Voting has reset for the month of May. Valucre is in the top 10 but we aim for the top 3 for maximum visibility when people land on the home page of the topsite. If you want to help new members discover Valucre, vote for us daily.

Valucre

Register now to gain access to the World of Valucre. Once you do, you'll be able to contribute to this site by submitting your own content or replying to existing content. You can ask questions before signing up in the pre-registration threadexplore the world's lore in the Valucre Overview, and learn all you need to know in five minutes by reading the Getting Started page.

paradigm

Members
  • Content count

    3,240
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About paradigm

  • Rank
    â—¦dollmaster
  • Birthday September 30

Contact Methods

  • AIM
    tuspiddyslexia
  • Website URL
    https://tuspiddyslexia.wordpress.com/
  • Yahoo
    tuspid_dyslexia
  • Skype
    tuspid_dyslexia

Profile Information

  • Location
    Flo-rida
  • Occupation
    Alterion Board Leader

Recent Profile Visitors

4,662 profile views
  1. open

    A part of Arsene—that deeply ingrained lizard brain part, did not want to stand his ground before the charging man. His knee jerk instincts were to flee, something he fought with barely conscious effort. For, as much as his baser instincts demanded he run, his training forced him to wait. Arsene learned that through rigorous training and repetition, it was possible to adapt ones muscle memory to respond nigh instinctually. While he wasn't to the point that his body always moved of its own accord, he was damn close. The axe wielding maniac gave an oddly placed shove with his axe blade, a tactic Arsene easily avoided with a brisk back step. The horizontal swing that came next, proved trickier, forcing the tall hooded youth to leap backwards and pray for sure footing. "Eh." He grunted, as soft earth crunched beneath boots. Grabbing the axe, as he had the needle, didn't sit well with him. The needle, far lighter than the axe simply didn't generate the same kinetic force. If Arsene reached for the axe, he expected to pull back a bloody stump. Playing it safe, the hooded figure danced around the older warriors, using the corpses surrounding them to stumble the larger man up where he could. Now he knew the game. This was where he shined, where his reflexes did the work for him. Footwork proved key in the wake of the crocodilian's rampage as bloodslicked grass and piles of gore tended not to grip the footing as well as unmarred earth. "Tch, tch, tch." He clicked his tongue, circling back to where the attack originated. Arsene's attacker noticed this too and let out a heaving groan as he renewed his feral rush, albeit much slower now. Fatigue began to show, on the man's weather worn face. Sweat shined off his brow and fell in rivulets down his face. Aiming a heavy overhand blow at Arsene, the man lurched forward. Eyes shut against the stream of sweat blinding him, mouth agape in an aching search for air, and arms above his head—the man was ready. With astonishing alacrity, Arsene burst for ward and slammed into the man's chest, ramming the up into his throat. Blood splattered against the side of his hood, as the man let loose a wheezing gasp and fell to the earth. As though on cue, the earth rumbled—promoting Arsene to peer down at the heavyset warrior. "Eh, he didn't look that heavy." It took him a brief moment to realize that the rocky outcropping the distance was, in fact, a living breathing fuck mothering humongous moving monster, but once he did , Arsene awarded it his full attention.
  2. Placeholder.
  3. open

    "Hrm." He had a fondness for strange noises. 'Ticks' or 'quirks' was the preferred nomenclature, but regardless of the name--the habit was considered strange to many. These little idiosyncrasies, however, assisted Arsene in his day-to-day living. They helped him get by, stay focused--to function, in general. "Eh." His breathing evened out after the event with his geriatric attacker and his gait, while at first hesitant and erratic, became the smooth and measured pace of a beast on the hunt. The pair that caught his eye, seemed to have spied him in return. However, they made no attempt to approach, seemingly content with dispatching their current troubles and moving along. With the murderous pair, on the move, it seemed prudent to make smart and follow suit. Keeping his distance, Arsene slowly made his towards the pile of bodies left in the pair's wake. His chief goal was to keep them within line of sight, while keeping himself out of harm's way. His journey through the murder blossoms was interrupted by a hand lunging out to grab his ankle. Arsene's arm moved in conjunction with his body and before the hand could fully tighten its grip, the hooded figure dropped to a knee and rammed the needle into the meat of the unknown assailant's arm. There was a strained cry, but it was hardly discernable beneath the mound of bodies. "Tck." He grunted and returned to his full height, staring at the pair in the distance approaching a rocky outcropping. "H-hey, Mister Hood." A voice called to him from within the grass. "I-I-I'm not gonna hurt ya. I was just thinking...maybe we could team up, like they did. You seem to be able to handle yourself pretty well." Tilting his head, Arsene turned towards the source of the voice the blade in his hand raised and ready for an assault. When nothing came, he exhaled and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Tch. Why would I team up with a coward?" He asked, his voice remained passive, but it was evident from the genuflection in his tone that he sought an answer. "Better odds, right? We could watch each other's back." "Hrm. I don't want you washing my back." "No...I meant like-" "Eh. Either come out and fight me or slither away..." The grass rustled and the voice did not speak again. From the opposite side of the pile a large man with an even larger axe, barrelled towards Arsene flourishing his blood stained weapon as he charged over and aroudn bodies. "Hrrrrm." Arsene grunted. "That's more like it."
  4. open

