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paradigm

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paradigm last won the day on November 26 2017

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About paradigm

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  1. Alas, as our brave hero sped towards his destiny, fate (the fickle thing that she was) intervened. The moment this intrepid youth @Dauner Light set foot upon the dais and grabbed hold of the bride, the guards acted with such alacrity, that it would appear as if the entire ordeal had been prepared for, well in advance (which, by the corrupt Masons' design, it had been). The guards, after raising the various portcullises seemed less than interested in the bride and more intent on surrounding the groom. The bride, for her part, was no less glowing than she'd been a moment before, but instead of the radiance of purity that she originally displayed, she was not a bright red of rage and frustration. With no shortage of rancor, she kicked and slapped and pinched and bit and fought her would be hero for all her strength, lavishing a stream of curses and expletives upon him that put the most experienced of sailors to shame. To his credit, Oz remained unmoved...if only physically. Was this the other operative for the job? Or was this some vigilante interloper just in the right place at the wrong time. Loath to kill an innocent, even those deserving of it, the slight figure in the stonework above reached out a gauntleted fist and fired a grappling line at the ceilings apex. It wasn't a simple smash and grab anymore...the Mason's built their temples to last, which meant magic and other metaphysical means of blasting out were off the table. Oz was gonna have face this thing head first, guns blazing. Swinging forward, Oz cast out a free hand, a beam of onyx light collecting beneath the groom's feet to form a large black square with an arrow pointing upwards. The groom barely had the time to whimper before he was launched into the air, leaving a trail of sweat, urine and tears before settling into Oz's grip as the pair settled on the opposing stonework and rafters. The guards beneath their captive noble, were showered by more than bodily fluids, however. The moment the youth was sent airborne, the vector plate dissipated and in its place was a large black orb, a single red light blinking at its center. The guards had little time to react before the concussive bomb sent them all flying in a multitude of directions. "Hey, water walker!" Ozymandias called to the would-be hero. "Clear one of those gates of civilians and I'll get us the hell out of here!" A large gauntlet gestured to one of the newly raised portcullises where crowds of onlookers and guards swarmed in an effort to escape and prevent an escape, respectively.
  2. Had Garland based his response solely on visual or auditory cues, there would be no doubt that his death was eminent. Something else, however, something from the glove perhaps, gnawed at him. It warned him of impending danger, like a living thought clawing it’s way across the surface of his brain. Garlands elbows locked in at his side, lips pursed and the youth inhaled his teeth clamping down on the breath just as his arms met his rib cage. The strange stance served to jettison Garland backwards without disrupting his footing. The youth lifted his front foot only to set it down again, a large stone surging upwards in response. Pivoting his hips, Garland drove his fist into the stone and let out a grunt of effort. Upon impact his fist altered the stone and sent a massive stone spike rocketing towards the charging creature. Garland doubted the makeshift weapon would buy him more than an instant, but he’d learned first hand in the fighting pits that in some fights victory was about surviving a series of moments in hopes of finding or forcing an opening. Power swirled around him, coating the youth in a dense layer of energy as a form of protection. Nothing left to do but search for his moment.
  3. I almost exclusively post via my phone/tablet.
  4. Garland was not unsettled by the hooded figure’s ability to close the distance between them with such alacrity, the silence with which he did it, however, was another matter. Unease seeped out of the youth’s every pore—he’d been raised by dangerous men, exposed to them his entire life...but this was different. He felt something ancient and predatory in this figure and he did not doubt for an instant that his survival was no longer in his own hands. At the elder’s mention of the glove, Garland raised the relic peered at it. “I think it was...ah...the...ah...second one. I’m an egoist and the...ah...Er...ah...Rothschild was too, but he didn’t filter his power...too raw...unchecked...burnt out.” Thunder rumbled and groaned across the heavens, yet not a cloud to be seen in the blackest of skies. Torches of pale blue popped up slowly from nothingness, snapping awake and lining the way to the temple. The elder wondered how long it had been since he'd seem them arise—believe a story that had been told. The raw mana of this area was but a fractal of the quiessence. Yet ... it believed the boy. Lightning cracked like a jagged root across the sky, striking the pillar where they elder sat. The blinding flash crumbled and toppled the tower and left nothing but smoldering stone, laced with intricate burns to roll and rest off the beaten path that lay to the temple before the young man. Hearing his name emanate from the hood, Garland paused and nodded. “Yes and...ah...no. The man who...Er...owned me named me Kyu. The...ah...man who raised me...and Er...trained me gave me the name Garland before he died. I kept that one out of...uh...respect for him.” Peering up into the hood, Garland broke the awkward silence with an awkward question. “So...uh...ah...I take it you’re not a Merchant...”
