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Showing content with the highest reputation on 09/19/2019 in all areas

  1. 4 points
    This is just a heads up! I had edited the very first post of the IC Thread to include a few items for everyone to enjoy. This is an open event, so you all post at your leisure and deffff enjoy yourselves on Milo's dime. If any of you need help sliding on into the festivities, please don't hesitate to ask for help! Just have general questions/concerns/hopes/dreams? Reach out to me and I'll get to you. To anyone who wants to find an elemental stone, do some arm wrestling, or speak to the dryads, tag me in your IC post and I'll play a few parts, or you can take control of the NPC - I'm comfortable with either choice. HAVE FUN! BREAK THE FINE CHINA! DON'T BLOW THINGS UP! I'll be dropping a few posts in the thread throughout the day ❤️ @Pasion Pasiva @Wade @MichaelTheLightBringer @Dauner Light @SweetCyanide @danzilla3 @Fierach @Alexei @The Hummingbird @Thotification
  2. 3 points
    HollowCipher

    Bloodsport OOC

    Dodging takes an action, yes. Yes know their HP. They have done no damage yet, that will be calculated after your actions. The bite will do 1 damage if they nom your flesh leather.
  3. 3 points
    Let me know who you're bringing so I can go through the catalogue of characters and pick the right one. I guess Milo's first act as King shoulda been: TEAR DOWN THE CASTLE AND BUILD ME A NEW ONE RI NAO!
  4. 3 points
    Akiris

    Bloodsport OOC

    Hold on. Lemme use my rare skill! -focus- Everyone has been targeted by a Hellhound. The unluckies who got two are: Dan, Ilene, And Da SQUAAAAAAAAAAAD. (meaning the Norkotians) All Hellhounds are the same currently: HP: 5/5 Actions: Run. (closing distance to targets) Lunge. (attempting to bite and cause damage) Note: the actual amount of damage bite can deal seems to be unknown. However..... There is a dodge mechanic. You can choose to dodge if you do not have the defend skill. Or if you DO have the defend skill. Either one. Note that some enemy attacks will be unblockable, and will require a dodge attempt. If you choose to dodge, both you AND Hollow will roll in the dice rolling thread. You and me, head to head on the D20. If you roll higher than Hollow, the dodge is successful. If you roll lower than Hollow, Git Gud. Oh and also your dodge fails and you take damage. --skill completes-- Not really sure if dodging takes an action or if it's free. I need to ask about that. @HollowCipher
  5. 2 points
    Welcome to King Milorian’s coronation masquerade ball! OOC: Things to Note: A Council of Dryads from the Free Marches are holding a meeting in the garden to discuss the current state of nature of Ursa Madeum. They are open to inquiries and are partial to acorns. The Lounge has been occupied by a group of dwarves who are far into their cups for the night. They are holding an arm-wrestling competition; the winner gets a prize. Participants: Open How-to: Dice Rolling Thread - Look at the result for the D2. If a 1 is rolled, you won! If a 2 is rolled, then you lose that round. There will be 3 rounds per-participant. You need a 2/3 win to get the prize. A mourning fairy has taken advantage of the famous festivities. Its victims experience sudden feelings of grief, and if the fairy is not caught, the grief can turn one mad. Catch the fairy and receive a reward. A witch is dropping elemental rune stones around the castle! These stones can be used to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself; only two stones per participant, please. Stones: wind, water, fire, earth Layout: Red is off limits; Green is open Milorian felt extremely uncomfortable; Milorian looked extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what his attitude should be towards the gathered individuals, and it left him feeling adrift among the large crowd. To his right was Primera all dazzling in her glamour and dress; to his left was an emptiness he felt right down to his very core. Birdy was not there to accompany him during this rather momentous - strange - moment in their lives. When he was made King, she was made his Queen; he hates to think what her absence will cause. On the other hand, he was pleased that she was hidden somewhere, safe and comfortable. He was not going to burden her with superficial gestures that could risk her comfort and health. Comfortably married for a short time, the two had maintained a sense of privacy from the moment they took vows in silence. It worried him that there may be a demand they marry in front of the entirety of Ursa Madeum, just to ensure that neither were manipulating their position and power by lying to their fellow citizens. The elf prayed they'd leave Birdy alone. At least he can speak of his wife; there had been a few compliments towards his attire. Birdy, Primera, and Odelia had ambushed him with options of different suits that would fit his newly acquired position, though he doesn't know why. Whatever opinion he had about the attire was quickly swept aside by one of the women. It took them four days to decide on a simple black suit void of any embellishments - four. days. When it was time for the masquerade, they threw a cape over his right shoulder that carried the Mythal wolf and pinned the fabric with a variety of golden chains that now hung from his shoulder. He hated it, but he had no opinion. Primera was rude enough to point out he was blind, so it didn't matter what he thought since he can't see. "You're a rather quiet host, my King." Primera dragged the sour-faced elf to the dance floor that was overly crowded with excitable company. He had to right himself when she manipulated him to hold her irresponsibly close, but the lack of space on the dance floor made it impossible to be appropriate. Without much choice, he was forced into a quickstep that shook a few laughs from his dry lungs and drew a smile across his usually tight features. "There you are! Such a handsome King should smile, it'll make the ladies weak." Milo rolled his sapphire eyes, not sure if he should feel complimented or not. He didn't care if the people should find him handsome or not, what mattered was what they thought of his behavior and his actions. Though he understood the small spread of truth behind her evaluation; a kind and thoughtful individual on the throne could sway the uneasiest of hearts, as first impressions do matter. Being an elf sitting on a somewhat changeable throne, a smile and some kindness could do him some good. "I suppose I can smile every now and then," he said begrudgingly. The two made it out alive and took refuge on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Unable to hide it, there were flecks of pride in his blind gaze as he "watched" the elves of his land mingle with the rest of the crowd. The normality of the sight was endearing, he never really expected such a thing to happen yet always yearned for it. Such an amazing view was exemplified by the laughter, the teasing, and the general conversation coming from differing individuals. Even if it's just for now, even if it's just for show, he can take these small triumphs and covet them when needed. Primera looked up at the elf who was clearly lost in the moment. Teasingly, she elbowed the gentleman, knocking him down back to earth. "You are a regal sort, you know. Seeing you as you are, in all your kingly glory, it's a marvel." "You keep feeding me these compliments, and I'll become fat on pride." "Oh? Is that why your belt is cinched extra tight?" The Grand Kommadant reached down and pulled at his elaborate belt all shiny in gold and jewels. Aghast, the elf slapped her hand away - a handsy woman! "I beg your pardon, my lady, but it's not very ... lady-like to just grab at a man's belt." "I beg your pardon my King, but that all depends on the gentleman." They were in a public place with eyes already drawn to their playfulness, the last thing he needs is this pompous woman speaking far too candidly for her own good. Damn her! He could see a few individuals hiding their smiles behind sips of wine and the flush of fans; they were going to talk, and it's all her fault. He certainly did not help the situation by laughing behind his gloved hand, the terrible attempt only exasperated the crude comment. The masquerade was to introduce him to the rest of society and open the doors for conversation. He did not want to talk politics, he barely wanted to acknowledge his newly acquired title, but he understood that parties as these are opportunities to get your foot in the door. With the party currently gliding towards its peak, Milorian has spoken to many people who have all welcomed him and nothing more. He was grateful that, at least for a moment, his people can enjoy a single night of celebration without any underhandedness. "I hate you," he finally said. He couldn't see it, but he certainly could tell that she was beaming. Which she was, from ear to ear, her smile reached; opal hues glittered and glowed with amusement behind the elaborate mask she wore.
  6. 2 points
    The P.U.D is a lover not a fighter....
  7. 2 points
    Now I'm not telling all y'all what to do or anything... But bloody hell, Father is at 2 HP, somebody kill him because he takes three. Damn. Actions. (So does Mother, but at least disregarding any new arriving enemies we can go from six actions going against us to three.)
  8. 2 points
    Roen

    Child's Play [Nightmare Descends 2:3B]

