Noko

I'm away for a few days handling a family emergency. I'll be back full time mid-week.

I mean also there's the incredibly common flower... Understood, hope to see you soon.

What an unusual day this had turned out to be- unusual in the way that had Phoebe almost regretting her decision to return, almost. It had barely been a handful of days ago that she and Aristotle sat unmolested, relaxing at the moss-covered edge of a primeval lake, nestled in an undiscovered caldera just outside of the territory they were working in, with their little dark-haired angel happily making mountains out of ashy sand. It was beautiful, rejuvenating even - especially after the birth and first year with Amaya, but inaction was not a natural state for Phoebe. She grew bored. Her success, she knew, was a temporary state - one that required maintenance - and with every day that crept by she felt the inevitable machinations of entropy unraveling the plans she had so delicately put together. The world which Phoebe had built for herself was not without requirements, after all, relationships needed to be maintained, reputations bolstered, rivals.. contested. There was a need to return, hers first and foremost, so she had. Yet, returning had revealed some-- complications, shall we say? An ownership tangle which was now, helpfully, cleared up. The resulting authorization resets, security reviews.. ahh, the security reviews. Those had spotted some irregularities in the form of a crimson haired howler monkey banging away at the keyboard of her server room - well, technically he looked to be human, but his skills ascending Argus' exterior structure pointed to some howler monkey DNA at the least. And that, my dears, was what she was dealing with now. Breaking and entering.. ..Electronic intrusion Corporate espionage.. Felony, felony, felony. So now Phoebe was here, annoyed at the banality of it all, and doing her best to appear professionally so. She sat in a black leather slipper chair with her long legs crossed one over the other, clad in a sharp blue silk suit and Michelle Beauregard's countenance, waiting - heel-clad foot tapping - expression fixed, as chilled as the decanters sitting on the low mahogany table in front of her. The knock at the door was respectful, but pointed. "Come in," Michelle called out. The door was open. Her staff were gone for the night- the pair's privacy wouldn't be disturbed. A tall, dark-haired man with thick black hair and a bushy broom mustache made his way into the room like a marked man walking into an open arena. Instinctively, his dark eyes traced the perimeter, the windows, and the closed doors, before landing on Michelle. "Chief," she said, standing as she extended her right hand toward the man. The motion drew a fine silver watch from beneath her cuff and the man looked at that too, before meeting Michelle's light eyes and offering a practiced smile to match Michelle's polished one, and gently taking her hand. They shook once, a firm pump. "Miss Beauregard. Or Mrs. Blacke?" "I'm surprised you follow the social pages, Chief. Michelle is fine. I didn't take Michael's name- too many legalities to consider. Thank you for coming, I appreciate you taking the time out of what is, I'm sure, a very busy schedule." Withdrawing from the handshake, Michelle gestured toward the chair across from her before stretching her fingertips down toward the decanters, lingering there. "I'm honestly surprised we haven't met before now. Can I offer you something to drink?" "James," he answered in reply, "and just water is fine. I'm surprised as well- I feel like we're always at the same functions, but never in the same place. It's nice to meet you. I'm sure the department sent a formal letter of thanks, but I wanted to say how nice it's been to have a corporate partner as socially responsible as Argus has been. Your work with childhood immunizations and cleaning up BlackBlood's mess were real game changes for Last Chance." Michelle looked up. Having poured James' drink, she topped her own off and offered the man an eye-crinkling smile. "I'm glad we were able to help," she said genuinely. "This city is as much a part of us as we are of it. One doesn't succeed without the other. So.." Reaching down, she clasped the newly poured water-and-ice snifter and handed it to James, then shifted backward and sat once more. With her left hand she smoothed her suit pants, dashing the wrinkles, before returning her attention to the matter at hand. "I hope that I can count on your discretion, Chief," she began slowly, setting the stage. "I've become aware of a rather delicate situation which I could use your assistance with." Across from her, the Chief tilted his chin - intrigued. "Of course." And so Michelle began to weave her tale- she told the Chief of the intruder who had broke into Argus and how he destroyed corporate property and tampered significantly with their systems. She explained how the intrusion hadn't been handled properly while she was out - how security had underestimated the damage, how they had tried to handle it internally to save face, and how wrong Michelle believed that decision to have been. A minor aside mentioned how it had almost interfered with the Blackblood response - how those troubles had lead them to discovery yet more tampering - and how the incident had finally been properly raised to Michelle. There had been sanctions internally, of course - she wouldn't discuss those with James, of course, but yes - they would like to file a report, but without all the paperwork. An FYI, one might say; a CYA, others might counter. With the skill of the life-long liar she was, Michelle wove truth and fiction together so perfectly that all were dyed in the same color black - no bit discernible from any other bit - every detail of the tale as verifiable, and provable, as Michelle herself. The prep work she had done would support her story; the evidence would as well, she had seen to it. When all was said and done, James promised to open an investigation based on the (carefully curated) evidence Michelle had provided and Michelle promised to forward over any other evidence Argus became aware of. It was, all in all, a very productive meeting and the pair concluded as the friendly peers they were.

