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      Contact between members and staff   04/20/2018

      Valucre.com and Valucre’s official email address (Valucre@gmail.com) are to be considered the only credible contact between members and staff. If you are contacted by someone, or a group of someones, dubiously representing themselves as staff outside of Valucre.com, you should private message @supernal and @desolate. Additionally, if your account is to receive administrative action, or you are the subject of a report, staff will contact you through forum, email, or through the forum's warning system, not off site services such as Discord or Skype.

desolate

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About desolate

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  • Birthday 12/09/1988

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  1. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    Adds properly disposed with non-lethal measures, Jackson heard the door open... and then gingerly close, as though a visitor had arrived. Through the thick fog, he only heard the rustling of what sounded like bushes and a heavy thud, preceding a tall and thick silhouette that waddled toward him and his prey, Gabriel. He nearly embedded his sword in its hideous bark-face, but within five feet he was able to ascertain it wasn't interested in him and allowed it to capture the halfling alderman in its branch-like phalanges. Its too-close together features and the way its pleased expression warped the wood was creepy. "We have your kind back home," Jackson said over Gabriel's whimpering. "Regenerating firewood is handy. Let cloaca-lover know I'm taking a look around." He disappeared into the fog and went room by room in the house from the dining room they were in, first to the kitchen, where he sheathed his sword and took a pear; second through the commons room, Scales' armor and weapons gathered up next to the now destroyed door; third up the stairs and into the kids bedrooms—where he was momentarily distracted by plush figures of strange animals he had yet to encounter—and finally he made his way to the master bedroom, the room that required the most care to investigate. With a final bite into his snack, he slipped the fruity remains into a pocket and wiped his sticky fingers off on his shirt, where yellowish trails of juice left finger-width stains. Once he came within five feet of one of the walls, one of the tripped wards caught his sixth sense, located behind a massive, impressionist-style portrait of Gabriel and his family. "Anyone know how to crack a safe?" he called out. Shatter could work here, but the spell would destroy everything else within 10 feet. Up in the sky, Scales was in an aerial grapple with Jericho. She spun through mid-air acrobatics multiple times in dizzying and sickening attempts to throw him physically or mentally off, all the while the two of them trading headbutts, elbows, and knees; and finally she settled on an abrupt dive-bomb into the tithe barn, Jericho on the front-end of a deadly plummet.
  2. Questions about 'mention'ing

    This is a post that mentions supernal that I will edit in a few seconds. Mention removed. He should still have a notification. This edit now mentions @HotPizza. You tell me! I'll mention myself for good measure @desolate. Nope, nothing. To answer #2, notifications shouldn't be removed once received. It's similar to receiving a PM and deleting it: you should still have the notice you were PMed. Same deal for mentions.
  3. Character and roleplay help

    No idea what's going on with the Tavern of Legend word counts since they seem arbitrary, but the current word count requirement for quests in Terrenus is 80 words and different quest levels only require a higher page count. Feel free to do quests there instead! My average word count is lower than 300 words, and there's nothing wrong with my characters.
  4. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    "Why would you want to reproduce with her?" Jackson gagged. "Your children would be mutants." Curious, he watched Eddie scribble and nodded inattentively every time Jericho spoke. But when he replied punching the children would be fun, he perked up... and then immediately deflated, the disappointment palpable. Reacting quicker than a boonies guard had any right to, Scales bolted upright. She kept one of the children at bay with her superior reach, clutching the kid by the head and weathering blows against her arm; the other she pinned beneath the chair was seated at. She was no pushover, but the surprise combined with the preternatural strength combined with caution over hurting her own kin or her friend's kin had essentially locked her down. Gabriel, the small older gentleman, was completely overwhelmed. Even with the help of the two other adult humans in the room, they couldn't peel off the third child, who was battering them left and right. One of them broke a vase over the kid's head to no avail. Jackson pointed at the house and traced a circle with a finger in the air. When he spoke the word, "Omichli," a 40-foot sphere of thick fog appeared in the room and outside the house, heavily obscuring the goings-on and providing cover for them to approach. He crouched low and ran into the fog, not quite at a sprint since he was still smarting the last fight. The pond and the silts proved an inconvenient obstacle; he had to swim and climb his way up to the room, smash a window, and find a target in the fog. His first act was to disable the two extras: a pommel strike for each of them put them out of the picture, leaving only Gabriel and Captain Scales to struggle against the possessed children—the former at this point with broken forearms from meager attempts to defend himself and nearly unconscious, being quite old and under four feet tall.
  5. Terrenus | AMA (Ask me anything)

