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About Artificer

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  1. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    LT. GEN. LYALL ZARYFF With a glance at his watch, an irritated gaze from Loveta, and the sound of the shaman, The General knew it was about time that they start their rounds. The members of the fourth caravan were most likely tired, so it was probably a good time for them all to rest. Walking up as quiet as a cat, the salt-and-pepper haired man approached both Graye and Ardese from behind, putting one hand on the captain's shoulder and one hand on the shaman's. "Its good to see that we have some spirit in this tavern," he laughed, turning Beris towards him so he could get a better look at the man. "I couldn't help but hear your words from down the ladder, and I think that you sir, have made a splendid idea," he said, placing his finger on the chest of the shaman. Then, backing away to give the men some more room, he continued, "We'll send a raven by the morrow with word of our need. Now that we have your men to support us, I am certain that we can kill these wolves." "Cregsgy told me your name was Beris, and it is a pleasure to meet you. If you can, could you fortify the exterior building tonight? This shack won't hold up against these wolves. Before, me and the last of my men hid here, but now we shall not have to hide any longer." Then, without any hint to his next action, he turned back to the other mercenaries, vagabonds, and other men of the mission: "Alright everyone. Tonight is the night that we no longer have to fear nor hide from the creatures of Whispernight. Before, when they came, we were divided and sparse. Now, now we are here together, and together we will take back Cobran from these filthy mutts," he rallied. The men, having already been spurred from their relaxation by the inspiring words of the Beris, were now riled up by the General. There, his blue eyes gleamed like that of a leader, one which seemed to show endless optimism for the future. At those words, he commanded: "There is not much room up here I realize, so Trellis, Dromerus, Ailuyn and Gwendolyn, Aria, Karkatros, Tybalt, and Gerald," he said pointing at the unruly axeman, twin barbarians, a female paladin, an artificer, and the two other mercenaries. "You all can sleep in the basement where me and my men are residing. There is plenty of room down there for the lot of you, so move down there and get some rest." "As for Aron, Aremis, Laurence, Wren, Dan, Jaque, Beris, Khakina" he said, looking back towards the shaman with his icy blue eyes, "You all shall sleep either up here or in the attic. We wake early at dawn tomorrow, so I expect all of you to be ready when the sun rises." "Aron, Laurence, you both will take the first night-shift to make sure no wolf, lycan, or any beast of that nature steps foot within the perimeter of this building." Turning back, and taking the time to look at every single person who was present within the room, he made his final statement."Let's get some rest for tomorrow, men!" With that, the General made his way along with the rest to the lower quarters, but not before motioning for Adlet to come with. He had a task for him... ... also, his wound was itching like crazy, so perhaps it would be a good time for himself to retire as well.
  2. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    ??? "They haven't moved yet," the first one growled, teeth bared and bloody. Amber eyes pierced across the distance, looking across the many rooftops of the ruined town. He watched the encampment with the caravans, awaiting for his targets to exit. He was The Watch, of course, and he would be the first to spot them. "Therre arre too many of them...," he spoke, every "R" rolling off with a guttural rasp. "I see that... this will be difficult," the second replied, white hair melding on the pale, snow-covered rooftop, a thick fur jacket acting as further cover from unwelcome spectators. Still, the two were several buildings away from the group, much too far to be noticed. Purple eyes gazed through a set of binoculars, eyeing the encampment. A low growl came from the throat of his companion. The second could feel the werewolf grow tense, as was frequent now on these moonlit nights. "Patience, we'll get them," he reassured, putting his hand on the other's hairy shoulder. "Therre arre morre humans therre now," the first one grunted with a wolf-faced grimace. Tighter did he bite the blood-soaked rag in his mouth to stave off the feral urges that taunted him from within. The lycanthrope would not rest until he had revenge. "The night is young and the moon has just risen... they will come out," the human spoke, gripping a rune-engraved stone in the other hand, and tighter so did he hold his friend back. Tonight was the night they would have their revenge.
  3. I just nearly peed in my pants reading Trellis's post.Β πŸ˜‚Β 

    1. Artificer



      I try my best. I just feel like that would be the appropriate response from the half-elf. He is strange you know.