    ”Yhhaaagh!” Near the center of the room a handful of breaths after the rest had arrived, the veil between reality and unreality popped with the sonorous boom of air displacement. The sundered veil, a slit of black as long as a man was tall and darker than the space between stars, quivered, and from it’s pitched depths came a gauntlet, then another. Massive fingers encased in gun-metal gray pushed the narrow division between dimensions farther apart, while the man trapped between worlds growled with the effort of a man too proud to scream, his exertions distorted, as if filtered through some current or channel of communication. Viscera and gore sloshed onto the floor in great gouting sheets while something, someone pushed their way into a realm they were not invited into nor welcome in, first one leg, then a head, then the whole of his massive, armoured body. Through means both esoteric and calamitous, the Black Legionnaire, named more for his port of calling than the color of his armour, emerged from a debauched birthing, and, after taking a knee, scrabbled for the latches at his throat to unclasp his helmet. The helmet came free in his hands with a hiss of releasing air pressure to reveal a patrician face set in a noble grimace. Clean shaven with closely cut blonde hair, with eyes like two chips of dirty ice that flicked downward and closed, Iskandar heaved, the servos in his armour whining with the convulsion, and retched onto the floor already slick with blood. The contents of his stomach splashed across the floor, replete with disgorged tumours, half-digested fingers, eyeballs and brain matter, and his afternoon meal. He purged himself, and when he stopped long enough to wipe the spit off the corner of his mouth with a swipe of his tongue, he -- -- was slashed across the face by a woman. Flinching, Iskandar rose up to his full, unnaturally monumental stature, and swung his helmet in a retaliatory backhand to smash the gun-gray steel of its pate across the side of the mother’s head. A giant of a man, nearly two-and-a-half meters tall and weighing nearly five-hundred kilograms of plate metal, meat and bone, the warrior’s armour snarled with the sudden, fitful lash of strength, rewarding Iskandar with the solid crack of composite steel against flesh and bone, but not the death blow he had been expecting. Instead, the woman rocked back, dazed and injured, but whole and intact. Iskandar grunted. Raising his helmet and putting it over his head, the giant righted the piece of equipment until the soft seals took root and he was able to seal it again. The T-visor flickered back into life with a flash of green along the lenses. ”What Hell is this?” He asked, reaching above his shoulder to wrap his fingers around the lathed hilt of the sword magnetically clamped to the back of his armor. He drew it with a steely hiss while turning his head, the servos in his armour purring while he scanned the room, looking for the allies he had come to stand beside in their darkest hour. Inside his armour, the man's nose and ears started to bleed from the oppressive effects of the house, his mind aching with the death-throb of ebbing focus and stability. The journey alone had hurt him, both within and without.
  9. 2 points
    Die Shize