    And so, at the behest of the administrator, the predators set about devouring their prey. Such was the nature of the tower, though--in one’s constant climb towards the top, it was expected to lay boot prints upon corpses. The culling of the weak, while no doubt cruel, was all part of natural selection and the only way a lowly regular could ever hope to walk amongst the Rankers of the higher floors. Two such predators, already in the midst of their feast, caught his eye in the distant horizon. Best to steer clear of them for the time being, let the big one tire himself out first. The hooded figure was tall, if a bit broad shouldered, making it difficult to place whether he was a large youth or a grown man, but the shape of him was decidedly masculine. Arsene peered about the floor from within the confines of his hood, his lips pursing before exhaling a quiet sigh. He walked along the sea of grass, content in the chaos swirling about him. Despite his best efforts he could find neither blood lust, nor sympathy for his fellow regulars, leaving him in a quiet state of inaction. The end result was not, as many believed, to stack bodies--but rather to survive the selection process. With such a large entry pool, however, it was only a matter of time before… He became dimly aware of a throbbing in his hand, a dull ache that grew to a burning fire. His body reacted, and arm drew up and towards his chest to clutch at the wound. Spinning around the hooded youth, leapt backward to avoid the point of a needle shaped blade aimed at his shoulder. An older woman, crouched and bearing the blade cursed and slowly advanced. Arsene studied her movements, she was a practiced tracker--otherwise he’d have heard her, but she did not seem accustomed to killing. “Still,” He said, his tone accusatory. “The intent was there.” She lunged again, this time at his groin. Prepared for the attack, Arsene sidestepped the strike and reached out grasping the base of the needle, just above her grip, with his left hand, while twisting and slamming his bloodied right fist into her nose. There was a crunch, a cry of pain and the woman fell backwards. No doubt there was some pleading, but Arsene didn’t hear it. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. The hood tilted ever so slightly to peer at the blood dripping from his palm, before he flipped the needle into his hand, stepped forward and drove it into her throat. He took no pleasure in her death, but it made him feel somewhat better. Vengeance had a way of being cathartic. The wound will need to be dressed. For the time being, Arsene needed to keep moving. Gripping the needle tightly, he slipped his bloodied hand into his coat pocket and veered left, slowly circling the first two regular’s he’d noted ripping into people.
  5. You'd make your own
  6. If you don't want a city sector in Cosanastre, you can also go after an unaffiliated kingdom, which would allow you to literally create your own kingdom in Alterion. Whichever you prefer.
  7. Sector 3 is not open. As I understand it Sector 4 is up for grabs.
  8. If they are not currently (within the last two months) posting any sector is up for conquering. ATM, I know Sector 3 and 8 are conquered/in the process of it. sector 1, 2, 4 and 5 are open for conquering I believe. (I'd need to double check to be sure) Original claimants can still return and try to grab the sector, but whoever created the two page thread cementing control is the one who gets it.
  9. I'm with Deviant on this, I think it should be the individual's decision.
  10. Holy Shit! @The Hummingbird @Syncopy I found the threads! Holy St. Odin, Stop Talking! Dirty Brown Boots O Gods, really? Like...all the threads are examples of me being a giant douchebag and Hummingbird and Syncopy just letting me be a giant bag of douche. God I miss playing Dietrich.
  11. Wolfgang Dietrich Saint Claire. He and @The Hummingbird's character Chivika got up to some hijinks and were quite the comedic duo until life just got in the way and everything fizzled out. It was fun though!
  12. For most of his life, Makaze felt secure in the certainty that his elder brother was the most paranoid man to have ever existing. Any action Itazuki took was calculated well in advance, any plans were supported and supplemented with caveats and backup plans, which in turn had their own branching series of backup plans. In a way, it made growing up considerably easier, when one need not consider his next move, one was free to ponder whatever one wished. Having spent the last several months delving into the hazy past of his elder brother's mentor (and his mentor by extension) Makaze learned two intimate and undeniable facts. The first, being that his brother was in fact, not the most paranoid man to have ever walked the earth and the second being that Kaioru ( @Syncopy )never met a hole in the ground that he didn't like. Part of Makaze's new responsibilities included securing and maintaining a base of operations. At Itazuki's behest, Makaze dug into his former sensei's plethora of forbidden documents and after a great deal of decoding, re-coding and decoding managed to locate more locations than he could ever need. In his desire to stay off the radar, Kaioru acquired bunkers, basements, broom closets, hotels, inns, mansions, castles, houseboats and a variety of other hideouts that the former terrorist would likely never set foot in, but remained his nevertheless. Prior to his scuffle at Luka'Reccia, Makaze laid claim and tidied up a particularly spacious underground bunker at the edge of Izral. Though it was hardly a four-star hotel, the place would fit his and the organization's needs for the time being. Ever the tactician, Kaioru took measures to prevent unwanted guests from accessing any of his hidden lairs, but Makaze--as one of the man's few students, was privy to the methods in which to defuse and arm his sealing techniques. Arriving at the spacious hole in the ground with the two shinobi ( @Garion, @Alexei) in tow, Makaze dropped to the ground and let large clay bird dissipate with a puff of smoke into a small figurine that plopped into the palm of his hand. Motioning for the other shinobi to follow his lead, lest they want to drop unceremoniously to the ground, Makaze crouched down and began to quick but taxing process of rearranging Kaioru's complex network of seals. After a few moments of frustration, the locking mechanism barring the entry hatch clicked and Makaze pried the lid open. Dropping into the bunker, Makaze quickly removed the forbidden scroll from its resting place in his robe and placed it on a cluttered work bench in the corner. The upper level of the bunker appeared to be little more than a workshop, with a series of carving tools and medical equipment that appeared to have not seen any use for quite some time. Beneath this level was a dormitory area, complete with several cots, a large icebox, and a large shower with a latrine stationed on the wall opposite it. The final level consisted of a makeshift prison, several concrete slabs and iron wrought bars were bound and marked with Kaioru's particular seals and under lock and key was a small armory, complete with every tool a growing boy would need to doing great and terrible murder upon the populace. Shrugging out of his cloak, Makaze motioned for his guests to close the hatch. "Make yourselves at home," he said, turning his attention to the scroll once more. "If you want to trade that rusted shit from Lukka'Reccia out, feel free. Most of what we have isn't particularly modern, but it's sharp and clean."
  13. Open

