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About Wade

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    E for Idiot
  • Birthday 08/27/1996

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    Spicy Boi
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    Government mook

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  1. Huge thanks, Obelus 🔥👌 This whole thing was super duper cool. The writing, the atmosphere, the creativity, it was all there and you did an awesome job of running the game. I’ll make sure to have some feedback for you tomorrow, right after I finish work. And like Jaistlyn said, I’m looking forward to what you have in store next 🤙
  2. D10 = 3 (aesthetic injury) *sweats a little less*
  3. “Can you maybe get behind him? Hide behind the huts? Then maybe use that glass? Or that metal shooting thing? Or maybe the cube, or the leg, for the sand, to trip him up. I can try to distract him.” If there’s one thing Laurent’s been useful for, it’s shooting something up real good. With the occasional miss here and there. Hopefully this wouldn’t be one of those times. “You got it,” Laurent says, fitting the last of his bullets into the magazine. He has something close to six left. Maybe five. Something tells him they’ll all be gone soon. He dashes to the side, long legs aflutter, carrying him all the way to the furthest cluster of huts. His feet skid along the sand as he comes to a sliding stop. It’s a short pause before he peaks around the corner, steeling himself for the coming moment. Almost there, he thinks to himself. He takes aim at the thing standing between to them and home. The gatekeeper to paradise. Laurent pulls the trigger once. … Then a second time for good measure. … And maybe a third, because it’s a lucky number. … Yeah, he’s happy with three.
  4. “It’s following us.” Crowley looked up. The same crow from earlier still hovered far away, little more than a black dot in a blue sky, caw-cawing to its heart’s content. He steered his horse to the left, down a dirt road marked by yet another signpost. Andelusia eventually rose past the trees, just beyond a stone bridge and a heavily-manned gate. Orenmir retreated from the horse’s shadow, quietly nestling in Crowley's own. Its voice faded from an audible whisper to an oily tremor only he could hear. “You don’t find it strange?” Crowley slowed his horse to a lazy trot. A few of the guards ahead straightened, watching him approach through helmeted stares. “It’s a crow,” Crowley said, careful to keep his voice to a casual murmur. “I’m a Crowley. I think it's only natural that we’d attract each other.” “I don’t like it.” “Stop being paranoid.” “Maybe it wants to eat you.” Crowley snorted. “Why would it want to do that?” “I hear they like trash.” Crowley meant to respond but one of the guardsmen held up his hand. He had the worn, fish-eyed glaze of someone who sincerely hated their job. “State your business and identify yourself,” he recited. Crowley flashed the man a winning smile. All of his smiles were winning, really, but this one especially more so. “My name is Reed Waterman,” he announced, bringing his horse to a careful stop. “I’m a noodle chef from Blackburn, come here on vacation.” The man looked up him up and down, consistent in his lack of expression. He didn’t seem to have any issues with the fact that, in his black leather jerkin and towering, broad-shouldered physique, Crowley looked nothing like a noodle chef. Probably never would. “How long will you be staying?” “Until someone back home starts worrying about me.” The guard didn’t raise an eyebrow. “You mind if we inspect your belongings?” Crowley nodded and hopped off his saddle. Another pair of guards went about inspecting the saddlebags, all of which were suspiciously empty and lacking the most basic of supplies—the exception being Crowley’s own personal satchel. It contained a careless stack of crumbs and a half-eaten brick of cheese. It also smelled vaguely of Thraecian sausage. The guards, understandably, grilled him with more questions. “Not the most tactical sort, are you?” Orenmir said later, once they’d made it past the gates and out of the stables. Crowley weaved his way through the crowd. Andelusia’s hustle and bustle was exactly as he remembered it. Loud, socially stifling, full of enterprising pickpockets. Occasionally punctuated by the nose-to-tongue waft drifting out of manholes. It’d been too long. Crowley bought more food at the nearest bazaar. Pastries, meat on a stick. Not a single person recognized him all the while, nor the too-dark shadow swimming at his feet. It was a pleasant walk as a result, having gone through the hour undisturbed. The crow still followed him though. Maybe now it was getting a little strange. “You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” Orenmir declared. The shadow was perched in the tree above the park bench. It had taken a page from their stalker’s book, opting for the distinctive shape of a crow, void-black and ribbon-thin, quickly learning the subtle intricacies of a bird’s mannerisms. Crowley popped a dumpling into his mouth. “Ah thld uh agldy.” “What?” “Lnth.” “What?” “Vicuthown!” The false crow cocked its head. “Contrarily to popular belief, I do not speak barbarian.” Crowley swallowed, licked his lips, set the plate aside and leaned back. His eyes fell on an elven family having a picnic. Nice to know he hadn’t completely ruined that for them. “I told you already,” he repeated. “Lunch. Vacation.” “You realize it’s difficult to tell when you’re being serious.” “I am serious,” Crowley said. “Those dumplings?” He kissed his fingers. “The view?” He pressed the same hand to his heart. “I know you’re this aloof piece of devilry with the emotional range of a popsicle, but try to understand that this is my home.” “...you miss it?” “Shitty memories and all.” Orenmir regarded him coolly. “How long are we really staying?” “Like I said, ‘till the Hildebrands start freaking out that I’m gone.” “So a few hours.” “Pretty much.” "Knowing you, it'll be a little longer than that." @Csl
