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Djinn&Juice

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Everything posted by Djinn&Juice

  1. Well In that case I will gladly take the role of The General; if your looking to fill up positions I don't mind trying my hand at it! Redemption through service suits The Shattered Swordsman! I'm eager to see how Benjamin and him will interact!
  2. Had this guy waiting in the wings for awhile and it's like it was meant to be! A Ronin being brought into a new clan I don't want to brashly assume the position of any of the Branch heads, but I will say that he is an excellent swordsman!
  3. Me and you have crossed paths plenty of times, and its time we do something for real I am so down for this! I need one more slot before I am at my thread max so Lets do this thang
  4. Blairville possessed an outstanding array of markets that saw to the needs of many, if not all who possessed any coin to spend. A plethora of merchants selling their wares from various stalls and business and presented an opportunity to travelers and locals alike. One such traveler entering the throes of the marketplace and using their lithe form to weave through tight walkways and crowds that would otherwise spike his anxiety. Ohgdenn having to cup his hands around his mouth to hyperventilate in short bursts; there were too many people here! He could feel his heart beating through his chest. He had heard that Blairville possessed a spectacular mercantile lifeline, and if there was anywhere that had means to help him. It was here. His dull brown gaze peering into what was known as The Gypsy Market. That sounded like a place where one could procure some...assistance. The boy sticking to the walls as best he could, and being shooed away from a few stalls as he tried to clamor passed them. Ohgdenn sucking in the mightiest breath he could as he moved into a small crowd. He somehow managed to squeeze through a few leg-spans before reaching areas he felt far more comfortable in. A particular stall with a variety of curios and what appeared to be charms laid out atop canvas; The owner of this shop some sort of beastfolk he wasn't familiar with. He had to try one of these stalls otherwise he would be paralyzed with choice and that consumed more time than he could afford at this time. Ohgdenn approaching Chinafel' stall and anxiously looking about the items he had for sale, fingers twitching in place and lips muttering wordlessly. The boy not looking a day over twelve if Chinafel knew humans well in his older age, but there was certainly something about him that excommunicated him from most other younglings. "Yes uh, salutations...do you perhaps have something for protection? Or for that matter, anything that would assist in utility needs?" He asked anxiously, realigning his glasses out of nervous habit, unable to make eye contact and instead continuing to overlook a few talismans. "Perhaps something that can help in lifting a minimum of fifty pounds. or keep unsavory bandits at bay...uh...yes...maybe?...mmm" His nervous energy almost palpable.
  5. Through the muck and decay, through the blood and terror, through the rain and blackened clouds of dower...Reginald could see the ley-lines of Arcana that coexisted with the mortal plane under a symbiotic relationship. They were chords that those attuned could strum like an exalted musician and perform a symphony that created great bouts of devastating fire or brought to life what was once inconceivably dead. Tonight was Reginald' overture and he wanted to impress his wondrous audience! His body sung electric and manifested magicka that coursed through the worms that comprised his physical form. The group beginning to head toward the manor itself as his hands weaved symbols into the air, preparing to teleport directly to their objective. "Why don't ya sprinkle some pixie dust ya fuckin fairy!" The sudden gruff barking of a man on a balcony above him causing the wizard to jolt in his movements and cast the teleportation...too far. Reginald propelled forward after the spell was cast and sent him cascading into a bountiful amount of well made clothes; crashing into a wall and causing a veritable amount of chaos as he fought of frocks and blouses alike. Oh for the love of- Where was he? Why did that awful man yell at him! A fairy? how inaccurate! Reginald calming himself from the sudden shock and beginning to rummage in the dark for any clues as to where he had arrived, eventually finding a doorknob that revealed that he was in fact...in a closet. It seemed he had arrived in the manor rather than near it. Reginald possessed a great deal of aptitude to magic and it's manifestations...but lacked wisdom it seemed as he was quite literally danger close. The door opening slowly as Reginald managed to be relatively silent despite the chaos he had created moments earlier. The state of this place was a disaster! Blood and viscera scoured the broken and shattered interior of the manor; This particular bedroom uprooted of all it's furniture with the bed torn asunder and thrown to the wall, a corpse hanging through a hole in the ceiling with an eerie stillness. Reginald had to be careful here. He could only hope the others could get to him soon; maleficent groans and eldritch terrors heard through the walls and he wondered if anyone here had even survived. His movements were deft due to their aberrational nature, but as though he were a irreverent ghost tormenting the aloof mage... "Noice fuckin teleport nimrod, not surprised it took ya this long to come out of the closet!" What in Merlin's green tea was he on about? and how did he get here?? The gruff voice of the inescapable man causing the half opened door to suddenly shake and rattle as two abominations tore it off it's hinges in pursuit of the voice it had heard. Reginald cursing his ill fated luck as he flung his hands into the air out of panic and reversed gravity in the room, both undead being flung into the ceiling with a heavy thud before flicking his wrists downward and causing them to crash into the floor with a spatter of gore and horrid growls. Their legs being broken from the force, but still they persisted. The mage running for the open door and barreling out into the hall, lifting himself off the ground a fe centimeter and beginning to float down the hall quickly, looking for both survivors and further dangers. "I can only hope the other's are fairing better than I" He muttered as he passed a grisly font of disembodied limbs.
