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Wade

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Wade last won the day on May 1

Wade had the most liked content!

About Wade

  • Rank
    E for Idiot

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  • Gender
    Cowboy
  • Location
    The Wild Wild West
  • Interests
    Lassos, herding cows, chewing tobacco, drunk harmonica
  • Occupation
    Yeeing my last haw

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  1. There was a waterfall Rhea liked to visit on her off-days when she wasn’t working, about half an hour’s walk away from the central keep, less if she rode there on horseback. It was situated in a small grove open to the sun, permanently misted over in white, thunderous spray. The jungle surrounding it was brighter than the forests she’d known growing up. Green and vibrant, teeming with life. It had all the trappings of the perfect picnic location. Often she’d just sit there and listen to the roar of the water. Close her eyes, doze off for an hour or two, and then come back another day. Today wasn’t that day. “What do you mean I can’t leave the castle?” The guardsman squirmed under the weight of her glare. Behind him, the gate was locked. Twenty feet of stone and reinforced wood barring her way. She wasn't pleased. “My apologies,” the man said. “Lord Bardol’s orders. You’re to remain here.” “And why the fuck am I to remain here?” “I don’t know.” “For how long?” The guard looked away. “He said that depends on you.” Rhea took a long breath and let it hiss through her teeth. It hadn’t even been a whole day since their spat. Bardol was moving fast. “Don’t be here when I get back,” she said. A moment later, she went looking for Sigmund. The knight was in a private study reading a book on local plants. Even sitting down, leaning back in a plush lounger, he was utterly massive. The book looked tiny in his hands. “Back so soon, madam?” he said, not looking up from his page. “Did I forget to pack anything? The cinnamon rolls you requested, perhaps?” Rhea plopped the picnic basket on the table in front of him. All eight cinnamon rolls were accounted for. She could have been eating three on the road by now. “Bardol’s taking us hostage," she said. “I beg your pardon?” “Did I fucking stutter?” “Not at all, madam.” Rhea closed the door behind her, folding her arms. She could see Bardol’s play now. The shape of the game. It would start out small. He’d encroach on her personal freedoms first. Little things like taking a walk or the times when she could eat. Then he’d move on to her research, taking her away her tools, her access to the library, and then to anything outside her room. All the while, she wouldn’t be allowed to write any messages to her family, not unless she caved in and wrote Bardol’s words in her own hand. Begging. Demanding that the Iron Wolves join the war. And if she refused for long enough, he’d use her life as a bargaining chip- “Have you spoken to Lord Bardol?” Sigmund asked. “Are you positively certain he’s moving against us?” That made Rhea pause. Was she overreacting? “No,” she said eventually. “I haven't spoken to him. But we can’t leave the keep now. That sounds like prison to me.” Sigmund closed his book. “I assume you want to break out then.” Rhea nodded. “Get me the hell out of here.”
  2. Wade

    Casus Belli

    Adrya watched as Boris sat down along with the retainers he’d brought with him. Arsenos and his strategoi weren’t far behind; Keraunos loomed impressively under the cowl of a lion’s hide. She nodded her thanks, then looked at their guests, blue eyes perched above a mouth set into a thin line. None of them said a word or bothered to acknowledge her. Instead, they turned their attention to the mock battle, letting the seconds pass in silence. Adrya waited. And waited. The silence dragged on until Boris’ retainers shifted in discomfort. If he didn’t even have the decency to say hello, let alone look her in the eyes during a diplomatic meeting of his own request, then she wasn’t going to welcome him. Courtesy was clearly dead. This meeting would be short and nothing else. “What do you want?”
  3. I’ll try to get a couple of posts up this weekend, definitely at the start of next week if not! Just been taking a breather these past few days. Things are busy but I’ll be back to regular speed soon 👍

