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dvsn

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About dvsn

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    Below the earth (all my friends are dead).

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  1. dvsn

    The Devil You Know

    The Machiavellian absorbed the ire of his journal in silence— though with assiduity to the world around. The cynical debonair was as ubiquitous as he was esoteric. Suffocating. Ineluctable. Perhaps it was this charm like vermilion that elected him forth. Still when Reuben spoke his response was a genuine smile, though this only came after Mira had requested red wine. Sophisticated tastes were expected among those of their paradigm, though many things amused the businessman, owner, and prince. Once implacable it seemed the the perfidious poet had once again found the relaxed cold within his heart that he so desired. Another page of animal parchment was turned before the light withdrew from the world about them and requested their humble attention. Ever cautious his journal was removed from sight and his posture adjusted, a single leg crossed perpendicular over the other, and his index finger along his right hand wielding the cup of tea as a precious amenity. It was then that the devil of the hour stepped into being. His very appearance lived in dichotomy to the ostentatious. While it lacked the visual grandeur of Reuben’s own, it held about it a stoic empowerment that demanded respect. Silently he walked into the room studying his watch as Abbot would his journal and it became clear what few parallels existed between them all meant for their union here. It was then that he began a monologue, one that intrigued Abbot nonetheless. The ambiguous prince remained silent throughout the affair, calculating the measure of Quinton’s words like the scotch that he so much missed. All of the matters he covered were obviously important in their own merit, but there was one in-particular that left the then introvert piqued. While his smile had faded upon the meeting’s inception, once again he found himself smiling when Odette made her rounds and approached him with the fine case. Was it wise to be reluctant here? Many would have weighed the odds, perhaps before their arrival even. Abbot, however, was impetuous; willing to brave the risks to conjoin in the narrative that partially aligned with his own desires. What were they any way? Impossible to tell then, only an iota of what was the harbinger of black could be seen in the way he smiled deviously, just as the ring slipped itself onto his finger. Upon contact a premonition filled him, and while compelled to document it within his journal, he held the grandeur of his thoughts at bay. While his eyes studied the ring for a time his attention always remained well-balanced between the intricate trinket, the tattoo that Quinton revealed, and his words. Fervent was the heart enamored by the cold of his own soul now enabled by those perhaps similar. The devil once beaming returned to his usual temperament, atleast by appearance, and folded his hands along his abdomen. “Impressive...never heard of magical relics of such capacity. You’re more serious than I surmised…” the prince complimented Quinton eloquently, his voice feminine but dangerous, it carried with it a hoary frost that could separate a weak soul from its body by its very allure. “I suppose you already have an archetype of plans in-place for us?”
  2. dvsn

    I would like to collaborate one day when we both have time. Let's stay in-touch. 

    Thank you for the reputation. 😄

    1. Rin

      Rin

      Sure thing. It sounds like fun 😁

  3. dvsn

    The Devil You Know

    Abbot admired the regalia of wealth. The hand of time seemed to halt as his lacquered dress shoes clapped against ivory marble with every ambled step. The eclectic taste of art and aesthetic was laudable. For a time he had sprawled himself across the bedding of luxury, trying his hand in the ways of economy, while maturing his own interests as an enigmatic patrician. This, of-course, came on the hinges of a number of global exploits he had played a hand in behind the scenes. This place, though...the chameleon's pedantic approach made it impossible to not laud the man who had invited them. Strolling through the foyer with his hands tucked into their respective pockets comfortably he followed their aide until they had entered the lounge. It was warm, the flickering of the fire place and the insulation of expensive rugs lining the flooring every which way one looked. There were an assortment of comfortable polyester chairs with a bit of linen in them, and they didn’t seem placed in any particular arrangement. “Refreshments for our guests?” a woman spoke out to him. Disregarding her presence entirely, atleast for the time, he stepped silently across the rugs to one of the chairs near the center of the room. “Sure, but be careful not to give Reuben much, wouldn’t want him getting fiery about our chess match later.” “Food delights are being brought up shortly, would you like co-” “Tea with milk please.” She obliged, on a small coffee table next to the chair she prepared his cup while he removed his journal from within his coat’s pocket. It was small and worn but the contents of its pages were priceless to him. Abbot was usually loquacious of those within his social class but today was far different than normal. Rather than trading banter with Reuben and the other of whom had accompanied them, his eyes fell to the contents of his journal’s pages. Very few knew it, but when he was nervous or anxious about anything, reading was his solace. His left hand cupped the black book while his right removed the ceramic cup with opalescent flowers dancing near its bottom towards his lips, ingesting its contents hesitantly. Delicious. As was life itself. Smiling softly he nodded to the aide who would then tend to the others while as would the others who likely brought other manner of refreshments in thereafter. “In the ire of darkness where thine soul is consumed by sable eyes and the eldritch truth, let it be foretold that I see in stones the tremble of life swallowed into oblivion. Through eternity forth promised. I think. Therefore I am. Therefore I end.” Abbot's soul smiled wickedly.
  4. dvsn