  5. Sorry about my slump, I’ll try to have something up later tonight!
  6. Hi Immortal, welcome to Val! As Grubs mentioned, Ursa Madeum might be a good place to have a look. It's a medieval/high fantasy setting with a Game of Thrones-esque aesthetic, full of noble houses and political plots going at it during a time of fragile peace. You can find all the noble houses in the UM link and see which ones tickle your fancy. You can even create your own if that's more your style. There's some similar stuff happening in the midlands of Genesaris, with clans riding a more eastern/asian-inspired sort of vibe. I'm not as familiar with the going-ons and workings of that particular sphere, but here are a few clans you can have a look at: Yanahaira, Owari, Shokan. Terrenus has its owns military if you're looking for something a little bit more traditional. The nation as a whole is much more modern, mixed in with a healthy dose of fantasy, as well as the potential for sci-fi here and there. Otherwise, that's all I can think of for big organizations at the moment. If none that really grabs you, I'd recommend reading up on the world lore in case you want to craft your own storyline. You can also head over to the Water Cooler and post an interest check advertising what you're looking for. If you have any questions or concerns, just give us a holler! Everyone here's really nice and easygoing, and we're always happy to help 🤙
  7. Crowley dipped his chin, letting it hover above his chest. It took him a long, thoughtful moment to come up with a suitable answer. “Don’t know. I’ve always been pretty great.” He winked as he got up and threw Shirin back into training. They both agreed to end the session early when he nearly broke her nose. "That was heartless, even for you," Orenmir whispered, slowly peeling itself from Crowley’s feet. “Bravo, good sir. Though maybe skip the apology next time.” Crowley watched the shadow rise up, paper-thin, insidiously quiet. It leaned against the manor’s battlements on its elbows, mirroring his posture down to the subtlest twitch. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “This is why nobody likes you.” “You like me.” “I don’t.” “Come now, I’m your only friend.” Crowley didn’t bristle at the remark but only because he was so tired. Practice had worn him ragged. He clearly had some work to do. “Is Himei also giving you the silent treatment?” Orenmir tilted its head, eyeless gaze slowly narrowing. “Why do you ask?” Crowley shrugged. “Just making conversation.” “That usually equates to harassment.” “That’s rich, coming from you.” Orenmir laughed, guttural and low, like an old wolf drowning in a puddle of ink. “Rest assured, little devil. She hates me more than she hates you.” Crowley nodded. It was a strange thought, to be hated so completely by someone he’d never spoken to. Then again, most of the empire hated him. Maybe it wasn’t so strange. His eyes drifted across the land below, the forest, roaming its green-canopied hills. He could see Andelusia past its edge, bright spires jutting too many miles away. Crowley stood a little straighter. “You feel like going for a walk?” “Not particularly,” Orenmir replied. “I prefer to leave that sort of nonsense up to you.” The shadow melted to the ground as Crowley made for the stairs, reattaching itself to his feet, dark enough for two, though rarely anyone ever noticed. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the kitchen, along with some sausage and a brick of cheese. He stuffed the food in a bag he retrieved from his room, where he left a hastily-scrawled note. Gone for lunch. Crowley then proceeded to steal one of the Hildebrands’ personal horses. He liked to imagine it was Nai’s. Nai was funny when he was pissed. Orenmir stirred in the horse’s galloping shadow. “I thought you said we were walking.” “I changed my mind,” Crowley said. “Walks are for dogs, sociopaths, and parents whose children don’t love them.” “Why are we leaving?” “Change of pace?” “You’ve been here for a day.” Crowley ballooned his cheeks and let out an exaggerated breath. “Crazy, right?” They slowed down at a juncture coming up, marked by a signpost highlighting two directions. A large, beady-eyed crow stared at them from atop, hooked feet digging into the word Andelusia. It crowed at them like most crows do. Crowley obeyed his nature and crowed right back. “Caw caw.” “So strange.” And with that, they began galloping towards Andelusia.
