed it could be done. Yet if Coth was to thrive, he thought as he walked out of his ruined church this morning, it would have to thrive upon the hard work and effort and, yes, blood of loyal Cothites. The realm that needed to be fashioned required hard fighting. War had never been Constans' strong suit, but it was necessary. Coth's peace could not only be spread through forgiveness and love. There were vile monsters out in the world: undead and the necromancers who propagated them, foul races with false dark gods who could never be brought into the light, god-pretenders who saw themselves as higher than any other divinity-- these people could be forgiven for their errors, but they could not be spared God's wrath. Constans hated it, personally, but it was not his will that led Coth. It was God's. God wished for him to dispatch those foul hearts which would never turn toward his green light, and so that was what Constans would do. Or, at least, that is what he would ask others to do. Others who could accomplish it. For while Constans had God's fire at his disposal, his heart was always bent towards peace. He needed fighters to do God's work. He needed warriors. "Father!" a child said as Constans walked, his hands clasped behind him, through the streets of his town. He smiled and yelled back at the child in greeting. it was not long before that child, and a few others, were trailing the Prophet of Coth on his sojourn down the hill. "Father!" a woman called, and he stopped to talk to her and to kiss the forehead of her child. The child's eyes were bright green like the mother's, like Constans', like almost everyone's in Coth. She too followed the Prophet as he walked on. "Father!" the butchers called and "Father!" yelled the seamstresses and shoemakers. "Father!" cried the soldiers and "Father!" the farmers. He stopped to speak to them all. They told him that the recent rains had been a blessing to the crops, that the meat of the cows was especially well marbled since he had prayed over the sows, that the elves had brought fine animal skins back from the wilds and that the people loved the new opera singers who visited Coth, and the new library the elf Ioreth was raising. A bard picked up her flute and trilled a marching tune as Constans walked down the paths between the homesteads with his growing train of people. A walk of five minutes took Constans over an hour to make, but by the time he arrived at the blacksmith's home and workshop he knew all about what sort of day Coth was having. True to his first impression, it was a good one. "You will all forgive me, but I must leave you. Many of you have heard of the blacksmith who lives in this home. It is said her fires are touched by God." he said, standing and raising his hand and addressing the crowd in front of Demi's house. "Today, I must confer with her in private. You may not know, but she has more than once ventured outside of Coth for your benefit. She is an example to all of us, and I hope you will all favor her with your patronage. Now, you must disperse and do your parts to keep our happy home safe." And with that gentle command the people who had followed him down the hill said their goodbyes. Some kissed his hands, while others bowed before walking back up to their homes and shops and their play. He watched them go, holding his hands clasped together, smiling until his eyes crinkled with joy. When the were all out of sight, Constans listened for a moment for the sounds of the blacksmith's hammer. When he heard them, he walked around to her shed and, knowing she would never hear his knocks on the door, let himself in. For a shed, it was spacious. It had to be: the fires would burn down a smaller space. Yet they were contained in a great stonework oven, and beside that open and blenching cauldron of fire stood the one-armed woman, her work clamped in an iron press as she slammed her hammer down upon her newest strange piece of metal. Constans didn't speak, but when she noticed him he bowed his head toward her metal and signaled for her to keep working. He moved beside her and watched her hammer for a moment, noting the fading red metal of her project. It was beginning to cool, and so Constans held his hand over it, opening his fingers wide and inhaling. He exhaled sharply, and from his palm blasted a small flamethrower gout of green-hot fire. His eyes began to shine light down over the work as his fire bathed over the metal, licking her hammer and hand harmlessly whenever she let a blow fall. God's fire spared the innocent, always, but it had no such mercy for the metal, which it melted down until it was as orange as the sun and as pliable as clay. When he was satisfied, Constans closed his fist and withdrew his hand. He walked over to the center of the room, allowing her time to use the gift he had given her. He grabbed an oil-stained knife and sliced himself off a piece of roast pig from the second, smaller fire pit. He held it gingerly in his fingers, taking small bites of the delicious meat, and found a table to sit on while Demi finished her work. @ViverFever
  25. 1 point

    Tavern of Legend OOC

    @SteamWarden Post?
  26. 1 point

    Singlance House Party

    Thurgood stoppd in his office before searching for Vivian and Nadia, since he knows the one place in the manor they feel safe: the armory. Aveline leads Pallas, Lenore, and Varda downstairs to find Lithist already there. In her brain, a blip of recognition occurs, but that's just it for right now: a blip. "I feel like I should recognize you from somewhere..." It doesn't take long for Thurgood to unlock and enter the armory, and of course, Vivian and Nadia are cowering behind a rifle rack. Thurgood gently drops to his knees and holds out a piece of paper in each hand. "Vivian, Nadia, get out here," Thurgood says, in a non-agressive but slightly annoyed tone, "and look at these." The two radar foxes cautiously step out and start reading the pieces of paper, then their eyes go wide. "Yeah, these are adoption papers. All they need is my signature, Aveline's signature, and yours to officially become part of the family. I wanted to save this for later tonight, but now, I don't know if you're worthy of our last name anymore. I've heard your stories of abuse at the hands and wings of your trainers, and I'm sure it must be hard to be in the same room as an angel. So is facing an incredibly powerful evil necromancer and her minions. A Singlance doesn't shy away from things just because they're hard. A Singlance also never backs down from a fight or challenge, and right now you're doin' both. If ya wanna be part of our family, I'll see you upstairs, talking to those angels. If not, you can keep cowering like a couple of pussies in here for the rest of the party, and I'll just toss these in the shredder." Thurgood then stands up and leaves the armory, taking the final adoption forms with him, hoping he doesn't need to carry out that threat. Those forms are the end result of over a year of forms, fees, more forms, more fees, and so much bureaucratic bullshit that he wonders why anybody would go through with this. Then he was forced to disclose that they're a different species. Then that bureaucratic bullshit got even more fun.
  27. 1 point