  5. For all its splendor the Masonic temple was hidden on an island off the Golden Coast. In truth, the Temple was the island, considering the monolithic citadel was built into the surrounding landscape and took up a majority of the landmass. If fairy tales and legends were to be believed, the Masons built this temple after putting down the cult of some sea deity. The story went that some of Riva’s earliest followers destroyed the cult’s entire civilization and built this temple as a reminder of the Masons devotion to their messiah and the cost of denying her. Regardless of its beginnings, the location currently operated as something of a black site for any and all illicit religious dealings that required the sanctity of the Crystal’s light absent its judgement. One such fell bargain played out before Oz’s very eyes. Though late to the ceremony proper, Ozymandias was by no means the last person trailing in. With its base built into the surrounding island, the epicenter of the temple housed a large body of water that fed numerous streams in all directions. Stone bridges and walkways served as a testament to the founding Mason’s ingenuity and determination to celebrate the Island’s ecosystem whilst also conquering it. The waterways were wide enough for several boats to pass through and ferried the ships to the epicenter where the large body of water served as a raised dais, allowing the ships to sail around the large pool or navigate into one of any number of manmade docks that were then sealed and permitted to enter the dais by flooding the chamber with water. Gargantuan stained glass windows stretched upwards to the vaulted ceilings. Their depiction of the Masonic triumph over the fish man cult, culminated in a mural unfolding across the ceiling, a mirror of the cult’s temple descending into the depths. Illuminated by a vast number of alchemy lamps, the interior of the expansive temple emanated a bright radiant glow; its wonder only magnified by the fact that its splendor was a man-made fabrication. Garbed in a finery that belied the remoteness of the location and bathed in the faux sunlight, the temple’s guests continued to trail in via walk and waterway. Some stood along the stone pathways peering up at the elevated pool, but far more sailed in on small skiffs, perfect for maneuvering the narrow and rapid currents. Whether by walkway or waterway, the people all gathered around the pool and the figures standing upon a small barge that operated as a floating dais. Three figures stood upon the dais, two men and a woman. Thin, with a fading salt and pepper hairline and a decidedly pinched face the first man wore the raiment of a Masonic priest. His watery eyes passed over the crowd in silent judgement before returning to the man and woman before him. Bearing the white and blue of a traditional Masonic wedding dress, the woman was a picture of perfection. Pristine golden hair was pulled back and braided, save for a few strands strategically placed to frame her soft angelic face. Radiant blue eyes peered at the man kneeling before her. The groom was young, but tall for his age, even on his knees his head brushed the bottom of his brides breasts, but there was a decided lack of fullness to his features that marked him even younger than he appeared. He wore a fine suit, but it’s disheveled state suggested that he did not dress himself and the shackles upon his wrist and binding about his mouth made it abundantly the youth was here under duress. Oz blinked rapidly, giving the silent commas for his bionic ocular implant to zoom in. Comparing the young man to the image of the boy in his heads up display, Ozymandias grunted. No mistaking it, that was Wells Harrison XI, but he was at least a decade older than his six years of age. Oz closed his left, right and left eyelid again in quick succession altering the eyes vision. Judging from the strange aura surrounding the groom, it stood to reason that something had been done to increase the youth’s age, if only in appearance. The sporadic pulse of the aura seemed to indicate that the transformation was most likely temporary. Long enough to wed and bed, Oz thought. He wondered if the bride knew her groom’s true age or if the priest and her family were keeping her in the dark in order to speed the nuptials along. Not for the first time, Oz scanned the citadel. There were plenty of hired guns, mostly black fire raiders judging from the black flame emblazoned on their gear; a few Poor Sons, no doubt making money on the side ( and work for a Masonic priest was part of their day job, right?); and the odd wandering Mercenary scattered about. Ozymandias moved atop the citadel’s upper ramparts. At one point these sections were for spectators unworthy or unable to attend the services below, but given that the Masons had all but abandoned this site, it was uncommon for this citadel to have more than whatever gathering the Masonic Priest using he black site demanded. Judging from the looks of things, this particular priest had called in half the nobles from the Zompac region to witness the illegal wedding. Far more witnesses than Oz liked, but that couldn’t be helped. The Harrison family was a decent name in the Setroth province and that meant they could pay...a hell of a lot. Oz moved into position directly over the dais and waited. A team member was expected to cause a distraction, allowing Oz to swoop in, grab the kid and get out before blood had to be shed. {In position.} He said, over the private comms.