  8. Echo stood at the head of a marble staircase, lit by the turquoise glow of an artificial sun. It was crystal, suspended above the seemingly limitless cavern, smooth and jagged and joined by a layer of complex vines. Below, a rainforest merged with the colossal walls of a labyrinthian structure. Tended to by animals. Monkeys and tigers. Feathered lizards and four-legged spiders. There were also the golems. Lumbering, patrolling like ponderous sentinels. Gardeners, of a sort. Echo was glad they didn’t look up. “That’s eight hundred meters below sea level,” Klavier announced, looking at the datapad affixed to his forearm. The descent had taken them the better part of the hour, a treacherous walk through winding, pitch-black tunnels. They’d lost one of Darnell’s men to a long fall that left him screaming for too long. Echo tried not to let the sound of his dying distract her while she memorized the way forward and back. Carter narrowed his eyes. “Where do we go from here?” Aksis stepped forward, pointing at a round stone tower. His voice warbled like the hiss of a dying chemical fire. “We believe that is where the golems come from.” Echo’s helmet deconstructed itself, collapsing back into her suit. She took a slow breath. The air still smelled of fresh rain. “You believe that’s where they come from?” “Isn’t that what I just said?” “I’m asking in case you might be wrong.” “Then we will have learned something new.” Aksis started down the stairs, metal feet clicking in a dull rhythm. Echo watched him go. She didn’t know whether his response frustrated her or not. “Ask Echo,” she heard Ramsay say, voice drifting lazily in the background. Drifting like the wisps of smoke trailing grey lines above his face. Echo turned. “Ask what?” Ramsay jabbed a thumb at Iris. “She wants her stuff back. Says she can help.” “Tell her she’s full of shit.” Ramsay didn’t even blink. “Is that an order?” “Sure, why not.” “The Captain says you’re full of shit.” “Thank you.” Echo took a step forward. “Now put out that cigarette before I stick it down your dick hole. You still have time before you start to sound like Carter.” “How considerate of you,” Carter muttered in his whiskey-and-cigar voice. Echo flashed him a too-sweet smile before stopping a foot away from Iris. “What’s a blind girl supposed to do with a gun?” Echo let the question hang in the air. Long enough for Iris to know that she knew. There were too many holes in her act. “Sounds like an accident waiting to happen. Frankly, I think you’ll be worse than useless.” Echo gestured for Iris’ equipment. Klavier lifted the girl’s hand and wrapped her fingers around a hilt. “But feel free to prove me wrong. I’ve been surprised before.” Echo shared a look with the rest of her crew. It was subtle but it spoke well enough. Iris would never be far from their eyes. Especially if she started to shoot straight. “Less talking, more walking,” Darnell suddenly hissed. Pointed barrels prodded them down the stairs. They led into a smooth-cut channel of the maze, home to a tangle of unfamiliar trees. A river ran all along its length, joined by occasional, too-straight waterfalls, sliding down hundred-metre-tall walls that were probably older than the Witch King himself. More than once they were forced to lay low, as there were other predators besides the golems stalking the woods. Strange as the creatures from Yh’mi. Hard to believe everything around her had once belonged to the surface. “So, what’s in the tower?” Echo asked, curious. It loomed less than a kilometer away, broad and imposingly massive amid a field of pale stone—bare apart from the golems rooted to the ground, statuesque in their stillness. Watching. Waiting. There was no other way around. Aksis stopped them at the foot of a boulder larger than a house. He peered over the side quickly. Scouting ahead with telescopic eyes. Snapping hundreds of pictures in seconds. “We don’t know,” he crackled quietly. Darnell checked his rifle one last time, as did the rest of his men. They’d brought several explosives for the tower, so those needed checking too. “Remember the plan,” he started, voice also kept to a whisper. “Get in, place the bombs, get out, go home.” He swept an inquiring glance over his crew and the Casimir’s. “Everyone ready?”
  9. Laurent also chooses to stand but he leans against the wall. He’d rather not sit just yet. Even if he is tired. “I’m Laurent Dubois,” he says. “And I understand your caution. We’d do the same if we were in your shoes. Better be safe than sorry.” Laurent eyes the hologram. “Each of us were brought here by Stargate. At least that’s what Kail and Reie thought.” A beat passes. “They’re gone now. I’m sorry.” He elaborates carefully, on his life, on the telepathic message, on the events that led them up to this point. It becomes clear that there’s still much he doesn’t know. Still much he’d like to learn. “Who are you, really?” Laurent asks, folding his arms to hide his impatience. “And I don’t just mean you, Sefir. All these people, all these codenames—what do they mean? How come we-“ He makes a circling motion with his finger towards the others and himself. “-don’t know anything despite the apparent fact that we’re all related to you? To this ‘family’?” He pushes off from the wall. “Trust goes both ways, Sefir. I’ve told you who we are. Now it’s your turn.”
  10. Vacation AFV starts today. I come back the 15th, but I’ll still be around in case anyone needs to contact me 🤙

  11. Laurent barely registers the girl crumpled on the ground beside him. It’s with a single-minded focus that his hand blurs and goes straight to his hip, a motion made smooth by years of practiced efficacy. “Get away from her!” Alathea lunges the second his finger curls around the trigger. A clear shot, ruined. Laurent curses and circles around to the right. Center mass. He eyes the empty space between the half-bloodied face and the purple-slicked leg. That’s the way he was taught to shoot: you go straight for the chest. Nothing fancy. Nothing meant to cripple. You draw your gun, you shoot to kill. “Alathea!” Laurent warns, taking a position fifteen feet away. He has a clear shot. At least he thinks so. His target is mostly invisible. “Back up!” Laurent waits for the right moment—a separation—where the risk of motion and entanglement won’t put Alathea in harm’s way. It’s maddening, just standing there. But he has faith that his patience will be rewarded. There. Alathea backpedals just ever so slightly. Laurent doesn’t even blink as the guns rears in his hand, bucking like a wild stallion.
  12. >attack (d6 = 5) beef burrito beef burrito beeeeeeeeeef burritoooooooooo
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