    1. L E V I A T H A N

      L E V I A T H A N

      S  a  n  g  u  i    E  t    G  l  o  r  i  a

  4. Rhea Volarus stood in the dusty quiet of the alchemy lab, hunched over a work desk so cluttered it barely had room for either of her hands. At its center sat a crystal laid out on a thin sheet of metal. The light pulsing from it was warm, distantly, like sunlight against her skin, and the soul trapped within it… well, it was less of a soul than a mere fragment of it, really. She picked up a syringe filled with blood, harvested from one of Lord Bardol’s sons. The boy was a null, the only one in his family and quite possibly in all of Thraece. The Oblivion gene was a rare thing. Its existence was widely considered a myth. When Rhea had discovered that House Bardol was harbouring such a gift, she’d practically begged them to take her under their patronage. Work. She lowered the syringe. Blood squirted on the soulstone. Nothing happened at first, but then, slowly, the light began to dim. “Interesting,” Sigmund said. Rhea ignored the knight looming across the table. She was transfixed by the crystal’s waning energy. Within moments, it was nothing but a cold, lifeless rock. And now… She grabbed the crystal, dunked it in a bucket of water, rinsing it clean. Then again in alcoholic solution strong enough to knock a horse flat on its ass. The light returned. Disappointing. But not entirely unexpected. Rhea wrote temporary in the section of her notes pertaining to all things magic. “You’re grinding your teeth again, madam.” “Am I?” She hadn’t even noticed. It was a bad habit born of deep thought. “You know what helps with that?” “Self-discipline?” “Pastries.” The knight looked at her. Rhea looked back. “So go get me some,” she said. “What about the cookies Diana left you this morning?” Rhea picked up the plate and tossed the whole thing into the garbage. “What?” Sigmund was still staring. “She thinks I’m here to steal all her suitors. Those might have looked like chocolate chip, but you and I both know they were oatmeal and poison.” Sigmund didn’t so much as sigh. “Very well.” And with that he left the room. Rhea was left to tinker on her own for a few minutes before the door creaked open once again. “That was quick.” “What was?” Rhea paused. Quirked an eyebrow and tore her gaze away from her notes. The man standing before her was grey, balding, and old, shorter than her by a full head. Maybe a little more. He wasn’t small—it was actually the other way around. Standing a little under seven feet, Rhea was tall and sturdy as an oak. Scarred dwarfed all the other races of the archipelago, and even then, she was only considered of average height. “Lord Bardol,” she said, surprised. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.” “Nor should you have,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I was just passing by. I thought I should pay you a visit.” A visit. Rhea nearly rolled her eyes. There had been a lot of those in the past month. Ever since the kingdom declared war, it seemed every two days that the old man would sprinkle in a few questions about the Iron Wolves. Rhea saw them for what they were: an attempt to get her to talk to Scarred leadership. To get them to join the war. Lend their armies. He was about as subtle as a pipe to the kneecaps. The Iron Wolves had turned to isolation after the genocide inflicted upon their people. Whoever convinced them to come out of hiding and join their side would receive a prize. Bardol clearly had his eye on it. “You can stop blowing smoke up my ass,” Rhea said. “The answer’s still no. We’re not helping.” Lord Bardol seemed nonplussed. “Is that so? Not even after we’ve so generously funded all of your research?” “We had a deal,” she said, folding her arms. “You pay my fees, I share my findings. Fighting your war wasn’t part of the contract.” “Is that your final answer?” Rhea didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to save my people. Not yours.” Lord Bardol bobbed his head. Still smiling, still pleasant. The fact that he didn’t say so much as a word as he left made her feel like, this time, he wouldn’t just let it go. When Sigmund came into the room, a plate of powdered scones in one hand, the feeling hadn’t left her. Not entirely. She’d definitely made a mistake. “Is something the matter, madam?” Rhea reached for a scone, then tore off one half in a single bite. “Not yet.” “What do you mean?” “I told Lord Bardol to fuck off.” Sigmund nodded, understanding, like she’d just told him water was wet or the sun was bright. “Are you going to apologize?” Rhea shot him a look. “Of course not,” he said. “What do we do?” “For now?” She finished the other half of her scone. “Not a goddamn thing. We keep our heads down, we keep working, and we wait until the little lord makes his move.” “You don’t trust him.” “Bardol’s a war hawk,” she said. “He’s not going to hold his dick and cry just because I told him no. I intend to drain his assets as much as I can with what little time we’ve got left.” “And when it runs out?” Rhea shrugged. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”
  5. @Die Shize I have a Rhea post ready. She doesn’t interact with Tachelot in it (likely won’t for another post or two), but can I post it in one of your threads? Or would you rather I solo it until she runs into Tachelot?
  6. To echo what Die Shize said, magic is very rare in Ursa Madeum. I'm not against the idea—I think it has some merit—but I would be very careful in its application. As long as you're not weaponizing entire armies with wands of fireball, then I think it should be okay for the most part. Scarcity is a big part of what makes magic special. It's typically reserved for PCs and very few NPCs. For reference, the Legion, the army with the most mages, only has around a hundred of them. A couple hundred at the most. Something like 150 in an army of 50,000, yet they're still devastating despite their relatively small numbers. If you need more details, you're always welcome to discuss the matter with me and @Csl in PM or on Discord.
  7. Hell's Gate, Martial Town, Pulse. I love me some sci-fi goodness. Casper because it's pretty. Tia because I like steampunk, but it's no longer around ;-;
  8. Wade

