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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. Wade

    Is Valucre Flat?

    From the Terrenus Landing Page. Valucre is round.
  2. Wade

    Adrya Kilmore

    ADRYA KILMORE PERSONAL Name: Adrya Kilmore Race: Human female Age: 27 Birthplace: Andelusia, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Disgraced noble running from the law PHYSICAL Height: 6’2” Weight: 165 lbs Hair: Light brown, hint of red Skin: Pale Eyes: Icy blue Build: Lean and wiry Voice: Rich and smooth, like honeyed velvet MENTAL Temperament: Choleric MBTI: INTJ Traits: Confident | Ruthless | Sharp | Driven | Practical
  3. Wade


    The hotel was splendid, the kind only the wealthiest might afford. A silver chandelier hung from the ceiling, long-limbed and looking like something you might find in the royal castle. Adrya’s boots tapped against the marble floor, soft and measured in their stride, before being swallowed by a silk rug as she approached the front desk. The man behind the counter glanced up from his ledger, small flecks of black peppering his graying hair. One sweep of his eyes was enough to determine that she was deserving of his utmost attention. “I have an appointment,” Adrya said. “With Bartley.” The clerk’s expression shifted, just a little. It could’ve been Adrya’s imagination. Years of dealing with clientele had obviously afforded him a well-practiced sense of discretion. “Mr. Bartley’s on the top floor,” he said. “First door across the stairs. Knock twice, then pause. Knock five more times after that.” Adrya nodded her thanks, stepped away, and began making her way up the stairs. The stiletto in her belt suddenly felt strange. Awkward, misplaced. You’re fine. She took a breath. The uncertainty ebbed away from her resolve. She was so close, too close. The wait would be over soon. Knock knock. Pause. Adrya glanced around the hallway. There was no one else around besides herself, though she couldn’t be too sure what hid behind all those other doors. Knock knock knock knock knock. The door swung open. Two men stood on the opposite side, taller than Adrya by a couple of inches. Heavier by a few stones at the least. Beyond them sat a desk presided over by a tall, heavyset noble, dressed in a pompous scarf and a navy-blue suit. Bottles of gemwine rested in a nearby cabinet. His guards, presumably, gestured towards a lone chair in the middle of room. Adrya declined with a tilt of her head. They quietly locked the door shut behind her. “Ms. Oswald,” the noble smiled. “Bartley,” Adrya replied. Her voice, while curt, still retained much of its velvety charm. “Did you find it?” “Of course. Would you care for a drink?” No. Adrya said nothing. Bartley seemed to take that as a yes. There was an uncomfortable silence as he set two glasses in front of him and filled them with a diamond-hued liquid. “Fine company calls for fine wine,” he said. “It’s not often I enjoy the company of such a beautiful woman.” It was a pretty lie and they both knew it. Adrya had a fairly good idea where his money went when he wasn’t dealing information. “You’re too kind,” she said in response, masking her revulsion with an even-tempered smile. “I’m afraid I’ll only have time for one glass. I have somewhere else to be later tonight.” “That’s unfortunate.” Bartley handed her a glass. He made a show of drinking from his own—to demonstrate there was nothing to fear from such a rare and expensive delicacy. “I suppose it’s straight to business, then?” “If you wouldn’t mind.” “I don’t.” “Thank you.” Bartley rounded his desk to return to his chair. Adrya continued to stand. “It’s in the castle.” “The castle?” “The royal vault, specifically.” His gaze drifted towards the moonlight filtering through the apartment’s windows. “The Devil placed it there after returning from that shameful debacle in Misral. Suffice to say, it’s well-guarded. My informant says he’s paranoid. Checks on it regularly.” Adrya’s grip tightened around her glass. “You’re positive?” Bartley chuckled like she’d told a bad joke. If the question had offended him, he didn’t show it. “I haven’t built my reputation on falsehoods and lies. The information’s solid. Always has been, always will be.” Adrya looked at him then—flat lips and open eyes. Not a single twitch out of place. He was telling the truth as far as she could tell. “I understand.” She fetched a hand in her jacket before a coin purse clattered on Bartley’s desk a second later. He started counting the contents down to the last piece. Five-hundred crowns in all. “It’s all there,” he confirmed after an eternity. Adrya nodded, eager to leave. “I believe that concludes our business-“ “One more thing, actually.” Adrya opened her mouth, then closed it. An icy glare crept across her face. “We had a deal, Bartley.” “We did. And now it’s been seen through to completion.” He took a sip of his wine, drawing out the motion, pudgy eyes hanging on her as if she were a prize to be won. “It just so happens that I’ve also been thinking of cutting a deal with the law. Earn myself some good karma and get the authorities off my back for a