  4. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    TRELLIS MONKSWOOD "Nope, no development," he spurted just as the man finished his sentence, "Just a bunch of men getting drunk and staring at the Colonel. Strange folk we have here, you know." His voice was fast with the a slight staccato when he stuttered β€” words strung together without spaces in between. "Wow, you're right, it must be hard to get up and down the stairs. Geez, how did you even lose that leg?" Then, he took a short pause as he realized he almost forgot his manners. O-oh yah, 'if I may ask. Rin.'" To be honest, he wasn't really interested β€” he thought it would be a good ice-breaker to talk about the fond memories of one's past. Before even giving a chance for the rider to answer, he walked up the stairs and continued. "Say, you know I haven't ever seen a Terran Riding Dragon this close before, you know, since this is Genesaris. The only dragon's we have around here are huge, scary, and would probably eat you... but...." "Wow! This one is a youngin, is she not?" He was probably wrong. Trellis blinked, readjusting his glasses to observe the sheen of Cricket's scales. "Wonder how you got your hands on this little fella," he said as he bent down. Then, strangely, he sprawled himself on the floor, scooting inch by inch. There, he reached his arm out with a look of exasperation β€” trying not to get his face too close to the black beast. Never too early to try to touch a dragon's tail.
  5. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    FRYGG FYNNVARTHR For a brief moment, the rifleman felt immersed in a sea of solitude. His family? Gone. His friends? Gone. His home? Gone. The bitter waters were indeed deep, and he felt like struggling to keep his head above it was futile. Perhaps letting himself drown in silence was all that was left; all that he deserved. He just watched as they died, unable to do anything. He could have stayed there in the corner of his mind for a while as he had many times before; however, it was the touch of another that reminded Frygg that he was not alone. "Frygg.... Breathe. It's alright," said a familiar voice. Someone new in his life, someone that reminded him that the world had not gone to ashes. At the voice's instruction, he focused. That's right. I need to breathe, he thought. Breathe Frygg, breathe. Slowly, he calmed his mind by closing his eyes, taking in a long, controlled, deep respiration of frigid air, letting out all of the frustrations, worry, and fear from his chest. He couldn't let the chains of his past bind him forever. No, it wouldn't be what they wanted. He had a job, and he wasn't going to let his inner demons get in the way. Turning around, he looked to the face wrought with silver scars β€” looking at the man who pulled him from his trance. "Thank you," he said, flashing a hollow, but genuine smile. Frygg didn't need any other words to describe what happened because he knew that Wren understood. The man's face told a story of hardship, and surely he knew the pain of loss. He could see it in the man's hardened eyes. The images of the man's past were burned so deep, they were irremovable. Maybe we're the same. Wren's ability to continue onward despite injuries proved that he too was a survivor, the metal leg a testament to the man's conviction. "I can help with the fire," the rifleman suddenly announced, walking over the the other of the room to get pieces of lumber from the cobweb-covered pile. Throwing a few into the dead fireplace, he waited for either the dragon or the wind mage to light it. Then came an all-too-familiar voice. Oh god, not Trellis.
  6. Artificer

    Custom title raffle 5

    Hmmmmm.... if I join, then I reduce the chance of everyone else getting a title ... ... and that sounds kind of evil ... ... but having a title sounds cool, so may I hop in? I feel like 11 will be a lucky number ~
  7. Artificer

