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About Consigliere

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  1. closed

    Why would a rural farming town have a docking station specifically suited for airships? What little Jahan could learn about Dougton from attempting smalltalk with the captain of the ship -with much disregard for his passive agressive demeanour, of course- and from reading an almost outdated travel book on Terrenus did nothing but confirm his suspicions; the average person knew what his neighbour had for dinner, most everyone at the very least dabbled in farming, superstitions were taken seriosly by many, police were recruited from the local townsfolk and could be seen running to have lunch with their families the second they were released from their daily duty, and the loveliest part-- All of them were highly suspicious of strangers. Therefore it seemed, the dock was just an improvement from the seemingly hopelessly idealistic "god-king" of Terrenus, or some other lower ranked person of status. This had to be the worst possible place to look for something that a nameless creature's gods would want destroyed. And as if to be the indicator of the fact that his thoughts were completely right; the second Jahan got off the airship he spotted a woman almost as tall as him, dressed in what could only be described as a uniform that was on the limit of being a full-blown plated armor, staring down at him. A guard, patrolling the docks. How convenient. Oh, he had to admit, her figure complimented the warm atmosphere that surrounded his vision. Brick houses, striped awnings, half-paved dirt roads, the distinctive smell of manure mixed in with the not so pleasant aroma of soil satiated with rain water, the sun shining through the heavy clouds, and this woman. Jahan stood there, self aware that he seemed half-frozen to the average observer. His outfit covered most of him, upon close inspection what would be revealed to be a simple shawl hung loose from his broad shoulders, giving off the impression that it was some type of worn out, short cape with its tattered ends. The dark hood he had always been fond of was thrown to the back of his head, which kept the length of his hair from being seen. A light brown, leather coat made from a quite light material ran along the entire length of his upper body and a few fingers down his hips, its surface covered with many buttons and gleaming zippers which were the telltale sign of this piece of clothing being ideal for practical purposes, unlike what he had been wearing before. What completed the rest of his incognito look were knee high boots made from a durable type of syntethic leather, along with a pair of black pants of a denim-like material. He most definitely did not look trustworthy. A problem he wished he could solve. "Are you with that..?" Her accent was almost unintelligible-- another stereotypical attribute of an average rural town, Jahan thought. Still, he understood her. These Terran people were lucky their tongue was almost the same as an Aniyasha's, the language Jahan could speak as fluently as he could speak his mother language. The woman gestured towards their undead companion, who brought along with him a thousand times more dubiousity than Jahan ever could, and the smell of rot to boot. He had already headed out; leaving Jahan and the other to go after him. "I am." He replied. "We are no trouble, and look only for rightful coin." A barefaced lie. "You're.. A necromancer looking for work, then?" Jahan could only raise his eyebrows in response to such a question. Did he look like a necromancer? The pair of sturdy sack-like bags that hung from his belt could look like they had tomes inside them, and the short but thick, cyclinder shaped device strapped to his arm could resemble some type of staff, but was that enough to think of someone as a necromancer? Maybe it was about his face, or build that came close to being willowy with his long limbs. "No, he thinks and acts for himself--" "Be careful then." She almost spat. This officer had no time for answers to her own questions, it seemed. "There are fifteen thousand of us here, and our PeaceKeeper, worth being mentioned seperately. No one will have sympathy for the actions of a walking, thinking corpse and.." Her little, black eyes focused on Jahan's face for a second; peering intently from the protective shade of her helmet. A second later, her cheeks reddened, and her gaze faltered. It was obvious from her figure that she was young, and therefore probably new to being an officer, but Jahan had not expected her to be this defenseless. It seemed her impatient and fiery attitude was overcompensating for something. Jahan smiled, and met her eyes. He took a step towards the officer, and bowed his head slightly; this being enough for him to be face to face with the woman who was nearly as tall as him. Oh, I knew I still had it. "..Someone who is looking for work, yes. Honored to meet you, officer, and good day." He kept his gaze on her as he said this; his smile slowly dissolving as he moved away and started looking for his undead companion. There he was, walking back to the ship from the main entrance road that lead to the town, holding something in his hands. Jahan acted quickly, and reached him before he could return to the ship. He ignored the macabre creature almost completely, and focused on what he was holding. A map. He had found a map. In a few minutes. How... Who could've..? His cold, green eyes started darting around, searching like a blood hound for someone who could have handed a walking corpse a map. There were men and women shooting both horrified and suspicious looks at them, dressed in the most modest of clothing and all of them with the slight whiff of soil about them, obviously wondering what they were here for; and others like them walking, almost running, past them; he could hear their mutterings under their breath. "I just have to get this to Israh--" "Strangers. Bet my entire garden they're flea-carrying couriers-- Wait, is that..?!" "This new station does us no good. Anyone who knows Dougton 'an get 'ere without a' airship. Blasted outsiders, non' of 'em worth a lick o' salt..." No, no one looked -or sounded- like they would be willing to have a friendly conversation with this bag of rotten flesh. Jahan breathed through his nose, his shoulders dropping in a defeated fashion, as he did the next best thing he could do. He stared into the lifeless orbs the creature had for eyes, and asked, as clearly as he could: "Where did you get that from?"