while.” Something small formed in Adrya’s chest where her breath held firm; anger, slowly growing, threatening to shatter the glass stem between her fingers. “What do you mean?” Bartley smiled. “Adrya Kilmore, daughter of Dridak, former Ninth of the Oathsworn. Funny you should change your name to Oswald. Afraid you’ll end up like the rest of your family?” Another silence filled the room. Pressed against her on all sides. This was exactly what she’d feared coming in. What she’d been running away from for two years. You’re fine. She took a breath. Matched Bartley’s gaze with her own. “What a fucking cliché,” she muttered. “Of course you’re going to screw me over.” A pair of heavy feet shuffled close behind. Adrya didn’t react. “What do you want?” “Your bounty currently sits at three-thousand crowns.” She clenched her teeth. “I don’t have that much.” “Really?” Bartley looked surprised. “The gladiatorial pits, the smuggling—let’s not forget your dealings with the Suujali—made your house richer than a hooker with all of her teeth. And if there’s one thing I know about rich people, it’s that they know how to hide their money and hide it well.” The thugs pressed closer. Adrya did her best to ignore them. “Two thousand’s all I have. The empire seized the rest of my family’s assets.” “Is that so?” “Yes. But I could make more, given a few weeks.” Adrya’s eyes were on the windows now, watching Bartley’s thugs from the glimmer of their reflections. One of them stood a little to her left. The other still guarded the locked door. She feigned a sip of her wine, drawing focus away from her other hand as it slowly ventured towards the curve of her hip, inching closer to her belt. “Sorry, Adrya, but I don’t have a few weeks-“ The stiletto grinned in a silver arc. It caught the first man along the chest, a dark line seeping through his front shirt and spilling onto the hardwood floor. His face twisted in a snarl, equal parts pain and surprise, and he howled as Adrya threw gemwine in his eyes, stinging like a papercut on naked retinas. “You bitch!“ She sank the blade in his neck, cutting through flesh and scraping spine. He crumpled to the ground in choking spasms, desperate hands pressed against his throat. Adrya didn’t pay her victim any mind. Not out of choice, but because she couldn’t. The man guarding the door had lunged for her, and she barely stepped out of the way in time to feel the blade knocked out of her grip. He rounded on her the next moment, sending her reeling with a well-placed backhand to her chin. Black flared across her vision, but she managed to stay upright, head swimming. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine… The next blow came swiftly, a right hook aimed at the side of her head. Adrya remembered her training, ducked, and caught the man’s wrist with the flat of her palm. Weaving in, she transitioned into an elbow strike that crushed the cartilage surrounding his larynx. She kicked him in the knee when he inevitably staggered backwards, then finished him with a bootheel to the neck that killed him right then and there. Bartley. The thought was liquid-quick. Adrya whirled into a furious pivot. The big man was just shy of surprising her with a silver knife, her own stiletto gripped between his fat little fingers like a pen. Adrya pounced, dodging a blow that would’ve slipped between her ribs. Bartley recovered his balance and turned on her in an instant, moving with a speed unbefitting of his size. “You’re dead,” he spat viciously. Adrya didn’t wait to be attacked this time. Bartley was caught off guard when she darted forward, and she had the thrill of seeing his eyes widen a fraction in surprise. He brought up the stiletto in a hurry, jabbed, and Adrya locked his wrist with her arm, forcing him to let go of the weapon, sending it clattering to the floor, before he replied in kind by bringing his head down in a savage arc that sent her lurching. “Mr. Bartley!” someone cried from the door. “Is everything alright?” Adrya flew at the noble, unable to keep a roar from tearing out of her throat. He was huge, twice as strong as her. But she just needed to be faster. Bartley swung a meaty fist, missing entirely as Adrya feigned a dive across the floor. She picked up her knife, thrusted, skewering his shin, once, twice, three times, until he slipped away after the fourth with a shrill cry. “Mr. Bartley!” The voice grew more insistent. Whoever was on the side started rattling the doorknob. It was just a matter of time before other goons, or worse, the city watch, barged in. “Should’ve let me go,” Adrya hissed. Bartley was limping away from her, groaning. Blood leaked from his leg in a steady stream. She’d probably nicked a major artery. “Listen-“ “No.” She was atop him, pinning him down. Her stiletto crucifying his hand to the floor. Her fists pounding his jaw, channeling her hatred for a world that had taken everything from her. She pictured her mother, her father, her brother, everyone she’d lost, and this man, this traitorous, lying sack of shit, who dared to stand in the way of the revenge she was rightfully owed. “Mr. Bartley!” She slammed his head against the floor over and over. It came back wet, pulpy, and red. There so much red. Her muscles eventually failed her. Her breath came in ragged, burning and painfully raw, tasting of blood and poisonous rage. The adrenaline faded. Adrya heard the pounding of the door more clearly now than she’d ever had before. It was going to give way any second. It was time for her to go. “What’s going on in here-“ Adrya shattered the window and climbed out, dropping to the street outside. People looked. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that she got away safe. Her run took her to a distant alley, where she climbed a wooden beam and collapsed onto a flat rooftop. Up high, a crescent moon smiled at her, almost as if it knew she’d be alright. She wasn’t so sure herself. Quietly, Adrya sat up. Listened for the faintest hint of…something. No one had followed her, it seemed. But she couldn’t relax for too long. Her hands were filthy, stained all the way up to her elbows and chest, and her clothes smelled awful—discarding her jacket seemed like the best idea she’d had all day. “Goodbye,” she thought aloud. It pained her, somewhat. The jacket was a memento from better days, when life hadn’t been so miserable. People would be looking for her in the morning, searching the city for someone who matched her description. She’d have to head back to her apartment tonight, get her things, and never come back. Not like it matters. Not anymore. She was one step closer to her goal. Two whole years she’d been waiting for her moment. The wait would be over soon. She’d been Adrya Kilmore. Her house had controlled the fates of islands, cities, and towns. Her father, Dridak the Ninth, had wielded an Oathblade that transcended the power of death itself. But he’d been slain with the other Oathsworn, at the hands of a demon he’d once called friend, along with any chance the Kingdom had possessed of defeating the black-eyed Empress and her legions. Everyone else she’d known after that had either been imprisoned or sent to the gallows. It was only by a sheer stroke of luck that she’d managed to escape with her life all on her own. She’d make it right in the end, though. She had no other choice. Crowley would bleed for what he’d done to her family. Adrya swore it.
  4. Nothing sucked quite like guard duty. It didn’t take long for the boredom to really set in. Ten minutes, twenty-five. You were lucky if you lasted an hour. Cormac stood on the premature side of things, clocking in at an unfortunate thirty seconds—and yes, he’d timed it. For what reason, he couldn’t say. Maybe there was just a part of him that liked to stay organized, tabbing results for further study. Carry the one, add the two, divided by the number of shits he couldn’t give. Lord knew it would give him something do. A way to keep his brain cells from committing mass suicide. Something more inspiring than staring off into the ocean until its luster faded behind a veil of bland apathy. Geez. Cormarc sighed. The pocket watch ticked on relentlessly in his gloved hand. He put it away before he could do something stupid, like toss it off the cliff and into the water below. The heat was brutal—a single sun burning the sky a blinding blue. The fact that he was supposed to weather it in full shell-plate felt like a cruel, cosmic joke. He reached for the waterskin at his feet, pulled his scarf a few inches down, then took a lukewarm swig before passing it over to the guardsman standing beside him. “I’m good,” Boone said. “You sure?” Boone nodded behind his helmet. Just a quick little jerk of his head, followed by an intimidating brand of silence that was reserved solely for giants. Cormac hadn’t grown accustomed to it yet, admittedly. He wasn’t sure he ever would. It’d been about four years since the man joined up with the Seventh and he still couldn’t fathom how someone that big could possibly exist. It wasn’t only his height either (though, seven-foot-one was plenty to gawk at); the girth of him, the width of him, it was all lean muscle. There wasn’t a doubt in Cormac’s mind that Boone was strong enough to crush stone with his bare hands. He’d seen the man drag an injured horse to safety once rather than take the easy route and put it out of its misery. “Suit yourself,” Cormac replied, taking one last sip before something caught his eye: a woman, dressed in black, making her way toward the drawbridge. Cormac shared a glance with his partner, then adjusted his helmet and stepped forward. A cone-shaped hat shadowed most of her face, poised above a meadow green chin. “Excuse me,” she said. “May I go past you? I’m looking for something.” “I give him thirty seconds,” Simeon said. “Sixty seconds,” Eli replied. The man with the quarterstaff sidestepped a charging hound. “You know I can hear you guys, right?” Eli was about to say something in return when a shadow suddenly crossed his own. He looked up and met blue eyes. Two other pairs pinned him from the sides. “Captain,” the woman said to him. That meant she knew who he was. “Sir,” she said to Simeon. That meant she knew a thing or two about respect. “For venturing