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Showing content with the highest reputation on 01/27/2020 in all areas

  1. 1 point

    Pick Your Poison

    “Hm?” Oh, I have no idea.” she answered honestly, “But a fantastical affliction must have a fantastical solution.” She left him to sit at the other side of the table, where the cross pattern of cards lay neatly before her chair. How did she know this stuff? That was a difficult question to answer with any detail or clarity. She wasn't sure if it could be explained. It could be understood, certainly, but finding that spark of comprehension was like waiting to be struck by lightning. Although, the storm outside increased the odds of that somewhat. “How do you know what you know?” the witch turned the question back on him. Maybe he hadn't been looking for an answer; it was difficult for her to tell in his state. “I'm not sure I know much of anything.” she admitted. “No more than you do, I mean. We just happen to know different things. And I know how to look for things better than most.” Enid sat in her chair and turned her attention to the cards that had been laid out before his arrival. “I felt a sudden urge to shuffle the cards before you stumbled in.” she explained, “They're old and they bend more than they used to, but they want to feel useful. And they prove their worth time and again. They may have had some sense that they were needed, so let us assume that this cross is yours.” The seer sat on the edge of her seat and looked on her guest intently, pointing to one side of the cross pattern. “I assume you are familiar with such readings. You know, then, that this card reflects upon your past. And on the other end lies a glimpse at your possible future. Both may offer guidance in our search for an antidote.” “So,” she said, meeting his glazed eyes with an even stare, “where do we begin?”
  2. 1 point

    The Lengths We Go To

    Yeah, sorry for the delay too! Got roped into an unexpected family trip as soon as I was about to write up the post. 🙈 Will post sometime today! 💖
  3. 1 point


    Stopping by for a minor bump and to say thanks for helping me behind the scenes! But also because I have an organization that isn't being used that would probably do well somewhere in Alterion. I can either revive it, or collaborate with someone to spruce it up. Let me know if anyone in your neck of the woods is interested.
  4. 1 point
    I'm not convinced "holding the line" is a viable option. All PCs are bound by Mild Powers, and while Hivemind Aleth may not be able to wield Gaian Geomancy, which is fairly ubiquitous among Terran NPCs, and may shy away from magic in general, the parasites ought to be able to coordinate with each other on a level unmatched by conventional armies. I'm not certain whether Jason was the exception to the Enrele's magic-aversion or if they are willing to tap into magic accessible to their hosts whenever they have the opportunity. The Spectral District is situated such that Enrele-controlled infantry, at present, can only immediately attack from the North and the East courtesy of natural defenses. In this round per Meraxa's post, the East is essentially clear of enemy units. The PCs are outnumbered to the extent that they would deplete their ammo, burn through their mana, and potentially break their melee weapons before they managed to rout their enemies, not that routing their enemies would be a realistic objective even if they had infinite ammo and whatnot. Attempts to "hold the line" will probably result in the PCs being overwhelmed by the enemy. Caeceila, Camelia, and Iolanda, quite possibly with Jason in tow, will fall back to a more defensible position, likely Elizabeth's mansion or a building in the Southwest corner of the Spectral District, to take full advantage of the natural and supernatural defenses furnished by the Spectral District. I imagine that the entities haunting the Spectral District will not take kindly to the Enrele, just as they did not take kindly to Jason, and will attempt to expel the Enrele from their turf by force. It may be that these entities will also opportunistically target certain members of the party. I mention this because I think party members who have experienced or studied large-scale combat would at least consider falling back to a more defensible position. While pooling mana, for lack of better words, might be feasible for some party members, not all magic is fueled by a generic source casters can draw from at any given time. Moreover, some sources might destructively interfere with each other. For example, if someone contributed holy energy to the pool and someone else contributed necromantic energy to the same pool, my guess is that the overall energy stored in the pool would be less than the sum of these contributions. While my characters will start making preparations to evacuate the city on the grounds that Dougton is lost, it would be good to know if any of the characters have resources that would be helpful in this situation that they would have spoken of in transit from Casper to Dougton. Caeceila, as previously established, has a squadron of gunships that have been following her at a distance for the duration of this plot. The cart Iolanda was riding has a false bottom full of useful supplies, a small assortment of pneumatic weapons, ammo for pneumatic weapons, foodstuffs, water, other assorted survival gear, magical reagents, ritual components, a few melee weapons, etc. Nothing contained in this cart is magical since Iolanda posed as bunco artist in order to gain access to the city.
  5. 1 point