    Let it all fall down around us

    The past few months had shown House Uldwar to be a divided family and an organization unit in a state of chaos, that much was readily apparent. After Oscar Uldwar was last seen assaulting his wife at the Reverie Ball, the patriarch had vanished completely, while his wife divorced him and took residence with House Dali. What happened next went to show that Oscar Uldwar did not have a succession plan in place, for lordship over the house had effectively changed hands between the eldest four surviving children in rapid succession. Without Oscar's heavy hand to keep his family and subjects in line, the Uldwar domain was left clouded in complete uncertainty. This was a problem, and it prompted Norkotia to halt weapon sales to House Uldwar until it was resolved. That resolution had not yet come... Despite insisting that the Grand Executor stick with official business, Diric Redbridge had been forced to arrange a clandestine meeting between Norkotia's supreme commander and the recently deposed middle daughter of the embattled house. The Prime Minister did not personally approve of his superior's decision to ally with Oscar, whose temperament, checkered past, and unpopularity with the rest of the nobility, made him seemingly a greater threat to his allies than his enemies. Oscar Uldwar was simply a very illogical man, not that all humans weren't illogical anyway, but Oscar was well outside the bounds of acceptable parameters. Joseph Tynes was well within those bounds, by contrast, but he had still elected to align with the otherwise loathed patriarch. Why? There were two clear reasons: nationalism and militarism. Joseph Tynes knew Oscar was a kindred spirit in his distrust of foreign powers (never mind the fact that they were foreign powers to one-another), and both were willing to do what was best for their people first, greater morality be damned. And of course, in this increasingly dangerous world, the martial might of House Uldwar was an appealing trait for an ally to possess. It had certainly proved beneficial thanks to the joint Dogs of War-Norkotian Army training program that had been put in motion late last autumn. But all that was on the verge of ending, with most of the Uldwar children standing in direct contrast to their father. Luis was a mage, more given to studying and experimenting in his craft than ruling, and Joseph Tynes despised mages anyway. Illyana was too kind-hearted, and worse, too devoted to a religion that rivaled the Directivist vision Tynes hoped to export to Ursa Madeum (in due time, converting the refugee immigrants was first priority). Mia seemed the most like her father, but that seemed to be so in all the wrong ways. From what Diric's agents could glean, she was rather unpopular with her people, and was prone to fits of rage much as her father was. This allowed the eldest son, Godric, to easily step in and claim the Uldwar throne. As the eldest, he had the greatest claim, and did not appear to be a mage or Gaianist, which seemed to indicate he was the most logical child to support. Unfortunately, when approached about the resumption of weapon sales and the continuation of the training program, Godric's responses were not what the Norkotians hoped. Further sales would not resume, while the training program was to be phased out over the next several weeks. That effectively spelled the end of the alliance, which though not catastrophic for Norkotia's standing in Ursa Madeum (it remained close allies with House Karradeen, and had a growing relationship with House Hildebrand), it would still serve to weaken them regardless. Luckily, Joseph Tynes had traveled to Ursa Madeum for other matters, which made this a perfect opportunity to seek an alternative solution to Godric. But as it was, the only alternative came in the form of an ill-tempered teenage girl. Prime Minister Redbridge led the way, a pair of Executive Guardsmen flanking him on either side. Joseph Tynes followed behind, flanked by four more guardsmen, all equipped in prototype armor and armed with submachineguns. There was also a full squad left with the vehicles, ready to be called upon at a moment's notice. All this was hardly overkill though, at least in their minds, for two assassination attempts within the same year had left the Executor, and his advisor, far more self-conscious over their own security. Even Tynes, who normally preferred to wear just his uniform, had partial armor protection today, just in case. The visual appearance of the Norkotians was certainly quite different now than when Oscar first met with them, all those months ago. "Lady Mia Uldwar." Diric Redbridge addressed the woman, "May I present His Excellency, Grand Executor Joseph Tynes, of the Norkotian Union." He stepped aside and allowed the Executor to approach. Diric's overly formal introduction was amusing, but Joseph supposed it was for the sake of impressing the importance of his position upon the young noble. He wasn't one for such formalities himself, preferring to stick with Norkotian methods of greeting. "It's an honor to meet you, your ladyship." he offered her a handshake, forgoing the gaudy gesture of bowing, "Let me say that I'm sorry to hear about the situation regarding your father. I understand the past few months have been difficult for your house."
  28. 1 point