    [Skarr Clan] Mouths to Feed

    OOC Music The Black Captain Two hundred mercenaries had once come to Kinsmeet to protect, police and preserve it. Exactly when they had come, none among the Skarr force or that of the Lost Scions could care to query. Today, however, is when they would fall—in one way or the other. Brave Spears, they called themselves. Bravery is exactly what all of them needed if they were to be thrown upon their spears. Veron had not been particularly anxious to give them that end. They were sellswords and sellswords sold their swords into service. They were soldiers and soldiers fought. Troops were what the Skaven of Nesthome could have used. A fodder force, a cleanup crew, a foraging party; a tool to continue the campaign both in Kinsmeet and beyond. They were not many and they did not need to be. If Skarr was to take slaves then why not let those slaves be soldiers? Veron might have probed Khrol’s mind with one eye ogling into two with such a question as the Seer smiled wickedly at his guest captain. All in all, if Skysplitter didn’t want the sour bunch of grapes then Veron had been ready to take the Brave Spears under his personal responsibility. That was the point of it. Khrol, however, had other intentions, and his decision did not go overlooked. Still, that was well and good. The choice was his. Ultimately, the Black Captain had been ready to crush the enemy since setting forth for conquest, by keeping them as an enemy or making them a friend. Their souls are ours to serve or to slay. Veron let a raised brow serve as a response to the Grey Seer’s grin, more curious than concerned as Khrol unleashed a volley of murder. Two hundred would have been a good number but even fifty would be fine. Veron had closed his estimation around less that figure for those who fell from the axes and the arrows and the bolts that flew. However, it was known that these Brave Spears were less about range and more about melee. To that end, they were proven practitioners of the shield, so that as the surge of battle waved over them they had responded in kind. They kept their loose formation to minimize the number of projectiles that would find success, and they raised their round shields of wood and leather and steel to the hail that rained upon them. Helmets were grazed, pauldrons were scraped, and overall the circumstances had created only a relative handful of corpses by courtesy of probability. The Brave Spears’ front line had taken the brunt of the assault to in turn impede the back ranks, the mass of spears and shields still advancing toward the Skarr in some desperation to reach their foe before the cavalry could reach the sellswords from behind. Meanwhile, once the first barrage had come and gone like the early gust of a storm, the Brave Spears had acted in the best way they knew how to in the distance between their spears and their enemy. Few in number were their archers and that meant that sure in surprise they had been. They came to life at the backmost ranks to release fingers from bowstrings. Arrows soared over the heads of their comrades to exchange greetings with the advancing Skaven. At once, the magic-users sprang into motion. A handful of battlemages armed with spear-staves pointed their orbs forward to send a sudden gust of wind rushing toward the Skaven just as they charged, enough to push them back even for a moment, potentially returning the favor of toppling into each other. The spellswords amongst the sellswords enveloped their spears in flame or ice or lightning. Such combined efforts had led to a stalwart defense for the Brave Spears. This had not surprised Veron in the slightest. He had factored these elements into his strategy and had concluded that, just as reality was proving, the odds were yet still stacked against Kinsmeet’s defenders. Khrol’s Plague Fire burned death that wrapped itself around the fields like a rotting cocoon. Horses that had taken the Brave Spears into Kinsmeet for the very first time were now burning in the stables within the village that screamed defeat behind them, which meant that their enemy had more numbers. Surprise riders came charging toward the mercenaries’ backs with the clear intention of pushing them into the ranks of the invading force before them, and a great orc led them. For a sellsword, these were not favorable circumstances. Veron watched it all unfold from the comfort of his saddle. Any moment now. Any moment. The Brave Spears of Kinsmeet, fearless bastions just before, were seizing the seconds to realize that their game was up, and one by one they began to break. Not so brave after all. There in the fray was what half of Veron’s eye had been focusing on the whole time: a rider with a golden helmet and an orange beard, brandishing a spear and shield and galloping about his troops to whip them onward and regroup, regroup, regroup! He was not spared their folly. When some men broke on any battlefield, they fled. When others broke, when they were forced into a corner like a terrified animal, their courage became like a rock surrounded by a violent sea. With nowhere to go they let their despair become their defense. The Captain of the Brave Spears was a rock. If a broken one. Veron smiled at the commander’s terms. As placated as the Grey Seer had become, annihilation apparently had room for exception. ”You can reason with sellswords through coin or carnage,” Veron declared to Khrol while watching the battlefield. “Your carnage will buy me less, but I suppose at a discount. For that I should thank you, Skysplitter.” Slipping gloves on, his gaze locked with the golden helmet turned his way. “Now, with your mercy, I shall buy their surrender and their souls, and before we leave these lands not one Brave Spear still living will not have bled.” With that, Veron gripped his reins and walked his horse forward into a canter. On his way, he gripped the haft of his glaive in one hand and in the other a banner of the Lost Scions. The latter he hurled through the air like a spear. It landed before the hooves of the Brave Spears’ leader, stopping horse and rider on the spot. When the captain looked up from the banner he saw another captain staring at him from the other side, waving. Veron watched his rival spit into the wind, cradle his spear, and charge. The mighty warhorse thundered across the field with a purple cloak trailing behind, the wiry tendrils of a thick orange beard curling in the wind. Now. Veron braced his glaive against himself, pointing its blade forward like his opponent's, fingers curling into the reins and pressing against the haft. His free hand did the same as his courser charged forward. The two captains were bound for one another. “BASTARD!” The Captain of the Brave Spears cried across the field. Moments later and the two mercenaries met one another in arms, their horses almost touching as they galloped past each other. The Brave Spear captain braced his shield against his body while his spear angled toward Veron. Jerking his free hand off the reins, Veron quickly found the hilt of his scimitar and swung it from its scabbard. The blade knocked the spear aside before it could reach him. Meanwhile, Veron angled his glaive in like manner, but its blade was brushed aside by his opponent’s shield. Neither warrior’s weapon had struck true in the fractioned seconds that ensued, but that was well and good. Veron had a third weapon that his opponent had overlooked. Just as the horses passed each other, the Shkei’s barbed tail whipped from beneath his red cloak. A cruel blade tore across the belly of the Brave Spear’s war horse, dragging to its hind legs to cut across the knees. The beast shrieked in agony as it lurched and staggered, taking itself and its rider to the ground in a moment. Veron veered his own horse around, Blade not even whinnying at the sudden chaos while its master watched his work. OOC Music The Captain of the Brave Spears had fallen from his horse which lay bleeding out, its body draped over its rider, pinning him to the earth. Veron afforded himself a moment to look upon the battle just behind him. His enemy’s troops were giving up; some had even paused to play audience to their master’s duel. Veron smiled from his saddle and walked his horse toward his fallen foe. “Bastard, my mother called me before she ate her tongue.” The Black Captain dismounted his steed and stood looming over the Brave Spear for as long as it took to kneel. Baring his teeth, Veron pinched the man’s tongue by the tip. The defeated foe gagged as his muscle was pulled out between his teeth. “But I say BLACKTEAR!” At that name, Veron punched his fist up into his enemy’s jaw. The tongue broke off between teeth and the hand that snatched it. Then Veron silenced the bloodied gurgles of the Captain of the Brave Spears with a dagger across his throat. Rising in victory, he turned to behold the outcome of the battle. Under one hundred Brave Spears were still standing. Seventy. Ninety. Eighty. The number would be better ascertained as their betters began to separate them into a group of submission. Those who had seen their captain fall had pleaded for what comrades hadn’t already yielded to hurry up and do so. Veron sized up the losers as he paced before them, counting on Khrol to honor his own decision to preserve alive those who had forfeited this game of swords. Slayer and his handful of hobgoblins remained mounted on yak and horses, forming a circle around the Brave Spears’ backs. The Skarr force would do well to brace the front, driving the message home that one party had won here and the other had lost. As the Black Captain stood in front of his prize, some of the faces turned to his own. There were unsure murmurings amid the dying gasps and moans of creatures all around. Khrol might have decided to silence the dying or eat them living or do with them as he pleased, friend or foe. “Brave Spears!” Veron held up his trophy that was claimed from their captain’s mouth. “You heeded your master’s tongue. Now heed mine. Surrender and serve your new master, or be slain where you stand. The choice is yours.” They stirred and they shared looks, and in the end they nodded heads like good little sellswords. An older one lifted his helmet to show white hair. “We yield to those who have bested us. We shall lay down our weapons...and hope that you do not pick up your own to us.” “Good choice.” Veron smiled. A choice that one seer might have pushed for from the beginning. But I shall take what he does not want, for now or forever. “Keep your weapons. You will need them. Now, tell me. What is the name of your captain?” “Alyn Marmot,” the old man affirmed. “Wrong. Veron Blacktear.” Veron felt his eyes sting as they widened. "Here!” He tossed the bloody tongue toward the Brave Spears’ new lieutenant if ever he was not. “A taste of things to come.” All said and done, the Black Captain called Blade to him and mounted his horse. He looked from face to face, Brave Spear to Lost Scion to Skarr, to the virgin blood of Kinsmeet, and back upon his quarry. He sought Khrol's gaze, looking for hesitation, listening for question, and quite ready to move on with his own assault team if the need arose. “Come with me and take this village!” Veron Blacktear roared. He couldn't prove it but he was sure that the scorched skies above him had heard his call. OOC Music The Lord of Kinsmeet Fire and rock. Boulders of flame and tentacles of stone. Everything was in chaos. The whole village was one mass of mayhem. Agents of death skulked the streets beside the forces of destruction that tore them apart. Snarling wolves with riders that bit just like them prowled amid an iron behemoth on four wheels. It was all too much. Too much. Iggo Richmond hadn't a clue where to begin, where to start, where to dive in and stop and fix and defend and assess. Who to save, how to reassure, with whom to plead for mercy and from where to seek aid. This cannot be happening. Not this. Not now. This cannot be happening. His fingers hurt. He caught them between his teeth where he was supposed to be gnawing fingernails. Without to do he held the railing of his balcony and scanned the horrors of his Kinsmeet. One of them had taken to the sky. A drake and two figures who rode it. Iggo's eyes threatened to bulge from their sockets as he observed in terror. Where were the monsters heading? This cannot be happening. He had not the time or freedom to find out. While the winged beast took to the air, the armored wagon had taken to the northern road, and the wolves disappeared into narrow streets or toward the west, two other figures had returned to the market square. The riders and their mounts took position by the fountain, idling and observing the slaughter. The yellow rider upon the camel took a wineskin from his saddle and tipped it down his throat. He offered it to the one beside him, a creature of darker skin on a panther, who shook his head in response. Though it wasn't these two who had stolen Iggo's attention. It was the third figure who had erupted from beneath his very balcony. The doors of the hall house had burst open. A woman came running out, toward the two riders. Her hair was long and cherry blonde, her garments were silky white, her skin as warm as the heat from a fireplace. Iggo had fallen asleep and woken beside it every night and day. Maria? This cannot be happening. What on earth was she doing? Maria! He tried to call down from the balcony that was no feat of height from the ground. She would have heard him amid the fires and screams, but her name would venture no further than his mind. “STOP THIS MADNESS!” Maria Richmond pleaded. The two riders turned their heads to receive their visitor. The one in yellow guffawed in an uncanny way that made Iggo’s stomach turn. “Madness!?” He walked his camel toward her, the blade of his spear toward the ground. “Madness is the name of the GAME!” In one fell swoop, his blade took her head off at the neck and blood pumped from the wound. As her body crumpled to the cobblestones, her name exploded from Iggo’s throat like lava from a volcano. "MARIA!" He saw her headless body. He saw the yellow rider wave up at the balcony. Then he saw his wife at the back of his eyes. This cannot be happening.
  10. 2 points
    Volentia stepped through the stone columns and into the open air arena. Her eyes scanned and registered her surroundings - the stone floor thirty feet across, the water surrounding them, and the other submerged platforms off to the sides. Beyond that, the people in the crowd stands who had gathered to watch the first fights of the Feast. These she tuned out as best as she could; she was not an exhibitionist warrior, and the presence of these people were more distraction than an aid to the fight. The paladin wore the training half-plate provided for the tournament, her usual full plate being unallowed under the rules. Her brown hair was cut in a short, utilitarian style. She stood tall at five foot nine, with a muscular frame that spoke of years of training and combat. Even so, the marks of adolescence were evident on her face. That one so young represented the Order of the White Hand surprised some in the audience. Volentia had deliberately kept her helm on during the banquet last Knight to avoid being judged by people even before she had a chance to enter the arena. Right now, here on the field, there was no question about her ability, in the way she held her training sword at her right side and her shield in the other. There was a familiarity about it, like they were extensions of herself. Volentia sized up Caeceila as her opponent arrived, observing the subtle signatures in her opponent’s walk. This gave Volentia bits of information to use in the fight beyond just the weapons she brought with her. Information like whether Caeceila favoured her left or right side, whether she preferred her center of gravity grounded or light, and her state of mind. Was she confident? Nervous? Excited? Caeceila would find herself facing a determined young woman, whose stance leaned towards caution. Volentia placed an open palm across her chest, a greeting among the White Hand. “I’m honoured to face you in battle, Lady Glasmann. May we both perform our best.” Magic was not allowed in the tournament, which meant that Volentia had to refrain herself from calling upon the aid of Gaia. This was a test of pure physical prowess, and Volentia looked forward to hone hers against Caeceila’s. She steadied her breathing and dropped to a defensive stance, lowering her center and spreading her weight equally between two legs, sacrificing some mobility for stability.
  11. 2 points
    Shaddowcat

    Vineyard OOC

    I’m sorry! I underestimated how much time I’d have during quarterly testing. I’m struggling to find time for a shower ( which I’m taking in a few minutes). I kind of want to see where the scene goes, but I don’t want to carry it much further then 3 or 4 more posts. Tests are over after Friday and then I’ll be able to reorder my thoughts on this I think.
  12. 2 points
    You may have heard of a little startup known as The Wild Hearts? Just keeping an eye on the competition. Maybe we can network!
  13. 2 points
    Jotnotes