    Abbot Knight

    KNOWN INFORMATION Author’s Note: All the information in this profile is things that can be deduced either by looking at Abbot, speaking with him, or reading the Daily Weekly: Business. This is not an all-inclusive profile. Alias: Abbot “Jacobs” Sabella Ignazio Knight Moniker: Chameleon, the Height: 6’5” Weight: 225 lbs Age: ??? Eye Color: Gunmetal Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Sunkissed Facial Hair: None Scars: None apparent. Tattoo: An intricate cross hidden by the bandages of his forehead. Style of Dress: Black suits matching lacquered footwear. Ornaments: Golden ring with an elaborate skull design. A golden watch, indelible and ceaselessly ticking. Occupation: Prince. Envoy. Agent. Holdings & Investments: I - The Babel Corporation, Alterion, Izral [shareholder, ???] H - The House of Cards, Hyperian, Terrenus [Owner] H - The Lover's Remorse, Hyperian, Terrenus [Owner] SUPERNATURAL DEALINGS As a chameleon in plain sight, enigmatic and misunderstood, some believe that his mysterious character has begun to infect his being in a variety of ways. The most notable of these strange changes is the fact that it has become impossible to recall any of his features once he has left a person’s line of sight. This “forgetfulness” is immediate. While individuals can recall their interaction with Abbot in perfect clarity, it is the finer details such as his physical appearance, smell, or the sound of his voice (etc.) that are affected. When viewing memories through magical/occult means (psionics included), Abbot is viewed as a shroud of smoke with a distorted voice. SIGHTINGS & INTERACTIONS [Chronological] 1. 2. 3.
  5. dvsn

    New chat feature.. v.v

    Don't know about the vernacular you used but I'd also like to know how to disable the chatbox function, as great of an added script at it is.
  6. dvsn

    Duke Evaristus Sicamedes.