    Metireal Royal Family

    Name The Metireal Royal Family. Family The Metireals are a military family who can trace their service record throughout the continent's recorded history, and always to the regime in vogue at the time. What keeps them being labeled cowards, traitors and opportunists is that they are loyal to their liege to a fault. When that person or family is ended, the Metireals receive this as an opportunity to choose their allegiances anew, a ritual which was last observed to receive Odin Haze and his Empire as the new wards of the people. The unfortunate consequence of this un-blind loyalty the Metireals practice is that at times the heads of the family have not chosen as wisely as they would have liked; as much of their history drips with shame as shines with glory. Not all who belong to the family adopt their agenda completely to heart, but those who deviate do so against a tremendous amount of familial pressure that can manifest in many ways. Nearly all of those born Metireal bear a name of some element, compound or mixture. The family is separated into older and younger for purposes of internal customs with 30 years being the cutoff. Older Neon - Head of family. Retired private, having served the minimum for citizenship and too important to risk in war. Steel – Major in the Empire's military. Chasing damaged threads March to the land bridge Younger Cadmium – Major in the Empire's military. Talk the talk Military promotion ceremony Praise the bridge Bold and unwritten [dropped] The term is caching [complete] Palgard's club med [complete] Rhenium – Reconnaissance officer (really a special ops agent but this isn't communicated) Grave robbing in the dead of night As a hereditary ability, the Metireal family also claims an innate ability to manipulate metallic elements and compounds: Metal Manipulation: Physiological control over metallurgy. In addition to study of physical and chemical behavior of metallic elements, this discipline concerns itself with the identification and direct manipulation of different metal types. Can make use of this talent to manipulate their weaponry, their armor and shields, the weaponry and armor of their opponents if unshielded, and the environment. Goals Empire is threatened on all sides and have been dealt severe blows not only from specific enemies (mad cults, terrorist cells, foreign government agents), but from unavoidable and cataclysmic phenomena (cold snap, maddening mists, clever body-snatching aliens). Fight them at all costs and bring glory to the nation. History 1000 BG – 800 BG Served the diarchy even as the queens spun into madness. The family's great shame at losing the queens was tempered only by the fact they no longer had to serve the mad. The Metireals swear their loyalty to a small territory which would later become Casper. 800 BG - 700 BG Served Levas the Cruel. The family's great shame at losing their king was tempered only by the fact they no longer had to serve the cruel. The Metireals swear their loyalty to a small province which would later become Ashville. 600 BG – 400 BG Served the merchants. The Dark Age comes and commodities as the world has known them tank; the merchants are poor and wither off; for the first time in centuries the family is without helm or rudder, and splinters east to Last Chance and west to Blairville. 400 BG – 300 BG | 300 BG – 200 BG | 200 BG – 100 BG Lost to the sands of time. Present Serves the Terran Empire.
  6. 1 point

    [Port Kyros] Finally?