    [Skarr Clan] Mouths to Feed

    Thril was ready to fight, but not to return any attacks. The Gutter was charged by three different guards, each with a height and weight advantage on her, and her shields were short. Compared to their weapons, she stood no chance of closing the gap for combat of her own, so she prepared just keep her guard up until she could find an opening, or flee entirely. Their fury was palpable; did they know the man she murdered? Not murdered; killed, was a better word for it. He had to die, so that Thril could make sure Vito stayed alive. They didn't come at her one at a time, but all at once, and so Thril was put on the ropes. She swayed backward, back-stepping as quick as she could. She ducked a nasty swing from a halberd, and then they all dropped dead. Thril straightened up, and looked at their bodies, visibly confused, until she saw the splinters of stone impaled through them. It didn't take a Grey Seer to see sorcery at work, and she took a moment to clap her hands with a frabjous vigor. Vito was so cool! Without hesitating, she rejoined his side, prepared to face off against the remainder of the guards. Four were down now, and six remained. She bared her teeth as the remaining guards split up their efforts. Two of them advanced still, cautious but determined to put them down. The other four hung back, far away from flying rocks. Thril hissed at them, and clanked her shields together. Above her, Vito spoke to her, his eyes never leaving their foes. She didn't know where that was, but she was happy to be involved anyway. Thril watched on as Vito brandished his weapon, and it burst into flames. She shrunk away from the heat for a moment, and turned to watch as he swung his blade horizontally. The fires engulfing the weapon spewed forth in a wicked slash, swallowing the two man-things whole! They screamed, but their lungs were cooked rapidly, their flesh bubbled and melted and they dropped to the ground, spasming and rolling shortly afterward. She could smell not simply singed hair and meat, but that curious sent of molten metal. Apparently the heat had been sufficient to bind the armor to their skin as well. Their allies quickly leapt to their defense, grabbing buckets of water and attempting to douse the scorched men. Thril considered assaulting them while they were distracted, but Vito was already on the run, and so was Thril by association. She screeched to a halt, but Vito showed no such fright, mounting the beast quickly. Staring at the animal, and its mouth full of big, rat-chomping teeth, she was hesitant to follow. But Vito was confident, and his words and power still resonated in her head, in her very being. The comforting weight of his cloak on her shoulders, she mounted the beast, and clung to Vito's back tightly as they disembarked. The scampering beast traveled the streets swiftly. Overhead, a few more massive payloads slammed down into the city, bathed in green fire. She clung to Vito tightly, watching the Plague Fire crash into buildings near and far away. The Grey Seer's wrath was not to be taken lightly, she acknowledged. Those sickly fires would devour this whole town if they infuriated him enough. His temper was short, and his rage difficult to contain. He was kind of cool, she guessed. All dark and cruel like that. But Vito was cooler. Heck, Veron might even be cooler, by her own count. The ride was short-lived and eventful. Thril, clinging to Vito, was smeared with blood and soot by the time they arrive, the drake they'd ridden along on flanked with blood from passerby Vito had slain. The drake pulled them up the side of a building, easily digging into the house's soft flesh, hauling its heavy body up onto the rooftop. From up here, Thril could see the full extent of the carnage, as it was. The guards were largely disorganized. Those mercenary types were nigh impossible to spot now, all fighting out in the fields. Over the crackling of diseased fire, and the screams of folks still trapped in their homes, Thril observed a cacophany of tragedy and violence wherever she stared. She blinked, and realized he was asking her how they should handle the task at hand. The Gutter looked down at the roof they stood on, and examined the rest of the roof. It was a sturdy, well-built thing; the raining boulders ceased at last, and none of them had damaged the structure. It was difficult to get into, especially if you weren't a Skaven. She climbed down from the drake safely and wandered on over to the edge of the building, looking down its side for a balcony, or perhaps a window to burst through. Instead, she spied a heavy, scary-looking vehicle rampaging down the roads, chewing up carts and debris in its path. Thril watched, almost entranced for a short while, as she realized they were no longer alone in raiding the city. Others, mercenaries probably, were beginning to enter the city as well. Soon, they wouldn't have to do much at all. Thril wasn't content to leave them to all the work, and redoubled her efforts. She clambered across the roof, looking for ways to breach the building. There, in one of the support beams, she spied a small splinter in the wood. The beam was strong, and healthy, but the wood had been split from stress, only a little. She slammed one of her shields into the splinter, and leapt from the rooftop, using her weight to wrench the beam apart. There was an audible crack as the beam split in two, beneath the shingles and paneling. She didn't plunge to the street below, catching herself on the side of the building by jamming another shield into the side of the building. She scrambled up quickly, and once back on the rooftop wasted no time in pulling off shingles loosened by the destroyed beam. She hurled them onto the street below, working quickly to tear the roof apart until at long last, the ruptured support was visible, and with a mighty kick, she attempted to knock it inward. It exploded under the force, busting a hole into the building, and Thril tumbled inside, unable to catch the side in time to break her fall. Khrol had stood, finger poised to lash out at the city in holy anger, until Veron interceded. Khrol listened to his request, but the crew manning the trebuchet listened more, releasing the weapon before it could be armed. Veron wasn't just trying to stop him from being angry, of course, and so the Seer lowered his arm, somewhat begrudgingly. He could still have his vengeance, he'd been assured. That would have to be enough. "Very well, then." He griped, turning back to his forces, and the oncoming band of mercenaries. They were close now, close enough that his back line would have no trouble striking them down. Behind them, plague fire roared, eating the very life from the air and sky around it, casting twisted, perverted shadows on the world around its source. Closing in on them from behind, Veron's men closed in, entrapping the defenders soundly. The Seer stared at Veron, who continued to remind him, once again, of his frustrating lack of awareness of the world for his kinsmen. Did he not see how difficult things would be for them? How little food they had to go four hundred ways? The ratmen, alone, might not, perhaps even could not, get along with their enemies so quickly. More important than that, however, was Veron's continued efforts to usurp his role, his role, as acting leader of this effort. So the Seer smiled at Veron, his twisted teeth appearing from behind blackened lips. His horns peeked out from behind his garbs, as he turned towards his masses. "Rats!" He shouted. "Open fire!" Bolts were loosed, axes hurled, arrows flew. It would be missing the point to describe it as a 'wall' of projectiles, as the rats weren't looking for stopping power. The back line had all the time they needed to pick targets, and once given the call, took their shots. All at once, the enemy front line fell over itself as bolts jammed their way into kneecaps, ribs, exposed throats and eyes. Men tripped and fell, dropping their weapons. The line behind them stumbled and tripped over their fallen allies, but the lines behind that were mostly saved from that mistake. Skritch didn't jeer or celebrate, as some of his kin did. Instead, he reloaded his crossbow, and aimed slightly higher, and to the right. His damnable sights were off! That should have been a clean shot under the man's ribs. He'd barely hit him, grazing his thigh instead. The second round sent true, and he put the man down at last. Khrol had seen enough, he waved his front line forward. "If they're down, keep them down!" He announced. "Kill the ones holding weapons! Any rat who dies with a clean weapon goes hungry tonight!" At his order, the front line surged forward, screaming in unison, their shrill cries filling the dying, choked air of the battlefield. They rushed the enemy back lines, weapons at the ready. Their enemies were ready, too, but were flanked, with Veron's forces bearing down on them from behind. Caught between two opposing forces, they were quickly routed. The front line didn't focus too much on them, really; some of them pushed forward, directly into melee range, while others paused, and took the time to put down anyone unfortunate to be knocked down. Fresh blood spattered the viridian fields; Khrol watched, satisfied, as his great justice was meted out. "Mercy only for those who surrender!" He bellowed. "Even then, they do not escape unbloodied!"
  14. 2 points
    Meraxa

    Vineyard OOC

    I don't mind either way. I realise @Shaddowcat is kinda busy
  15. 1 point
    Roen

    Child's Play [Nightmare Descends] OOC

    Just corruption. Cancerous growths that actually turned into half-formed nastiness.
  16. 1 point
    jaistlyn