  6. Roswell had been out of the game for a good while, and completely forgot that Mike's name was more popular than it used to be! The white haired wolf blazing an air guitar in prominent victory as the peripheral officers recognized the larger than life lycanthrope was so stoked to finally get here! Roswell howling in excitement as they escorted him to mike; His high energy something to either loathe or admire as he strolled and paraded through the city. His furs smelling of deep forests and earthy musts as he attempted to greet everyone he could with what he colloquial called 'finger guns'. His keen senses immediately picking up the familiar scent of Michael's sweat; flashbacks to the cold sweat that beaded Michael's determined expression as he continued to fight his way into that damned garage. War scars were shared between the both of them, but Ros was a hard man to keep down no matter the weight of his memories. A canine grin splitting his tanned face as the two brothers in arms met eye to eye for the first time in three years. Roswell moving passed the peripheral officers as they two reunited "Mikey! Yea three years and still your short" He barked in laughter as he came in for a bear hug, before mike pointed to the ground an issued a command Roswell had always responded to thanks to his damned training; sitting on his ass in reaction and nearly rolling over before laughing again and jumping from his crouched position and giving the sweaty man A strong hug "Can't believe that shit still works on, loyalty' hard to shake" He said before letting him go and giving him a solid beat master shake "I've been doing great! Helped my wolf clan get their footing back after all that bull hork. They are a good folks and taught me some sick wolf shit, but the squad is my home and I'm back baby!" He cheered with a visible arm flex, showing off to Mike with a wolfish beam "What's up! Names Roswell! Sorry if I interrupted anything with Mikey, I make it my job to give him shit as much as I can" He greeted Shanti, shaking her hand gingerly despite the size difference; his nose tweaking a few times as he worked on putting two and two together, eyes flicking toward her swollen stomach before throwing his hands up into rocker horns "Riiiightousss, I'm gonna be the greatest uncle ever. Now theres evidence that Mike's scored at least once!" He said, bellowing with laughter as he slapped Michael's arm a few times before running a clawed hand through his mangy mane "For real though, proud of you my man" "Oh are we going to go kick some evil ass? I have been practicing some new shit that I am dying to lay down on some bojangled freaks! Food is excellent too cause I am starving" He groaned, Michael having experience with forcing Roswell to converse his rations otherwise he would devour them...and Mike's own from time to time. The Wolf a bottomless pit. "Does that mean your hitched? Is that shit official? Sorry if I missed the wedding, but at least I'm the best gift this guy ever got in his life!" Roswell boasted with cacophonous laughter. He was happier than ever to see Mike again, and for better or for worse. It showed
  7. That about ties up all the immediate questioning I had! I am eager to see how this all goes in roleplay so if you would just start where Chinafel establishes her work and the like I would absolutely love to get this ball rolling! I gotta say I love the concept of size not dictating the power, essentially creating the golem version of a baymax or what have you. It adds to the creativity this process can give those seeking a companion, and leveraging their imagination with A willingness to commit to a difficult laundry list of materials! My body is ready
  8. Pathogen heaved a few times before collecting himself once more; the swirl of miasma that circulated through him something he had grown accustomed to after such long endless days of diseased suffrage. It was just a fact of life for him now, which made this woman all the more surprising; Both Blonde and Viera manifesting the concept of humanity he could no longer garner from the communities that existed today....Mercy. Viera appearing as quickly as she had vanished, presenting him with a garment she had mended and procured just for him. The boy taking the shirt in his hands with bated breath; calming when his caustic touch did not chew perforate such a gift. Pathogen quickly adorning the carbon corrugated shirt and it was the first time Viera saw a genuine smile part his lips. The sudden ricochet of bullets creating a conflict between his savior and another assailant that was immediately outgunned by Blonde. He wanted to worry, to feel fear, but such emotions had drained from his soul and all he could do now was stare. They burned with wicks of passion,love, and thirst for adventure...He only felt as a cistern churning and bubbling with toxicity. Viera far too kind to such a hopeless creature, yet still she persisted as she presented him with a silver scythe. A curious weapon he had seen farmers wield against the terrors of wheat, but otherwise it was an unknown. Pathogen taking the weapon in his hand and stiffening as he tried to will The Stygian to not corrode this gift. Blonde making it clear that he was to be an asset or be thrown out into the cold world below. He had to take this chance. It was either this or roaming aimlessly through the vestiges of darkness again. His eyes focusing on the silver scythe as the sickness crawled from his fingers and hissed upon the blade as it threatened to dissolve the weapon, but he felt the echoes of determination reverberate through his corpse of a form and cause the corrosion to instead imprint the blade. Sickness and fog consuming the weapon and twisting into a sickly green miasma that clung to the blade but did not eat it away. "It didn't...dissolve..." He whispered in utter surprise, before plaguing his pained muscles with a smile as he gave it a few swings, looking at Viera with exhumed pride "Thank you...I...I will. I didn't think...what I have could be useful...but I will try" He said; he knew most of the fluids that leaked out of him were acidic to material that didn't possess carbon, but he hadn't thought of actually using that as a weapon in itself. So much was beginning to open up for him in strange ways. Viera moving off to have a conversation with Blonde and an unknown male. They were the quickest to show their disgust towards him and thus it was always expected, but he passed Pathogen and patted him on the back...telling him to chin up. Words of encouragement? Pathogen lost for words and simply nodding sheepishly as he watched what was likely an alpha male leave. He could remember ghosts of his past that desired to be a pillar of strength, but such things were no longer possible when his muscles continued to tear apart and decay. Pathogen letting the rest of the crew feel relief from his ghoulish presence as he turned away and continued to look over this strange scythe he had managed to twist and reshape into something different...but still whole. He dared to dream that he might still have a viable future.