    [ I. Phänomenologie des Geistes ] The Man of Many Masks smiled at his own reflection in the glass of the tower, owing his self-admiration to its translucency. Arduous must the primogenitors have been when constructing the spectral tower— a masterpiece that was both artless and incandescent. There was little in the way of intricacy, and that fascinated someone such as Abbot Knight who made it a point to study architecture in all of the realms he beckoned passage to. While the twelve ascetics chanted around the ancient runeology situated in the middle of the circular, opaque floor, Abbot Knight stood still, grinning self-assuredly. A single break in concentration on his behalf or that of the channelers could result in mutually assured destruction but he didn't seem the least bit concerned. After-all, they were hand selected from across Valucre, brought to this world solely to perform these rites of worship. Each word enervated them, and it showed in the desiccation of their bodies practically rotting from the bone. This in-fact betrayed the will of their spirits however, which existed in this strange demi plane separated from the material. “That’s cheating…” a voice echoed beyond existence itself, coming from all and no directions at once. “Should you be here right now? I'm almost back to Valucre. You could...I'unno, die?” Abbot questioned the mysterious presence, though he seemed as aloof as he was before. “This was your plan all along was it not?” <???> “Hmmmmmmmmm?! I have no idea what you're talking about!” <Abbot> “Abbot!” <???> Like glass everything around him ignited and shattered, becoming imperceptibly bright light that marked the change of planar lines. When his eyes finally snapped too, the sight of the natural sun through the Renaissance window to his left was all he needed to confirm he was back “home”. They say home is where the heart is, and Abbot certainly felt his heart was tied to what little family remained. The Knight surname was a complicated one, and of all of the Knight's, he was certainly the most enigmatic and perhaps the most dangerous. Many found this to be hyperbolic especially when compared to his younger brother who was still in his restless slumber, but very few knew just how Abbot managed to acquire the resources and underworld connections that he had. Lifting his pale right hand upward, he flicked his black tresses from his eyes and smirked quietly. The same royal room designated to himself by the Queen, meaning the transference had completed itself without a hitch...of course, it seemed to be a one way trip, but Abbot wasn't all that concerned about leaving as he'd done a lot of work just to get back. “...why am I naked...” he spoke aloud, processing his statement in the same breath. Huh? Son of a bitch. Flipping the four layers of covers off of his bed with a single flick and his fears were confirmed. His body hit the floor in a military roll in the very next second, and a second after that? He'd managed to crawl his way across the crimson and golden trimmed carpet to the closet in the back of the room, and all before a maid managed to knock on his door, inquiring as to the noticeably large thud she'd heard from downstairs. “Is everything okay sir?” “Y-yes- wait what the hell? What did I tell you about calling me that!” “S-sir Abbot, you're back?!” The door swung open and well...she caught a half-dressed man. You can guess which half was dressed and which one wasn't. In-fact...who dresses themselves from the head down? Only a lunatic who had no idea what it truly meant to be human. “S-S-OH MY GOODNESS I PLEAD FOR YOUR APOLOGY SIR!” the maid yelled slamming the door shut and dropping to her knees in the next second. All she got was a boisterous laugh from the other side. “BAHAHAHAHA WANTED SOME OF THE GOOD OL' ABBY EH?!” “S-s...sir?” Why is he acting so different was all the maid could think. The Abbot Knight that the world knew was cold, apathetic, devoid of empathy or understanding of others. He was a shrewd man who cared only for results and the bigger picture, showing an interest in erudition and discarding anything deemed inconsequential. Something was much different about him now. A few seconds later and the door swung open, revealing the casually dressed royal with a mischievous smirk on his face. “Do you think I'm cute Millia?” “I...s-s...” Abbot, standing six foot and five inches, squatted infront of her and stared into her fluffy pink eyes with his own coarse, gunmetal gaze. “Let's go on a date sometime yeah? I'll let you tour one of my cottages.” Millia, a golden-haired maid of the the Nova Citadel, was utterly speechless. Aside from blushing almost uncontrollably, she turned her gaze away and did her best to regain her bearings in a fluster. Abbot all the while stood up and dusted his sable slacks, adjusted his massive midnight black collar, and turned left and right. How much time has passed since I was last here he wondered to himself, losing himself in some kind of deep, methodical processing. “Where is my violent sister-in-law? I hope I'm not too late...”
  7. 1 point

    [Port Kyros] Finally?