    Child's Play [Nightmare Descends] OOC

    @Roen you’ve done it right! Though why those entrails would spew out of his mouth is kind of disturbing... did he eat his way out of monsters XD @Dolor Aeternum y u so funny today LOL @EpicRome23 😉
  17. 1 point
    Killian and Delaney discussed the matter between themselves, taking their time before revealing any more information to the rest of the group. Del disliked making speculative talk, and Killian was often too impatient to just wait when there was so much action that could be done. There was very little they could do now, though. Thankfully, there was an entire fleet of individuals far closer than them, and with many more resources at their fingertips. For now, Killian and Delaney will have to rush to the Carthage estate. Austere and Milorian had made preparations to descend upon the estate quietly and simplistically. Neither brother wished to war against the house, nor did they want to spill blood, they simply wanted recompense for the hurt and danger against a member of their household. Milorian was guilty of turning away the individuals that had first approached the house some time ago. If he hadn't done such, then Odelia may have a part of her history restored. Now the Mythals must move quickly to tie up these sudden loose ends daring to rip the seam of comfort apart. "You can't leave her here, Austere." The elf sighed against the hands slapping buckles closed; he exchanged his robes for something more protective and domineering. The Seeker armor was sleek, simple, and durable enough to withstand the most hateful of swords and most potent of spells. He had heard on the winds that the Carthage patriarch is failing in health and in mind, but such a snake has kept himself surrounded by creatures just as lowly as he. Rolfe clearly cares not for the consequences of his actions, making him far more dangerous than he ought to be. "I know - I know!" Austere stepped down and sheathed the sword to his side, suddenly feeling both uncomfortable and uneasy. An elf descending upon the house full of humans ... "Take her with you." Milorian followed Austere to the docks were the Eagleships sway against the gentle lapping of the sea. The ships are fast creations that will take them to the Carthage house, hopefully in time to intercept the dastardly ploy set in place by Rolfe. "Call for Odelia, let her know we sail to see her father," Austere said with some hesitance to his voice. He disliked bringing her back to a place he promised she would never have to see again, but Milorian was right in having her come along. Odelia would follow after Austere, and the confrontation would be less than ideal for both of them. "I'll try to make this quick, Milorian. I'm sorry tha-" Milo raised his hand to silence his brother. "Don't apologize to me, Austere. Just do your best to rectify this situation, and I say that as your King."
  18. 1 point
    How did this Half Demon came here in the first place is a surprise to his own, he was reminded on his invitation that he was highly regarded for what he did sometime ago. Though he didn't remember it quite well, he was after all 3000 years old, he couldn't remember everything he did. He must have been assigned on dealing with someone, that must have been it. Jack O'Neal was known to be a Notorious Bounty Hunter and Slayer of Kin, whatever it is that he do so many years ago that he can't even remember, he was invited to this place. This grand palace or castle whatever they wanted to call it, looked pretty gorgeous to say the least and that he would see a King, that was something to behold. This elf person was indeed something different, he remembered a few Demons who became Kings, his father included. He was after all a Demon Lord but that was kind of different compared with this King but he felt like he rambled inside his head too much, he was nicely dressed with his black coat, t-shirt, pants and boots. His facial features were a pale soft skin with a few scars, one on his right lower cheek and jawline and one right under his left eyes accompanied by his dark brown, almost black with shades of dark blond through his long and curly hair and of course his signature eyes, the light grey color, were the women would fall in love to and enemies hate. Indeed he wore all black his fit muscular but slim body as it was clearly still noticeable as a few women dropped a few lustful gazes at him as he walked through the Grand Ballroom, ordering a glass of his favorite whiskey he takes it gladly and takes a sip out of it. Immediately feeling like he was in heaven some of the women here did look nice and they were very tempting as well, after all he was a good looking Half Demon, no real woman could really resist him, due to his supernatural traits and good looks. Though it didn't always went over his head, when he felt like it he could have some fun as he smirked behind his silver half mask with a unique design. Leaning against a wall he crossed his right leg around his left one and had his left arm tucked in his standing right elbow, that held with his right hand the glass of whiskey as he took another sip off of his drink. Though it didn't seem to bother him that he needed to wear a mask, what would someone expect? It was after all a Masquerade Event and you were bond to wear a mask, noticing a few giggles coming from his left side he looks in that direction only to see those exact women he saw earlier that gave him those desireful gazes. They looked like they were already in love with him, he points with his glass at them and gave them a brief smile as he takes another sip off of his whiskey. Now he was wondering, should he really get laid, have some fun do whatever the hell he wanted? He looked around as he thought of that, people were having fun, they talked, they danced, they did whatever, he also noticed a few races in there such as Elves and Dwarfs. This event looked like it included everyone, so the King was acceptable of everyone, now he was interested to see who this King really is in person. He must be a great King but if he had a good heart it would be hard to be a good King, he saw a few glimpses of the King and he looked like a man of education, strong and willful not ease to seduce. Something he truly needed to be since some of these women were already aroused by his presence and now him, this party would surely prove to be an interesting one, so much so that he couldn't shake that smirk off of his face as he hid it behind the glass of whiskey which he, of course, took another sip out of, enjoying the scenery.
  19. 1 point
    Dolor Aeternum

    Bloodsport OOC

    Knowing señor Hollow he will telegraph the devastating attack like any prominent MMO developer would.....
  20. 1 point
    Coming back to Ursa Madeum was always a bittersweet affair. For a year of his life he had poured his heart and soul into the land that had been given to them by the Veluriyam government. When he had arrived, the island of Thraece was a polluted, dying wasteland. The people had mostly fled, while those who remained barely eked out a living fishing the mostly dead waters. Raveena, his mother, and himself had helped to heal the land, bring hope back to its people, and bring the island back to life both environmentally and economically. Then the new government had asked them to leave. In some ways it felt like a betrayal. As though he and his family, his nation had been used until they were deemed no longer necessary. Rationally he knew that the King had good reasons for asking Hyperion to leave; and the two nations had parted as friends. But it still irked him when he would look in the direction of Thraece and be reminded of the land he had given his all to rebuild. But that was the bitter. The sweet, he found, far outweighed it. Before foreign influences were expelled from UM, Grant had forged a romance with a member of the ruling House Mythal. Delphine had come into his life during a time of great turbulence; and had been like a shelter in a storm for him. The pair had fallen in love during their first meeting, and that love had only deepened in the time since. She was the reason why he kept coming back to UM; bending time and space to travel great distances in an instant. Currently, he found himself laying on her bed, watching her try to decide what mask she would wear to the party. He had only managed to get into his trousers, and his lover was similarly dressed as she fretted over the costumes. "Do we really have to wear those silly things?"
  21. 1 point
    A waver, some called it. The beautiful woman whipped upon one between larger vessels, throttling brakes and boosts along her canal like a Mario Kart character through Toad's Turnpike. Water sprayed from the centrifugal force of her scooteresque board over the decks of passenger vehicles who abided by Shrine City's traffic laws, splashing civilians in nice clothes with champagne glasses who expected the typical serene journey down Shrine's winding byways. Where was she headed? Why, none other than the least diviest dive bar near Lion's Square Garden. The beautiful woman walked into a bar and sat at the three-quarters-packed bar in the late afternoon. She got service real fast. "Pour me a double," she said huskily to the 30-some year old behind the counter gilded with taps. "Right away ma'am," he blushed, grabbing her drink. "Make it two," she said before he'd finished pouring the first. "Alright! Comin' right up!" exclaimed the young'un, catching the whiff that the lady could hold her own. Double-fisting and then downing both at the pace of about a gulp each, the beautiful woman's golden eyes flashed something between alcoholism and arousal. The bartender had other customers to tend to, but he would be back soon. Starting this kind of thing at a bar was fun, thought the beautiful woman.
  22. 1 point
    Certainly she heard the man just inside the room chuckle loudly, his words easily meeting her ears. She wasn’t necessarily cautious, but curious to what brought this halfling into her visions. Boldly he invited the owner of this fine establishment into his room, even though she would have eventually made her entrance whether or not he approved. A moment passed and she stood just on the other side of the door, her eyes adjusting to find the man standing wrapped in a towel near the seating area. “Been waiting for me?” Stepping away from the door that closed behind her on its own free will, she couldn’t help but smirk at the boldness of her guest. “Seeking me out I see?” Walking the distance from the door to the seating area, Gwen showed no such hesitation. She was curious to why her mind’s eye brought this grey eyed man into her line of sight, to seek out the demoness? Gwen wasn’t a major person of importance, unless you were Emperor Koji who often graced her with a visit or two. Closing the space, Gwen stood less than a foot from her guest. Reaching out she would take his glass of whiskey from his grasp, touching the cool glass to her lips. Taking a sip of the spiced liquor, Gwen moved to take a seat on the massive plush couch.
  23. 1 point
    *Ahem* Drug name pitches Valucaine Terroine Norkotics Crystal Odin Terrewanda Renoderall Butt Munchers
  24. 1 point
    Eternity

    The Acquisition I

    Tatia sat opposite of Lein while they traveled, much of the time was spent in casual chatter or staring out the windows of their transport. The lands they now traveled to was a sight unseen by this ancient beauty, a place her own imagination couldn’t even begin to fathom. Most places of such imagination were often found in books, many of which she collected throughout her travels with her love. With her love of written literature, the library in the chateau was always growing. She loved to share the wild adventures with Leinhart, knowing he would find ways to take her on adventures of their own. With their family working to conquer new lands, and to grow the coven, the possibilities were endless. Smoothing her hands over the deep red and black skirts of her dress, the ends of her wide sleeves slid over the bench with her motion. Tatia dressed to compliment her beloved, with her hair tied up in such an elegant fashion. Her icy blues shifted from her own windows full of a new fascination, to watch the facial expressions of Leinhart as he took in the growing view. @Etched In Stone
  25. 1 point
    Etched In Stone

    The Acquisition I

    "Talix Engine, my Pure Blood master. After a day's travel, we've arrived." The lifeforce drawing him to seek out the lands further, even those glorious eyes stared beyond the glass wind bewildering in slight wonder the entire city that was now beneath and around them and the once endless sea of white sky. This was nothing in comparisons to Tia and the infected, these undead vampires felt of noble life force ... Much as the Dolos were, but in mass numbers. A grand city of ruins so was it overthrown. While there had not been any forward deals cut, a gift from the confidants of Pendragon; the airship descended with it's whirling engine from the great ascension of sky, emerging from a plethora of clouds hundreds of feet from the air to safe land into Talix 's outskirts of the city. The Blood word from Martis's coordinates of the City in mass Chaos and Darkness governed by vampyre deemed worthy once over, the Dark Redeemer sat in rumination of the area in the gracious quarter provided to the Pureblood and Matriarch. Nearly two weeks passed since their sojourn from the Chateau. Spreading, infectious endearment over civilizations across the Nation of Terrenus. In a red tailcoat, slacks and matching cowhide loafers, loose strands of parted obsidian hair and goldenrod colored eyes, the Vampire remained temporarily longer astounded as the territories came more into view. Ran by massive clockwise, and counter-clockwise gears on a wheel of Science and architecture. In the ancient's 10,000 immortal knowledge he had failed to spectate a city so, timeless. “A city raging with claimed vampire nobles. This should be interesting.” @Eternity
  26. 1 point
    Tyler