  9. I would figure maybe using the dungeons and dragons system of size I.E (Small,medium,large,giant etc) and use that for the measure of difficulty to create the creation. We can put that in action by making anyone seeking to acquire one of these beasts complete a hunt maybe? A thread that essentially 'canonizes' their character gathering the required ingredients and such! I love the concept of adding bonus materials that can tweak the creation in fun and unique ways! My boy would need something that he can take into towns and not arouse any unwanted gazes so I am curious if it is just beasts? Or can it create humanoids and the like aswell?
  10. I was throwing fantasy spaghetti at the wall and seeing what you make of it, and a five headed serpent with void breath is amazing energy, but I imagine narrative we would want to make it a more difficult process depending on the potential power of the monster created? I love that formula and would gladly implement it into the design! A host to match the component traits can really open up a whole canvas for new races and species altogether! I have the perfect candidate to receive a companion, and I have been eager to bring him to the site for awhile anyways. My boy genius needs A guardian to keep him safe on his dangerous expeditions! I am excited to work some magic!
  11. Pathogen was surprised by her vigilant response; most ran for fear of catching any of his disease. He tried to tell them that he wasn't contagious, but they didn't listen...their eyes couldn't believe the truth. Her attempts at healing him bringing a relief regardless of it's quick egress. It didn't matter that The Stygian warded off her attempts at healing, that didn't matter...she had shown him that his leg was still alive. He was still alive underneath this layer of plaguing sorrow. He had often wandered if he was just A walking corpse, ambling on with a life lost in that crater he crawled out of. "Not even healers would lay their hands upon me; it isn't just your expertise...It's your nature. This...The Stygian...Is Mine." His voice a melancholy calm "I had questions to...but it answers no questions...now matter how loud you scream" His head slouching to the side to look at her without moving his neck too much. The muscle atrophy beginning to stiffen his movements for the time being "I accepted the first a long...time ago, but I don't see how what I am now is any advantage-" He said emulating the tensile strength in his arms, barely able to clench his fist for too long before it gave out "-Or if anything could ever hold it at bay...It gets angry when I try to...fight it and I really, really don't like cholera so please...don't agitate it" The ill fated Pathogen becoming winded and taking a rest as she spoke of something to wear. He had figured out a good amount about The Stygian and what it could do. It's most important quality was that it couldn't dissolve or even maim anything carbon based. That element a blessing when it came to not riddling those around him with plagues unthinkable, but it left him unable to touch, wear, or interact with most environments. Pathogen managing to find a pair of carbon based boots scouring a battlefield, but for the most part, lived naked. "Non...Organic"
  12. I myself always strive to embolden all my writing and any interesting avenues the more outlandish characters of mine take on, and conjuration/summoning has been a most recent endeavor of mine; From what I read I love the interesting concepts of using the unique properties of any material and binding into a being that possesses those properties. It gives me A Monster Gashapon vibe that I am absolutely into! I would love to help where I can! I can't help but drum up all sorts of combinations with this system. Now lets say Chimera eye-Basilisk Scales-Void essence Would that be a feasibly interesting concoction or would it need a more streamlined formula? There is something phonetically pleasing about Monster part+Monster Part+ Essence
  13. The emaciated man was in a condition that should've killed him years ago, as Pathogen was let down a safe distance from the rest of the crew, Viera could see that there was much ailing him. His skin a molted yellow with veins of black plaguing his body. His eyes possessing a terrible mixture of jaundice and burst capillaries that gave them a grisly caustic and crimson hue with oily hair that clung to his scalp like fibrous broom hairs. It was a marvel he was even living at this point with how much these symptoms fought with his body as the battlefield; her attempts to heal him in anyway bearing no fruit. Pollution consuming any healed tissue as soon as her hand had been removed . The jacket covering most of his form now as it was thrown onto him, rattling coughs heard underneath before he eventually sat up, wringing his hands of the accumulating sweat slick across his near naked form "That'll do no...eugh...good. I'll survive...It's not...contagious" He wheezed, nursing his head with one hand and using the other as a crutch as reconstituted himself. His eyes flicking from one member to another "I'm Pathogen...It's...nice to meet you" He greeted them, leaning his head forward coughing into his fist; parts of his chest and shoulder skin beginning to darken and dissolve, revealing muscle tissue underneath. Pathogen seemingly to only wipe his forehead and sit cross legged "Leprosy is my...least favorite skin disease..." He muttered as his left cheek started to slough off and reveal his blackened teeth. "A big...rock or boulder shot from the sky and struck me A year ago...and now I'm this, but don't worry..." "I'm not contagious" He said with a ghoulish smile