    It's a town located in Terrenus made for Justice, it should follow the same design philosophy as Terrenus and Justice. But we'll see.
  6. Terrenus | AMA (Ask me anything)

    My solution would be to have a technology level that defines where Terrenus diverged from the real world for cultural, historical, or supernatural reasons as a point of reference; and a separate magic level that defines stages of advancement after the technology level, with each tier becoming increasingly scarce. A metal elemental knight that could ruin a tank would be about as rare as a tank. Magic training in general, beyond using a few enchanted baubles, would be fairly expensive. From there, it becomes easier to provide a foundation for new regions. But I prefer tighter settings with more and better defined constraints. I don't like the conceit of the setting needing to be handwaved for stories to be possible, as opposed to just making them possible.
  7. Terrenus | AMA (Ask me anything)

    Terrenus is a genre-confused anachronistic disaster. On one side you have Star Wars, on the other side you have a Renaissance Fair. It's like a convention accidentally booked two different cosplay events at the same venue on the same weekend. Personally, running around as a swordboy while there are guns and jets around makes my eyes bleed and causes me to speak in tongues, but consistency tends to be a casualty on freeform sites.
  8. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    Jackson returned once the road was cleared, and promptly departed again on Jericho's insistence that someone take care of the warehouse bystanders. He showed up with the rat-ogre's decapitated head in hand, jiggled it at the lingering crowd, and declared there was an infestation. It was more than enough to move along anyone who thought about staying. "Glory be," one of the travelers muttered in prayer to Gaia as she shuffled away. Once he was back with Eddie and Jericho again, Jackson told them, "I had to chop the beast into a few pieces to fit it into our shelter." He squatted and picked up Owen's ankles. "I'll take care of this. Why don't the two of you make yourselves scarce while I dispose of the garbage?" Small town as it was, the guard wasn't going to wait forever to muster. Corpse in tow, Jackson dragged Owen's body behind him into the fields, where crop and tall grass obscured sight. He stood over Owen, cupped his open hand and scooped imaginary liquid from the air and muttered a cryptic two or three words. Without fanfare, dark green fluid appeared, and he emptied the sphere of acid onto the corpse. He repeated the process until what little was left could be scattered and buried with relative ease. Except the fancy robe and mustache comb—Jackson kept those. Later that night, the trio of jury, judge, and janitor found themselves on the other side of Chesterfield. A small creek emptied into a modest pond at the butt of an L-shaped estate seated on stilts. It was similar to an old Tudor-style home of mixed timber and brick. All of the prairie grass had been cleared to make way for a clean lawn and rows of colorful flowers. The only blemish on the wide expanse of property was a tithe barn, stocked with enough grain to make it clear that Gabriel was no farmer himself, and the only livestock to be seen was on his dinner plate. From behind the barn, the only physical hiding place, they could see through a tall and wide window the dining room. A middle-aged, inhumanly short man—a dwarf, gnome, or perhaps halfling—with a collar of white hair around a bald spot and a brown suit was forking meatloaf with a woman, another man, three kids, and another woman on the opposite end—this one a half of something from the intermittent red scales on her otherwise human, if slightly elongated features. "I say we barge in and cut them all to pieces!" Jackson whispered with barely contained excitement, blood still pumping from the rat-beast. He glanced sidelong at them, knowing Jericho's disposition but not Eddie's. At least one of them didn't seem to believe evil was a born quality. "But we would just punch the children out, naturally."
  9. Valucre needs a Moon [Petition- VOTE!]