    Four of the most powerful women in the Rising West sat at a desk together. Sabine Fenvaris poured over military paperwork—a magical quill self-writing reports as she read and sorted through them. The Legion of Doom’s suddenly turn of events in the West as well as Welfrick’s resurfacing had caused her quite a headache. The Imperatrix was drafting a writ of Imperial Summons to all three Order of Hyperion’s Knights and their subordinates. Rahab Alrandwe di Firdana—the Queen Regent handled a majority of Port Kyros’ paperwork while also taking the time to process the changes to the underwater city of Nymeria. Her brother—in a bold move against their Nephew, declared himself King with Rahab as his Queen, the likes of which had not happened for centuries. She had twelve other clans and their bloodshed to contend with. Kirena Yor was deciphering encrypted messages—some were knotted, some were written in code. Others were magically spelled. Her daughter Octavia was curled up asleep in a crib by her side. Five, she thought to herself. They were the five most powerful women in the Rising West. Kirena smiled. She received word from far and wide, looking for any clues as to who was behind the assassination attack on Raveena. That someone would attack the Emperor’s daughter in his own city was a ballsy move that would be swiftly dealt with. Raveena was reviewing and singing off—she had devised her own network amount the court officials that worked directly beneath her. One pile went directly to her very own processing team. Theses did not immediately require her seal of approval and were dispersed to the appropriate people. Some required more information and clarification needed. Additional research that she would not blindly agree to. Some reports were dismissed as unverifiable and had no place in being worked on or acknowledged. Others received the official flourish of her signature and the Imperial stamp. Unlike Octavia who slept soundly, Prince Everett was curled up in a sling on her back and took an especial interest in chewing on a dark coil of Raveena’s hair. “These are ready.” She handed a stack of papers to the next runner. “At once, miss!” And the little lady ran off. She was always amazed at how rarely they tripped. She frowned and stretched her arms—testing the healing tissue along her upper back where she had been stabbed weeks earlier. Her brows furrowed and she frowned deeply. Kirena did not bother to look up, “Stop messing with it your Ladyship or it will open again.” Raveena frowned, “It’d heal again. Rowan’s flatworm DNA is…unique, to say the least.” Sabine chuckled and shook her head and both ladies immediately felt bad for mentioning it. The one armed spear mistress had earned that name defending Hyperion. She lost her lover—and her arm—in the same attack. Though she once considered taking a Chimera transfusion, she ultimately decided not to. Still, Raveena felt that her stab wound was quite minute compared to the great loss Sabine endured. “Wear your scars proudly, Land Dweller.” Rahab swept a prismatic strand of hair from her pale, lilac eyes and looked up. Like the other three women, Rahab bore scars from wars and skirmishes past, “They make you beautiful.” The Nymerian woman—no, temptress was the better word, knew every scar on Raveena’s body intimately. “A woman who bears no scar knows nothing of pride and fighting for that which is most precious to her.” There was a murmur of agreement among the four friends. “My tattoo has been bothering me since Umbra,” Raveena confessed. Kirena stopped the delicate process of ciphering knots. “Have you had it looked at? Was the blade infected, perhaps?” The Queen shook her head, “No,” She replied, “I had it looked at immediately. I—.” She was cut off when a runner came streaking down the hall as fast as his legs could. All four women stopped and turned to see what was the matter—a runner only ran that fast when it was urgent. “Sorry…Milady.” He curtsied unceremoniously—he couldn’t have been older than her son Giliam, ten or eleven. “Your brother…the—.” He paused to gulp air, “He’s awake, Your Majesty-ma’am. Your brother comes!” Raveena pulled a purse from her sleeve and tipped the runner five glitterglass pieces. His eyes went wide and he gasped and stammered his thanks. “Inform the rest of the staff at once.” She commanded the boy and sent him on his way. “Let’s stop here.” The other three women were just as startled by the news as she was. She gestured for staff to clear their desk area. Rowan remains comatose while Abbot awakens from his own? Was this a coincidence? Raveena wasn’t sure if her nausea was from panic or joy.
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