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Lying in bed, Viscerex watched Mythandriel's back rise and fall in time with her deep breaths and, past her, saw her elder cousin Ioreth stir. Ioreth sat up and turned back to him, perplexity written in shadows across her face. He narrowed his eyes so that she would not see, and through his lashes watched her linger and then leave. He had spent too long with her not to sense the confusion inside her. He bit his lip and waited. Upon hearing the front door close softly behind Ioreth, Viscerex closed his eyes and thought back to the feeling of holding her in his arms. His heart swelled. She, so little, like a child in his arms. He felt the impression of her head against his chest again and remembered how warm he grew at her touch. If God was love, as the priest so often said, then he had been so full of God in that moment. For once, he had felt a sense of contentment, of deep quietude in his soul. She had leaned on him, and only now did he realize how heavily his heart had leaned on her in these past months. He realized who had given him the little hope he used to carry on living after God had chastened him. And now, that hope was growing. And the shape it was taking would forever be called Ioreth. A while later, Viscerex sat up. He put his hands on his knees and looked over the bedroom with all of its oddities and all of its natural splendor. He could have been content here in her sanctum, but not without her. He looked back to the sleeping elf-child and raised his hands to his helmet, unclasping its locks and parting it from his head. He set it down beside himself and twisted over Mythandriel for long enough to place a soft kiss on her brow. He had her to thank for all this, in a fashion. It was good that she had not died. He remembered her familiar weight on his back as he slogged through the knee-high snows. How he would panic in the moments where she took too long to catch her next breath. He remembered watching he be cut upon, and the fury it had raised inside him him. He wanted to protect her from danger, even though the world was danger. He touched her sweaty hair, stroking it behind her ear so it would not tickle her face. Then, he put his helmet back on and left her there to sleep undisturbed. Soon he too left Ioreth's home to strike out into the wilderness. He needed to sleep under the stars. He needed to hunt again, to feed his Ioreth and his Mythadnriel.
  29. 1 point

    In Gaia We Trust

    From where she was, she could watch Illanya finish her work. As a team they performed quite well, for a moment she vaguely wondered if the the lord had that in mind when he brought her there - likely not - but she wouldn’t underestimate the cunning old man, not for a second. She flinched and found herself gritting her teeth with Illanya’s exhaustion and effort, though she was not the one fighting the curse. The locket dropped to the floor and as the little girl awoke , if the girl spoke, Riha didn’t hear her. The locket clicked and whined and strained for several long moments, its connection to the girl clear as it continued to make the noise. If it was audible to anyone else she didn’t know. But deft hands scooped it up and placed it around the little girls neck, eye’s lighting up as they recognized a familiar face in a scary time. “Do not part with this.” She said firmly, “it and you are connected now. But it cannot hurt you anymore.” She turned her attention to Illanya and with a brow furrowed in concern she peered at her. She wouldn’t ask her in front of patients if she was alright, but she would certainly see to it that she could rest and check in with her later. Riha’s Keen eyes didn’t miss the blackness that tried to creep up the woman’s arm, the fight that occurred below conscious eyes. Riha’s attention turned to Illanya “She should be fine with some rest and some care - I hope..... I apologize but I am really exhausted, stepping across the veil like that does not go without its consequences.” She continued in a lower voice, “You do not look well yourself, I have some herbs and tea in the other tent should you want or need them.” Unsure how the woman would interpret her kindness she slipped out, not wanting to be around or garner any more attention than she’d already had. Flopping down into a chair she sighed and pulled out her little flask of cold tea. It was a treat to be sure, but it was needed, it was always needed after a jaunt like that into the other realm.
  30. 1 point
    Dolor Aeternum

    September 20, WTA 597

    So Monday at 4am EST eh? My body might be ready....
  31. 1 point

    September 20, WTA 597

    @OBELUS posted this link in the Chatbox earlier: https://bit.ly/2HUmEbF - might be something pertaining to when this starts, I guess? And it's been posting stuff, but it's 1AM right now and I'm on my last brain cell, so I'll go think about these things tomorrow 😂
  32. 1 point

    Darkest Dungeon Cameos

    Can you gimme a profile for both? I'll see if I can pick a palette resembling them xD
  33. 1 point

    Singlance House Party

    It's not immediately apparent, but Varda is perhaps in over her head for this endeavor, going here alone without any of her siblings to support her or at the very least offer her company. It is not exactly what she would have wanted, but compromise is something she has learned very early on in her first days as Lady Hildebrand. Therefore, in order to respect both the wishes of her siblings not to have to associate with House Singlance if they don’t have to, as well as the wishes of House Singlance desiring the presence of the heads of the noble houses, Varda will have to make do with being alone for this courtesy call to what has been promised to be a grandiose party. And, of course, if asked why she had been so eager to visit—Varda quite enjoys parties, and is also infinitely curious about the newest noble house and their peculiar way of life. She had not been granted the opportunity to interact with the Singlances during the Reverie Ball, so perhaps this is finally the time to make up for lost chances. Alighting from the carriage without much fanfare, the Lady Hildebrand takes a moment to study the smooth and paved ground beneath her feet, a stormy grey compared to the vibrant green of grass along the edges of the road. Casting her gaze to the manor beyond, it looks almost out of place in this sprawling pastoral landscape, but the structure does look decidedly modern. There are—strange men she cannot recognize on the front porch, standing by the door and knocking in tandem. Staring openly at their appearance, Varda is very strongly reminded of the Imperial couple, which, upon closer inspection, might not be a good omen. A shiver rolls down her spine, much to her chagrin. Nevertheless, she moves closer to possibly greet them, or to get to the entryway, at the very least.
  34. 1 point
    WHEN IT IS NIGHT . . . Monsters come out of their dens and terrorize the villages. They eat the sheep and kill the farmers, carrying the women and the children away to violate and to mutilate. Revolting, yes, but it is also why she does not stand and watch the little brutes have it their way. It is one of the many reasons why she strikes down these evil vermin! It was these sort of monsters that Raine was most familiar with; the ogres and goblins, the imps and wyverns. She has not yet acquainted herself to a certain monster. She takes pride in the field of magic and the arcane, ever since the day she was born with blood that poured as black as the night sky. And when it was night, her hair faded into moonlight. She materializes a hat with a curled point and dons the remnant of her past, pulls the robe around her shoulders tighter to her lithe body. Her fragile body. Her scarred gaze shifts to her hand, studies the markings on her fingers as they glowed dearly. They shine, because the moon has finally come out of hiding. Raine stands on the shores of Casper, her feet submerged in the water where it's shallow enough to still see the sand. The black tide curls it's waves and crashes against the beach—against her feet, where the seafoam approaches and recedes back into the black ocean. Celestial tadpoles, were what they called it. They only appear near the shore when it was night and when there was a strong source of light. She'd wanted to see if these creatures are as beautiful or as terrifying as they say. Her hand moves to touch her heart where her pendant is, under the robe. Raine puffs a white cloud, a cold breath of air. They are still tired, she thinks, no, and she blinks, could it be that— Death on a canvas. Blood, imbued with color. Her hand points towards the ocean, and with it, a blue orb that shone brightly against it's black waters. It was her floating lantern, a portion of her mana, levitating above the tides as it hummed. She waited for the tadpoles, stared at the waters if they too, glowed. The moon greatly cast it's reflection on the black ocean, so of course, their hides reflect off the moon. What a surprise, she mused, a smile tugging and her eyes squinting beneath the hat. That was easy. The apparitions in the water swerved and moved about the surface, swimming towards the woman and her lovely lantern of light. The tadpoles had even begun circling around her legs—unnatural for most magical creatures, but she had quite the affinity with magical creatures and the like, as one can see. As she chuckled at the mystical beings and their lovely banter, Raine thought it funny how everyone here had the same color; blue! Her smile twists into a line—her eyes move to the side. It would seem one of them here was not the same color. She peers over her shoulder. With a snap of her fingers, the lantern had been blown out like a candle and with it, the tadpoles disappeared and left nothing but the black ocean yet again.
  35. 1 point