    Frygg Fynnvarthr

  8. Artificer

    Orisia | Ask Me Anything

    Greetings! I was wondering where I could find more information about Ceyana, and how much of the island has been explored. I was reading through the lore, and found the link to Ceyana leading to an empty page, so I was curious at what was there. Is there a map of the region perchance, or any established quests/lore?
  9. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    LT. COL. YVANNE LOVETA The veins of her temples bulged as she reached her wit's end with this one. No words could describe her anger at this point as the foul-breathed woman breathed upwards, clearly trying to incite some sort of reaction from the Colonel. Khakina had suceeded. To be quite honest, she could care less about he woman's organization, and even less about the petty problems of little people; however, she did care when uncouth individuals made derisive remarks to her directly. "A. Gingerbush? What a pleasant code name to use. Yes, you can call me gingerbush," she hissed, looking downwards at the filthy woman with unmasked contempt. To say she was seething would be an understatement as Yvanne wanted to rip that bottle of alcohol from Lady Khakina's hands and shatter it on the wall. "I would prefer you use official titles for those in control of your paycheck; however, I suppose in these conditions, and your current condition, we should all be as curt as possible. Perhaps you would be able to comprehend that." "Since your name is a mouthful, I think I'll just call you Wolf-Bait, alright?" Then with a turn, she ended the idiotic conversation and continued on her way. She had no time to deal with drunkards. "I recommend you spend the night sobering up if you don't want to live up to your new name tomorrow, runt," she remarked with a flourish of her right hand, caring not to look back at Wolf-bait. Today had been full of enough tomfoolery. The night was fast approaching, and perhaps it was time to enforce military curfew on these unruly vagabonds. Coldly, she walked past the small figure. Khakina was less than a mote of dust in the wind to her CPT. ADLET GRAYE At those words, he stopped chewing. "I don't think you fully understand the gravity of the situation, Bear," he spoke gravely. "There is no resupply-officer, or a base-manager. Me, Loveta, Zaryff, and Nicholas are the only members of the First Caravan left.... The others, well...." "They didn't make it," he stated with a concrete expression. "Getting in through the Jar'Katul range via Tel’Kortuuk Pass is a one-way venture. After running out of supplies a few weeks ago, we were going back so we could get supplies so we would be prepared when the other caravans came, but were ambushed...," he spoke, looking away from the Shaman, "We were the only ones to survive. Hell, I don't know if the General told you all yet, but we are all stranded here. The wolves won't let us leave, so to be honest, we're just biding our time now. You guys are the only other caravan to have arrived." "We've just been out here trying to survive."
  10. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    CPT. ADLET GRAYE The question caught the young captain off-guard. Him? Head of military tactics? He would be lucky if he would be at the head of the scraps for all he was good for. A damn dish cleaner was what he was β€” never good enough for the main entrΓ©e. Still, Bear's comment couldn't help but elicit the crack of a smile from Adlet. "That's very flattering," he laughed, "Huh.... Me? The head of something? Man, I'm not, but I wish I was some day." "It is a pleasure to meet you Bear," he said with newfound warmness, trying to look behind at his new acquaintance, but to no avail. The shaman was strong, and it seemed as if he was not going to give the captain a choice as to whether or not he would share a meal with him. Still, it was a welcome token of hospitality here in the most inhospitable environments. There was never a moment down in these parts where Captain Adlet wasn't hungry. As a matter of fact, he was practically starving with the lack of food down here in the Cold South. There, they sat down at one of the tables, or at least what remained of it. Graciously did the piece of furniture stand, torn down the main diagonal while missing one of its four legs. It was a miracle that the thing was balanced, let alone have the ability to carry contents upon its counter top. There, Adlet took a seat and pushed the other chair out for the fellow behind him. Time to talk business. "If you want to talk tactics, I'd recommend speaking to Loveta or Zaryff," he spoke with less martial discipline, and more of an air of comfort. Titles were thrown out the air as he still could not get over the fact that the guy assumed that he was the head of tactics. Even if it was a polite question, it was a welcome one. But wait β€” what if Bear didn't know them by their first names? Stupid... he was stupid to use first names. Well, it was too late to use military formalities, so he elaborated: "Loveta is the tallest woman in the room, and she is the Lieutenant Colonel, second in rank only to General Zaryff who I'm sure you are already familiar with." Then he remembered the object of his hatred. "Don't even bother with the shy one over there. He barely talks, and is more dead weight," he added, motioning towards where Nicholas stood earlier; however, both he and the General were missing from the premises. "Uh, he is the fourth man from my caravan. Can't miss him: he ain't The General, ain't a woman, and definitely ain't as handsome as me." Hopefully Bear would be able to distinguish the difference between Graye's regiment's uniforms and the rest of the men with disorganized apparel. It was nice to be able to talk over a meal for once as opposed to fighting over every last morsel in bitter frenzy. Taking out a piece of toughened red meat which was cured by the icy cold, he ate the chewy, foul-smelling flesh with a bit of a grimace. It was half-rotting and still raw, but it was a taste that the captain just had to get used to. Not much food, so there was no room to be picky. Naturally, he would have offered a bite to the shaman, but the food he held was so small, and probably far too old for the man's tastes. "Sorry, I don't have any extra rations, but I have some spirits down in the basement if you want a drink." Adlet examined Bear's demeanour, and noted an aura of strange friendliness to the man; although it was easy for him to see that the man only engaged in conversation for information about the mission. The captain assumed that Bear was just the kind of man: a man of the mission. Still, perhaps he could finally make a friend down in this accursed tundra.... It was a fleeting idea, but one that Adlet had always caressed in the back of his head. A comrade, a partner. That would be nice. He shook his head: he needed to focus on the mission at hand if he were to ever get anywhere in rank. Then came a brilliant idea: perhaps Bear could join The Army with him, the General, and the rest of them. Hell, they were always in need of stronger members, and less fearful runts like Nicholas. Maybe he'd make the offer later if the shaman was indeed truly worthy.
  11. Artificer