    There's one moon.
  10. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    During the healing process when Jericho was screaming, Owen chortled and yelled over his sweet despair, "Serves you right!", "Die screaming, scum!", "Use Hyper Fang, Raticate!" and so on, ignorant that it was from healing and not from being devoured by his truck-it monster (col. Truckemon). Imagine his surprise when Jericho, good as a shredded newspaper pieced back together by a Daily Weekly intern, strutted back to the trailer and cut his fingertips off. Owen screamed in a much manlier way than Jericho and jerked his hand back; nearly all of the jeweled rings on his fingers, sweaty as they were, caught between the side of the opening and a bit of rock and clattered to the roadside. One of the rings, a gold band set with a modest brown diamond, exuded magic to those sensitive to it. A wispy, ethereal trail wavered between it and Eddie, who felt whatever connection Owen had created fade. Whether through additional cutting, or methods arcane or just cruel and unusual, Jericho and Eddie make good on their threats to get him to talk. Jackson, on the other hand, busied himself with clearing the road and evidence of their existence. First, he hauled the rat ogre corpse to their underground safe house, and began the process of disposing of arrows and any residual greencloak presence. Owen explained his circumstances in heart-pounding anxiety. They managed to obtain information that Owen was not the purveyor of exotica, but a member of the Purveyors of Exotica (POE), a group of smugglers who have operated in the Weland Economic Zone (WEZ) since the passing of the Safeguard Act in all of the surrounding economies: Blairville, Casper, Dougton... the Weland city-state and the municipalities all around it had become a hotbed for the magic contraband black market. Owen himself had profited off of the destruction of Biazo, and the renewed ease of poaching and scavenging due to the temporary lack of a centralized government on the Isle; his activities there had drawn purveying eyes to his mercantile ventures. For an investment of capital and a few favors, Owen had been provided information and items that made his job easier and more lucrative, such as the Ring of Charm Person, a secure truck, and access to small portion of the POE client list to help expand his business. One such client was the alderman of Chesterfield's municipal government, Gabriel Activa. Owen made regular bribes to the guard captain as well, not always monetary. Further, the cage wasn't just for rat-ogres, monstrosities or other beasts. Occasionally, Owen would as one his POE-favors pick up an exotic animal, listed on the manifest as a pet or scientific specimen, and ship it to one of the Premium POE clients. In reality, these animals were polymorphed "exotica" of the humanoid variety, typically young and from one of the more enticing (or weird) species of Valucre. But Owen assured them the rat-ogre was of the specimen variety... as far as he knew. The greencloaks were outside of Owen's scope of knowledge, who he had assumed were bandits, as were any other so-called purveyors or their operations. Detailed accounts of his non-POE business associates were not readily available in his tortured memory, but his personal residence was in Biazo Isle and presumably had juicy information... and he would definitely disable all the security and call off his personal guards if they just let him live and glue his fingertips back on, and they'd never see or hear from him again, and it was time to turn over a new leaf, and he'd become a purveyor of normica, and maybe in Genesaris or Tellus Mater or even on the Moon, if they wanted.
  11. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    "That's mine, Weland filth! I'll challenge your whole family of vermin-loving inbreds to trial by com—" Jackson's single-minded refusal to let his personal property be taken resulted in a swift backhand that peeled him from the beast's back. Its wild swings dropped him from mid-air and right into the ground. He sagged beneath the stream of alchemical fire and crawled out of the way with a wheeze. Hadn't the basilisk broken his ribs too? The rat-ogre shook like a wet dog and a few drops of napalm caught his bare skin or sizzled holes in his clothes, but otherwise Jackson managed to roll out the ring with minimal burning. A discarded shrunken head landed on his chest when he managed to get supine. Jackson grunted and punched it back toward Eddie, denting the shriveled Ulway's wilted infantile features, then sat up to observe a flaming rat-ogre trying to escape. Emphasis on trying. "Prince Charming is all yours. That thieving Weland scum is mine!" It rolled out from a pile of mud and bison manure right into a crossbow bolt. Jackson had eight of them left and all of them found their way into the creature's body, reducing it to a hobbling and shortly after immobile ball of dung-covered, bald and blistered skin. Barely alive, its body heaved with what was likely the final breaths from a perforated lung. By this time, whoever was left trying to get to the other side of the road had turned around right quick and gotten out in a jiffy. Exactly zero travelers were interested in all of that ratshit, leaving Justice and Purveyor of Exotica all alone. Owen tumbled back into the trailer from the conjured mudslide, losing some of his paperwork in the earth. He gathered what he could and shred them by hand: both ledger and manifest, and tossed the pieces into his nastiest and slimiest inventory. With a huff, he combed the dirt out of his mustache, and beat on the side of the trailer. Muffled yelling started: "Let me out of here or you'll regret it! Do you know how much activity I've brought to this town? I swear if you don't release me, there's more exotica where that came from!" Owen kicked the wall and they heard a quiet ow.
  12. Powers and balance