    Summary: (It's 20 posts. Read it, ya lazy sacks of shit.) In an attempt to steal a scroll from the Hidden Village of Luka'Reccia, Makaze causes a commotion and ends up discovering two imprisoned shinobi. After offering to free them, the Entropy member offered the pair steady work before snagging the scroll and making his escape. The contents of the scroll along with the nature of their future work has yet to be revealed. /thread.
  14. "...I'm still alive, just very badly burned..."

     

    5...

  15. This is an active thread. The thread title and location will change throughout the course of the RP. For the foreseeable future this thread will take place in the Cosanastre Region of Alterion, encompassing not only the massive megacity, but the vast lands surrounding it as well. of Cabbages & Kings. Viktus approached the massive stone door cautiously, a tested adventurer wary of the beast laying in wait. The halls of the cathedral were winding, oftentimes without purpose—and only those Masons raised within its walls, or blessed with a map and made privy of its ever-shifting corridors could hope to find that which they sought. Like most high value targets in Alterion, the Masons employed both Arcane and scientific measures in their defense measures. Though the door barring entry to the High Mason appeared nothing more than a stone slab, Viktus could only imagine what other gears, locks and safeguards lay hidden behind the stone. Though the High Mason now served as his foster father, Viktus was not above being summoned--in truth, Viktus felt he was summoned about more than Ocelot's aides. Garbed in the trappings of his Kageroth Cadet uniform, Viktus appeared very much underdressed for a meeting with Alterion's supreme leader. Regardless of his own vanity prompting him to don more extravagant garments, Ocelot's word was law both metaphorically and figuratively in Viktus' case. For were he to disobey or ignore a direct request, he not only insulted the vicar of the Crystal, but also his chief guardian and prime benefactor. Biting the hand that feeds has never been so tempting. Ocelot would have appreciated the quip, in fact he'd heard the man often talk back to his former foster father Long Tom Gallin. Viktus, unlike Lot, didn't dare press his luck...not until he was ready and able to take the High Mason down a peg. The mere thought of the man seemed to summon forth the unknown from the bowel's of the Cathedral, for the massive stone door groaned beneath its bulk and began slowly sliding open. An androgynous figure dressed in silks and lace appeared, balancing a tray atop a pair of painted manicured fingertips. At the tray's center rested a small slip of parchment, still moist ink shining against its surface. The missive scrawled upon the paper indicated it was addressed to Viktus, prompting him to claim it and open the parchment to read. A lone word lay within the folded parchment. "Enter." "Fucking..." Viktus took a deep breath and ignored the smile creeping across the servant's full lips. Typical of Lot to keep him waiting, no doubt the High Mason had been prepared to see him for some time but preferred to test Viktus' patience with arbitrary games. Exhaling the lengthy breath, Viktus dropped the parchment atop the tray and furrowed his brow at the servant. "Well? Take me to him." Turning on a heel, the servant began its graceful swaying journey into the Cathedral's inner sanctum and Ocelot's throne room. [D1E]ViktusThread: BEXP: 1/10