    ✶ Identification: Evaristus Galgardi Sicamedes ✶ Referral Identity: “Evermore”, “Sword Sage; the”, ✶ Lineage: Human ✶ Gender: Male ✶ Birthdate: Fall of the Golden King ✶ Birthplace: Kadia; Mo Chroi ✶ Vocation: Sword of ∞ ✶ Class: The Sword Sage. Through peerless manipulation of the blade and understanding of technique does the myrmidon exceed its contemporaries. The legends speak of the sword as key opening the door that guides the heart to the afterlife. With alacrity the swordslinger dances across the battlefield with the whirl an eddy of a phantom casting aside its rancor and disposition for a veritable truth. It is with the celerity of a viper that it channels the veritable truths through the ideograms of those prior, a common understanding among masters being established through generations of blood and conflict. Evaristus is no different. The embers of his life burning have can be seen in the inferno of the battlefield of which he stalks with voracious eyes, twisting his own humanity to that of a weapon that has abandoned sense of self— or perhaps finally realized what it is that he truly is. The Sword Sage all in all can twist all manner of faculties afforded to them to fortify the truth of the swordmaster's reality: that they are a sword which can cut through any and all things. A true evolution beyond that of a mere saint. ᳀ Height: 2.05 meters. ᳀ Weight: 103.42 kg. ᳀ Skin: Sunkissed. ᳀ Eyes: Celeste. Coruscating with flecks of reborn vitality. ᳀ Hair: Solar, resplendent, it is smooth and effervesces into wisps of golden mysticism about his crown. Gentle zephyrs that comb through the ethereal sway it with little effort, often giving his hair a frazzled, unkempt look. When Evaristus channels ether through his body his incandescent hair glows with ephemeral warning, an omen to those who will not obey the sage. He seldom grooms it now in comparison to days of old. ➤ Distinguishing Characteristics: When thinking of the Sword Sage many often refer to just how beautiful and symmetrical the paragon appears as. A walking sculpture among mortal beings truly. Some would call this perfection feminine, others find it absolutely befitting a man so meticulous and reserved. His astral hair is likewise often discussed among many, something that all those who bear his last name have in common. Equally so are his celeste eyes like glittering gems that seem to be galvanized by crystal mana flowing within him, arguably limitless though unrefined. Finally is his incredibly tall and mesomorphic musculature, easily giving the appearance of a peak olympian that even pushes the boundaries depending on the actions committed. Towering over most of his species as a titan of dense muscle, very few dare to challenge the Sword Sage whether beautiful or not. ➤ Description: Painters and artists of a kind have long debated what exactly makes Evaristus so beautiful. A canvas struck by the muse of god is he ever nonpareil by sheer virtue of being. Many visionaries have struggled to paint him in flashes of carnage where blood has splattered across his full cheeks and his passionate grimaces with sharp canines gritting one another was pedestrian. To no avail...none have been able to capture the effigy for what he truly is. Tall and mesomorphic he is swift and precipitous. One second he is there, charming the eyes of those whom may see him, and the next he's gone. Every single muscle of his body bulges with an almost alien amount of control, and holds an within them density that is several dozen times more dense than that of most human being. His complexion is creamy and unblemished on the surface, and flesh as cold as stone, while his azure eyes holds in them a lifetime of eldritch understanding— not just of the self but of the world. He has a smooth face with perfect cheekbones and wide, empathetic, though symmetrical eyes. They always appear to be engrossed by everything before them. His lips are thin and resplendent and his teeth are shimmering white and sharp. Much like his deceased father it seems that his entire face was etched by an artist of the anatomy, from stone itself, sublime and solid by virtue of its illustrious creation. His eyebrows, naturally, are perfectly trimmed and forgettable at best, though his eyelashes are enviously long. Evaristus contrary to one would believe possess the young voice of a child still growing, a ginger baritone arguably close to that of a tenor. The Sword Sage remarks that this is a result of his recent resurrection and the vitality of his new anatomy; as his older voice was thunderous and deep. His face is that of a child unburdened by his past and resolute in following the path forged by his ancestors. Onward he treks, a blade of tremendous might. — The Corvinite Imperium: The Sword Saint within the Soul Seeker society commanding authority within the pantheon. Was ex-communicated upon death and astral displacement. — The Eternals: A gestalt of the the dragon who rules eternity he has been reborn with a reinforced imprint of his primogenitor. — The Vanishing Knights: The Inferno Sword for which the commune of Alcor, The Heart of Elyisum, dragon of Fabrolias. Inheritor of its heart, the Aegis. ✶ Name: The Sicamedes School. ✶ Class: Training. ✶ Information: “To future warriors— I was once but a common warrior, unremarkable in skill, unimpressive in wisdom and knowledge, hardly distinguished in the eyes of my peers. I was plagued with the base impulses of jealousy, shame and despair. My inner weakness allowed the demon in my arm to seep slowly into the rest of my body. There was nothing left for me other than to surrender myself to time, the one thing that begins, binds, and ends all men. But I refused to accept this dismal fate. I believed with a fierce heart that one's potential could be unlocked if only by strength of will and purpose; that my great power could emerge if I committed myself to training; that hidden skills could be discovered and developed if I listened to my soul. It was with this rekindled thirst for life that I lifted myself from obscurity, took up my sword once again, and became the legendary warrior I am now. Now, as I hear the death bell toll on my extraordinary life, I see that the only skill I ever needed was the one that resisted being ordinary. I dreamt that I was dancing through the skies with my weapon, as if fate put us together in a tragically-timed waltz. I only thank the heavens for allowing me a dance with the sky. It was a beautiful dance.” The Invincible Sword School is a sacred sword style originating from Desiderius of Rosinder. The swordsman spent his days away from society pushing the limitations of the flesh and the blade, costing him both his eyesight and his sanity. Within the years that followed his knowledge was given in the form of tomes to a farmer unaware of the destiny that would await them. Generations have passed since the discipline's origination, the bloodline of a prideful farmer in Rosinder giving birth to a legacy of talented swordslingers. The emphasis of the school is in strength, and form. All of which it can achieve is done so with tremendous control of the body's muscles and exceptional form honed through decades of training. Many who inherit the secrets of the school are unable to ever truly master it, proving just how formidable it is. With every generation the truths and understandings of past lives helped to further refine it, giving it an imperceptible edge that could cut fell even the preternatural. Everything performed within the library of techniques is done so by the virtues of the above average human body, requiring that it be talented and capable of absorbing the world as the mind would likewise require. Adapting and growing to the world around it the Sicamedes School has become a dangerous forlorn art for which very few are capable of understanding, and even fewer can master, for their souls are often torn asunder by the toil needed to become one with it. Evaristus Sicamedes has pushed himself to the brink to learn all of its secrets, and many within the deceased Dioscleti household considered him a true master of the blade. However, in-comparison to the previous inheritor of the Sicamedes School, killed by Camus Derg before his departure into the void of the unknown, Evaristus believes that there are still areas of improvement for himself and the future of the school. Volvere Pluvia [rolling rain] uses the focus of control within the hand with a break of concentration to vibrate the edge, causing strikes to multiply in not only quality but quantity. Depending on the user's skill level it is possible to land three slashes with a single strike or a thousand slashes depending on the frequency of the vibration. This scale of the ability is dependent on the amount of preparation behind it. Ultimus Exgiuus [last minute] uses the focus of control over the inner anatomy and channels their concentration into their nervous system, allowing the user to send any of the limbs into berserk that would harm friend, foe, or self alike. Usually a desperado ability prepared long in advance in the event of being cornered. The skill relies on the control of the berserk arm to create blade strikes of unrealistic speeds making the blade seem as if it never left its resting place or simply an invisible edge. Hirundo Rostri [swallow's beak] uses the oppressive aura of the swordsman as an extension of their own being in a way of formidable concentration. By extending their aura beyond their own body, through sheer virtue of determination can the swordsman create invisible blades both to block and attack the enemy, with much the appearance of ghost samurai or a telekinetic warrior. Understanding and mastering the way of the aura, and of this technique, is integral to learning one of the strongest techniques within the library. Aestate Pluviae [early summer rain] ✶ Name: Enhanced Conditioning. ✶ Class: Training. ✶ Information: To be continued. ✶ Name: Enhanced Strength. ✶ Class: Training. ✶ Information: To be continued. ✶ Name: Enhanced Speed. ✶ Class: Training. ✶ Information: To be continued.
  7. dvsn