  2. That is not a cat. That is an entity from another dimension, hiding behind the disguise of absolute cuteness in order to trick you into giving your soul over to him. The only thing he cannot hide is his ungodly screeching.
  3. *laughs in North Korean*
  4. I'm supposed to be doing uni work. All I've done for the last two hours is listen to this repeatedly. The music's not even the best part. It's the comments. >"Bush did 1453." >"When you're listening to catchy music at 1 but have to fight the Ottomans at 2" >"When you usurp your lieges title." >"Just finished writing my thesis while listening to this. Now I just need to nail it to the church's door" >"This sounds very kebab" I'm S C R E E C H I N G.
  5. open

    Jahan sighed. "Oh, yes. Just what one would expect from a ship of this size." Sarcasm, while usually not a preferred way of expression when it came to him and his thoughts, would prove sufficent for the task of voicing his disappointment. You see, when a man who once happened to be as grandstanding as him stepped into the guest room of some beast like this Annabella; he wanted at least one grand window (to soak up the sunlight and have at least some simple bit of reminder that they were, indeed, still connected to the lands-- only they floated just above them), a bed that wasn't just put together from a simple mattress and a quite worn down, metal frame, and possibly to not have rusty pipes covering nearly the entirety of the damp walls? Please? A few moments later, his valise was put down, while Jahan himself stood upright in front of the small window; obstinately searching for something in between the nearly invisible clouds, and for movement on the docks. His hands folded behind him, icy eyes reflecting whatever light that travelled into his room from the brightness of the new moon, and he waited.. ..To hear footsteps, or for another sign of someone approaching. It does get boring with no one to look down on, after all. @Vynathlon @Porcelain_Puppetress @Salt
  6. >Ghost boy Nope son, I'm ghost girl. Or ghost woman. Whatever you prefer. I'll get a post up as soon as I can. @Trigger2Red
  7. No one's noticed me yet. I, a ghastly, whirling, levitating mass of gray and black smoke; donning an outfit consisting only of a military cap and a peacoat -which dangerously resembles something that would make me attend a costume fetish photoshoot-- if I weren't a 5'7" womanchild with a shoulder width that belonged to a swimmer's rather than a run-off-the-mill university student's in real life- have not been noticed by anybody. Welp. That's what I get for forgetting that my unconscious can pull a me on me. I should consider working on my complexes, maybe I will start acting like less of a bitch that way; and so will my dream characters... Now that I thought about it.. There was that Corvo guy, yes? Ooooooooh, if I found him, I could annoy the living shit out of him. Because he was one of them, you see.. ..Unfortunately, there is this thing with me; which kept pulling every bit of my soul towards the silent, powerful, mysterious, and tenacious, yet ultimately traumatized characters. Evil or good had never been a point of consideration- if they were, then they were. But the sliding scale of gray and grey had always been apparent in every one of them which I liked. And that very scale, I liked to tamper with. And then, there was the physical appeal too, wasn't there? "Mmm.. The muscles, the sinews, the fat.. Delicious." Was that a Witcher 3 quote? Yes, idiot. A quote from the Crones, from the