    Laws Yet Inked

    “You say that as if any of us are given a choice in what we are,” Rafael replied, somehow managing to keep his bitter disappoint away from the warmth of his tone. It was there, of course, working its way through their bond sure as her pain, anger, and panic, but not so much that it would outweigh the pity or genuine sense of obligation the elder felt toward her. “The only thing that any of us can decide—to any degree—is who we are.” There would always be obstacles vying to help or force shape Gabriela into their idea of her, many of which took eerily similar shapes to the man that now sat across from her. Malice, Tenebre, Roen, Rafael, and even the High Lords themselves—a chorus of suggestions, demands, and repercussions should she not bend to their wills. It was her stubbornness and authenticity that allowed her to resist them, to remain true to her vision of Irene Gabriela DuGrace; and yet, so too was it these two unquestionable traits that consistently, and without fail, led to her glorious downfall. Rafael had learned, not too long ago, where the line fell between his prejudice of his wife’s inadequacies and their factual counterparts. By the blood in her veins was she meant to rule, yet she possessed none of the means to govern. Experience, wisdom, the grip to maintain control of that which she guided, these things were foreign to her. Her history of romance was a slew of numerous abuses, from physical to psychological—of which he too was a guilty party—all in the name of rabid obsession, or ‘love’ when it was convenient to be called such. Looking over her sad history, how could anyone expect anything but this mess? Overwhelming debt and a destabilized institution were to be the Black Queen’s dowry, Rafael realized when he’d poured over the findings days ago. Still he remained. “I wish that you wouldn’t say things like that,” the elder replied, making his way ‘round the desk once more. “And yet, still you do. You see now how life can be so unkind as to forsake us even the smallest things we desire.” He took his place between her and the edge of the desk she faced, his legs crossed into a narrow pike he set to the side of hers. Both his hands, he set on the dark wood at his side, drumming their idle song—click, click, click—as he often did when thinking. Rafael studied her appraisingly, as an artist would their medium when determining its limitations. “You’ve made mistakes,” Rafael said softly. “I have lived a great deal longer than you, Gabriela, and I can assure you that I have made far worse mistakes. It is a natural part of life and you are right to care about it.” No, it wasn’t the mistakes that the elder found troubling, but rather her seemingly insatiable desire to continue making the same mistakes, over and over again. “Believing that these pillars of the community would have a sense of loyalty to their country and fellow Orisians is a noble thing, but blindly believing that is wrong. Because of our people’s history with them, you victimize humans and place them—all of them—on this pedestal of virtue. And so, in the eyes of the Black Queen, they can do no wrong.” In quiet emphasis of his point, he pinched the top paper of the reports between his fingernail and the desk, sliding it closer to him. “These men and women have not only stolen directly from you, but from their impoverished neighbors. While they grow fat with greed, securing their family’s wealth and legacy, children go hungry in the night. This is a grievous crime and it cannot be overlooked.” The rhythm of his fingernails against the desk slowed as he toyed with the scenarios in his head, all of them a just and violent end for these traitorous dogs. It was one the underprivileged Orisians would rally to, with the wounds of the Ceyana Incident still bleeding on their souls. “But, as much as it pains me to say, we cannot execute them. That isn’t the Orisian way.” Rafael nodded to himself, satisfied with deduction, and began to comb his fingers through the density of his beard. “While the Empire may be known for its more draconian sense of justice, we must blend our cultures, my love, not overpower one with the other. Troubling as these revelations are, I cannot in good faith say that this has not presented us with the opportunity of a lifetime.” Reaching out with his dominant hand, Rafael posed a clawed finger beneath her chin, and with the lightest of pressure, stole it from the palm where she rested and tilted it back so that he might look upon her beauty uninhibited. Whether in pain, agony, happiness of pleasure, Gabriela was a vision, and though he craved her at all times, needed her, it satisfied him enough to admire from so close a distance. “It would be my suggestion that these people be jailed for a minimum of ten – no, twenty-five years – and that they are made to reimburse the crown for all funds stolen, but also a quarter of their original fortune, dated by the first acceptance of royal payment. In doing so, the dozen or so projects across the island will finally receive the necessary funds to continue operations, overseen by select members of the Umbral Ministry of Finance, and the crown will recoup some—but not all—of the losses brought on by this treachery.” Confident his queen would find the terms agreeable, Rafael gave in to his sensual ways, and rolled the finger from beneath her chin to properly cup the softness of her cheek in his massive palm. He lowered himself from the desk, crouching between her legs as he thumbed her cheek and, with his other hand, stroked the long curve of her thigh. “If you truly do not wish to rule and crave nothing more than a simple existence, I will give you that. I will forge your signature on that page, impose my laws, and govern all Orisia by myself. Your life will be to stand by my side when I require it, and mother our children. If that’s what you want.” For all his cruelty and heavy-handedness, Rafael was a simple man, enslaved to the simplistic code of his existence. He’d not been raised to possess his cousin, for she was his equal in every way. It was his age that gave him the distinct advantage he leveraged over her now, but as time passed, her strength would come in rapid increments while his slowed to a steady trickle. By her thousandth year, their differences in power would be nearly nonexistent. And as he searched her golden eyes, she would see this truth in his bluer pair; the future he desired more than anything in this world. “I would have your voice in our people’s ears, your touch in their lives, in equal measure to my own.”
  36. 1 point