    Dreams of Immortality.

    The moral ambiguity of destiny and the countless infatuations of those who rose and fell throughout time were complications that pervaded Gabriel. With each ebon heel clicking rhythmically along royal grounds beyond he never once took a moment to contemplate those things beyond his understanding. Why? Any other of such longevity and existentialism fitting would, but for one who knew only the world that existed through his own sapphire eyes, there was no need. In this endlessness there were only two things that mattered, power and loyalty, the two pillars for which the dichotomy of the soul's indecisiveness within could forge itself as a being higher than any and all. These were the precepts that he turned to in his very darkest hour where the eyes of his only family rest upon him when all else was lost, willing to save him from the depths of darkness that was the twisted self and world about. This unmistakable truth is what drove him to complete every manner of trial laid before him by Rafael, until the time came to truly test his mettle. Duke Sicamedes Evaristus was the strongest of the Corvinite Imperium, second only to Cornelius in skill, and to Corvinus himself in power. Across the world he was heralded as the strongest swordsman of the current generation and his exploits were held in high regard even in Genesaris. It was this claim that drove Gabriel to exercise the depths of a demented behavior, not in malice, but in respect for who he believed this man to be. By robbing him of everything not only would he eliminate any loose ends that may pursue him in the aftermath, as the entire family was well respected for their generational talent, but this would also bring out the absolute best in him as it would any mortal of familial attachment. All that he found in the end was absolute disappointment. Was his expectations too high? Was his craving simply insatiable? Or was it that his talent, groomed by Rafael himself, far superseded the supposition of all? Left with more questions in silence than answers he finally entered the upper spires of Lana'thel's West Wing where the gallery of breathtaking art would have swallowed anyone whole. As someone who had traveled and seen the world, or atleast many parts of it, this room heralded pieces that ascended the plane of reality. Absolutely of marvel some of them were more beautiful than the world itself, and this was enough to attract his attention for moments in the presence of his only true family remaining. Then he spoke, and with his words he commanded undivided attention. Without saying a word the humming sword that sang in the sheath of its creator was gripped with pride as he approached Rafael, slipping it into his clutches by the blade's end first. “A human's true potential exists in their connection to those they love...I simply meant to draw it out of him, while eliminating any chances of any knowing that I had been there.” Gabriel informed Rafael with the utmost respect, his young tenor sounding like that of a slightly older teenager who's chords matched that of his immaculate facade. “While I cannot say I did not enjoy killing them...my feral instincts howling through me...I did regret that innocents were dragged into the madness of my scheme. Therefore their very souls were collected into Bianca as all are...” he finished, removing his black hat from his nappy though resplendent black hair.
  8. dvsn

    Pictures of Us

    me without a cut smh me in afghanistan.
  9. dvsn

    IF YOU CALL MY NAME...

    “What did'ja say punk?!” a bandit of arrogance yelled from main street, his face contorting with frustration and belligerence. Before him stood the scion of radiance who's incandescence washed over those about in a sea of divinity. Virtruis only stared with eyes of silent intensity as the burly nobody with a few others behind him confronted the immortal swordsman. That's right...they were affiliated with those he had killed in saving Simisara, the Teshiv Leaf bandits, or atleast that's what their ledger suggested. Heralding in a time of renovation where Renovatio was engulfed in shifting laws, energies, and even personas, they captivated in a lawless time to kill, enslave, and pilfer from the innocent. The absolutely most despicable. Some would say they were doing what they had to do to survive, after being unjustly prosecuted by the era of the past, their riches and livelihoods thrown to the wind— but retribution did not discriminate. Neither did the truth. Painted in blotches of assorted crimson the mindless brawn stomped within a few feet of Virtruis who's eyes that glowed like the sunlight of the heavens above. With a single-edged stone axe attached to his back by thick chords of yellow he reached back and removed it, in a single gesture whipping it to his side. The very winds themselves howled and even pushed back recklessly against those spectating from afar, suggesting that this man was no ordinary warrior. “What is your name?” Virtruis' coarse baritone demanded, his hands never moving from their positions in the pockets of his ebony slacks. “HEH!” the nameless bandit leader sneered, leaping a few feet high in a single leap where he'd hang above for but a moment before descending. Within both his hands was the long-handled single-edged axe that he intended to bring down on Virtruis with little resistance. “I AM MASAK-!” With a grand entrance like his, it was anti-climatic among other things to see him go flying the opposite way without so much as a single gesture emphasized by Virtruis. Nothing. All that most would or even could see was the dancing of ivory clumps that danced along top his crown. Blood and gravel awaited Masak- wait what was it again? Everyone, even his henchmen, as perplexed as they were, stared in disbelief. Who was this unnamed warrior from lands afar? What sorcery did he employ? Having never shifted his gaze and apparently not even having moved, he removed his left hand from his pocket to yawn into it. “This is honestly boring...get lost...” Virtruis announced to the silent masses, subconsciously observing their ring-leader stumble to his feet in pure rage. Unadultered belligerence even. “I AM MASAKI THE RHINO, YOU WILL FEEL MY HORN!!!” “Absolutely not...” he immediately retorted, almost in disgust. No matter where in the cosmos he wandered, the linguistics of language were forever changing. Was that a sexual innuendo or was it just convenient? This actually managed to grab his attention once more, where something else tugged on his soul, something just beyond the square, something of far more importance. Smearing the blood of his nose and peeling flesh from his burning face he smacked his hand against the handle of his axe and began his rush. The other five who accompanied him would only stare, until he roared with a battlecry that saw fear strike the hearts of all who watched...that is, other than the one himself. The endless sun that would never be extinguished, shining with a resplendent luster of which all would have to take note. If this is what he wanted, he would surely get it, even if it cost Virtruis more than he would gain.
  10. dvsn