    In Hostile Territory β€” Dangerous Game

    Alright everyone, I think we have everyone we will have in this thread! Thank you everyone for all of your support and interest. IMPORTANT!!!!!! I wanted to add this to the post because I feel it is important, but here are the formal expectations for the thread as a whole for combat: Characters perceive time the same way, so you can take as little time or as much time as you need. This; however, is important as it relays the key fact: other people can still take actions while your taking actions. This doesn't mean that if someone is flying at you, when you hold out your sword they can instantly dodge. No they will still hit your sword and be impaled; however, they do have the option to maybe turn to mitigate a fatal strike into a serious injury. It will mainly boil down to logic. As for abilities, everything can practically be blocked or evaded. This doesn't mean there will be a situation where attacks are unavoidable (e.g. someone is covered in oil and you light the oil-covered floor on fire, (edit) or you slash from their blind side during an exchange of blows), but if the character has enough time to anticipate the attack, they can act. Again, logic is everything. Usually, the more details you include when you're fighting, the less likely you'll end up in a dispute. Since we all are different characters with different abilities, we'll fall back on mild powers and the assumption that everyone is equal in terms of skill and power. In short, no character or attack will ever be too fast, strong, or powerful to see or account for. You'll have to ensnare your enemy and catch their mistakes, and strike before they can realize what's coming. In general, preparation time spent for an attack or action usually will help with the success of it (e.g. charging a magic spell, or sacrificing one's attention to attacking to focus on defending); however, we will always default to whether or not something was reasonable or not. AOE attacks are cool, but they are rarely ever one-shot moves. They make for great party surprised, stuns, but an attack with a smaller "spread" can be considered to be more potent. E.g., shooting from a machine gun in a wide cone to hit more enemies as opposed to focusing your shots at a single target is the best analogy I can use. It will never be about whose attack was the most powerful, but rather whose attack landed the best. Also just as a courtesy, don't post ten bajillion actions into one post hue. (edit) You can hide things such as curses, hidden weapons, and secret traps from your post (e.g. surprise post), but if are hiding things, you definitely need to add a hint in one of your posts. For example, if I am readying to throw a concealed kunai, I might move my hand behind my back. The more details you put in your hint as well, the more free you are to be creative with your surprise attack!
  12. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    TRELLIS MONKSWOOD A hooded tuft of red hair popped from beneath the stairwell, jade irises magnified by the large circular lenses of his glasses whose frame rested upon the bridge of his nose. Peering from the floor below, he took care not to be too obvious, but to be honest, it did not matter as his body was completely transparent. Was he snooping around? No. He was simply investigating the mild disturbance in the atmosphere, the nature of which he hypothesized to have originated from a zephyr of spirit of some sort. Standing halfway up the stairs, the lower half of his face was obscured by the floor that the other three people (and one dragon) stood on. Then, out of thin air, came that strange teenager he had noticed earlier on the trip. He knew the boy had a whiff of magic within him, but now he confirmed that the boy had wind powers of some sort, perhaps being able to manipulate and meld with any gas, air, or vaporous substance. Phew, he thought β€” no one had noticed him yet. The charm of invisibility he had cast on himself earlier was working. There he stood as still as a statue, watching the strange exchange of events. Fascinating, so