    Naughty or Nice?

    Dan sped through the city so fast his feet were almost not even touching the ground. Or maybe they weren't, he COULD fly, after all. The closer he got, the stronger that power level seemed to get. It was to the point now that Dan was beginning to get a bit worried. This thing was encroaching on the stronger non-Olympian god level now. Havoc aside, he was not in the habit of challenging gods. He shook such insecurities from himself. This thing was undoubtedly evil, and would be destroyed. And, he wasn't fighting a god tier opponent alone this time. We're looking at YOU, Thotification. Kid was fighting a god and you just taunted and bailed, leaving some to just sit and watch. Gee thanks. What....the fuck....are you talking about? Nothing never mind. Dan heard an explosion, and finally they were in view. The Maiden of Black Pubic Hair was still fending off elves and a cocky looking deer, Schrodinger's Cat was..... oh. That's what was giving off that power. This close, Dan could both tell that this thing was incredibly powerful, and that it still hadn't even tapped into any of its power yet. The thought of him getting any stronger made his stomach drop slightly. Then finally, the grand dancer herself, Darre was.... still dancing. Great. But, she was also getting accosted by those little elven bastards. And an amount of them slightly higher than his own, but all seemed significantly more powerful. Rudolph Hitler over there seemed to be.... oh. Dan did some very quick calculations. The Cat furry girl could probably manage to hold on for just long enough. The Maiden with the funny name seemed to be doing fine. The Commandant of the Third Reindeer Reich was just about to fire. Dan figured there was maybe a 4 in 10 chance he would get there fast enough to kill the venison before he evaporated Darre. So- Dan held out three fingers, and aimed directly at Rudolph. "Finger Guns. Three Fingers." A triple barreled wind blast erupted from his fingers and flew toward the Reindeer Fuhrer. After which, Dan made a clawed hand and thrust it from his right side to his left, which made another wind blast, one strong enough to rend the first layer of the ground, plow through the elf ranks. Finally, he drew his sword, and slashed at the damned dancing reindeer. There was no way he could heal Darre like this. There needed to be a lull. But then..... maybe there was one way to.... The Flying Pussy landed her hit just as she wanted, and it was enough to throw off Ógurligr's attack just enough for it to miss. the mace slammed into the ground, destroying the ground at the impact site, and propelling chunks into the air from the force. Cracks spiderwebbed across the road for a good 7 feet from ground zero. Then on top of that, the original had the audacity to try and fight back, conjuring a flame pillar. It seemed to have an effect; his armor did not appear to be able to dissipate heat and fire. He, on the other hand, could. Spreading his index finger and thumb on his left gauntleted hand, the fire warped and bent around him, and he simply walked right out of it. Curiously, he was dragging his mace with him, and why became clear. He put force into it, and rending the earth beneath him, he brought it upward in a right to left arc, aiming to knock Alice Prime skyward. More light spears. The elves began to wonder if titty lights were all this female human was capable of. Though, the spears this time seemed to be following them. This was pretty smart of the titty human. However, she wasn't the only person who could play dirty. The elves ran to Vixen, and maneuvered themselves to where she was between all of the spears and them. It was a gamble, but if it payed off, it wouldn't end well for the boobies. And pay off it did. Two spears pierced one her hind left leg, the other her front right thigh, but Vixen gracefully dodged 6 of the spears. Which meant 6 spears of light were coming for the Maiden. And all were homing in on her. The spears Vixen dodged didn't just disappear, of course. They went right for the elves. However, one elf valiantly sprinted, eating all six of them himself, and saving his comrades. While they were moved by this, there were still boobs to kill. They would mourn later. They reloaded, and opened fire on the Maiden again, making sure to track her movements, and some even started firing in the directions she could flee, just so she couldn't. Darre's shot hit, but did superfluous damage, only grazing an elf's leg. The grenade however, was a threat. And a bad one. However, three of the weaponless elves saw that their comrades were in danger of it, and threw themselves on top of it, taking the full force of the attack, and protecting the rest. This, obviously, made the rest of the elves quite upset. The mages had their magic ready to go, and had their timing sorted out, and the gunslingers had successfully reloaded. Rudolph Hitler finished charging, and prepared to fire. But right when he was about to, a powerful wind blast crashed into him, causing the shot to go well over Darre's head, and drill a clean hole through an entire building. Rudolph was PISSED. He would see to it that the one responsible for that miss would be sent DIRECTLY to his gas chambers. He turned to see who it was, just in time to witness the elves being scattered, and Dancer being carved in half. It was that barefoot kid who ran off earlier. Rudolph looked around. The wind attack seemed to have hurt the elves, but did not actually incapacitate or kill them. Rudolph began opening fire on Dan, aiming to take him out quickly, and then deal with Darre. The elves, or at least the mages and the gunslingers, continued to focus on Darre. The mages decided to do something else, and conjured shadowy images of the 5 knight elves, and the now 2 weaponless elves, all charging at Darre through the gunfire. Status: Dan: Now helping Darre. Maiden Ravenpubes: Fighting Vixen and 6 gunslinger elves. Alice: Properly fucked. Darre: Now dealing with Rudolph, 5 mage elves, 5 gunslinger elves, 5 knight elves, 2 unarmed elves, 5 shadow knight elves, and 5 unarmed elves. Current active effects: None.
  37. 1 point