    Rhea Volarus

    RHEA VOLARUS BASIC Race: Shifter (Scarred / Lupine) Age: 32 Birthplace: Stelt, Ursa Madeum Occupation: High Scholar of House Volarus / High Alchemist of the Iron Wolves PHYSICAL Height: 6'8" Weight: 190 lbs Hair: Cool blonde Eyes: Gold Skin: Pale Build: Lean and athletic Voice: Smooth and commanding MENTAL Temperament: Choleric MBTI: ENTP Traits: Determined | Inquisitive | Abrasive | Loyal | Cunning THE BLOOD MALEDICT A talented researcher of the highest order and considered an unstoppable force by many of her peers, Rhea is one of the few Scarred among the Iron Wolves permitted to leave the Veilcrest Fell in search of a cure for the Blood Maledict. For the last few years, she has traveled all across Ursa Madeum acquiring as much knowledge as she can, establishing relations with all manner of political entities with the hopes of securing their aid in her endeavours. She has been well-received for the most part, though some fear that lifting the curse will unleash a horde of monsters upon the world; Scarred are naturally stronger than any race in Ursa Madeum, and reviving their powers would only serve to make them even more fearsome than they already are. Accompanying her on her travels is Sigmund Radegast, a Gifted knight of the Iron Wolves. He's the ideal assistant in the sense that he tolerates her profane use of language, looms menacingly over her shoulder, and fetches her pastries. With the war erupting in recent months, the pair have found themselves in an odd place concerning their duties. On one hand, they wish to remain neutral as they continue their research - on the other hand, their allies won't allow them. Though feared as the Scarred may be, they are still a valuable addition to any army. Many wish to leverage their patronage with Rhea as a means of getting the Scarred to join their side. Art Credit: Astri Lohne (I do not claim ownership of any art)
  9. Wade

    The Iron Wolves

    ESSENTIAL Sigil Two opposite facing wolves, with a tree in the center, both silver on a charcoal backdrop. Brief The Iron Wolves are a group of noble houses native to the cold peaks of Veilcrest Fell. Originally at war with one another for control of the region, they laid down their arms after much bloodshed to form an alliance in 401 WTA. Members of each house consist of shifters almost exclusively of a lupine variety, in addition to nine-tenths of the civilian population who inhabit their lands. They are often referred to as 'Scarred' for the mark inflicted upon their faces (typically below the eye), signifying one has reached adulthood after having served two years of mandatory service in the military. On average, a male Scarred is a little over seven feet tall, while women stand just a few inches below seven feet. Aside from 'Scarred', they are also known as the 'Giants in the Mountains', infamous for their monstrous size, ferocity, and shapeshifting capabilities. In 592 WTA, the Tyrant King sent his Black Knights to Veilcrest Fell to destroy the Iron Wolves. For the most part, he was successful. Dismantling their armies proved difficult but not outright impossible. One city fell after another, pushing the Scarred further east, until only the foggy capital of Stelt remained as their final bastion. There, the Iron Wolves made a ferocious stand that would ensure their survival until the end of the war. However, the Tyrant King cursed their people before he later died. If he could not outright defeat them, then he would whittle at their greatest strength. Using a combination of blood magic and forbidden alchemy, he cleverly tainted their lands without any of the Scarred knowing. Everything they ate, everything they drank, it all began to destroy their natural ability to shift. The scarred were rendered human. The Blood Maledict, as it is still known today, continues to run rampant among the Iron Wolves. Only a few are resistant to it—named the Gifted—and scholars estimate that only a mere one in one hundred are able to shift. It was agreed upon by the leaders of each house that the Scarred would continue to isolate themselves from the world of man. Few are permitted to leave the Veilcrest mountains and explore the world beyond, on pains of searching Ursa Madeum for a cure to the Blood Maledict. ORGANIZATION Houses There are five houses in the Iron Wolves, unified under a code of law that applies to all Scarred. Though each house is capable of applying itself in a variety of fields, they have historically chosen to specialize from the moment they began to work together. House Gheleon focuses on assassination, reconnaissance, and intelligence. House Radegast is responsible for training and maintaining the alliance's military. House Volarus dabbles in all areas of scholarly interest, including magic. House Jormund handles administration, economics, and law. House Grimmus goes where it is needed most; it is also the only house to contain bear shifters. House Gheleon, of the Hunter House Radegast, of the Titan Sigmund Radgest || Second Son || Knight of the Obsidian Moon House Volarus, of the Scholar Rhea Volarus || First Daughter || High Scholar House Jormund, of the Judge House Grimmus, of the Outsider Affiliations Allies: Nonhumans, primarily shifters Enemies: None Neutral: Corinthian Alliance, Carmine Pact, Svanhild Domain Stelt, the last city of the Iron Wolves, lies hidden along the rocky slopes of Veilcrest Fell's northernmost mountain. It is guarded by high walls, treacherous terrain, and is frequently shrouded in dense fog and frigid storms. The lands surrounding the city are unforgiving and difficult to navigate, but that doesn't meant they're entirely without beauty. Sprawling forests, intricate cave networks, and craggy waterfalls are but a few of the local wonders for travellers to behold. Military Strength: 3000 Scarred (200 of which are Gifted) Though a shell of what they were once before, the Iron Wolves remain a formidable force that one should take care not to underestimate. Thanks to a Scarred's sheer size, training, and discipline, along with the fact that a single Gifted is easily worth upwards to twenty men, the Iron Wolves are able to stand against even the largest armies and potentially come out victorious. NOTE: I do not claim ownership of any art, nor is any copyright intended. Images will be removed at the request of their creative owners.
  10. Wade