  6. Startled by the man’s sudden presence, Garland flinched and turned his head up towards the voice. The accusation was hard to miss, but it was understandable. Garland was stumbling around where he didn’t belong. “Ahhhhuuuuhhh....not a thief.” He clarified, whilst hoisting his makeshift pack. “Looking to make a trade or to hire work done.” He only partially realized how absolutely ludicrous that sounded. “The uh...merchant...person...he sold em a canteen and said I’d find answers here.” Touching the pack protectively he continued rambling. “These things are...ah...mine. I mean they weren’t mine, at first, but they’re mine now. I earned them...kind of.” Gesturing with his free hand to indicate the story was a long one the youth shrugged in sheer awkward confusion. “I worked for...Er...was owned by this Merchant Prince and I freed myself and took...what’s it called? Severance pay!” Setting his pack down in front of him, Garland looked up at the older man. “There are some items here I’m not terribly familiar with, I was hoping to find someone who could tell me what they are.”
  7. Name. Ozymandias Vayn / “Oz” Age. 16 Height. Tall Enough [5’4] [7’4]* Weight. A gentleman never asks and a lady never tells. Profession. Bounty Hunter/Mercenary Synopsis. A scrawny youth, pushed to the brink, utilizes his massive intellect to become the perfect murder machine. You know, that old chestnut. Capabilities. Close Range [3] Mid Range [1] Long Range [2] Accouterments. Ramesses mk II Type. Gauntlets. Designed by Ozymandias Vayn, the Ramesses are designed to be the prodigy’s magnum opus. The gauntlets house multiple hidden blades and claws for cqc, but excel at mid-long range combat. Working on conjunction with Oz’s entire kit of abilities and weapons the gauntlets are capable of electromagnetic manipulations. They can launch and control blades and other projectiles, they house flamethrowers, high pressure water canons, can launch grenades, bombs, missiles, capable of grappling hooks/lines, can fire bullets of various caliber [up to .95], lasers, and power and operate a propulsion system that allow Oz limited flight capabilities. Castek Aetheryte Prosthetics. In addition to the broad suite of aetheryte prosthetics and equipment mentioned, Vayn sports skeletal plate implants that allow his skeletal structure and musculature to increase in size in support of the MIASMA infusions. They also give him a minor strength boost and extremely enhanced durability. Product Designation: BKR- and BBL-series Aether Platforms Manufactured by: BABEL, CasTek division, Arms & Materials Application(s): Communication platforms, Holoaether display platforms Technical Description: BKR-series Aether Platforms come under a number of applications. The particular shape and form of the tech vary greatly one device to the next, but all share the unifying theme of aether-based communication and latticed display. A sample of some exact applications are below: BKR-3 series Linkshell Communicators: Linkshells are external or implanted communicators that allow an individual to communicate with a narrow band of aether. 3 series linkshells take nearly every form imaginable, from handheld to earbuds to completely integrated. They allow instant communication with individual across a shared aether band over long distances (any region with active aetheryte or up to five kilometers without). Military grade linkshells possess an additional miasma band that can emit communication over shorter distances (up to one kilometer) using a miasma as its tether. This permits a greater capacity to pierce scrambled miasma zones and increases the difficulty in descrambling the signals. BKR-50 series Holoaether Platforms: 50 series platforms charge a lattice of miasma that focuses ambient aether into a tactile three-dimensional display. The holoaether platforms take a number of forms over a broad range of sizes, but all serve a similar purpose: projecting an image discreetly for the user to interact with and then dispel as deemed necessary. Most military-grade holoaether displays take the form of a metallic bracer. When activated, the lattice is formed by an illuminating panel down the center of the bracer, focusing the lattice above the arm piece. The individual may then interact with the display by touch. BBL-203OI Optical & Neural Implant: Currently military-grade only, the 203OI is an optical and neural implant that replaces the individual's natural eye. A marriage of a focused aetheryte stone and Renovatian and Alterion technology, the implant allows the individual to directly access information and data networks as a visual HUD overlaying their vision. The implant is typically manipulated