    VIRTRIUS the Superluminary.

    The Virtuous Star ascended. tbc.
  11. dvsn

    VIRTRIUS the Superluminary.

    ZENOUSHKA-RYUU ancient jujitsu, muay boran, chinese kempo, kosaka and ogame style, karate mutekendoku-style, kuremisago style, pencak silat, and the legendary musou style. blending all of the styles, their disciplines, and intricate techniques into a mixed martial arts style of their own, the incredible combination has become known as the god dragon discipline. This art form spans the verse of the cosmos, with the one true master being The Infinity Star, Adell Illiandes Laemington. TENCHI MUSHIN-RYUU otherwise known as the earth and heaven nothingness style, it exists as the bridge between possibility and metaphysical technique. utilizing anima Virtrius' is capable of creating spectral arms that operate via neurological / spiritual symmetry and can be utilized in the same vein of alacrity as his usual two arms with an albeit larger degree of control. These artificial limbs devour other forms of preternatural energy on contact to increase their strength, speed, size, and number. said to be the ethereal manifestation of the warrior's soul, after devouring enough energy it's said that its true form is frightening. DO, THE WAY is considered the pinnacle of combat mastery; one part philosophy, one part martial art, it is practiced by those very rare few who have completely dedicated their lives to martial arts. it is said that once someone has mastered every fighting style, every technique, a road opens up for them and at last they see the one true way. Do in and of itself takes from everything before it and at the same time is its own entity, creating a methodology where those who use it simply understand and know the exact place to position themselves, the right maneuvers to execute and the right amount of force to exert. The do-ist has learned from his lifetime of martial arts study how to act in the least exhaustive, most effective way at all times. it has been said that do-ists seldom look like they are really doing anything at all. Their movements are almost supernaturally graceful and it never seems as if they are exerting themselves...ever. that is unless they so choose. They are strangely peaceful and always aware of their surroundings. METAPHYSICAL ZODIAC APOTHESIS Virtrius' physical aptitude cannot be measured through objective studies of material reality. Able to transcend and oftentimes shatter the laws of physics and relativity as they apply to him, his potential is predetermined by situational circumstance of which the immortal swordsman can usually control. This only applies in Kalopsia where the blood of Zaratras is closest. In the Praetorium's capital itself, Virtrius can reach unfathomable heights. MASTER VOLTIA MANIPULATOR ??? EYE OF YEFREM ???
  12. dvsn

    IF YOU CALL MY NAME...