From the moment Phoebe settled onto the sun damaged seat, the malevolence wafting off of their driver was a smothering presence choking the Psion, driving her to forcibly repel the vampire's aura. Nose wrinkled, she cast a wary eye at Cain, and gifted him the arch of one finely sculpted eyebrow before setting her shoulders back onto the cracked vinyl. "Take your next left," she heard Cain say and shifted her weight, turning into him, sympatico, as he turned into her. A beat passed and as the troll-like nosferatu spoke Phoebe wagged her eyebrows across at the Architect. "I think your mom's house," said Cain. "Take the next right." "..dinner, I suspect," replied Phoebe, her words coming in the same breath as Cain's, and jumbling in the air as she looked from the back of the faded headrest to the driver. Their eyes met in the rear-view and for a moment, predator knew predator, and the woman cracked a grin. <This isn't--> Before Phoebe could finish her thought to Cain, the driver wrapped his gnarled hands tight around the steering wheel and wrenched it to the right. The taxi jumped a curb at speed, violently jostling around its occupants, and ran along the sidewalk for a handful of seconds before the vampire again wrenched the wheel. The vehicle fish-tailed as he tried to direct it into an alley and instead of making it into the narrow passageway, the rear end slammed into the corner of the building and the taxi got wedged there, cockeyed across the alleyway's width. When the car rocked to a halt it was smoking, though there was no visible fire. The driver laughed- a dry, whispery, cackle, and ripped the door open. "DELIVERY!" he shouted, his lumpy mass jiggling as he made to escape, limp-sprinting down the alley toward shadows so deep they could only contain cloaked assassins' whose eyes bore deep into your soul.. ..or just a bunch of vampires, lying in wait. As far as traps went, this one was fairly successful.

@Ataraxy What's the story, morning glory?

It was with the most deliberate of motions that Takchi went fishing back in his pocket and emerged, after a short moment, with the paper wrapped piece of gum he'd discovered earlier. As he did, he watched the reporter arrive - it was damn near a traffic jam in here today - followed in short order by the mercenary's posturing and then the Governor himself. It was only then that Takchi peeled himself out of the silver accent chair and curled to his feet; it was then that folks would notice how tall he was - easily 6'5" - and thin enough that he swam in his ocean blue suit like fish in its namesake. It was impossible to tell how well muscled he was or wasn't, but he had the sort of stoop necked posture common in someone who was taller than construction workers planned for. Glancing at the other two, Takchi popped the piece of gum in his mouth and chewed, quietly, falling into step immediately behind the Governor. Inside the office, he settled behind and off to the side of John Wilder - wrongly assuming that the Governor would dismiss the two interlopers before conferring privately. "You all know why you're here," John said, "Tranquil. We're losing to many people to this shit, and it needs to stop. Unfortunately, my own police force seem unable or unwilling to catch those responsible for these deaths." "Governor-" Takchi began to interrupt, but the Governor rolled right over him, and his baritone faded as he gestured helplessly at Bishop and his various weaponry. If they brought this man-ape along, they'd end up with just as many bodies full of bullet holes, all beautifully documented by the reporter they'd been saddled with.. but John was John, and just as soon as he laid out the rules he shut down the game. The tone was familiar and Takchi sighed, then snapped his gum and turned to walk out. "I'm going to go bang some doors down- if you're coming, take your own transport."