by some variation of the 50-series display. The particular applications of this HUD are many including but not limited to readings of aether flow on a battlefield, both active and latent, subterraneous readings, and uplink to relevant information networks for in-field analysis of variables. MIASMA Infusion Rig. Vayn designed, developed and built a rig for the purpose of infusing BABEL MIASMA into his bloodstream. The infusion grants him supernatural strength, speed, durability and magic resistance while increasing his body mass considerably. Infusion Side Effects: Hellfire Diarrhea, Continuous Bubbleguts, Flatulence. Product Designation: MIASMA Manufactured by: BABEL, Power & Infrastructure Application(s): Energy supply, anti-arcane technology, sensory baffles, weapons tech Technical Description: Miasma is the perfect marriage between the naturally occurring arcane energies of the planet and the technological innovation necessary to harness this energy to a profitable end. Arcane energy, mana, magick, as it is often called, is invisible and often free form. Living creatures have always been capable of harnessing these energies for their own end, but this often requires constant exposure in order to harness. BABEL has developed a series of Materia Reactors capable of drawing this energy out of the air and channeling it into usable electrical currents. This energy can, in whatever capacities it is acquired, be channeled across many mediums and ultimately turned into pragmatic, everyday resources. The most outstanding of which include day-to-day power supplies and in arms development allowing heavy, high-consumption machines to become far easier to manage and feed at far lesser scale and cost than previously known. Miasma also results in an intended bioproduct when burned releasing a titular gas from its reactor that becomes a dense violet haze upon touching the air. This inert gas has been starved of its magickal properties and responds by devouring airborne magick before the miasma reverts to its naturally occurring form. As a result, this interaction can create massive fields of magically inert battlefields, weakening or altogether snuffing the use of magic in combat. Unintended, but as a direct result, Miasma tends to baffle most detection spectrums due to the massive sapping of energy from the air making Miasma-laden battlefields harder to read data from. Compound 78265. To combat the devastating side effects of MIASMA infusion in a human, as well as to manage the considerable and near constant pain his body modifications inflict, Vayn designed C-78265. The compound successfully counteracts the negative effects of MASMA and works as a high level painkiller. However, this means whenever the compound is administered (generally simultaneously with an infusion) it runs the risk (16.6% / 1d6 chance) of wrecking Vayn’s mental faculties. 1 - Groggy. Slow. Out of It. Blindly Flails at any and all things. 2 - Berserk. Friend or foe, doesn’t matter. He’s coming for you. 3 - Reduced. Mentally faculty is compromised. Rage allows for physical performance, but he’s not thinking straight. 4 - Standard. Retains mental faculty, however, prone to losing temper. 5 - Optimal. No side effects. He retains control over himself and can keep a clear head with focus. 6 - Perfect. All systems go. Murder machine mayhem. Metaphysical Nen. Ranking: Transmuter[1]; Conjurer [2]; Manipulator [3]; Emitter [4]; Enhancer [5] Type. Transmutation. Main Ability. Vector State. Transmutes his aura to mimic the properties of electromagnetism [e.g. Diamagnetism, Paramagnetism, Ferromagnetism]. Related Abilities. Vector Bolt. Conjures bolts that move rapidly towards the target. They can both cut and pierce the opponent acting somewhat as blades. Vayn can also manipulate these 'bolts' in various forms and fashions. They can move in any direction intended, making them extremely versatile, whether they be used for direct offensive or as a deterrent to confine an opponents movements. Perfect for holding back multiple opponents. Vector Field. Transmutes his aura into an electromagnetic field within a 0-3 meter radius of his person. [e.g. Allows him to shield himself, repel objects, manipulate objects. Vector Masque. Warps the visible light within his aura to appear invisible . Vector Plate. Conjures a plate/platform which throws the subject in the direction the plate is facing. Can be performed in midair. Vector Pulse. Transmutes his aura to mimic an electromagnetic pulse. Depending on the effort it’s results vary [e.g. Low tier might be mapping an area, mid tier might be discerning an item’s properties, high tier would disable technological and mechanical equipment.]