    General chat thread

    I don't either. I have occasionally glanced at panels online, or read synopsis on Wookieepedia, but never read one, no. Most of my non-movie knowledge either comes through reading articles there, or through various video games.
  27. 1 point
    Die Shize

    General chat thread

    Nah. Both the Star Wars comics and novels have always been those things that I've always wanted to dig into but never made the time for...
  28. 1 point
    supernal

    Announcements for your roleplay

    Sure!
  29. 1 point
    No. You're the only person we won't let in. We're arbitrary like that.
  30. 1 point
    So the false king has moved in then
  31. 1 point
    You've piqued my curiosity, buy now you have my attention 😄 A new king you say? Perfect! Let me explain. I have this organization called the VCF, a valucrean-wide foundation focused on protecting all sentient life from threats from the microscopic to the titanic. It keeps tabs from all known recored gods, demonds, demi-gods, anomalies (Like the vortex), etc". One thing it observes is also nations, as some warmongering civilizations could pose a gigantic threat towards all known life in Valucre. So Valucre has a task force especially for this purpose, Zeta-04 ("Aggresive negotiators"), focused on political espionage, assassinations, subterfuge and negotiations. Zeta-04 alone has brought many nations to their cause and apply VCF agendas onto the government (Which is usually if not always beneficial to both parties) but some are more... Stubborn. Which one will your king be? I'll be sending in my special agent, "6" if you are indeed interested. What do you think? @Aleksei 😄
  32. 1 point
    king milo: throws a party all pirates within the vicinity: ill be attending with the unluckiest luckiest man in the madeum seas and the softest boi in the hildebrand lands. : ^ )
  33. 1 point
    i think i might just join in. but we got a problem... i don't dance well
  34. 1 point
    This sounds like a extremely cool setting! I might join in so count me if you're happy to have me on board. Never done this before so this should be really cool.
  35. 1 point
    When your first decision as King is to throw a party: On a smaller note, I'll be attending with Crowley.
  36. 1 point
    Ahhhhhh... I am allllllll over this!
  37. 1 point
    supernal

    Vineyard OOC

    Just cause it’s been a little while - I’m still fine continuing to wait and am not in any rush so just want to make sure Mer remains engaged. Do you two want to stay the course or do a time / scene skip where I bring my character in?
  38. 1 point
    Fierach

    The First Feast of Blades

    @jaistlyn "Lady Volentia", the Daemonslayer greeted politely the other Knight, but warmly, standing and giving her his customary salute of one hand clasped over the other before him. "I'm pleased you could make it". James rather liked Volentia, seeing a bit of his own former apprentice Jinsoku in her. They were both young hearts driven to do what was right, full of duty and potential. The incident she referred to was a grim one. All but indestructible, the ghoul was driven off only at combined effort by the entire party acting in concert. James had no doubt it was still alive though, haunting the tainted underground somewhere. James was lucky he survived, although much could also be attributed to emergency aid on the spot in conjunction with his own stubborn refusal to expire. Still... he would head down there once again sometime and find that creature for a proper rematch. He nodded at her request, "If you ask I will give you my advice freely. How goes the endeavor in Yh'mi and the rest of the White Hand?" He indicated a woman on his left, a few seats down, where a familar looking blonde garbed in a ceremonial uniform and hood was conversing quietly with another guest. "As you know, Knight (Sheryl) Wainwright just came back from Yh'mi herself. We are rotating our forces there to keep them fresh and spread knowledge on the experiences there." For that land, the old adage about an ounce of prevention being worth a pound of cure was most definitely true. The slow learners and less savvy fared poorly in Yh'mi.
  39. 1 point
    The 12th hour: Quin woke with a start, a terrible pain in her stomach wrenched her from her sleep. Her teeth chattered though her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, something that did not make her chills any better. Her whole body hurt, much akin to getting the flu - except it was worse, much worse. She didn’t even have time to appreciate her quaint surroundings as she curled in on herself with a groan. Just in time for a wave of nausea to wash over her and cause her to gag for a moment. Perhaps worse than all of it, she didn’t feel rested....she was the opposite. Every muscle was tense, coiled, tightly strung, her mind raced a million miles and she found she couldn’t put herself back to sleep if she wanted.....she simply wasn't tired. Wave after wave of illness would wash over her, the break between each one grew less and less as time wore on. In the times she didn’t feel ill, she chose to explore the room, what she dared to of it at least. Quin did managed to shanghai one of Alistair’s shirts so she wasn't stumbling about unclothed. The room was dark - incredibly dark, a blasted curse to be sure since she couldn’t see anything and stumbled over a lot of things. Especially since she couldn’t sit still, she needed to pace, move and be still all at the same time. Eventually she would develop a headache, one that grew worse and worse by the moment, accompanied by the irregular skipping of her heart. It left her breathless and vision blurry, and soon she was clinging to the side of the bed in an attempt to prevent herself from falling over. The sheer pain inside her head nearly overshadowed her nausea, nearly. An involuntary tear would escape from her eye - or would have had she not been so dehydrated from the fever.............. The 24th Hour: Iron, zinc, copper - copper being the one you can smell - iron and zinc could likely be tasted. Quin recited the minerals found in blood like she was reciting religious text. She was so damn thirsty, all she could think of was the red stuff running beneath her own skin. Remember the taste of Alistair’s, wonder what Ira’s would be like. She obsessed in her mind, like a desert adventurer would value water after running out days prior. She listed everything she knew about blood, and then listed it again. Sometimes she would say it aloud, just to see if it would help her feel better. The aching feeling in her throat was near to driving her insane, she would do just about anything to make it stop - make it go away! Just a little bit - no she wanted all of it. She stared at the blue lines running in her wrist and was tempted to slice them just so she could get at what she desired so desperately. She searched the room desperately, looking for something, anything that would help her get to it - but she had no luck at all. An agonized and frustrated grunt escaped her and she sank down to the floor, back leaning against the wall. At least she was used to the dark now, what was once a curse was a boon. Cocooning her in a gentle and comfortable darkness that she liked, though she usually loved to feel the sun on her face, she found solace in the darkness. Though she did feel caged up like an animal, locked away from polite society. Out of sight out of mind...... she would go back to reciting the components of blood again - maybe that would help her feel better........ The 36th Hour: Quin couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about sustenance, she hurt, her heart palpitating at such an erratic rate she thought she was going to have a heart attack at any moment. She was going to drop dead and not survive the process. Her arms bore scratch marks from her attempts at clawing her way to her own blood ..... a failed endeavor to be sure. One that left her feeling desperate, hopeless, completely helpless. She let out a pained cry and paced the room once again - what was a curious study when she didn’t feel deaths icy grip was now a prison. She wanted out, she wanted it to be over, she wanted to sleep to avoid the pain. She could do none of those things and any coherent thoughts she’d had about writing down her experience long fled. Quin was ever the Doctor, the scientist....however this - this was worse than dying. No sleep, no food, the darkness and the agony. Each breath was focused on making sure the next happened, so afraid of losing this battle was she. Reaching a new level of hopelessness, Quin curled up on the bed - a whimper escaped her. She just wanted it to end. All of it to end. She didn’t want to feel it anymore, none of it. She took a deep breath in and found herself momentarily soothed, the darkness wrapped around her like a cloak, the sheets silky beneath the hands that gripped it - and it all smelled of her sire. Quin’s eyes would eventually close, her mind drifting away to a different place........ 15 hours later would find Quin in much the same position....except her fingers would be relaxed, entire body slack. Her face would hold none of the terrors or pain she’d suffered, skin paling to a lovely porcelain white. The Quin that was, for all intents and purposes, was dead to the world. @Twitterpated @Etched In Stone @HumanBean03 @Eternity @Greenmntman
  40. 1 point
    Sneaking? Oh how easy it would be to sneak out - at least she thought. It felt good to sneak again, something she’d done all too often in her younger years as a whores Doctor. Sneaking, stealing, picking locks and breaking magical barriers..... all things she did plenty of, but were often forgotten in light of her overbearing title of Doctor. Born into a world where she had to survive instead of thrive she learned to think in terms of not getting caught or at the very least, how to get out of trouble if she was. An excitement would light behind those peculiar eyes of hers, working a bit like a mood ring. Alistair tantalized her further with the promise of a game - he wanted to play a game? With her? Oh how it made her no longer beating heart pretend to flutter a little. A game AND a meal - two things that seemed so very lucrative to her and someone wanted to do them with her! It was exciting really and she - She was standing faster than her mind could catch on that she was. Alistair’s overly large shirt hanging off of her, bared feet on the floor ...... all new sensations since she’d moved. It took her a second to catch her bearings as she blinked a bit, looking down at her pale legs and feet. She must have gotten so excited she leapt up.... Her mind wandered a moment as she flexed the muscles in her legs, merely feeling the difference in them since she’d woke. How different it was, so very much different, it overwhelmed her brain and her brow furrowed a moment. She used to be so weak so very weak and useless.....how much had she struggled to find that what she clung to so very much was weakness itself? Excitement warred with the dangerous insanity that lurked just beneath the surface, held back by a very fine thread.....an undercurrent of calm in her tumultuous brain. Something she never possessed before. Quin would grasp onto that calm that lay deep in her and use it to steer herself away from those damning thoughts. When she thought she’d calmed herself she looked up at Alistair and tipped her head slightly out of curiosity - “What kind of game?” Caution laced her words, while she was no longer human and he was her Sire - she hadn’t forgotten that his games often included sending her reeling for hours on end with his antics. Would that be different now that she wasn’t so fragile? ”Am I allowed to at least wear pants for this game or do I have to stalk refugees in your shirt?” She decided to smile, though it was a wary one, a protected one, “While I am sure it is every man’s best nightmare to be stalked and killed by a half naked woman with pointy teeth, that’s not really my idea of fun.” The image did make her smile a little more genuine from the sheer morbid humor in it but she......... Was on the other side of the room before she’d even thought about pacing. It was her habit to pace when she was hungry, even as a human, but how she’d crossed the room so quickly was beyond her. She blinked again, lifted a foot and took a step - just one. Then another and another until she’d stiffly walked back over to Alistair and stood there, back as straight as she could make it. She was very much unaware of herself at this moment in time and resisted the urge to look at her hands to see if they were even really hers. Perhaps sneaking would be harder than she thought...... She couldn’t look at Alistair for a moment since she was thinking - hard. Trying to be more aware of her body and its movements. She bit her lip - another habit - and her tooth pricked it, causing it to bleed slightly before healing itself. Yes it would be best if they could get out of the Chateau for a time - at least she would have Alistair to stop her before she ran half way across the continent on accident. “So..... about those pants....”
  41. 1 point
    Those words resonated with Xylex. Under his breath He mumbled. “That which lurks in all of us. ID, darkness, the voice of the devil, it goes by many names, but there’s generally one meaning. That which places thoughts of primitive actions and perhaps destruction. To become it would to become only part of yourself; through self control it is part of us, but we are not it.” Xylex sighed it appeared that he didn’t help the situation. He didn’t particularly mean what he said as a threat it was to put her at some level of ease that actions were not of leathal intent by suggesting she’d know if they were. Then it was time that Abraxis gave Xylex a threat. What she suggested sounded amazing, but since Xylex could turn himself into amorphous material independent of needing to stay in one piece that still wouldn’t be enough to kill him. “Believe me lady Abraxis I’m not here to hurt you or at least not intentionally, I can’t promise that your treatment will be painless.” Xylex again did not mean this to be a threat or an ill conceived joke. He just wanted to be up front with her and be honest that not all magics were painless. “But rest assured that I will try to make it as painless as possible.” He also realized to an extent that she wasn’t able to to fully understand what he was saying as drunk as she was. “Now everyone I’ll try a different approach. Oh and Whichever one of you owns this house, before you ask I’ll pay for the damages.” Before Anyone could even ask what damages Xylex sent metal poles into the floor surrounding him and Abraxis. They were emitting some rather powerful waves of divine mana, but rather than an ominous feeling one would feel at peace. Their purpose was to help keep Abraxis calm while allowing both of their inner consciousness to reach a meeting place, so Xylex would not haft to enter her mind directly. “Ok let’s begin. First I’d like for you to further explain that event in greater detail. The one where you should have died.” Xylex thought that was a bit odd. A good as place as any to start. (OOC: Sorry for the delay I’ve been a bit busy.)
  42. 1 point
    "But of course." There was no doubt in his mind that she'd be starving when she had finally arisen. Unfortunately, their options were rather limited. He couldn't risk leaving her unsupervised, lest he risk her killing Ira premature of serving useful in some manner. It wasn't impossible for a new blood to live feed, just very unlikely. Without being able to control the thirst, once she began to drink, any target would be dead within a few second. Naturally, the Bloody Mary was fresh on his mind; Though he hated the thought of Quin being spoon fed her first meal. His preferable option came as the grandiose idea that they go on a hunt together. "Your hunger will have to fuel you for the moment. For you haven't an appropriate meal here. First we'll have to sneak out of the house, then we can find you a meal worth your while. Perhaps those Tian refugees are still camping on the outskirts of the Glen." His grin refreshed. Even if they weren't, the two of them had the means to travel rather swiftly. Quin being the newblood having the temporary advantage on Alistair in terms of speed and strength. It should be a simple enough task to find travelers, or even to visit the nearest populated neighbor should the camp be empty by now. It was on the good Doctor if she questioned him about the Bloody Mary, though perhaps her subconscious mind shared the thoughts with his own that he simply wouldn't allow it. The hunt was half the thrill of this life, to most of their kind anyway. "Perhaps we can even make a bit of a game out of it."
  43. 1 point
    AngryCacti