I'll let you post, then follow if that works. An order might be good, unless we start to get dropouts?

Is there a post order or just whatever? Just so I know and don't keep anyone waiting 🙂

This is in process. Until this is marked complete, please use the existing thread. The Dead Organizational Information Type Criminal Syndicate Scope Global Size Significant Hierarchy Meritocracy Area(s) Served Unknown Purpose Influence, Power, Notoriety Symbols Skulls, the Reaper's Scythe, Darkness, Birds of Prey . "Qui non proficit, deficit" Table of Contents Recruitment Indoctrination Processing Rank and Reputation Ranks Advancing in the Syndicate Syndicate Divisions Current Hierarchy Who, or What, are the Dead? The Dead is the eldest living criminal syndicate on Valucre. A family of transnational, highly centralized enterprises run by criminals for the purposes of engaging in illicit activity for profit both tangible (money) and insubstantial (information). A cosa nostra, if you will. The Dead is a ruthless, violent, unscrupulous, and terribly efficient network of criminals run by a nameless, faceless figure known only as the Architect. It is lore that the lineage runs even deeper than the recorded Architect, as its predecessors are known to be both numerous and their endeavors sempiternal. Tia, after the Dead. The Dead's modus operandi is a methodology of cold, calculating action. At times they are mere agents of chaos, involving themselves in acts of petty theft and vandalism to maintain and amplify their control of the streets. But given their size, influence and resources, it isn't incomprehensible that the Dead also involve themselves in political games, land-holdings, money laundering and so forth. To the Dead, the definition of profit is flexible. The ends justify the means. Sometimes this means blanketing a city with an aerosol drug to move the now-addicted denizens out of the way to strip mine the deposits the city sits on. Other times it means beating a man to death and killing his children to send a message out. One thing is always certain: their active members’ goals boil down to three fundamentals: influence, power, and notoriety Being Dead - an Overview Recruitment Onboarding & Indoctrination Advancing in the Syndicate Ranks & Current Hierarchy Syndicate Information Syndicate Divisions Unique Technology & Products Locations, Resources, & Assets An image aligned to the right The Syndicate has three perpetual goals (Influence, Power, and Notoriety) that provide the foundation on which members should build their activities. A solid understanding of the Syndicate's goals and theme allows members to create their own plots and growth in any way that suits themselves, their character, and the Syndicate. There is no 'checklist' of goals beyond advancing the Syndicate and opportunities that arise from your given or self-made (approved, remember) missions. As a simple depiction of how broadly the perpetual goals can be interpreted, how varied the plots are which could advance the Syndicate, and how long or short term those plots could be, we provide this list of potential ways members can take it upon themselves advance the Organization: Ensure someone friendly to the Organization becomes the next ruler of a town; one could do this by controlling the selection of the matchmaker who has been tasked with choosing the next Prince's wife and inserting an Organizational-friendly bachelor into the candidate pool, or by murdering everyone until there's only one person left, or by influencing the Queen's friends to like one candidate over another, or.. Political events in an unfriendly town have caused previous relationships with the port master to sour; find a way to ensure that our shipments continue to reach their destination- again, one could do this with a murder and replace or by causing the port master's wife's dear brother to get sick and necessitate long term travel, or by providing a better candidate and bribing higher officials, or.. Obtain a sample of a new technology in some crazy dungeon so the R&D department can study it for inclusion in our resource pool- this could be done through a simple dungeon crawl, or by seeking out a relationship with the aboriginal tribe in the area and having them get it for you, or by using your influence to cause another group to go into the area and clear it out for you, then retrieving it from them or from the dungeon (after its cleared), or.. We could go on forever, but the point is that actions which support the Organization's goals are endless, and the ways to accomplish those actions are also nearly endless, so members are required to use their imaginations and identify objectives and methods of obtaining them that equally suit both parties and that they enjoy doing! Related Topics

I mean, I'd be interested. Sometimes I'm looking for a more traditional RP system where I'm not playing all the characters - a little surprise, you know? It's something I've looked for and utilized in the past.. I see no reason why I wouldn't look for something similar in the future. Previously, I ran a lot of plots to move both Last Chance and the Dead forward, and these sorts of temporary GMs can add some flavor that I wasn't expecting, therefore make it a bit more fun for me, and keep me from burning out as fast 😉 I mean, if it turns out terrible one could always just follow up with a different plot to fix whatever went so wrong - it's just more rp.