    Unlikely [War]

    Feet scraped on stone as soldiers dismounted from their horses. Dejected. Exhausted. Haunted. Glad to be alive. It didn’t feel like they’d won. The wind howled, high and shrill, threatening to collapse every rickety tent in the entire war camp. They had ridden out the worst of the storm as they fled the battle. Crowley couldn’t be sure they hadn’t lost anyone on the way back. It took them three, no, four, hours to find their way through the swirling gray mists. Slow and steady so as to stay together, but oh how the ash had raged and fought and pushed. Even now as he made his way across camp, accompanied by Rue, Elliot, Victra, and the rest of his commanders, Crowley couldn’t see beyond the dim veil that rushed above their heads; the clouds were so thick that it almost looked like night, though it was only evening. The keep was silent when they entered—silent and clean. So different from the hellscape outside that it didn’t seem real. Crowley took off his helmet, ran a hand across his face, wiping off some of the grime that had blown in through the slit of his visor. He felt awful. He looked it, too. Covered in ash and blood and gods knew what. A familiar stink wafted from beneath his collar. Sweat slicked his face, matting his hair. It was decided that they would rest first. Take the time to recover. Their meeting could wait until they were in a state to hold a proper conversation. Crowley found himself back in his quarters, soaking in a tub, too worn out to feel the usual guild that accompanied the experience. “. . . you did well . . .” Orenmir hovered by the far window, just a disembodied shadow in the dim light. Lightstones, not candles, were arrayed about the stone walls, casting the room in a steady orange glow. “Just like riding a horse,” Crowley said, unthinking, only realizing how callous he sounded a moment later. “Rue did as well. It seems her lessons haven’t been for nothing.” “. . . she didn’t even fight . . .” “She most certainly did.” Crowley stretched, letting his feet hang out over the edge of the tub. Blisters marred his toes where the calluses had split. “True, she could have bothered to swing her sword a little more. The Novirians know she exists now. I don’t know if that was enough to scare them, but it’s thanks to her that we saved as many lives as we did.” He looked back to the moment when Rue had charged and rallied her fellow riders. Plunged into the heart of the Novirian army and thrown up the wall. She was turning out to be every bit of the brains Guzon’s former wielder had never been. Where Noriok would have swallowed his enemies in a seismic crush, she had instantly spotted the biggest threat on the battlefield, then effectively neutralized it. “She’s smart,” he said. “Smarter than I give her credit for.” “. . . smart enough to beat Lanius? To beat Adrya and Arsenos . . ?” Crowley paused. Orenmir was talking about their Oathblades. “. . . only an Oathsworn can kill an Oathsworn. isn’t that what you told Lupercarl . . ?” “This is different,” he said. Orenmir slid along the windowsill. “. . . i don’t see how it is. or do you really think that you can take them on all by yourself . . ?” I can, he thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. “They’re on a completely different level than Rue is. She’s nowhere near ready.” “. . . and what if they catch her alone? what if you’re not there to protect her? what’s the point of training the girl if she’s not even going to-” “That’s enough.” Orenmir paused for a second but he didn’t hesitate. The room seemed to darken a shade as if displeased. “. . . this isn’t a path you can walk alone, Crowley. i know you think it is. you’re going to need allies to help you just like you did at the Break. if today was Rue’s first step, then help her take the next. and the one after that. she needs to be stronger . . .” “Then I’ll keep training her,” Crowley said. “What else do you want me to say?” Orenmir seemed on the verge of saying something. Then he pulled back. “. . . the other Oathsworn . . .” he whispered. “. . . unite them . . .” And with that, the shadow disappeared.
  11. I’ve consistently scored 90-95 words per minute. Suffice to say, my hands are faster than my brain.
  12. It’s something I really should get around to writing the lore article about. For now, just think of it as a ginormous crater located in a rocky region of Thraece. I’ll try to write up the article for it soon. Also, the Eridianus AMA pertains to any questions about UM:
  13. My dude, you can write