    The sun peaked through the mud brown curtains of the tavern, painting a stroke of gold luminescence upon the immortal swordsman. His eyes were soft, glassy, but his expression worn and tired. How many weeks had it been now? Renovatio was a continent of complexity of which he had seen little to compare to in all of his galactic travels in his life's past— and this troubled him. According to the residue of his memories she was here somewhere...that much his deductive reasoning told him. Where exactly? This was an issue the ivory-haired swordslinger faced, his eyes glued to the lacquered wooden floors peeling from years of abandoned care. Somewhere in the ghettos of one of Oo'xora's lesser populated locales, Virtrius pondered where it was next that he would search for her. The closer he felt himself getting, the further away their reunion seemed to stretch. This was love, intoxicating, enough to drive the sharpest blade dull, the calmest man mad, even the sun below the horizon forevermore... “Heh...are you still here? Or did my other, weaker self fail...” He knew it was impossible. Evaristus had procured the most elite vanguard to protect Remmington before he fled to his demise, a death that would allow Virtrius to be freed from the cycle of reincarnation by a mysterious force that even he did not understand. Or perhaps he did...perhaps it was love, that which all began and ended with. Lucid but fatigued he rose from his bed, never having removed any clothing, for the inn was nothing more than a place to recollect his thoughts overnight to determine his next move. Had he had any luck or made any progress? Absolutely not. This would have frustrated the mortal who's soul was once bonded with his own before, but Virtrius was an immortal. The only thing that could separate them was death... And that only meant a difference in time. Walking almost autonomously towards and out of the oak door he proceeded down the quiet hallway and down the stairs where the sound of laughter and clinging glasses of alcohol could be heard. Everyone appeared jolly and spirited, with them each individually at different times glancing over to watch the gruff swordslinger descend the steps. Approaching the barkeep that was a mere five steps away, he slapped three golden coin within his locked, gloved hands on the counter before proceeding to the door, his hands stuffing themselves simultaneously into his black slacks. “Thank you for the room, Olybazz. Give my regards to your mother.” the spry, yet wise baritone spoke. Without acknowledgement Olybazz stared in fear, very much unlike his mother whom he had saved on the outskirts of Oo'xora days prior. A coincidence? Perhaps. It mattered not however. In a matter of seconds he was out on the beaten path, headed to the outskirts of the outpost where he'd make his way back into the wilderness once more. “Please...help me Zaratras...so that I may return to bring about your citadel in your name...” he whispered beneath his breath solemnly.
  13. dvsn

    BORDER, 𒀯𒀳.

    In a world defined by peace in dichotomy and the worship of the cosmic, the need to instruct the generation of post-life on the ideology of Zaratras' wishes in narrative form became essential. Virtrius and the Solar Society combined their efforts to translate the Apocrypha of Euphemia which would become the noetic scripture of which to found the future society of templars and vanguards of Kalopsia's future. Euphemia, the Angel of Luminaer, with the lost art of the Sight would record the past, the present, and the future of dragons, their impact, and what would become necessary for survival, a tome that spanned thousands of pages before her death at the hands of Anshin, the Eternal Star. It is from this that BORDER would founded, using the information of the Apocrypha of Euphemia to weaponize the enigmatic mineral known as Voltia into powerful Voltica technology known as Triggers, and develop one of the most unique forces in all of Renovatio. Unlike the Zodiac Bravada, or even the popular but unseen PRIDE, they are broken down into roles and not classes. Attacker, Gunner, and Sniper, each with a wide variety of possibilities as to their capabilities and what tasks they can fulfill - each with their own unique set of abilities. tba.
  14. dvsn

    the Heart that Bled dry.

    While hot tears cascaded down the cheeks of a disciple that had lost its master, an enigmatic figure from afar watched on in displeasure. “Pick your bloody head up!!!” a thunderous roar echoed from the precipice beyond. Inflexible muscles like bags chiseled and refined glistened in the rays of the rising sun. Ovid Zeige [x] was a towering mass of mesomorphic splendor that oftentimes came off as a giant rather than a human. Standing seven feet tall and four inches, the only garments he wore was what appeared to be an ivory diaper and a golden cowl that covered his shoulders down to his bare ankles. That very vestment however blew in the winds of the valley, showcasing his peerless musculature. Giving Jackson the moment to view him, he then disappeared, and reappeared just behind him. The only sign of this repositioning was the sound of the air's displacement, a low-pitched fizzle in the space a few feet behind him where his shadow was allowed to tower over the dead and their apprentice. “Did this man raise you to cry like a helpless child as well?” The arrogant sneer on his his bronze, thick-chinned facade may have bothered Jackson, but little did he know what purpose this mysterious man had for appearing, shoulders larger than life.
  15. dvsn

    the Lunaris Praetorium.