into the endless woods, I’ve been told I can find no braver soul, no better a guide, and no steadier a hand at a spear than the Raiders. Might I have a word?” Simeon cocked an eyebrow. The questions propping it up were easy enough to decipher. Who is this lady? What does she want? How long can I go without making an ass out of myself? Eli had similar thoughts, only he was better at hiding them behind a smile. A practiced smile, carefully neutral, not quite reaching his eyes. One of the Raiders escorting the woman saluted him. “Sir, This is Lady Halisera Northtrail Dali, Matriarch of House Dali.” Faint surprise registered in Eli’s eyes. Simeon made something of an oooh noise behind him. The man with the quarterstaff paused to glance and was promptly overtaken by a pack of hounds. “Thank you,” Eli said, dismissing the soldier and his companion with a nod. He turned his attention back to Halisera, trying his best to ignore the commotion in the background. “I’d love to have a word. If you’ll just follow me-“ “Captain!” Eli turned. Another pair of guards (and a woman) were approaching from the gate. He instantly recognized them as Cormac and Boone, even though he couldn’t see either of their faces. “Yes?” Cormac stepped forward, gesturing to their guest. “This girl wants to speak with you. I think.” He shrugged as if to apologize. “Her name’s Enid. Says she’s looking for something. Figured you could help with that, unless you’re busy.” Boone angled his head at the man getting dogpiled to the side. “Is Daghi okay?” “Daghi’s a morning person,” Simeon quipped. “Of course he’s not okay.” “I can still hear you guys,” Daghi grunted. “Do you need help?” Cormac asked. “Do I look like I need help?” “…yes?” “THEN HELP ME, PLEASE.” Eli slowly veered his gaze back to the two women, a stiff smile on his face. “As I was saying, if you’ll just follow me…” They left the courtyard together, back up to his office, where he pulled out two other chairs for his guests before settling behind his own desk. “So, how can I help you?”
  5. @Lady Gilaen Just wanted to check in with you to see how things are going!
  6. I mean, I just wanted to create dynamic lore for other people to enjoy. I didn't want to restrict player freedom/creativity, so I don't have a super specific plot lined out for the Oathblades. They originally started out as an idea for a single character, then I expanded the scope to include other players, who could use the blades to further their own agendas in a collaborative setting. I was mostly referring to the way the Oathblades were handed out when I posted the lore thread. I’m not going to get into the details, but we’ll say that someone opened them up to the playerbase without consulting me first. If you're interested in learning more, you can read up here:
  7. Crowley getting killed isn't in the cards. He can be defeated but I don't plan on him dying anytime soon. Since I don't have a character with significant political sway in the government, I can't give you a conclusive answer in regards to policy. However, if a character is purposely masking their identity and not complying with the rules, I assume they'd be treated as a criminal/vigilante depending on their actions. Crowley would have a vested interest in learning who they are, so it's very possible he'd go after them, potentially with governmental backing. In the case that a character is associated with a house (e.g. flying house colours / public knowledge that X blade belongs to X house) but keeps their identity a secret, they should be fine as a result of their house being accountable for all their actions. I can remove blades for that reason, yes. Not without good reason, though. I'd reach out and have a discussion with the player first. Reasons for yoinking blades could potentially include: The blade becomes stagnant/irrelevant in the player's hands for an excessive amount of time (e.g. the player ghosts for several months without any form of communication whatsoever) The player abuses their power and makes the game a total crapshoot for other people The player's character leaves UM with the blade (unless you give me a good reason to temporarily allow it) The player starts doing some really questionable stuff IC with their blade The player's an asshole OOC Not complying with Valucre's rules and guidelines Ultimately, it's a very gray area I'd rather not tread at all. I'd also make sure to consult with several others before making a final decision. I don't particularly care if an Oathsworn wants to be a villain or somesuch, I actually think that'd be a great idea to spice up the game. I'm simply more concerned with quality of writing, making sure the Oathblade isn't used as some trophy accessory, and that the wielder's narrative doesn't become this weird/directionless/questionable piece of work. Moving forward, I'll probably interview people before giving them a blade. The way they were originally handed out was not what I had in mind, if I'm being totally honest. Any questions or concerns can be directed to me at your leisure, but I'm also open to further public discussion concerning the Oathblades.