A flood of data poured continuously over Takchi's connectors, scrolling across his black-eyed gaze with the persistence of a whore as dawn drew near. Gods, it just never stopped. It never frigging stopped. <..Breaking and Entering, 5th and Vernon ..Transport under the Influence, Main and Broadway. ..Assault at the D3VNU11, Entertainment Sector..> It just never stopped. Takchi had emmigrated to the New Everrun PD from Last Chance's CDF, looking for an easier way and better pay, but damned if this place wasn't just a different six shades of hard work set against a background of neon lights. He'd gotten the requisite enhancements and wetware, spent the last year pressing flesh and handing out titanium bracelets, and eventually worked his way up to Vice Under Chief of Drug Enforcement - third, basically, he was third in charge - but the goddamn days just got longer, and harder, until he was sitting outside the Governor's office in an armless metal accent chair waiting to get a new asshole punched in because his side gig couldn't stop cutting the product with some more profitable bullshit. Exhaling a heavy sigh, the man blinked three times in quick succession to shut off the Department roll, and pat down the pockets of his ocean blue suit jacket. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and clawed out the contents of his inside pocket - a faded entry ticket to Freya's Tits, a mashed, paper-wrapped, piece of gum, and ah.. his pipe. A faint smile pulled at Tak's lips as he tossed the trash haphazardly toward the nearest bin and lifted the cool glass-and-chrome cylinder to his lips, drawing thrice, before exhaling a lung full of some into the circling smog above his head. What, it was legal - he had a long day, everyone needed a pick me up every now and again. The acerbic taste enveloped his tongue like a winter coat and in a few moments his irritation with the situation passed into a content awareness - still ready to work, but generally untroubled at how unhappy his predicament was. When the door burst open a moment later, Takchi barely stirred - only his black eyes drifted up, viewing the ostentatious entrance from behind a shield of black bangs. Mute and fading into the background, the man bore witness to the exchange between the Govenor's receptionist and the rather large, rather armed, mercenary. It didn't take a rocket scientist to build a decent assumption, given his reason for being here. In the recesses of Tak's mind, current ran across capacitors and a buried, black-market comms unit flared to life, opening an encrypted vpn. <Looks like the Gov called in some muscle, you should scatter.> Across town, in a complex in the middle of nowhere, the message was received -- dozens of undocumented stim-cooks and dorph-runners began to do exactly what Tak suggested - - scatter.

Hey awesome ppl. I have some free time, so I'll be joining @danzilla3 as part of the opposition with whatever NPC is appropriate. Good to meet you all!