    Singlance House Party

    Before either Pallas or Lenore swooped low to the new manor, two certain creatures picked up the scent of each one. <"Do you smell it? That smell..."> Nadia sends to Vivian in their radio-frequency language, <"the kind of smelly smell... the smelly smell that smells... ...smelly."> Then her eyes go wide as Pallas and Lenore's feet land on the concrete drive. <"Angels..."> <"What?"> Vivian sends back. <"ANGELS!"> Then Vivian and Nadia bolt down the stairs. "Hey, think either Titus, Roz, or Teresa just got here," Aveline tells Thurgood in the pit. "What makes ya say that?" "Viv and Nad just bolted." "Fuck, and these cuts ain't quite done yet," Thurgood replies as he steps out of the pit room. Pallas and Lenore would see two Ford F-350 pickups parked on the drive, and two ways to enter: either down the very wide ramp and through the garage, or down the much narrower set of stairs and through the front door.
  38. 1 point
    So, I've been gone from Valucre for awhile now but I would love to get back I to it. I'm totally interested if you are still looking. I have a couple characters and could also make a new one as well. 🙂
  39. 1 point
    She listened to him, patently finishing off the last of the cake and sipping away the rest of the bottle and the contents of the tea cup. He'd made some good points, this world was always changing and revolving about the states and territories and foolish rulers and monarchs as all things where susceptible to change, even herself. She would be lying to herself if she though she had clean hands in the affair of countries and various territories, being a high class national grand wizard did pull her into things and allowed her to slip into things in an equally similar slide of ease. She'd been away for so long she wasn't even aware of a new territory arising or that would have been her first place to look and she would have been here to begin with. The conversation with the man yielded high results of information that she didn't mean to acquire in that instant. For that, she was grateful and held the random man in lightly higher regards thus the conversation went from a lightly pushed one to that of a slowly comforting one. She leaned back in her chair a bit, the fluff of her clothes folding back on her slightly and her hair resting against the back of the chair. "My tasks are many too, its... if nothing else its busy work" She smiled softly her rose slips meeting in a curl, "I might head there after my trip back, I have a task at hand for the next few days." . "Ah so your not down here for any purpose? That's a shame, hell keep me occupied from too much and Ill grand you lord ship" She snickered before answering his next question. "If I may ask, from where did you travel?" . She shuffled a bit in her chair, sitting back up. She'd not answer normally but though of it more of a trade of interest. "I came from the same place I'd gotten the material for my robes, the mountain peaks Alterion, Renovatio. I was on some mild business." She had been there, adding relics to her collection and had to stop to come down here before she could retrieve it, sad but necessary. "I'll be traveling to back to Alterion for personal reasons after this. You?"
  40. 1 point


    ASTERfile: ишеним кат Subject: көз менен кармалды કિંમતી પ્લાન્ટ સુંદર  _________   ____loading __loading Katarzyna “Kitty” MacGuffin Registered Age: 24 Birthplace, presumably: Sector 17, દૃષ્ટિ  Species: Noted in Systems as “Cat Girl” Mechanic, Ballistic Engineer with Smuggling ties Involved in Black Market Trade, Associated with the Production and Distribution of Illegally Modified Weapons and Starcraft When previously detained, referred to herself as a “Precious Potted Plant” ------------ Physical Characteristics: 5’3”, 115 lbs Humanoid with Feline Ears and Tail (Appears to lack retractable claws)  Abilities: No supernatural abilities noted, spare for an unusual tendency to evade prolonged detention for reasons that can be summarized as “Well, she is pretty cute and asked nicely.” Evidence for possible emotional manipulation included in file.  ____error void  While she is often found in what she has noted as her “Space Coat” in previous detention facilities’ personal item catalogues, appears to have a distaste for pants.  Body Modifications Unknown Weapon of Choice: Twin Custom Blasters, Batting her Eyelashes  Psyche is considered to be remarkably placid even under correctional custody Married to Amaranth MacGuffin, Smuggler at Large Approach with Caution
  41. 1 point