Brewess, the largest one. You might just have found your true calling. Annoyed with myself, my quite-not-there eyes slide over the black and white scenery once again, the almost tail-like extension I have for a lower body gliding towards the left, pulling me out of my undisturbed stilness and the room. -------------------------------------------------------------------- "Corvoooo? " Now, I'm very aware of what I'm doing. The fact that I'm now upside-down and hovering through the corridor, with my sexy military cap still stuck to my imaginary skull (this is a dream, I'm not expecting physics to work here) is probably not a very expected thing. But I'm enjoying the dull scenery of the wooden layout of the floor, and the true weightlessness of my were-body, allowing me freedom and space which I would never consider reaching in real life. "Corvo?" Then, there is also this new voice that I didn't like in the beginning, but it's starting to grow on me. Who cannot love this reverberating, creaking, static sound of only a small bit of femininity? Then, I hear it. Little pattering of feet and squeaky whispers. Or were they whispers? Without a shred of care, I choose to ignore them, but not without an appreciating growl for my newly-realized acuteness of my hearing ability. Well, what did you expect? Whispering and such noises are common patterns in my dreams. Wait.. Where'd he go? I halt, easily bending forwards and squeezing my figure into an "O" shape, like a twirling Chinese dragon. My tendrils of gray smoke accompany this feat graciously, waving around and grasping for things unseen in mid air; their flickering ends forming half-circles as if to be the beckoning arms of an octopus. As my field of vision does a one-eighty turn, the usual inspection of my location ensues. Walls. Floor. Catwalk. Drapes. Jesus.. Asian dude. Golden AK-47, pretty naked girl. Is that really a golden AK? What kind of modding..? ..Christ. Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Allah? Buddha? No, Tengri. The souls of my ancestors? Genghis Khan? Mother Ashina? Quetzcoatl? Hello? Guys? Oh, the tea-- it must be done, there's steam coming out of the teapot. No wait, that's just me sighing. Smoke covers my non-existent face as I let out a whiffling sigh-- the most universal sign of disappointment. First, Kotal Kahn disappears- DON'T YOU BELITTLE MY SADNESS, HE WAS ACTUALLY FRIGGIN' KOTAL KAHN. And now, I can't find Corvo. Fuck me, but buy me a dinner first. Knowing the tendency of my dream characters to speak in non-sensible riddles; I make a single statement before floating away from there. "If you see Corvo.." I raise my arm, extending it forward as much as I can. Then, I bend it at the elbow, bringing a gloved hand to where my ears would be; and fold my index, middle, and ring fingers into my palm. "Call me." I feel the smoke hovering about the back of my hat rise into a pointy, spire-like form with a feeling I can't quite put my finger on. In order to continue the restless search, I quickly hover forwards, leaving the group behind. Perhaps, asking for something would work this time. @Trigger2Red @Caliburnus
  8. Yep, good idea.
  9. *heartbreak* Aw, that's too bad. I completely understand, though, I'll make sure my character (or I?) bugs someone else since you're maybe gonna drop out. Perhaps you'll change your PP and stay in the game.
  10. By the way, I'm waiting on @Eagle-77's reply. As for your question, I would go for the second option.
  11. @Vynathlon Nope, I don't think there is. Nothing's been going on, really.