    [Silver Harbor] Iron Queen

    Tana’s knives ripped a hole in a smuggler’s chest as she whirled across the deck. The man stumbled back and Tana sank a knife into his forehead. His knees had barely touched the deck before Tana was charging forward. She planted her foot on the body, yanked the knife from the man’s lifeless face, and launched herself forward, teeth bared, at the next smuggler. The chaos worked in her favor. The smugglers lacked a cohesion or leadership that would have made the fight impossible. The larger skirmish on the docks pulled most of the attention and fighters away from the main deck where Tana danced from one target to another. She hit hard and she hit fast enough to be on to the next opponent before she could be surrounded. Her black sleeves were sticky with blood that wasn’t hers. Her eyes gleamed with an oily sheen. The next smuggler brought a cutlass up to block her blade. She pushed off his blade and used the momentum to swing around, plant her foot behind him, and trip him over her leg. As he went down, arms flailing, Tana drove the knife into his neck and brutally forced his body to the floor where he twitched once, then stilled. Two gunshots rang from above. Tana tensed, expecting pain. Two smugglers who had rushed up behind her cried out instead. Their blades clattered to the deck. Damn it all, she hadn’t seen them. She caught a glimpse of the pretty boy vampire leaping across the deck and into the fray at the docks. Her mouth twisted into a slimy smile and she brought two bloody fingers to her forehead in a salute. She never got to finish it. The deck erupted at her feet and rapid fire gunshots overpowered the chaos on deck. Tana’s legs were running before she knew why. Without stopping, she vaulted pat a group of smugglers headed for the fray on the docks and felt a twinge of satisfaction when she heard a bullet hit one. She dove over a crashed canon and turned the motion into a roll that brought her behind the steel barrel. Bullets pinged off the metal and smashed through the wood on either side. Tana shoved her back against the canon. A gunner. One? Two? She risked a glance over the canon and was rewarded with a bullet that whistled by her cheek. One. She grit her teeth. Tana was fast, but not fast enough to outrun a bullet. She pulled a lightweight throwing knife from her belt. It was built for range. She didn’t have to hit hard- just with enough accuracy to end this quickly. She rose up and threw the blade in a perfect arc. The knife thudded into the wood of the lower deck. “Shit.” There was another canon, 10 yards away. Some poor sod had tried to fire it and gotten crushed. Tana wasn’t interested in the boy’s fate. She was interested in the gun in the body’s hands. Her five remaining knives would be no use at this distance. Tana scrambled forward, keeping low. She leapt over a crate, landed, rolled to her feet, and dashed forward in one smooth motion. The deck was hot beneath her heels. When she was close to the body, she threw her leg out and pushed her hip down and slid the final distance to the gun. The smuggler was still alive and moaned a pitiful protest as Tana tried to wrestle the gun from his grasp. He gave it up quick enough after she landed a punch on the side of his head. She whirled onto her knee, pulled back the safety and fired. The shot went wide. If it hit, it did little damage. Tana cocked the gun again and sighted. The spray of bullets swung again to her location. She moved to duck behind cover and staggered. She turned in time to see the bleeding smuggler clutching her leg with a toothless smile. “You-“ was all she got out before pain erupted in her arm. She threw herself down on the deck and rolled the final foot into cover. Her back arched under the strain of not crying out in pain. The dying smuggler made a gurgling noise that might have been laughter. Tana kicked him in the face until he stopped making sounds all together. “That son of a bastard whore!” She hissed between clenched teeth. “This wasn’t in the contract.” Gone were the liquid smooth motions that made the thief so dangerous. Tana was on a timer now. Using her knees to hold hold the gun steady, she jerked back the hammer, maneuvered the stock into her shoulder, and gripped the gun with her left hand. With a pained grunt she rose again and fired in the direction of the gunner. The shot had hardly gone off before she was back behind cover, bracing as the hail of bullets swept over her hiding place. Her eyes darted around the deck. Most of the smugglers had the brains not to get involved, but she couldn’t stay pinned forever. She readied another shot and waited, body coiled like a spring. The very second there was a break in the bullet storm, she would dash for the raised cargo hatch.
  44. 1 point
    As she spoke, he reflected silently and both her words, and his thoughts. For years, he'd watched her grow into the beautiful woman she'd become. She possessed a penetrating beauty the was much deeper than the skin. In her youthful reign she continued to prove her intellect despite her age. Any man would be lucky just to be considered by her. Efemaer had even though of Aurora romantically, though he tried to deny those feelings every time they decided to scratch at the surface. Having confronted his father once before about it, he was warned that to court and or marry Aurora was to court or marry Crystallo. Efemaer felt mildly defeated when he recalled the particular conversation. Not because he felt the Queen was out of his league, but because he saw himself as unfit to rule by her side. He hardly felt comfortable stepping into his father's shoes and joining the council, how could he possibly fathom feeling fit to lead? "Love has no time limit, though political advantages most certainly do. It all boils down to how much of your personal happiness are you willing to sacrifice for the people." Adjusting in his seat, he cleared his throat mildly; Looking to the Queen once more as he continued. "Without considering how difficult as it is being a young feminine leader, do you ever feel...Inadequate of performing your role as Queen? How do you cope with the anxieties associated to being responsible for an entire nation?" @Eternity
  45. 1 point
    Chappu