  14. Reginald quirked his head in contemplation as Vanadey shook her head; a few gears in his mind beginning to grease with realization. She must be unable to speak! "Forgive me, I hadn't even realized! My mind is still coming back to me in small fragments at a time" He said with a boisterous laugh. His memory of The Fae Queen only pertaining to their most recent reunion, unfortunately still believing that it was the first time they had ever met. Riforte still capable of seeing an underlying connection the two possessed even if no physical evidence presented itself...or perhaps it did with Vanadey and Reginald was too clueless to notice such behaviors. A circular pair of glasses were adorned where his 'eyes' would have been and were a good fixating point when talking directly to his, they were also unknowingly a gift from the very fae that was hovering at his side. The golden rims sparkling in reaction to his excitement as Riforte told him to take the lead. He felt such a surge of motivation as The Dead were giving him the faculties to build a new life in the wake of history decayed incarceration. Reginald immediately going to work with her go ahead and tracing the air with both hands. The worms that constituted his fingers beginning to glow with a building arcane glow of vivid purple. Arcane sigils and runes that Riforte had only seen in her most archaic tomes of yore being suddenly presented as a lexicon was being constructed in the air around them. "What am I missing?..." he murmured, snapping his fingers and materializing a set of instruments that floated around the runic scrawling, beginning to play as he worked "Music always did help me work at my best!" He chattered happily "I specialize in transmogrification and enchantment magic you see, and I do remember a fragmented childhood dream of creating an Obelisk that will take a weapon, piece of armor, or jewelry and return it to you with completely refurbished materials and a new enchantment! I shall call it The Gashapon" He called with confidence and a stomp of his foot "We can charge to use it, and even cultivate new members and access to allies!" Reginald leaning down and resting both of his palms onto the ground as the sigils and runes of purple arcana began to spark and come alive, firing sparks of mana between each symbol that then ricocheted to another "I will need A tangible source from every school of magic so that it can enchant with the full spectrum, and a material cost from the ground itself of course. Should I make it stone? Marble? Obsidian maybe? I believe this will be worthy of an Arch-Mage so I want it to look it's best!" He said above the thrum of magic that coursed through the air; The ground that the sigils encircled beginning to mold into a plethora of different materials; A point indicating the top of the obelisk beginning to exhume from the center as magicka swirled around them with a strong breeze. His determination matched only by his excitement.
  15. The fire raged throughout the bar like a disease of it's own; infecting the wood, plaster and patrons with it's charring erosion. Pathogen feeling tinnitus broil in his ears as he tried to reconstitute himself. The endless stream of symptoms coming in unfortunate combinations at an even more inconvenient time. Blonde seeing in the moments of her indecision the fires consume his lower half and erupt his ratty cloak like a candle wick...but the fire didn't seem to mar his skin or burn him alive, but rather bend around him as though the element itself had no desire to consume Pathogen in it's embers. The disgruntled man seemed more concerned with getting the ringing out of his ears, yelping in surprise as he was lifted and thrown across the shoulder and an unknown entity. His vision blurred from the sudden motion and caused black ichor to spew from his cracked lips and drench his unfortunate savior's back and beginning to eat through any non carbon material. "Sorry...too much movement...if it's any...consolation it's not...contagious" She could hear him croak slung behind her. He told everyone that, but no soul would believe them, How could they with his condition? Nothing could infect a singular person this bad without spreading. They would have been right if it was any one disease infecting him, but The Stygian was alien and can only infect the first host it comes in contact with. They only saw him as a disease, a plague, a contagion...A Pathogen The man craning his head as best as he could as they hustled through the kitchen; He was starting to believe this wasn't all because of him being here. The buildihang soon behind him as they stepped outside into the fresh air and he only wished he could smell out of both nostrils at any given time. The jostling of Blonde's hastened movements causing his guts to gurgle again as he felt further disruption attempting to eject out of him; his eyes clouding with yellow as jaundice swept across them. His skin beginning to develop pock marks of pustules and reddened tissue. Pathogen feeling something sharp prickle in his throat and with a bark of surprise; A spear of black ichor fired off behind them and perforated their exit, causing it to immediately degrade and become unstable. Pathogen groaning in pain from the uncomfortable defense measure "I don't know what's going on, but Sigil will definitely try to kill me for good this time so.....I'd like to tag along" A;ll his old goals, aspirations, and dreams dissolving when that meteorite struck him that fateful night. Now it was all just a directionless haze, so where was the wrong in following complete strangers?