    The power: divination Reasonable scale: Detect magic within line of sight, limited to knowing its presence and category. Locate objects, creatures or people, limited to a general area but with increasing stages of specificity based on familiarity and whether the caster has access to a contagion link, a similar object, or a piece of the object. Scrying from any distance for a real-time lookie-loo, but alerting the scried party (and breaking the law) by doing so and they can lookie-loo right back at you. Reading fuzzy details about the past or future with the object, creature or person in hand or close, with the understanding that the caster's interpretation of events may be wrong. Any acknowledgment that Valucre is a high-fantasy setting and there's magic almost everywhere, resulting in a certain degree of static and false positives. Unreasonable scale: Detect magic with such exactitude that, during the casting process, the user can infer the exact spell being cast, and even develop and implement a countermeasure. Locate anything, anywhere. Spy on people without them being able to know or stop it. Seeing the past and future in vivid detail to the point where the user could write a biography on the subject. Completely ignoring the setting and the fact having always-on mage sight of any kind would result in magical snow blindness, constant migraines, and walking into walls like birds flying into windows because of interference with their magnetoreception.
  13. Powers and balance

    Reasonable: limits on range (touch or whip) and size (own body or disembodied arms and hands). Unreasonable: no defined extent of strength or durability, no defined duration, invisible. Characters shouldn't operate on a microscopic level unless they are literally in a laboratory and working with a microscope, or in a The Magic School Bus (S1E3) RP. Even if you are Inside Ralphie, convoluted explanations about incorrectly interpreted chemistry or physics are never a treat to read. But that's also a power: divination issue. It's OK to have a character who can't see everything and doesn't have thermicromanaray vision.
  14. Nightingales can't live on fairy tales

    Jackson acknowledged Jericho's anxiety over Eddie's charming friend by breaking into sprint. After Owen put Eddie on the ground with an unexpectedly solid gut poke, Jackson stepped over Eddie like a runner over a hurdle to minimize distance and time, and on a dime vaulted onto Jericho's earthen construct, up onto the top of the overturned trailer. The trailer wall he stood on bent from the inside as the creature within tried to get at him through the metal barrier. Jackson gave a little mocking hop and scurried toward Owen, only for him the pop the latch and let the beast out. It was an overgrown humanoid rat. A fine citizen of Weland, Jackson presumed. The rat-ogre turned toward Owen and Eddie; Jackson landed on its back and drove his longsword into its right shoulder blade, burying it halfway to the hilt through mangy fur and greasy skin that stank of sewer. Blood and pus spurted from the wound and dribbled down its flank. Sufficiently distracted, the rat-ogre tore impotently at its back to get rid of the nuisance for the moment instead of eating Eddie. Owen took advantage of the ruckus and ducked into the open trailer. It was full of crates secured by straps to the floor, but some had come loose and others were broken in the impact. Exotica littered the floor, or rather the side of the trailer that was face-down at the moment, including a shrunken head (a tsantsa) that Owen kicked out of his way and out the door. He squeezed past the cage in the back, bars bent and lock snapped, and went to dial into a safe built into a hidden compartment, at least one of them, the one with the ledgers in it...
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