  8. Torn on what I want to write. Do we have an influx of heroes or villains? 

    1. supernal

      supernal

      More villains, thugs, and dictators I'd say

    2. danzilla3

      danzilla3

      Villains. So many villains. Good to see you back!

  9. His ‘haul’ was rather unimpressive as far as burglaries went (or was it a robbery?). Regardless of his crime’s classification, the simple fact remained that Izral’s poorest merchant prince had little in the way of swag. The single glove of Aramus could not be discounted, but that wasn’t something he could sell. He needed that to finish his work...or start his work. The fur lined cloak was interesting and durable, but he had no idea exactly what it was, or did. The ironwood box with intricate golden filigree looked expensive, but all he found in it were several rolls of some type of reptilian hide and large bars of a strange alloy. It did appear to be enchanted, however, as the box held far more than its size should have allowed. “Bigger on the...ah...inside. That’s a thing, I guess.” The large jewel remained the biggest expendable prize, but without knowing exactly what it did, he could only assume the large shiny rock was worth whatever other large shiny rocks were worth. His most prized possession out of all of this was Captain Rothschild’s cap. It possessed no power and was worth...well whatever these hats sold for at a bazaar. Its value to Garland, however, was another matter. This trophy proved, if only to himself, his worth as Eckart’s disciple. The goods he’d made off with were wrapped in the cloak and slung over his shoulder in a makeshift pack while the cherished possession rested upon his head, shielding his eyes from the bright midday sun. The Izrali desert was troublesome in that regard; daytime brought a scorching sun, its overpowering light reflecting off the white sands in a blinding glow—while night brought darkness and frigid temperatures. Despite the sun’s best efforts, Garland felt quite comfortable—refreshingly cool even. Ever since he placed the Glove of Aramus on his hand, Garland felt better than ever. His body felt rejuvenated and no matter where he stood, shade or blazing heat, it always felt as though he were in the perfect temperature. Though traveling on foot for half a day, Garland found himself no closer to any other civilization. One of the pitfalls to life as a slave was the reality that you didn’t have much control over where you were going. There was never a need for him to study a map or learn how to follow the stars at night. Hell, his journey to Ah’bjyd’s estate was predicated on a call to arms with specific instruction on how to reach the compound. He could retrace his steps if he had any inclination of which direction he took upon leaving Ah’bjyd’s residence. He needed to find some place...he wasn’t picky, any place would do. He needed to sell what he could sell, take the money and continue his work. Ah’bjyd was the first step, a big step and no doubt a personal vendetta, but only the first step in a very long game. After a while, Garland took note of several building shaped dunes in the distance, or were they actually buildings? Best not to get my hopes up, Garland thought and tugged his cap onto his brow. As he neared, it became evident that what he saw was no illusion and there were indeed the remnants of a civilization in the middle of the desert. The structures were not buildings, but a series of shanties and lean-to’s built into the side of crumbled rubble. Though sad to look upon, Garland knew this was the fate of more than one Izrali settlements. The everlasting war between the Masons and the Rebellion over the region proved to be anything but kind to the wretched souls unfortunate enough to live there. He spotted several people covering behind the structures, but a few leaned forward to greet the wanderer into their town and made note that their market stall was open for business. Garland didn’t need an in depth look at the settlement to realize that he probably had more coins in his pocket than the entire village combined. After paying an exorbitant price for a battered, but clean, canteen of water he learned that treasures of great value and those who hunt and deal in such things were in close proximity. “Deep within the ruins,” the old merchant said, his weathered skin dark as oiled leather and creases with lines and wrinkles. “You shall find what you seek.” Trudging still deeper into the ruins, Garland absentmindedly tugged at his makeshift travel sack and sighed. “Awfully cryptic, I...ah...hate puzzles.”