  16. These places always possessed more disease than he ever did, no matter how high his temperature rose and how acrid his stomach churned...societies and it's vermin spread plagues worse than any one man could. Pathogen watching the crowds talk, laugh, and congregate with mirth and reverence; his virulent eyes of postulating Subconjunctival hemorrhage the only visible feature under his ratty hood. He did his best to look as unassuming as possible; This was one of the few places in Sigil he wasn't banned. He couldn't blame their fear of sickness and disease, but did they bother to ask him if he was okay? to seek him aid? No...they merely shouted for him to leave and threatened to have him burned out like the black death. He was envious in a way...to live so freely where disease was an inconvenience, and not a way of life. A rattling cough slipping through his hood and causing an unfortunate odor to became present around him. Why did new symptoms have to develop at the most inconvenient times? Sigil and it's people creating terrified stories and unscrupulous rumors over the figure they had tried to remove from town, and as his cough caused him to double over there were several patrons who immediately became suspicious. Pathogen immediately trying to evacuate as he felt his bowels begin to tear him apart, but A suspicious hand pulled him back by his hood and revealed his mop of bleached hair; skin black and cracked with disease. "I-Its him! He's trying ta spread his sick!" This didn't bode well at all. It wasn't the first time he had received a beating. The sound of screams and shouts heard as the many started to panic. Had he caused that much of a scene? His blooded gaze flicking from the horrified faces before him toward the dispersing of crwods around what appeared to be a woman over...was that a body? His confusion left unanswered as a kick to his ribs sent him shattering against the bar-side. A spew of black ichor immediately erupting from his mouth as his ill stomach reacted to the injury. the man immediately regretting his violent actions as he was coated in this horror; many now screaming and running from Pathogen as two sources of disaster had unexpectedly arisen. Pathogen wiping his lips and beginning to scan for an exit. He had to get out of here before they further tried to end him, doing his best to weave through the crowds and adorned his hood once more. they were going to blame him somehow for these strange deaths if he didn't retreat soon. That kick had upset his stomach terribly as another cough wracked his body, causing him to double over on the floor next to the very woman who had orchestrated the deaths of the men before them; black ichor spattering from his maw; his vision swaying as he did his best to reconstitute himself; His eternal sickness working against him as his skin started dissolved his cloak and revealed The Pathogen "They'll blame me...have to...escape" Blonde heard him croak @Dredge
  17. The thrum of the facility continued to drone in Marigold's absence; His slumber leaving the facility to continue bustling in silent chaos. It was if the facility was far more alive when The Doctor was awake. Had this entity breathed life into the facility somehow? The Imperium' stewards seemed to possess some sort of programmed 'life'. The droid Petrichor' question's were directed toward was a construction-class equipped with some sort of rivet gun that he was firing into an interior panel. the droid painted in a stoic green with a orange strip across his large singular eye that refracted a soft orange 'iris'; halting it's work as Petrichor approached it. //GrEEEtttiings! I-I Ammm Ch3st3r// The droid greeted with A more animated gait than she likely had expected, I His head twitching as he stuttered through his automated words. //Thank y-O-you for T-He Pat. It w-as WA at optimal capaaac-cicity ❤️// He said with a warmth that she could almost feel. An image of anatomically incorrect depiction of a heart lighting up his ocular lens as his antennae swayed eagerly. //Weeee we-were just d-discussing OuOr ex-ex-ciiiitment-ent about the-he newwwew PROject// He said, seeming to not mind discussing such things openly as many of the droids did. How far did their mechanical servitude go? //X-Xerxes D-D3servess It-TTT// He continued as he then patted her on the head with surprising joy, bouncing a few times afterwards //T-TheeeEEe Song Reminds..U-UsS of who Wee W-re-ere and-And of who wee A-Areeee// He said, humming a portion of the song himself and inspiring more work to be done as he immediately swung around and went back to work //NiiicE meEeting yououu RaaaInnNN SmellLL// A slow rumble ringing through the facility as once again their voices picked up the song they seemed to be tied to in some way; It an undeniable force to them as immediately the droids orchestrated new additions to the basement and created an entirely new hall in mere minutes. Petrichor being left with more questions unanswered, but at least Marigold would be out for quite some time so she could pursue more leads. Xerxes a name she hadn't heard before, but it appeared the droids knew it well and was somehow connected to this new project of Marigold's. How did all this connect with the eldritch force around them? Eldritch makes me feel like a squid! Do I look like a squid to you? It's wrong anyways, I'm not evil, sinister, or ghostly! I am SO much more~ It's maddening isn't it? The Mystery? A mystery you've been hunting long before dearest me HahaHA!
  18. The blizzard continued to rattle the window panes of the bestiary; Sinclair looking into the infinite white and praying for Archen's safe return. Her gaze shifting toward the locket and then to Fain as he gave her an air of caution that came with his generous gift. The monk nodding with understanding as she took hold of the enchanted jewelry "I will use it wisely; I know when he is working...he mustn't have any distractions." She said, understanding how dangerous his work was. Her worried expression melting away into a nebulous brightness across her dark skinned face "Of course you can stay here sire! The Bestiary acts as a sanctuary against those who would seek us harm, and unfortunately only those in grave danger come seeking my Master's help...It is why I am here. I make sure all our clients and guests are safe and warm" She said, guiding him to a chair next to the fire and attempting to heat his icy cheeks "I shall make us some more tea, and to pass the time perhaps you can tell me where you are from! I do love hearing stories of cities I have never been to" Sinclair could