that is what a Terran riding dragon looked like, he observed as the majestic beast unfurled its wings in a protective stance around his owner. Then his attention shifted towards the strange boy who radiated with wind magicks of the most potent nature. So this is the power of the Sappho Tellus Seed... this will certainly make things interesting, he thought, considering the possible applications and uses of the item. When they began the process of making a small fire, that was when the young mage decided to reveal himself. First, before anything, he took off the spell so that he wouldn't cause the rifleman another panic attack. Seriously, the man's instincts and volatility with a trigger was dangerous for everyone. Then, with light step, he continued up the stairs, and removing his emerald hood which revealed his pointed ears, greeted the party as the firewood hit the floor. He wrapped his hand on the wall behind him three times, as if knocking on a door. "Hello? Its Trellis β€” I heard some noise up here, is everything okay?"
  13. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    LT. COL. YVANNE LOVETA After The Boss insisted he'd finish his conversation Nicholas alone, Loveta soon found herself in the company of a very diminutive woman. She reckoned the coat adorned figure was a member from the fourth caravan, but as to who she was, Loveta had no idea β€” let alone interest. She couldn't stop thinking about her beloved superior. She was already enraptured by the thought of just being able to be at his side, and that was enough to keep her preoccupied for the night. Now she had to deal with the drunken stupor of someone clearly more inferior than she was? Absolutely disgusting. Still... it could be worse she reasoned. She could be talking to the loathsome rifleman. Oh what she would do to put a silver bullet in his shoulder, perhaps pull apart his limbs from his torso.... Certainly The General wouldn't mind. It wasn't as if that one soul was important to the mission at hand anyways. But now, as of the very moment, she had to deal with the newcomer who reeked of alcohol.... Yvanne abhorred alcohol. The woman's mere presence was an offense to Yvanne herself, but the Colonel knew that she had to keep face β€” even if it was in front of the disdained. There, she hid all of her disgust behind the mask of a genuine smile β€” one which would would fool all but the most adept. She had practiced the art of feigning emotions since she was young, mastered until the point where she herself couldn't even tell what she was feeling. Anger, sorrow, happiness, love β€” these emotions were all in her capacity to emulate. It was all facial muscles, intonation, voice modulation, and teeth. It was so easy, a simian could do it. Besides, what were emotions but disguises in her arsenal? Turning, she bowed with faux respect as she greeted Lady Khakina to the best of her ability, trying not to double over as her sensitive nose picked up the powerful odor of alcohol that came out with every word the woman said. "It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Khakina," she replied, ignoring strange gesticulations and symbols the woman made with her hands. "I have heard about the Black Hand from a few reports," she continued, "... and we of the South find it of great pleasure to have your services of such a great organization. Please, if you have any questions, please ask, but I must say that the General is currently preoccupied with very important discussions for tomorrow." She kept a strong facade, even though she could already feel her wire thin patience was coming to bare threads. Just the thought of dealing with a drunkard β€” possibly worse than the dwarf β€” was infuriating, but still, she pained a smiled. Who was this woman to ask about her General? Doesn't she have the sense to know that he was still recovering from a near fatal shot? There was no way in seven hells that the woman was going to even touch him. In fact, there is no way Loveta would let any man, woman, wolf, or anything touch him.... He was hers, and she was his.
  14. Artificer