The papers seemed to hang in the air, perched on nothing, as Phoebe stared down at the four faces and their associated dossiers. If the previous day lingered on her, if finding the purity in a soul had tempered her, she didn't show it. Stone-faced, her light eyes sat heavy on the faces staring up at her. There had been a time before now; a previous life, a different set of companions, a different Phoebe, and everyone on the table had played their part in ending that reality. It had taken literal years of her life, untold effort, blood and sweat beyond measure, but three were dead - soon, seven. This was clearly personal, every line on the First's face etched that as clear as the green of her eyes. “Amirah would be ideal,” Ash thought aloud after a few seconds, “but I believe the hardiest against being stolen, too. Her name and her face, though, seem beneficial in industries you-- industries we could make use of.” A thoughtful nod answered Ash, but Phoebe remained silent and let the rest of the samurai's analytics run their course. "Jacob is my second choice," said Ash, his eyes lingering on the words ‘Red-Eyed Jacob.’ "We should almost definitely go for this one, although he will be even more difficult to corner. "We might need a little help against any of these guys. I know I would." "I suppose it's a good thing I have the full resources of a global criminal organization at hand, then," noted the First with a light chuckle. There were a number of benefits to her position, Legacy as it was - highest among them was her continued ability to summon the Dead's full skeletal reach. "I like Amirah for the next hit, too. We could replace her with a double and take over her operations, but.. to be honest, I wanted to make a mess. I owe them that." Pulling back, Phoebe wrinkled her nose, lips pressed together like a child forced to choose between two competing wants. "However, if we replaced her we could use her people to go after Keiana - we think they're both based in Marital Town." She paused, slipping her hands from her pockets and slowly crossing them across her thin chest. "It's a tough call - more so, given that they're expecting me. Then again, it's been a few years since Blair and Illian - maybe they think I died." Abruptly, the woman laughed - her lip curled, showing the white of her teeth as she grinned across at Ash. "This'll be fun. So, Amirah... I'm mildly concerned about her moniker. As of yet, each one of these nicknames has had something to do with the abilities granted to them by their rings or their place in the organization." Phoebe glanced to her left and gestured to the soft black bag with her chin. "The Dragon had dragon fire and a nasty set of claws.." Her hand drifted upward, unconsciously she massaged high on the bicep of her left arm. "..the Snake had a fun tendency to poison everything.. you see where this is going." And he should, if he were even more than a quarter awake and half as smart. According to the dossier, Amirah's sobriquet was the Phoenix - what could be more fun than a resurrecting crime lord? "We don't know, but anything is possible." The Thief continued, shrugging as she answered the unasked question. "I'll have detailed planning documents in a day.." Whoever Phoebe was, it was becoming clear that she was someone with a significant amount of resources at hand, which begged the question: why in the world wasn't she dispatching this job to someone else with more blood and less seniority? "..but lets assume the club in the picture is her business base and that she's managed to make some enemies in Martial Town." It was almost impossible not to, in their mutual business. "Let's also assume you have nearly unlimited resources. What's your plan? How do we go in - full team, guns blazing? Missile from the sky?" Phoebe laughed, continuing, "Team of two, assassination? Corporate destruction, quiet death later?" There were so many choices and the First went through several, laying out options ranging from country-level strikes to a quiet death while sleeping, and as she did so she watched Himura's face as he thought through the tactics laid out in front of him. The samurai had all that he needed; the job would get done, but the First's interest in this moment was in how he worked through the problems. Would he plan for failure? Assume the unexpected? What about public blame, would he account for the need to control the story? It was curious to the First, something that held her attention like a tale just beginning to be told - there was something about the samurai, something she wanted to see continue. Glancing down, the woman rubbed idly at the silver ring wrapped around her thumb, then looked up to meet Ash's red-eyes. "Our only required goal here is her death," she stated simply, "..but as you noted there's a lot we could pick up for our own benefit - or fuck up and bury ourselves with. I can't imagine why we wouldn't try to take advantage, so let's plan."