    OVERVIEW The Lunaris Praetorium is the theocratic government of Kalopsia governing all surrounding lands under it's unified legislation. It is in this world that all races and walks of life, immortal and not, can coexist in a utopia of perpetual equality. From the ashes of nothingness it appeared overnight, the Citadel of Animus towering over the peerless constructions both old and new, almost as created by the hand of Zaratras, the Valor Star himself. It is here that the mysterious lifestone known as Voltia is regulated throughout all of Renovatio, allowing any and all the power to weave their spirits into magical splendor whether to bring destruction to evil or life to those in need. According to the Renovatian Census Bureau, the population of the Kalopsia province is around 20,000,000 (capital: 400k); with an equal unregistered amount of all races from across Renovatio and beyond. In this land, origins do not matter, all that does is your registration in the Lunaris Praetorium in accordance with the Covenant of Anima. key terms; lunaris praetorium, kalopsia, zaratras, voltia, renovatio, citadel of animus, covenant of anima. GEOGRAPHY Unlike the world that once existed in the same space prior, the ever shifting lands of Kalopsia are a wonder to behold. Every season the land mass dramatically shifts under the pressure of anima cascading from the eternal slumber of Zaratras who is the lifeblood of Kalopsia itself. The result is the appearance of many mystical wonders, land masses, and even enigmatic ruins that may have never existed. According to the Apocrypha of Eumeria, this is a phenomenon that warps worlds, places, and things into, and out of, Kalopsia constantly changing. The Lunaris Praetorium itself however is a series of seven pillars known as Titans as they rest on the back of spawns of Zaratras who appear as nothing more than landmasses to those unable to feel the lifeblood beneath. Each of the tremendously large land-masses are connected by light-vector bridges powered by Voltica technology and adorned by golden rings at either side intricately linked endlessly. The seven Titans are Baal, Rahab, Hesiod, Levant, Ashur, Gila, and Tiamat. key terms; anima, apocrypha of eumeria, voltica CLIMATE As complicated as the land masses surrounding the capital too is the ever changing climate. One region may be in a cycle of perpetual winter, while another may follow the usual cycles of Renovatian weather. This is an important factor in how The Lunaris Praetorium governs the region as will be outlined below, in tandem with the ever changing geography. CULTURE In Kalopsia, your worth is governed by your purpose designated by choice and design. While there are minor exceptions to those with gifts in one area or another (some things being tailored only to specific biological, or mental faculties, i.e sports) the Praetorium's registration system is essential in allowing someone who has entered Kalopsia, whether living at the capital of Lunaris, or in one of the many villages and cities outside, to follow their passion and dreams. Therefore the gap between the aristocratic elite and the poor being eliminated as everyone, regardless of what they chose to do or pursue, is compensated more than enough. While there are minor political issues, primary as far as the Praetor and the Ignatius Council goes, the enriched culture of Lunaris' high-technology, high-magicka society seems to leave most who reside within Kalopsia happy. key terms; praetor, ignatius council. PARKS AND RECREATION tba. GOVERNMENT AND NATIONAL SECURITY The Praetor— Eternally and infinite, the ruler is chosen as the vestige of Zaratras to lead the theocratic government and the world beyond. The current Praetor is none other than Virtrius himself. The Celestial Vanguard— The most talented and powerful warriors from across Renovatio aspire to become a part of the Celestial Vanguard that knows few equal. Much about them rests in enigma, and rumor has it that one of them alone holds the power of an overlord capable of reducing cities to ash by their lonesome. Only the most elite qualify to enter their ranks, and even fewer can learn the mystical arts that they hold, directly descending from Zaratras himself. BORDER 𒀯𒀳— The official military of The Lunaris Imperium and Kalopsia. They use particularly powerful Voltica technology known as Triggers and Voltia itself to protect the kingdom from any threats foreign and domestic. 100,000 of them occupy the capital prepared to depart at a moments notice. The Crow— They exist as extensions of PRIDE who have jurisdiction over the surrounding lands and beyond. They borrow many of their teachings and have transformed them into their own. The few that exist are rumored to be on-par with the Headmaster's due to their combination of arts and Voltia in tandem.
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