    The Wolf Masquerade

    FRYGG FYNNVARTHR Instinct went into overdrive as the rifleman felt the air change in weight. On the sudden gust of cold wind came an apparition of sorts, an ethereal phantasm turned corporeal in a matter of seconds, and Frygg couldn't believe his eyes. It was a Geist for certain, he judged, and with the Geist did his breath retreat back into his chest. The boy had no time to even comprehend what had just happened as the appearance was unannounced and unexpected. Fragmented visions then clouded his view as the blood rushed to his ears, the last thing he heard regarding a cricket of some sort. Whatever the rider Wren had said did not matter to Frygg as his own surroundings now warped around the perimeter of his body, twisting itself into scenes of flashing horror. Milliseconds felt like days, and seconds like years as the recent past played back in painfully perfect detail at the forefront of his mind.... How many times would he be forced to relive that moment? β—† β—† β—† KURATEL MARKET PLACE; CIRCA MONTH OF THE FALCON, THIRD ERA1: I could feel the sweat that poured down every avenue, every pit, every crevice of my body as I ran blindly forward for my life through the blurred shapes and vivid flames. The insidious perspiration mixed with the soot and glass dust that covered my body, creating a fine abrasive paste that lined the fabric of my clothing. I could only grit my teeth in agony as the rags I wore bobbed up and down as I ran, rubbing skin red and raw with the substance at an unceasing tempo. The exit to the alleyway was near, at least it seemed to be. It was impossible to tell the difference between anything anymore now that the world was covered by a thin veneer of perpetual ash. Then I saw it: home. There is was, just past the market pavilion, past the now-immolated willow tree,... and across a new, endless sea of pale, maggot-infested corpses. Across the cracked cobblestone did I run, bounding over the dead neighbors of mine, tripping, and clawing, and making my way over the mountain of bodies, gagging from the rancid odors of death and degradation. I choked for breath as smoke clung to the air, but I could not help but run into the burning building. It was my home. "Mother, Mother!" I cried out in desperation as I arrived to threshold of my house β€” door torn off of the hinges. I needed to get my family out and into safety. Looking in, I was only able to get a glimpse of what remained within the torrential inferno: on the ground, there was the faint suggestion of the sepia boards that once lined the floor, now strewn across the gravel foundation in unordered disarray. Cracks spiderwebbed the alabaster walls, chunks and portions of the white stone now missing from the walls. Then, before everything erupted in hellfire, I saw what bloomed in the center of the room. Down on the torn up rug lied a blossoming rose of crimson. There where the petals of blood met was my mother's hollow form, skin now sunken deep into her bones with veins as black as midnight, and hovering over her was a pale, gaunt, almost transparent figure. It held her up with the embrace and gentleness of a lover, but it could not fool me. I could only watch as I saw the geist take in the last of her essence, her very soul. I felt feint, and even in this is a dream, I still feel feint. It's unhinged jaw had eaten her very life away as its kin had the rest of the town. There was no remorse in those burning, blue, accursed eyes. Mother. Is. Dead. Everything at that moment was a still life picture, an eternity within a single moment. Moments unending within moments unending, leaving me to only reflect on what gods would have let such an event occur, and what gods have fated me to be haunted by these moments everlasting. It was only when I was knocked back by a percussive blast of blue, unholy wyrmfire that the trance within the trance was broken, and I was catapulted across the square and into a mound of rotting flesh and bone. Whether it was the shock of the fall or the sheer terror and anguish I felt, it was at that moment that I was struck by an utterly clear, crisp moment of horrific clarity which cut through my reality and manifested itself into one thought: Brother. Where is Brother? β—† β—† β—† FRYGG FYNNVARTHR He stepped back, tripping back towards the wall, nearly falling over as he could no longer distinguish fact from fiction. Before he knew what he was even doing, the boy had recklessly swung around his rifle from behind him, knocking open a shuddered window and letting the blizzard winds into the attic. In frantic frenzy, his hands moved on their own, unhinging the breech-loading mechanism of the gun, loading a bullet into its chamber, and holding up the barrel towards the spectral offender. Knuckles white, and eyes as wide with fear as they were with unparalleled rage, he held the damned barrel of the gun to the creature's inverted face. Revenge. Revenge against the fiends of Whispernight β€” no, revenge against all inhuman mongrels was all he could think about. It was a promise he made, and a promise he intended to keep. It was only out of sheer luck that as he was about to pull the trigger, his consciousness lapsed back into rationality, and with it did he scarcely recognize the young face and voice that greeted him: it was the teenager from the beginning of the group's travels. The heart that resided within his feeble chest was pounding, and then suddenly dropped. He could have shot him. His body trembled wildly as he let the gun slip out of his hands, hitting the ground hard. Slowly, he exhaled the breath which he had held for the entirely of that period, releasing the imprisoned torment that festered within him. Then, in morbid silence did he slowly turn around and stare out the now-open window he once sat in, letting the frost and snow numb his cold skin. "The name's Frygg," he whispered, voice quieter than the fall of snow. (1) according to the Genesaran Calendar, the Month of the Falcon is the fifth month of the year