  10. A power, inconceivable as it was boundless, slammed into Garland. Wave after wave of metaphysica collided against the youth and battered his form against the ornate stone wall at his back. It took every fiber of his being to redirect the swirling mass of energy within him into his limbs and launch it outward from extended hands and feet, all stretching towards his back. The shockwave of energy colliding with the wall shattered stone and left crumbling debris around Garland’s form and giving it the appearance of being embedded in the wall. With almost no time to react, Garland grunted and threw himself forward onto the marble floor. He felt the cold marble collide with his face, as he felt Ambrose’s corpse fly over his prostrate form and slam into the wall. He reacted as his id dictated, guided by pure instinct and forced himself upward, using a gust of wind to hurl his sprawled form several feet into the air and watched as Connor’s limp body skidded across the marble floor where he’d been only moments ago. Time stopped and Garland took in everything he could. He was winded, that strike by Rothschild almost knocked everything he had out of him, if he hadn’t redirected the overpowering id and filtered it through his own ego, it would have torn his body to shreds. Rothschild stood before him, a beacon of energy…a fucking nuclear core of id. Garland banished such thoughts, no matter how much he trained his body, Rothschild could not withstand that much id for too long. He needed to get that glove off as badly as Garland needed to put it on. Garland was vaguely aware of Ah’bjyd’s presence, but remained focus on the literal tornado of murder standing before him. He couldn’t afford another hit from Rothschild, but there was no way he was fast enough to dodge another direct assault. Jutting his arms out, he sent a gust of wind forward, knocking Ah’bjyd backwards and sending Garland upright and back towards the wall. Settling down onto his feet, he grabbed Ambrose’s sword from its scabbard and held it defensively towards Rothschild. “You’re a spry little fox, aren’t you?” Rothschild said raising his arm for another blow. “Ah…you kill me and he dies. Take off the glove.” Garland said, gesturing the blade towards Ah’bjyd. He didn’t need to voice how he’d do it, Rothschild’s imagination could run wild and handle that for him. A physical conversation occurred between the men. Garland tilted his head and arched a brow. You’re fast, but are you fast enough to catch this thing before I drill it through his skull into the wall? Rothschild inhaled. Maybe. Maybe not, either way I break you. Garland exhaled. He’ll still be dead and a dead Merchant Prince can’t pay you. Rothschild grunted. I CAN catch it and then I’ll break you. Garland raised his head and sniffed.. You just might, but that glove is gonna burn you up soon. You might catch it, and you might kill me, but every second you dick around is a brain aneurism waiting to happen. “Kill him, Rothschild.” Ah’bjyd spoke, his face pinched in anger. “Yeah,” Garland chimed. “Kill me. You may rip my spine out of my chest, but…not before I put this sword through Ah’bjyd’s fuck-stupid skull. Rothschild drew his shoulders back. “Bone, mush, bone, mush, stone.” Garland hissed. “That’ll be a pretty final sight to see. My former slave master hanging from his skull on a wall. Metaphysica surrounded Rothschild, radiating off him in tendrils of steam, Garland heard the sound of rushing water, a veritable waterfall rushing through his head. Ducking his capped head, Rothschild charged. Dropping the sword from his left handed defensive grip, Garland slipped his right foot forward shifting his weight, realigning and channeling his id to burst from his extended right palm. Garland’s hand slammed into the sword pommel jettisoning it towards Ah’bjyd. He didn’t have time to see if his attack struck true before Rothschild closed the gap. He dropped backwards as Rothschild was upon him, the man’s gloved hand passing inches over his form. Reaching upwards, Garland grabbed onto Rothschild’s wrist and lifted both legs to wrap them around the Captain’s extended limb and used his body weight to tip the bigger man forward into a roll. Energy burned through him, he might as well have been dry humping a lightning rod. Funneling. Rothschild energy through his own ego, Garland focused every iota of his power to his hand. His fingers throbbed and for a moment he feared he felt the skin of his knuckles splitting open. A scream of rage filled his ears and for an instant he wasn’t sure if it was Rothschilds screams or his own. He didn’t need to break the bone, he needed to blow through the cartilage in the synovial joint. Feeding energy into that sole location was no different than filling any receptacle with a liquid: if an opening was provided, the overflow would escape; if no opening was present, one would be made by sheer force. The sound of ligaments and flesh being