    Predator's Keep OOC

    Someone rang? My name has been said. So I am present.
  42. 1 point

    GIF association

  43. 1 point
    @Sir Nathaniel _______________________________________________ Map Landonia House Belmore Music The Lord of Steelsward Gerold’s gauntlets were resting upon the parapet as he gazed out from one of the gatehouse’s turrets. The morning had sunken into dusk in seconds. Dark clouds strangled the sky and the sunlight had been reduced to slivers creeping through the shadowed canopy. A black tide to blot out the sun. Hungary had experienced the same ordeal, right before an army of shadows set the city on fire, flayed the living and walked away with what was dead. Landonia could not suffer the same fate. Gerold's honor prevented him from letting Landonia fall. His spyglass moved over the horde. Meat to the grinder. Just a little closer. He heard footsteps and turned to receive Sir Nathaniel, a foreign man among a number. _________________ [On 3/26/2019 at 4:53 PM, Sir Nathaniel] [Sir Nathaniel Jameson] “Greetings, Lord Gerold. I am Sir Nathaniel Jameson of Iselyr, at your service. These men are my knights, the Watchers. We are here to offer our services to your defense. My men are few in number, but our expertise is in combating any demonic threat, living or otherwise. How best may we be of assistance?” _________________ “Good to have you.” Gerold looked at every man and crossed a fist over his chest. “All of you. I’ll take quality over quantity. Your quality happens to be slaying enemies like ours. Landonia welcomes you and any help that you can provide us.” He nodded toward the bridge. “They’re almost in range of our artillery. Arrows will follow. As many spells as anyone knows how to cast them.” He looked at Nathaniel. “I’ll let you decide where best to station your men, as long as it’s on the front line.” There was a sternness to Gerold’s voice and a rigid look on his face and both were intentional. He trusted Landonian abilities first and foremost, especially when it came to defending their own home, but if these Watchers from Genesaris managed to prove themselves then they would improve his opinion on outsiders in general. Landonia had few dealings with the rest of the islanders of Landon, fewer dealings with others in Renovatio and fewest dealings with the rest of Valucre. It was a common enough sentiment to become a common enough saying. The fact was that, ultimately, Landonia was on its own. It had been from the start and it would be to the end. Noble. Common. Knight. Farmer. It doesn’t matter anymore. We are all Landonian every day. And today we are all soldiers defending our lands. Gerold nodded at the Watchers, gesturing that it was time, and headed back from the turret. The winds of strength and honor propelled Lord Belmore across the rampart, his enemy behind him and his countrymen standing before him. The undead horde that was at his back was marching toward an army of living endurance and Landonian steel. And we shall give it to them in blades. “Landonians! Brothers! Sisters! An army of the dead marches on our city! Our land! They would see your homes burned and your people butchered! From the front line to the trebuchet, I can see the fear in your eyes that keeps my own open! It is a terrifying threat that we face! But we are the vanguard! We are the shield and we are the sword! Remember who you are, guardians of Landonia! Stand with me! Fight until you can no longer stand! Then lay at rest knowing that you stood!” Gerold crushed air into a fist as though he were gripping a hilt, arm held high. A sea of armor waved beneath him, the soldiers of Landonia cheering themselves on and roaring their resolve out to their commander. There was no doubt in their voices. He hoped that they were loud enough to let the ears of even the dead hear the courage of their enemy. They would soon be faced with it. Music Just outside the gate, the horde was halfway across the rope bridge, halfway to Landonia. Able to fit three men abreast or two horses, the great Bridge of Realms had long served a purpose to its namesake: bridge the realm of Landonia with the realms of Landon and beyond. Gerold was among the privileged few who would sometimes walk the halfway mark to escape the city. Now, with minions of death heading toward Landonia, escape was no longer a possibility. Gerold had reminded a man of another thought that no blade could cut the Bridge of Realms. No, we need every blade fighting the enemies of every realm. “Ballistas!” Gerold called from the rampart above the gate. "Fire!" His command was repeated all the way to the triggers. Mounted on the two turrets flanking the gate and further atop walls were rows of ballistas. Their great bows were released as bolts as tall as a man were launched forth. All at once, bodies upon the bridge went flying either side, sections of the horde splitting apart as a single bolt tore through a line of targets to impale even more. Others tumbled from the bridge due to the impact amid the dense crowd. “Reload!” The ballistas were fitted with another bolt in moments. “Fire!” Gerold’s arm went down. Later, a third. It was on the fourth time that the horde had suddenly stopped moving. Gerold held up his hand during a reload and made sure that his command was passed. “Hold fire! Hold fire!” He would entertain this curiosity. Neither the figure at the front of the horde, a man armored in red from head to toe, nor his undead minions at his back were moving. Gerold’s spyglass went from him to the rest. They moved. Ranks split apart as a number of them moved to the flanks, forming a wall on either side of the bridge. Gerold wondered what they were up to. It wouldn’t save them. Then his jaw opened for a silent gasp. “It can’t be…” Commander Landers had been following with his own spyglass beside him. “My lord...they’re not dead…” These ones were not. Shackled and confused against the eerie order of the undead army, those who had suddenly been shifted to the sides of the bridge displayed all the signs of terrified prisoners. Landoners. My gods. How many have we already killed? “My lord, they’re still advancing. Should we—” “We are not going to fire on our own countrymen, Commander.” Gerold removed his spyglass. “I will hang the man who does not hold his fire. That’s an order.” There was not a word. Just a nod of iron loyalty as Lanfrey went about personally assuring his lord’s command. I will not fire on our own people. I will not. The nagging reality that Gerold could have already done so with those first few volleys was acid in his mouth. That settled it then. The ballistas would hold. The arrows would hold. The captives would hold for as long as their captors did not toss them over the bridge. What of spells? They weren’t his area of expertise. But they were someone else’s. So Gerold sent a messenger for Sir Nathaniel. “It cannot be helped.” Gerold added after explaining the situation to the leader of the Watchers. “Those are live Landoners marching in that horde. I want to keep them that way for as long as I can. The question is what can you do before they reach our gate? What abilities of yours might help in a situation like ours, sir knight?”
  44. 1 point