never cease the worry she had for Archen, but it did no good to dwell on it and instead wanted to get to know this mysterious man who seemed to have known her master before. There were few of his old friends that didn't want him dead. Extreme climates were some of the hardest training regimes he had ever experienced when the master before him tempered him with bouts of flame, ice, and crushing earth. Those that surpassed the capacity most mortals had found lairs and domiciles in extreme climate; It was an obstacle he had been trained to endure. The Hunter managing through the endless slow with a careful pace that kept from collapsing into any unseen dangers; Archen shutting his nostrils closed as he amplified his vision, piercing through the maelstrom with intensity. He knew he wouldn't be to smell any scent based dangers, but sight was far more important in this torrential weather. His boot colliding with an unknown form; shoveling some snow out of the way revealing it to be...a corpse. Archen kneeling next to it and scanning it over four or five times, drinking in every detail he could. The smile indicating he did not fear an impending doom...focused on something more. An ethereal voice seeming to bring the snow alive as it sung to Archen, leaving him motionless through it's duration. It was an enchanting voice...one that would be neigh impossible to deny. This man must have followed this song to his death, entranced by it and unabashed by the frigid horror consuming him. Archen was beginning to feel this was a truly hostile entity despite it's enrapturing song, but...it had to be captured if he were to see one of his pieces again. Archen marching forward once more as he climbed higher. His skin being pelted and stung though his cloak, but he grit his teeth and pushed through. That fire that had been snuffed out for so long beginning to roar through him like a hungry furnace. He forgot how much he actually enjoyed it. The Hunt He found another corpse frozen to the mountain; stuck in a climb he would never finish. He remembered the wrath he once felt for the countless lives lost to deceit, villainy, and vile instinct...he remembered how consuming that wrath was. He hated them all...every creature that dared threaten mortal lives. That hatred had brought him to ruin, and he would not drink in it's self destruction again. All he felt now was determination; he would save those he could, and avenge those he could not...whether that was through elimination or capture it only mattered that the danger was secure. Archen digging his claws into the ice caked walls of the mountain and climbed upwards, ascending at a slow and careful pace. The storm was getting worse still; It was close. What was his plan going to be? If this mirrored a siren's method of luring souls into it's trap then that potentially means it is defenseless against a trained melee fighter, but if it has wraith qualities...melee is severely dangerous. Could he even try diplomacy? If that was really it's voice then that must mean it has some form of conscience somewhere...even fragmented. What did those lyrics mean? Does freezing to death here imply it is giving those it lures a 'home'? There must be a chance they could be freed then. Dozens of questions and planning routes manifesting in his mind as he ascended the perilous mountain, wind crashing him into the walls and causing him to nearly lose his grip several times before having to stop in a small alcove carved into the side. He needed a breather; it had been some time since he had done anything this strenuous.
  19. The topic of souls shards was an already raw subject for the forlorn hunter, but these details were too important to shy away from. These fragments sounding like compartmentalized emotions and memories of their owners; That would make diplomacy difficult if it was incapable of understanding reason. The mention of the weather once more stirring the hazed memories of the past few days. Sinclair complaining of her perilous trips toward the town, and how the snowfall seeming 'angrier'. He silently cursed himself for missing the signs of an abnormal storm; he had trained his senses painstakingly to notice even the smallest changes in his environment, but he had been too drunk to notice. Archen furrowing his brow as Fain warned him of the dangers that came with merging his soul with a foreign shard. Was it truly that dangerous? He had slain succubi, and sirens without falling prey to their seductions...but he didn't know how long he could suffer this emptiness that gnawed eternally. His distant gaze flicking toward Fain's movement and eyeing the parapet that Fain presented. A phylactery designed for soul capture; he hadn't seen one so well made before Archen taking the enchanted jewelry from fain and tucking it into his cloak safely "Ill follow it's call and ensure it's capture. Stay here as long as you need; Sinclair will care for your needs. The worse this storm gets, the harder it'll be to track so I best be going" He said with an affirmative nod, and retracted his Axe to a handheld size, strapping it to his hip. Fain seeing a fire that had all but been extinguished broil and burn within him once more. He wanted to believe that it was to be whole again, or at least more than he was now...but he realized that he was thrilled to hunt again. It had been quite some time since he had fought anything strong enough that would decorate his cabin. His eyes panning toward the skull of a particularly dangerous werewolf named JagMaw. What...had happened to this once feared and respected Spook? He had lost that fire he held so viciously long ago It seemed only apathy and guilt remained Archen calling Sinclair who immediately sprang forth from the hall and attempted a hopeful smile "Yes, Master Archen? Are you going out? Has Mister Fain provided A contract??" She asked hopefully. She knew his work was dangerous, and that worried her...but him being here in his current state was even more dangerous that terrified her. Archen looking at her with an inscrutable expression "You are correct. It seems that the torrential weather isn't just bad luck. I will return as soon as I can, Stay indoors until I return." Their eyes locking for several moments and he could easily see the entirety of her being laid out in apprehension and worry, even after putting her through his melodrama...she still brightened the room more than any candle. it would have been endearing...if it wasn't so sad. Archen unable to keep her gaze and instead shifting toward the door, pulling it open and stepping through the frigid threshold.