torn apart as the energy combusted in the joint gave Garland a near orgasmic relief. Tugging the glove free he scrambled backwards away from the writhing Rothschild and fought to rise to his feet. His haggard breathing was agony on his raw throat and he slammed his shoulder into the wall and he collapsed over Connor’s body. From the corner of his eye, Garland saw movement and turned to see Rothschild rising to his feet. A bloody stump protruded from the end of his left arm, ragged skin, meat and bone visible. Trying to hold control his breathing, Garland doubles over and vomited. The meal was not as pleasant on the way out. Blood poured from Rothschild’s arm, it streamed out of his ears and eked out of his eyelids. He’d lost control while wearing the glove and his raw id wrecked his body from sheer output. The fact that the man was even standing scared Garland to no end. Clutching the glove tightly to his chest, Garland stared violently at Rothschild. Daring the man to try him. The blood vessels in Rothschilds eyes had popped leaving the man with a crimson gaze that made him seem all the more monstrous. The military cap rested at his feet and for the first time, Garland realized Rothschild’s hairline was receding. Without the hat, and exhausted, he looked older than before. Clutching the bloody stump of his left hand, he peered over his shoulder at Ah’bjyd’s dead body and spat. “You had an excellent teacher...” he muttered. After exhaling a ragged breath, the large man turned on his heel and stride towards the door. “Next time we meet, I’m gonna beat his name out of you.” Pausing at the door frame, Rothschild lowered his head, evidently contemplating something. “I’ll give you five minutes to get out of the compound, then I’m sounding the alarm.” Garland stared in disbelief at the Captain’s retreating form and forced his wobbly legs to hold firm. “Ah...ok? Thanks?” Resting his hands atop his head, Garland took a few moments to breathe deeply before moving to claim Rothschild’s hat. Spoils of war. Speaking of which... Garland moves hurriedly over to Ah’bjyd’s dangling corpse and plucked it free of jewelry. The wrist and neckwear came free easily enough, but the rings were stuck upon swollen fingers. Giving up on the rings, Garland bolted through the tombs, grabbing anything he thought of value. There was an ironwood biz inlaid with gold filigree, a jewel the size of his fist and a large fur lined cloak. There were larger items on display, but none that he could fit on his person or carry at a decent pace. Making for the door, Garland ignored the sweat running into his eyes and bolted out into the compound. With any luck, he’d be clearing the gates before the alarm sounded.
  11. “Agreed.” Howl couldn’t argue with the man’s logic, even if he wanted to. The reasoning was sound: ne’er-do-wells did most of their ne’er-do-welling in less than savory locations. As a bird-person, if questionable scruples himself, if he was about illicit dealings, he’d prefer an illicit locale. There was one caveat to this plan that twisted his beak, so to speak. “ Any idea where we start? Or do we look the darkest hell hole and wander into it? I’m not exactly from around these parts.” There was no point in keeping any cards off the table at this point. Best to be up front about his ignorance with the locale.
  12. Howl swiveled his head about towards the newcomer, his kids sliding down into a somewhat suspicious glance. “What do you mean, ‘my kind of people?’ Before Howl could address the issue of racism against honest hardworking bird folk(he assumed they existed and further assumed their effrontery) the bespectacled dwarf took note of the newest arrivals and piped up. “Ahch”, the guttural sound seemed to declare amusement, approval and astonishment al at once. “What’s this happenstance that’s fallen into my lap? A full team of adventurers?! Such good fortune! I could’na have planned it better myself. Job posting is open and available lad! Why, this fine feathered fella was just inquiring about the incidentals.” Dismissing his earlier frustration, Howl unruffled his feathers and nodded his head. “Sounds like the item is still in the city, at least he seems to think it is.”
  13. Just a heads up, I’ve been working on a post, but work/life has kept me occupied. Hoping to have something up in the next couple of days.
  14. So currently he is a fully anthropomorphic owl. He resembles a humanoid owl with a weird type of feather/hand/wing/arm hybrid. Howl’s profile gives some visual representation of his form and some things the amulet is capable of. I have yet to describe the amulet but something like this (a pair of talons clutching an item) but maybe 1.5 x bigger and with some dark colored jewel at the center. Edit: to further clarify, the condition enhances his body. I haven’t decided whether the amulet will harm him, but I like the idea that it might.
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