  12. "Wine?" Kublai cocked a curious brow, his eyes unintentionally becoming two slits of bright, but nonetheless hazy, brown-tinted green while adjusting themselves to the peculiar mimic. The upwards slant of his eyelids were to blame for this, of course, while it wasn't quite visible with a neutral expression; the trait which had evolved to protect the eyes of anyone from the unforgiving climate of his homeland was now obvious-- along with the lightest of crow's feet where the outer side of his lashes touched. After all, even he suffered the effects of aging. And almost non-stop travelling. The cold of the air, the heat of the fire.. This place reminds me more of the Bozkor then I want it to. He shifted uncomfortably in his cushioned seat, quickly crossing his legs in an attempt to assert reason to the awkward action. It has been a long time, Jahan. You have no chance of taking over now. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know much about wine." Obey my authority, for I obey the authority of the rising occasion.. "Perhaps you could tell me about the.. Elaborateness.. Of tasting it and whatnot?" Another mask of wonder came over his features. ..And "the occasion is the one thing you cannot run from", remember? "I mean, I know that much. One is also supposed to smell it, yes?" ..And the occasion commands that you have never heard of aeration-- and that younger types of younger wine respond well to it; and you also lack any information about types of dry wine, and types of sweet wine, and what decantation is.. Why, the almost antic aura this man had around him-- what with that boring suit, clear blue eyes, timid politeness and all-- made him think he would like to assume the role of the teacher. Or, maybe it was just that people treated him like he was one because he knew too much, and he just had to please them because of that timid politeness, and the act had become a part of him after a while. But who cared? Not Kublai. At least, not for now. For now, he would take the safer route. The route could be changed accordingly to whatever Lukus' reaction would be. A moment later, the tip of his fingernail was tracing the typically handwritten lines of the menu. The corner of his shapely lips twitched when he heard the man sitting before him order a steak. Skyfather, damn me. Earthmother, take me into your womb. Meat. No residue whatsoever of any living being for Kublai- no, not flesh nor blood. The Blood of the Putrefier inside him beckoned, but he was not killing anyone tonight. The moment he ingested either of those ingredients, he would break the lock of the vault. And even if he didn't ingest them, if the stench of flesh was too strong.. ..Suffice it to say, he would have a hard time trying to keep the lock from breaking. Was it his moment to, dare the author say, remember that he was the one with the secrets in the first place? "I'll take the creamy forest mushroom soup, and pasta with basil after it." His momentarily dull gaze watched the waitress walk away before returning to Lukus. "Well, now that we're done.." He placed a hand on his knee. Palms pointing downward. We don't want him noticing the tattoos. "I must say, mister Lukus, if I weren't your company today, I would've never considered the chances of anyone looking and talking the way you do to go on a blind date." An obscure smile formed on his face. "Which, quite honestly, interests me to no end. I can't fathom a reason other than pure curiousity that made you join this." Who really are you? "Would you say that my guess is correct?" ((OOC: Very sorry for the late reply. I had a massive writer's block.))
  13. "..The correct term is 'Proto-Turkic'. After 528, though, they will start migrating; moving until to the point where they become actually Turkic.." I press a long-nailed index finger into my cheek. The pain keeps me from passing out as I continue my blabbering into the phone's speaker, and yes, blabbering; for I know what I say will come to naught-- eventually. "..Their empire will extend until it has a scope large enough to cover the Balkans. Sure enough, later.." My hand unintentionally spreads out over my face, trying its hardest to keep my head from hitting the desk, and also performing a much congruent facepalm in doing so. Unbeknownst to the average watcher; this quite appropriately exhibits my feelings about the one on the other side of the line. "..Until assimilation ensues, of course. No, you can't call them 'Tu-kiu'. You know, that's way more specific and all.." That's it. This guy either shuts up or starts paying me for this otherwise free lecture. "..Remember, they both came from the 'Hiong-nu'. You know what, I've got a good idea. You start paying me per minute, and I'll keep talking until we get to the 'filthy Saracens!' part. Deal?" Right that second, I'm told to "kindly fuck off". My head slides away from the grip of my palm and hits the wooden desk. Thud. The last thing I hear is the beep of my phone as the call ends. ╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮ Fuuuck. Did nobody tell you, 2 hours of Pathologic is never a good idea? I can't feel my head. Huh? Now that I'm concentrating, I can't feel my hands, either. Nor can I see. Gee, you're lying