    1. supernal

      supernal

      Concur! 

    2. Die Shize

      Die Shize

      I must yet admit that I shamelessly (shamefully?) ripped off a Game of Thrones scene but thank you!

  14. Wade

    Casus Belli

    “What was my father working on before he died?” They were in a private section of the spectators’ tent, divided by a red flap but still open on the side looking down the hill. Adrya glanced at Marrow. A ripple passed through him, each puppet shifting, straightening, listening. It was a reminder that behind all those bodies laid a single mind. She couldn’t imagine what it was like—living in four separate realities all at once. It would have likely driven her mad. The sheer coordination to make it all work seemed… impossible. A puppet turned, the one standing nearest to her chair. Its eyes peered out from a faceless helmet, meant to hide the corpse underneath. “What?” she said, growing annoyed with his silence. “I’M MERELY SURPRISED. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME YOU’VE ASKED ABOUT YOUR FATHER.” Marrow paused, thoughtful. “DON’T YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW HE DIED FIRST?” Adrya stared, taken aback the question. It didn’t hurt. But it was unexpected. “Crowley killed him,” she said. “I SUPPOSE.” On the matter, he had nothing else to say. “WHY THE SUDDEN INTEREST?” “Just answer the question.” “I’M AFRAID YOU’LL HAVE TO BE MORE SPECIFIC. DRIDAK WAS A BUSY MAN.” Adrya’s grip tightened, curling around her glass’ stem. She took a long sip, then a moment’s breath to settle her nerves. “I noticed it a few months before the Break,” she said, looking out onto the plains. “Something about him changed. He seemed… different.” “HOW SO?” “I’m still not completely sure. It was mostly the little things, like how his mind wandered more often than usual.” Thinking back on it now, the memories her father felt distant. Almost dreamlike, forgotten amid the rush of duty thrust upon her after his passing. “Working under Damien was always… rather difficult for him. Before the Tyrant King, our house never had to answer to anyone. Not even to Analea.” “AND YET HE ANSWERED TO THE DEVIL.” “A mutual alliance.” She waved his game away, not liking the taste of it. “I think it made him feel weak. To be at someone’s beck and call. The idea that the Black Knights could ruin us, it-“ “DROVE HIM MAD?” A bone-deep chuckle. “I’M WELL AWARE. I KNEW HIM BETTER THAN YOU MIGHT CARE TO BELIEVE. BETTER THAN YOU EVER DID.” Adrya prickled at that. “Then you should know where I’m going with this.” Marrow held up a hand. “PLEASE,” he said. “CONTINUE.” Adrya glared at him. “At some point,” she resumed. “It didn’t seem to bother him. At least, not like it did before, when he used to get angry. He spent more time with Tiberius, consulting with our mages in the library. He started paying closer attention to the scouting reports as if he was looking for something. I saw less and less of him. Lanius and Ophelia, too. Something was taking up his time.” “AND?” “And you were there to see what it was.” Marrow nodded, though he didn’t say anything. Adrya suffered his silence until- “DO YOU KNOW HOW THE OATHBLADES WERE CREATED?” She stared again. Wondering if she’d heard right. “How they were created?” “YES.” “What do you-“ “Ave, Dominus.” Adrya turned. A legionnaire had come through the room’s flap. “Pardon the intrusion,” she said. “House Plovdiv has arrived.” It took Adrya a moment. She was still caught in Marrow’s question. The legionnaire squirmed under her gaze and eventually she said, “Thank you. Have you Arsenos and Keraunos escort them in.” The legionnaire saluted and immediately departed from the room, leaving Adrya back to her thoughts and with no time to contemplate them. “We’ll discuss this later,” she said, and Marrow nodded. Do I know how the Oathblades were created? She began to wonder.
  15. And I’m over here writing my posts in 4+ hours. Whack.
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