It was deep in the night when a strange, metallic, tapping drew Phoebe's gaze from the invoices on her desk to the broad window at her back. The night was cool and breezy, so she'd directed Seraphim to allow some air through the blast glass, and as a result there was now an odd, wet dog, sort of smell filtering into her office. What in the hell. Brow wrinkled, the woman focused through the night and found saw a vague furry shape perched on Seraphim's steel and stone. For a moment she simply blinked at it, confused, before she turned to fully face the creature. A monkey? With wings? What? In the background, the steady busy sounds of Last Chance were a comforting clamor. "Who.. " And then she spotted it, a small purple envelope emblazoned with Operative Lockheed's seal. "I see. Seraphim, open a three by three gap in the blast window and keep a level 5 preparedness. Temporarily disable entry protocols for the next thirty seconds." <Authorizing...> Patiently, Phoebe slipped open the mahogany drawer to her left and set her palm on the crystal pad within. <Authorized.> The blast window shimmered then dissolved a square large enough for the monkey to enter, deliver its envelope, and exit- its thick legs flexed, long toes digging into the steel as it launched off the window's edge and into the night air. A few seconds later the blast window shimmered, then closed. "..that's new," remarked the woman as she swiveled to face her desk, working her thumb into the edge of the letter and tearing it open. She hmm'd softly to herself, her light eyes shading as she read through the request. "It had to be Y'hmi, didn't it. Seraphim, reserve the week in my calendar and start a pack list for Y'hmi." Weeks later she would arrive at the foot of the Doomed Steps, south of the Village of Lirrey, through the Fauxton path she'd placed months ago on her way to Nehelan. Immediately, she was beset with the feeling that Y'hmi remembered her as fondly as she did it - that it had scrawled her face on its eternal memory and waited, angry at the technological insult she'd left behind. Even strapped in its sheath, she could feel the Mindgorger echoing her unease. In agreement, she raised her internal defenses, pressed back against Y'hmi's dread and moved on. The Netherpeaks. Inhaling, the woman gathered herself. Feeling the dust and the heat wick away the moisture from her skin, she started on the now familiar path up the Netherpeaks, toward the location marked on her map and keeping a wary eye on the sky above. Undoubtedly, the creature she'd taken to calling a 'phase raptor' was still here and, with her luck, hadn't forgotten her any more than Y'hmi had. For hours the woman walked on, alone but for the steady crunch of gravel beneath her boots. Every now and again she paused to adjust the pack or the spear lashed to her back, but by and large she had resigned herself to the physical task of traveling. In Y'hmi, she was hesitant to break the norm - to crack a travel crystal, or have someone portal her directly - there was just something in the black earth that kept the Psion from wanting to test its limits. In time, Phoebe came upon Reginald and Shikai - the former recognized only by his aura, the second by sight. For her part, the First was unremarkable - garbed as a just another mercenary, dusty and seemingly road weary in cloth pants and a buckled leather jerkin, with her dark hair flowing freely behind her. "Good to see you both again," came the greeting as Phoebe's glance was pulled up toward the eerily glowing mountain. Her step drifted that way for a moment, drawn, before straightening as the woman refocused on her companions. "This is a hell of a place to be. I have to say, not my favorite vacation spot. Have either of you been here before?"

A hard compel drove itself into the minds of the camera-people, as insistent as a dog by a chicken-shop that all of the truly interesting action was over there, keeping the camera shots away from Phoebe and Cain. 'Camera shy?' She heard Cain jest, his laughter a wicked chuckle scratched across her thoughts. <A hair- I'm running out of room for more admirers. You have room, I assume?> The reply was its question's equal, drowning in a day's worth of sarcasm packed into the moment's thought as Phoebe slipped her hands into her pockets and made her casually way to the room's perimeter, descending down the overflow side stairs. <If those are your guards, shall we just walk our council friends somewhere less public?> The Thief checked a quick glance over her shoulder as the steps passed quickly beneath her boots, soon taking her to platform level. The chaos had grown, rage and furor easily drowned out the smattering of voices that called for calm. A few of the larger vampires had gotten into a shoving match nearby to a reporter who was squatting, angling, and snapping some juicy action shots up into the undead faces. Shooting for some prestige, certainly, but the First saw an advantage and took it - exploding the flash bulb with a well timed shard of will. The spark was all the madness needed to become self-sustaining - glass cut, voices screamed, fists and weapons flew. The Architect and the woman who was First exited, as unnoticed as one could be in what was no less than blooming pandemonium, into a short fire hallway with a just closing door at its end. As the door behind them slipped shut, so did the door in front, and for a few long moments it was just the echo of their footsteps as they trailed their prey. At the hallway's end, Phoebe stopped. With her thin fingertips set against the cool fire door she extended her telekinesis out - thousands of tiny fingertips wriggled through, stretching and searching, aiming to pinpoint how far in front of them the seven had gotten. <Wait.> Raising her other hand, she gestured to Cain. Slowly, the feel of the group moved through the immediate area and, confident they wouldn't be immediately seen, Phoebe pressed gently against the metal bar and opened the door into the night. Ahead, the seven could be seen just turning a corner - she assumed, toward their vehicles, but they could have a safe house nearby.