down. C'mon, get up. I try and bend my back while rising from what I assume to be my sleeping position, and as soon as I do, a vision field of grey, black and white explodes into my eyes-- or what I think are my eyes. Colors? Where'd the colors go? There is movement in my peripheral vision, but the only thing I can focus on is the figure in front of me. Smoke is the first thing I see. Thick, oscillating wisps of it reaching out to left and right, small clouds of fog hovering over and around them, touching them; causing them to swirl and scatter as if they were rising from a newly blown-out candle. Then, it cleared out in a moment, all of it, and left a completely blank face and some type of military hat mounted on top of it to be seen. What the f-- I stumble backwards. The figure, smoke suddenly seeping from the blank face and surrounding its visage once again, stumbles backwards too. I don't-- WHAT? ..Wait. I get it. I get it. I'm lucid dreaming. I'm in a lucid dream, and I'm staring into a mirror. That's what's happening. Having regained my composure, I take a step forward, concentrating on the movement which I would not pay any attention to normally. So this is why I wasn't able to feel my limbs. I haven't taken a step forward, I've just moved forward. How can I take a step forward when I don't have legs? The smoke which first only seemed to seep from and hover around the blank canvas of a face I have, has accumulated just below the military peacoat that covers my torso; whirling around an unseen center, wavering and flickering, particles of it vibrating in a ghastly fashion, imitating the dying embers of a fire that was recently put out. "What.." A dead, deep, static grunt claws its way out. "Is this how I sound?" To my luck, a sliver of femininity is still apparent in my voice, giving it but a bit of what is necessary to make it sound human. "Right." Aware that I still didn't truly know what I was, I shift my focus to the rest of my body; starting by my "hands." I bring them to my self-proclaimed face. Gloves. Leather, black. Or perhaps they are some other color, I'm not sure, for everything in my vision was still gray, black and white. I wiggle my fingers. They moved, but I couldn't feel them move. Hold on.. Is that smoke? Again? Thread-like extensions are dancing around in my sleeves. Instinctively, I pull the glove off my left hand. Great. Just great. Much like my lower body, my "hand" is just a swirling mass of smoke. By now, it didn't take a genius to guess that my whole body was just a few dozen handfuls of smoke, and that the smoke shapeshifted in order to fit whatever.. Container.. It was in. So, recap. I'm a shapeshifting & whirling mass of smoke, and I see the world in black and white. If I had a face, there would be the widest grin on it right now. What a great way to start a lucid dream. ╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮╰╮ @Eagle-77 "USURPER! " If I had lungs, they would've exploded from the force with which I shouted. But the way my new voice responds to this act almost disappoints me-- All I got was an uncomfortable echo of static, shrill shrieking. Though, still.. ..I can feel the excitement in my imaginary veins push and pull the shivering twines of mist around my figure. A few minutes ago, I was hovering about this room-- The room which included what seemed to be a lion-esse(?) , some other type of beast, a dog (Golden Retriever?), a very old TV, some guy, some other guy, big guy, small girl, elf-woman(?), and is that actually Corvo from Dishonored? To be quite honest, I have no idea what these characters are supposed to represent. Just like how I had no idea why Kotal Kahn was kneeling over a TV. A pulsating bit of curiousity starts pulling me towards Corvo, but the sheer vision of Kotal Kahn kneeling over something is just way too much. Seconds later, I'm floating over the shapely back of the massive "God", the silky tendrils of my material unintentionally brushing against his skin, their shape dissolving as they do. "What's a false Emperor doing in my dream, hmm?" I chuckle, which sounds more like a dry, shrill cackle. These are my dream characters. They are mine. MINE. ..I'll do whatever the hell I wish with them, until I wake up.
  14. YEEEEAAAAAH BOYYYY You know who I main? Mileena. Yep. Be forewarned: This ghost? She's gonna be all up on Kotal Kahn. Expect a lot of "How dare you?! I'M AN EMPRESS"es, and shapeshifting, since she's made out of smoke and all. Huh. Smoke.. The ride never ends.
  15. Jeeeeeesus Christ, I would love to see someone playing as Kotal Kahn. I mean; if you're gonna change your avatar, don't feel pressured or anything, that's definitely not what I'm going for, but, you know. Kotal Kahn. Kotal frigging Kahn. That's definitely something to consider. *clears throat* Now, on to the topic of who I'm going to be. Or rather, what I'm going to be. ..Some kind of spiritual essence consisting of dense, wavering smoke, which has taken the form of a human being for convenience and has chosen to wear the costume of a dead soldier who once fought in the ghastly trenches of.. Germany? In WWII? Maybe it just has a uniform fetish? Something like that. Or, you know, just lose the innecessary details and call it a ghost.