    NARCollections OOC

    Who's turn is it, anyway?
  45. 1 point

    Singlance House Party

    Whenever you're hosting an event, there's alwsys that one thought in the back of your mind: what if nobody shows up? What if people either forgot, didn't get the message, or worse, hate you so much they told everybody else to not go? Regardless, Thurgood steps through the swinging door from the kitchen to the barbecue pit, to check on the progress of smoking the wild pig meat. The chamber temperatures are a little on the high side, so he doesn't need to add more wood, but it's time to check the internal temperatures of the meat in the hottest chamber. Thurgood takes the meat thermometer, soaking in a calcium hypochlorite solution to disinfect the shaft, rinses it off, and shoves the shaft right into the middle of the thickest part of each. They're at about 175° Fahrenheit (or 352.594° Kelvin) right now. The standard for pork is 160° Fahrenheit (or 619.67° Rankine), but since this is wild pig meat, he likes to heat it to 180° Farhenheit (or 50.666666666666664° Rømer), in case the pathogens and/or parisites are a little hardier than what he's used to. The meat in the other chambers is progressing well. Now if somebody else will show up to eat it...
  46. 1 point

  47. 1 point

    Liberating The Slaver's Alcove

    Lurks from the shadows, petting her dragon...
  48. 1 point
    Apple cider vinegar pill
  49. 1 point

    Cup Noodles & Tears [Year 1]

    “It’s really simple,” Lucas insisted. On the table between them, he placed a deck of cards. “You pick the top card, read the question out loud, then the other person gives you an honest answer. Even if it makes them look like a loon.” Damien raised an eyebrow. “And this is supposed to be fun?” Lucas palmed the top card. “More fun than crying in the shower with your clothes on.” Damien frowned. “You’re a weird dude, Lucas.” “Oh, I know.” Lucas flipped the card and skimmed his blue eyes over the text. “What’s your favourite type of potato?” “I’m sorry, what?” “What’s your favourite type of potato?” “How the hell am I supposed to know?” “What, you don’t eat potatoes in Iowa?” “Of course, we do.” “Then answer the question.” “I don’t have a favourite type of potato.” “But you just said you eat potatoes!” “Yeah, but who has a favourite type of potato?” “What do you mean ‘who has a favourite type of potato?’ There’s mashed potato, oven-baked potato, scallop potato, boiled potato, fries, hash browns, potato au gratin, potato latkes-“ “Why is this so important?” “Listen, Damien. We need to talk about potatoes-“ “Fuck potatoes!” “Fuck potatoes? That’s your favourite type of potato?” “Lucas, I swear to potato Christ-“ Just then, a knock at the door interrupted Damien. He exchanged a glance with Lucas before getting up to go answer it. “Excuse me," the young man on the other side of the door said, waving a cheery smile. He had tanned skin, dark brown hair, and a severe case of pink eye—as in his irises were the soft pink of a very old, very dead flamingo. Damien had to restrain himself from making a crude joke, though he couldn't help the subtle twitch of his lips. “My pet is missing,” the man continued. “Have you seen something pink and hairy and looking very much like a rug?” Before Damien could answer, someone else appeared in the doorway. Damien couldn’t tell if they were a boy or a girl, but they were clearly more hungover than an erotic clown on Halloween. “Hey, hey,” they grumbled, aiming a sharp glare at Pink Eye. “Where’s my Amarancht, hey?” What a fucking weird day. “No,” Damien answered slowly, forcing a tight smile. “I haven’t seen anything matching that description. I’ll let you know if I do.” Lucas got up to stand beside Damien. The top of his blonde head barely scratched his roommate’s shoulder. “Hey, you guys from this floor too?” He seemed genuinely excited at the idea of oddball neighbours. “Name’s Lucas Lancaster. And this idiot's Lankenstein.” “Damien Dark,” Damien corrected, suppressing an irritated glare. “We’re both first years. He’s from Union City and I’m from Iowa.” Lucas lifted a six pack of beers Damien hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “You guys up for a drink? I know it’s not noon but-” Someone on fire ran through the hallway. “-it looks like the party's already started.”
  50. 1 point

    [Dead: Killing Kajal] Water and Wine

    In answer, there was only silence. It never seemed to be any other way with Schrei. The little vampire wasn’t one to socialize or banter, and her interactions over the past few decades had rarely extended beyond brusque negotiations with the vilest of criminals. If she thought Cain’s organization any different from her other clients, she didn’t show it: over her Captain’s uniform she still wore that oversized dark coat, folded and rumpled from years of use, burying her slim figure in the shadows of its messy folds. She slouched in her seat, hair hanging down in loose strands, feet not quite touching the ground, and remained still, not in the manner of a woman relaxing, but in the way a praying mantis might hold itself perfectly motionless when waiting for its prey to wander within reach. Her posture did not shift. Her lone remaining hand did not fidget. Her eyes stared straight ahead, at nothing, with a hollowness so deep that one might have thought her comatose. Dead, in more than one sense of the word. One second passed, then two. Perhaps she really was lost to the world? Her injuries from the mission in Tia had been severe, and she hadn’t allowed anyone to inspect or treat them since she’d come limping back from wherever she’d fled after the city’s fall. It could be that she’d succumbed— No, she was moving. Quick and precise, one finger rising and falling in a series of quick taps against the screen of a tablet laid on the table in front of her. With every touch, a glowing letter was projected into the air above the device, oriented so that all those present could read. Fought Commager once before. In Biazo. A pause. I don’t hold grudges. But he might. Could be a problem for you if he finds out I’m with Dead. Her hand stopped typing for a moment to gesture at the whiteboard, before resuming. If Kajal goes, suggest you acquire ownership of slave through subsidiary. Then maneuver her at your convenience.
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