    Looking for a Cold One

    “The power to give or to take away.. It has often been said that this sort of power makes one feel like a god..” His words tumbled like the ocean waves crashing during a storm. Slowly walking down the path, Ydris watched her with a blank face and placid eyes. “As if such mortal error could ever be considered benevolent. I have known few people to obtain such standing and still keep wickedness at bay.” The network of growing life pulsed roughly as if adrenaline was now being pumped through their very veins. Rapid growth like a wild fire began to twist and rampantly cause growth all around. Trees began springing to life beneath her very being pushing the ground apart. “Such power holds more than the ability to give and to take.. It is the pinnacle of balance. Usage must be done with reason and absolute certainty. This power does fight back of it does not agree, magic itself has its own consciousness. It manifests itself at will and we are just the conduits it fills.” Violet optics glowed within the massive rainforest that now enveloped her entire space blotting out all the light possible while beneath the canopy. “We do not pick sides we act according to the best interests of where we are from and what will make this planet better. Never forget who you were and who you have become. They are different..” His words trailed off as the forest reversed back into the ground as if it had never been born. Ydris stood at the entrance to her space; he had erected a marble gate way for passage. “You look well. Did you rest well?” @Eternity
  46. 1 point
    The compliment to the service let the young lady bow her head with a smile, pleased that the new guest was made comfortable, she made her quick and silent exit. Still sitting at the table prepared with her night’s dinner, Gwen pulled the wine glass from the painted fullness of her lips. Closing her eyes, to allow her energy to flow through the grounds as she did most nights, touching every guest and employee within the establishment. One by one the warmth of her energy would glide over each person in the bath house, except this time it flashed. Shooting up from her seat at the table, her eyes fogging over with vision for a split moment. Grey eyes flashed through her mind the moment her energy touched the newly settled guest. Pulling back her magic, Gwen sat panting before the table of food. It was like they knew, a servant came into the room to remove anything on the table and the glass from her hand. Standing she moved towards the armour that held her clothing, pulling a robe to cover her body. With the servants having left the room, Gwen stood before the door of her apartment that laid above the bath house. She could feel the halfling in her place of business, his energy was very imposing. Finally deciding to leave her apartment, Gwen ventured down the enclosed stairwell into the bath house. He had a very dominating presence, demanding almost. Finding herself standing just outside the door, her staff just looking over her shoulder a moment as they passed by in the halls as they tended to other guests. The staff knew better than to question the motives of their boss, more importantly they never overstepped their boundaries with Gwen.
  47. 1 point
    Ira had wandered the castle, exploring the ins and outs of the residence for over a day and a half. He had grown restless, partially due to a growing lack of things to do, but also to a real worry about Quinn. Despite the vampires insistence that she was needing sleep and relaxation to get better, nobody was in bed this long without being very sick. His body might have been still considered in rough shape by others, still bearing the trademark aches and pains of recent battle, but they had at least mostly faded. Ira knew that two days was more than enough time to heal bruised ribs an minor cuts when he had done nothing more strenuous than walking. The castle grounds were enormous, and he must have seen all of it by now. Now he had only needed to find Alistair. Prick bastard had been clearly dodging him. Ira wanted his arms and armor back, and if he was going to forced to be here, he wanted to make himself useful.
  48. 1 point
    In over 300 years of living, this was perhaps the greatest challenge he'd ever faced. Prior to the progression of Quin's transformation to its later stages, he'd never considered how turning her would effect him. The occasional wave of phantom pains associated with more or less sharing a mind with the good Doctor. The more the transformation took, the more consistent their hive mind became. While enduring these random events throughout several hours, he still had the chateau to maintain; While still trying to more or less keep and actual eye on his room to be sure it remained undisturbed. Fortunately he'd been able to function without raising too much suspicion, though he paid himself mind to avoid direct contact with the likes of Martis, or even Ira. Several times had he wanted to enter his room to console her, to coddle her into her final sleep. Several times he denied himself and her by extension, the right. It was better for her to endure this venture alone, or at least seemingly so. Not that he knew that was best from experience outside of his own. The Master having played no part in assisting him until the transformation was complete. Perhaps it was some sort of right of passage. Survive this alone, survive with me for eternity. When the final sleep finally found her, the Majordomo sighed in relief despite not having the ability to actually breath. Adjusting his fine threads, the redhead suddenly made himself scarily available as he tread through the house; If only to take a gander at what the others around the house were up to. Regardless of his findings, Alistair had appropriately planned ahead for Quin's grand awakening. However, it suddenly became abundantly clear that she had found herself awake a couple hours earlier than he'd anticipated. That writhen grin found itself upon his face once more, his scarlet eyes darting to and fro rapidly as he maneuvered his way subtly back to his room. Ascending the awkward stairs beyond his door, the Elder found himself standing over Quin, whom had obviously taken to one of his shirts. His grin remained as he snickered, mostly to himself. His narrowed eyes settled on her, a gentle and unnecessary clearing of his throat came in the wake of their eyes making inevitable contact. "Good morning Doctor. After all you've been through, I trust you've slept well? I must admit, you woke up quite a bit sooner than I'd like to have guessed. Not that I'm complaining." @DarkHorse @Etched In Stone @HumanBean03 @Eternity @Greenmntman
  49. 1 point
    Darling König

    [Silver Harbor] Iron Queen

    Reinhardt would pull alongside the Iron Maiden, he could hear the clash of steel on steel and screams of the crewmen. He was grateful whoever had shot him had made sure their shot was strong enough to go through him completely. His Vampiric regeneration had sealed his wounds and he leapt aboard the vessel. He saw the bedlam around him. The Fisherman were battling with Roht to gain a foothold while Tana danced a Steel laced Waltz. He smiled as he drew out his Steampowered pistol and angled it towards the Secretive woman. He pulled the trigger twice and killed two cutthroats that sought to flank her. He drew his blade yelling, "Fear not Comrade Roht! I have arrived!" He rushed into the fray slashing and firing his pistol off as he aimed to mitigate the loss of Civilian lives.
  50. 1 point
    Csl

    Ursa Madeum OOC

    @Typhon official welcome to Ursa Madeum! Go get em pirates. I've added the link to your house in the UM lore article - do you want me to add a quote or house creed along with it? I didn't see one in your lore. @Rust and Stardust welcome as well! Tagging you here since I saw you in Typhon's thread. Hope to see you around Ursa Madeum more! @The Rabbit Emperor I'm waiting (in gleeful anticipation) for your house as well ? @LikelyMissFortune it's also good to see you back!
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