  20. A war had been raging in Archen ever-since he had nearly been killed by The Waltz'. The incorruptible duty of his station...and the irrefutable blow this mistake had made on his very soul. His guilt and misery eventually crushing him into the mountain hermit Fain was interacting with now...but Fain could see that his words were weaving a spell of some sort of career necromancy as his expression hardened at the mention of The Black Cathedral; listening to the details with a growing fire that licked at his bones. Fain's perceptive capacity catching the slow creak of a distant door in the hallway, A curious Sinclair listening in. Archen maintaining the frigid gaze Fain always adorned; It was an exceptional tool to see through all who dared to hide themselves from his pertinent interests. Archen couldn't help but think he would have made an excellent Spook. The moment Velvet's name came up Fain could see surprise splashing across his face like freezing water. Was he being serious? If he had been anyone else he would thrown them out for heinous lies...but Fain was not one to lie. Archen couldn't believe it. Fain's ending statements swirling with a icy wind that willed Archen to stand, swiftly and without sway. His eyes locked upon the weapon that acted as the badge of his station. His Axe hanging above the mantle like a grim reminder of A past long lost. His eyes never leaving the axe as he spoke with a lucid terseness "If this is A deal that will claim me what I forfeited, even a fraction of what I foolishly gave away...then I accept...The cold nights compare not to the coldness my mistakes have left within" He said, moving forward and taking the Axe from it's hooks and immediately feeling that gnaw fade to experience he had shared with his weapon "Zillawog and I have faced much in the past, but I have not heard of a soul 'fragment' animating itself. Do we know the fragment's soul origin? Who did they belong to? Name's hold power over the realms of demons and the dead. If the dissapearances are connected to these fragments that means they have some capacity of corporeal control over the enthronements around it. Do you know what they look like? Were they ethereal when they escaped or are they capable of possession as a wraith does?" He asked, immediately beginning to rifle through several chests and drawers, taking tonics, potions, and other strange materials that Fain figured was specific to dealing with the undead. A trigger being released as he felt the ravenous fires of the hunt mingle with the drive to reunite with his soul piece.
  21. Marigold could see the whole of the universe from his paltry position in the sea of fleeting lives tethering themselves to this desolate and impossible planet, and it made him wonder: Does she sleep in pajamas? The Doctor throwing his chair across the room in absolute and finite rage; He was tired of his thoughts not being your own? Well perhaps your thoughts should learn sign language! His head swiveling toward her with a exasperated sallow "It is was a curse my father left me with my dear; I was just being a fool and tried to run from it" He said with a shake of his head "You are quite interested in my situation. I assume the robots weren't the only curiosity you saw. Some visions I imagine? It appears I don't have very good control over the situation. It must e the grief...or the sleep. Perhaps you're right" He muttered. The Doctor stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders, realizing just how tired he was. "Hold out your hand if you would" He said, an exhausted exasperation framing his gaunt expression; attaching A metallic bracelet on her wrist. It's clasp vanishing into the metal itself. "This will track your movements across the facility and send them directly to mine" He said, holding up a similar bracelet with a half cocked grin. He was proud of this little countermeasure to distrusting guest "We will have a proper discussion when i'm not so...Silly" He said with a snort and a guffaw; waving her farewell as he left to his quarters. "Use caution when asking questions with answers that change you forever...to know what lies beyond our mortal coils...it is irreversible...The Imperium has become more...lively in the night as of late" Marigold said, vanishing around a corner. Petrichor being left alone in the low lighted recesses of the garage, droids continuing to lift containers and finish the final construction. The Doctor leaving her to explore his facility while he slept with only A bracelet. She could hear a few of the droids actually talking to themselves as they worked. All the weight and pressure of that eldritch presence seeming to go with Marigold. It seemed that she was free to explore; the lower floors a mesh of hallways and tight rooms dedicated to maintenance and upkeep. A few doors possessing some sort of scan to enter through and one possessing a thick heavy blast door without markings. The adults are away, and the mad god can play~
  22. Iscariate had quite literally bitten off more than he could chew as the claws wedged in his maw liquefied and poured down his mighty throat and was beginning to destroy him from the inside. Iscariate slamming into the pool of blood surrounding them as he fought against the tearing of his body. He was furious, not for being outwitted...but because he was losing to a man who wasn't in control. Iscariate' eyes burning like the fires of hell as he remembered being nothing more than a gladiator; fighting for his life. He didn't have control then either. The vampire couldn't call Nica out but...He and his puppeteer could feel the building energy surrounding their opponent. "FIGHT-FOR-YOUR-FREEDOM LIKE I DID" He bellowed around his choking maw; eyes being consumed in hellfire as the pool around them erupted. The blood surrounding them began to shift and quake as it started to build up around Iscariate; crawling up his legs and forming across his entire body in a lattice of crimson that hardened into armored plates across his body, covering his face in a helm that echoed his roars of overwhelming rage. Every drop of viscera that had spattered upon the arena's floor had been entirely soaked up into Iscariate's form. His Gauntlet swirling with blood that boiled and hissed at it merged with the relic, Iscariate still feeling the ink in his system as it inhibited his movements, but this wouldn't stop him. His eyes now obscured underneath a red lit visor as he now stood to face Nica. His roar silenced as his rage consolidated into The Bloodlust that now strengthened him[1] Iscariate beginning to move with the acceleration of a freight train; his boots carving into the ground and flinging him forward at Nica. His Gauntlet hurling downward and smashing into the ground with an eruption of dirt and stone. Spires of hardened vitae cascading from the cratering earth beneath Nica and threatening to skewer his suspended form with a blossom of jagged red spears seeking to invade every inch of space they could; shrieking against the roof and piercing through the floor above[2]. He was determined to see this man's extent and he would give his all to break through his inked imprisonment. Iscariate beginning to climb the crThiystalline mountain towards Nica with seething intent. "A victory means nothing if you don't show YOUR HEART" He barked through the glowing visor of his helmet.