  8. I'm very much a fan of the cold war idea. It could prove an interesting build-up to potential hostilities that may later turn into an all-out war. That said, it really depends on everyone's personal preference whether this scenario plays out. Some people might not want war, and would rather focus on worldbuilding or adventure. Though I did voice my preference for just that, and would like to see a lore-boom of a sort, I think conflict is always welcome in the face of possible stagnation. UM rebooted was inspired by Game of Thrones, after all. Might as well ride the wave and see what comes of it. There's also another important thing that should be worth mentioning: collaboration. It's what makes any and all of this work. Battles, betrayals, court intrigue, assassinations, they should be written as a joint-effort with the purpose of creating a compelling story. RPing is not about winning. It's not about beating the other guy. That kind of mentality causes rifts between players and paves the way for toxic competition. @Infernal if you see clashing with the central government as a tiring "fight", try reaching out to your adversaries with a proposition for what you'd like to happen. Work out the details, come to an agreement that satisfies both parties, and remember (I can't emphasize this enough) that the end product should be something fun to read for everyone in the community. Strategy can definitely play into it, just don't make it the central focus of your activity. Like I said, it's not always about winning. Anyway, serious war shenanigans would likely occur sometime in the future. Now's more the time for building upon what's already been established, in addition to making new stuff. As Tyler mentioned, this cold war idea would generate opportunities for different types of roleplay. That's super important. Especially if we want to keep drawing in more folks to our little sandbox. It doesn't necessarily have to be a cold war, but simply something that keeps UM feeling fresh. That's why I'm so gung-ho on fleshing out the world and the overarching plot. My two cents.
  9. Seems pretty standard to me, my dude. Ask for permission before expanding Whatever happens within your borders is your own business An non-UM entity wants to join you, that's cool. A UM entity wants to join you, they ask for permission Write a page for land expansion. A UM representative is present to make sure everything's hunky dory A separatist minority is obviously going to be treated with caution by the central government. I don't see why they would allow you sizeable gain, not when it runs so contrary to the goal of unification. Also, I 100% support fleshing out UM's lore vs. focusing on expansion. This is more about writing an interesting narrative than it is about playing a strategy game. I don't see why not.
  10. I've created the profiles for Eli and the Seventh Squadron. You can find them at the bottom of the Naho Raiders lore topic 🤙
  11. Wade

    Naho Raiders

    SEVENTH SQUADRON ► BASIC Name: Elliot Kessler Age: 30 Birthplace: Blackburn, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Weary Commander of the Naho Raiders ► PHYSICAL Height: 6'3" Weight: 200 lbs Skin: Beige Hair: Brown Eyes: Silvery Grey ► PERSONA Temperament: Phlegmatic MBTI: INFJ Traits: Affable | Insightful | Decisive | Patient ► BASIC Name: Daghi Atawahi Age: 33 Birthplace: Vanora, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Cheerful Optimist of the Seventh Squadron ► PHYSICAL Height: 6'5" Weight: 220 lbs Skin: Dark Hair: Black Eyes: Mocha ► PERSONA Temperament: Sanguine MBTI: ENFP Traits: Curious | Easygoing | Observant | Enthusiastic ► BASIC Name: Boone Age: 37 Birthplace: Indetermined Occupation: Big Motherfucker of the Seventh Squadron ► PHYSICAL Height: 7'1" Weight: 270 lbs Skin: Tanned Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue ► PERSONA Temperament: Choleric MBTI: ISTP Traits: Quiet | Astute | Honest | Bold ► BASIC Name: Cormac Turnberry Age: 30 Birthplace: Andelusia, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Wise Guy of the Seventh Squadron ► PHYSICAL Height: 6'2" Weight: 200 lbs Skin: Pale Hair: Dark Brown Eyes: Blue ► PERSONA Temperament: Choleric MBTI: INTJ Traits: Arrogant | Practical | Clever | Posh ► BASIC Name: Simeon Baxter Age: 26 Birthplace: Vanora, Ursa Madeum Occupation: Comic Relief of the Seventh Squadron ► PHYSICAL Height: 6'2" Weight: 200 lbs Skin: Pale Hair: Blonde Eyes: Hazel ► PERSONA Temperament: Sanguine MBTI: ESFP Traits: Reckless | Outgoing | Eccentric | Kind Credit: Zephyri, LightCG Club, Obsidian Entertainment, Yerin, Tatiana Hordienko I do not claim ownership of any art
  12. @supernal @Lady Gilaen Here's the OOC for the thread. 3 day timer, flexible post order. In case any information is missing from my post, here's the Naho Raiders lore topic: I'll try to have Eli's profile up very soon. For now, assume a thirty-year-old white guy with brown hair and a height of 6'2". Looking forward to playing with you guys!
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