  23. There wasn't much reaction from the slumped figure; his stark blue gaze once piercing with endless potential had dulled into a blue grey that watched the crackling fire with indignation. There was a part of him that wanted to respond to Fain, to greet him far kinder...but it had been swallowed up. Everything had been swallowed up these days. "There isn't much work for me these days" He said with hollow remorse. The world had become saturated with heroes and glory seekers. The supernatural horrors and forces that had once caused droves of people to claw at his door were now being handled by a vast surge of might and magic. Archen leaning down and pulling a small flask from his tunic as their eyes met. Fain's dull gaze of potency matched with eyes he had once seen as intense and willful...could no longer meet his gaze now."I have had other things on my mind...The weathers as bad as it's always been... The Spook knocking back his flask "Sinclair said it was worsening a few days ago, but...I haven't noticed." He said. Fain catching a quirk in his feathered ears at the mention of disappearances. Sinclair bringing Fain a rustic teacup with a fragrant smell of morning dew wafting off it's dull green surface "It was made with Jee-Rai. A flower that grows here in the cold. May it bring you stability in these unstable times" She said with another bow The priestess taking a few logs and adding to the fire, lifting Archen's feet up and making sure he was comfortable; his eyes lost in the embers of the fireplace. "Is there anything I can do for you?" She asked, hoping to see any change in his mood...his eyes turning to hers for a moment before shaking his head and nursing his flask "No" was all he muttered. Sinclair giving a melancholy nod before returning to her chores. Archen actually standing up at the mention of awakened soul shards "What are you talking about? How do these soul shards have anything to do with this storm and the missing citizens? Am...Am I the cause?" He asked; how could he not connect this to the very soul 'pieces' he gave away for power? What else could these soul shards be?
  24. The mountains near Itzal were like icy fingers jutting from the earth and bringing nothing but freezing winds and crippling maelstroms of snow. The Bestiary had once brought hopeful monster hunters in search of training and desperate villagers seeking relief trudging through the knee high snow, but now it was all but isolated. Most didn;t come up here anymore and even fewer believed that The Bestiary was still there. The people of Itzal believed that it's owner had either died, moved away, or retired. Fain wasn't so easily swayed in his quest to hunt Archen down; having only met the monster hunter once before on A previous investigation. There paths only crossing once before, but it was all that the young detective needed to remember the faces of all the people he encountered. Archen a scentless hybrid impossible to track due to his training and unnatural gifts, but Fain's deduction skills were A league of their own. His search for Archen taking him across the vast forests of Terrenus, and the harrowing Orisian kingdoms before eventually catching wind of Archen in Arkadia. There was talk of 'The Bestiary' and a hunter who has vanished for A year. It had to be what he was looking for...and so he had made his way up through the shivering mountains and happened upon a snowed in building underneath a vast precipice of ice. A single dimly lit lamp marking the entrance. His knock was immediately answered; the door swinging open and causing steam to cascade across the threshold. Fain feeling the warmth of the interior cascade across his face. That heat however, paled in comparison to the warmth of the smile that greeted him now. A woman in earthy brown and green robes bowing to him in greeting; Two thick braided chords of black hair brushing the ground before she rose "Nameste. I am always charmed when we get new visitors! It has been a month since Master Belmont has had any clients! He will be so pleased; Come in quick! You must be freezing" Her caramel hands immediately pulling him in and closing the door behind them; her smile bright against her dark skin, brown eyes meeting his warmly as she immediately sat him in front of the fireplace. "Stay here and warm up please. I will fetch you my master and something to warm you up" She said kindly before leaving him to his devices for the time being. How do I tell you my plight? If only I could give you my sight A year has passed us by with nothing for me to show I feel as though im just floating idly as the wind blows I failed my father over arrogance and pride A phrase he always told me was never good enough...I tried I want to believe that your the one worth fighting for but I don't even have the courage to send these letters to your door Archen looked over his letter and sighed through his nose, taking another swig from the tall dark bottle on his desk. He sealed it up and marked it with his signature before lifting himself up and shoveling it into a chest with several more of these similar envelopes. He still felt that gnawing, every damn day, that gnawing. How could he ever face her if he wasn't even A whole Archen anymore? Sinclair giving a knock at the door and with his behest, entered. Her eyes always possessed a worried melancholy everytime they looked upon him. There was a part of him that was agitated and felt as though it were pity...yet pity was not something she felt towards anything in pain...no this was...sorrow. Archen tipping backwards a bit before catching himself with a solid foot. Sinclair giving a hopeful smile against the crippling darkness Archen kept himself in "Sir, we have a potential client! He is waiting in the den to meet you" she said, watching him sigh with exasperation and nodding...looking at his clawed hands with distance. She hated seeing him like this, but she could only hope that with time...he would see past these dark times. Archen remained quiet as he moved out into the hall, catching himself a few times as he stumbled into the Den. Fain could easily smell the booze off of him as he collapsed into the chair next to Fain, leaning his head back as he looked up at the ceiling. "Been...some time Fain. What do you want?" He asked, his voice sluggish and terse. Fain seeing that he was adorned in a A simple black tunic with gray breeches. His discerning eye catching a new tattoo on his adam's apple. A jagged key of some sort. It wasn't hard for an inquisitive creature of Fain's capability to know that this was the aftermath of the terrible deal Archen had made. It looked as though it costed him more than just pieces of his soul.
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