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Syncopy

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About Syncopy

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    Les Enfantes d'Enfer
  • Birthday July 17

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  1. chapter 1 :: hungry

    Whether Cyric chose not to remember or his lunacy didn't allow the substance of thought to remain after so many years passed, he stood adorned in hellfire and golden armor on a balcony overlooking the strings of pods. In this section alone, there was a guesstimated thousand or less, but with stacks and rows, the numbers and sight seemed to blur into a mass of sobbing, screaming, growling, puking, laughing, mania, and most any other nasty, obnoxious, vile, or otherwise sound you could imagine. A never-ending eternity of noise. Constant dripping. Tapping. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Cyric's presence was rare, but on this specific day, for this specific occasion, in this specific moment, he stared at the enigmatic cage with a sly grin on his pointed olive face. Somewhere in the recesses of a schizophrenic consciousness, buried beneath the self-contempt and apathy for all things living, was a self-wager that he'd vaguely whispered of this time, day, moment, second, instance of existence. But why...? The prison today was overly full. Two ... things approached the cage. The best to be said was sentient globs of overly used crude oil, filled with the limbs of the damned and those who are just plain terrible at listening. And those who can't listen—well, most folks listen when they understand that a slow and painful digestion of their body may be the next course of action. With a nerve-agent that stimulates the corporeal senses while immobilizing the ethereal aspect of a being, they're eaten breach—certainly there are crust-first eaters who go for the good-stuff right off the bat, but oh no—OH NO... savor the carotid, the crunchiness of the trachea, the fullness of lips, and the popping gush of eyeballs with a sweet crunch of lens. So ... whatever these things were, managed not to devour a soul that seemed frightened and screamed as they moved to the strange being's cage. The body-part blob-monsters extended their goopy grasp with the body in tow unto they'd forced it through the suddenly malleable bars before solidifying once more. Their ripples almost seemed sad to see the body go to waste and like scolded dogs, they gooped closer to the ground upon lowering once more to ooze off in a sulking fashion. Poor, poor digestive blargh beasts... Now this was the spectacle. This is why Cyric had graced the cell block. This is why he danced from foot to foot, left to right with high knees and waving hands of excitement... or it could have been assumed that a suit of hellish lava was actually, indeed—hot, and that he was doing a sort of side-to-side saunter, akin to sucking in and blowing out when biting into a molten hotpocket that is frozen on the outside. The theater portals played too many stupid commercials. Hoooooot pockets...
  2. [Artifact Hunt] Where go my Eggo?

    The captain's fierce eyes watched with a tinge of slight confusion to the man's robust explanation of all things considering with a mildly disinterested brow raised. Such a statement was as though the seraph stared himself in the eyes at night, glaring into a mirror alone and reciting the noble and proud words of heritage and national fortitude. If her eyes could have rolled harder behind his back, she'd have gone unconscious and with a heavy-breasted sigh, she wheeled about on heel with a shake of her auburn hair. "Wilds folk..." She mumbled. In the moment, her frustration had her thinking about the draconian descendant and less on the stirring shadows at her side. Eyes flicked toward them after a moment, yet nothing but shrubs loomed outside of the fire's light and her periphery. She took a step closer to examine the lingering, phantasmic sensation. The bush stirred and a rabbit emerged and then as though it hadn't even noticed her presence, it shrilly cried out and bolted back beneath the foliage and she snickered. Waving a hand, she returned to her post. "Maaaster." "Masssssster." "What is it." "Nelrossssssis. A Ssssstrand of Fate isssss upon hiiiiiim." "What does it read." "A curiousssssss find, we thiiiiiiink." "You awoke me without an answer of the Strand?" "But ... Sssssssire. Nelrosssssssiss. A Sssstrand!" "Silence yourself, before I do. You're in Alterion. Nelrosis are more common, nearer to the Prime and Renovatio. Fool. Examine the strand. Find the focus." "Y-y-y-yessss, Masssster. Apologiiiiesssss, Masssster." A few hours after the lights in the tavern dimmed, and last call echoed—the southern window rune was jilted and the rectangular panes of glass trembled softly with a deep bravado tone that was barely a whisper—though a whisper none-the-less. It spoke of a dark magic, thrumming against the window. For what reason though, no indication was given.
  3. Artifacts, Relics, and Legendary Equipment

    Updated: 20171019 Main thread updated to reflect legendary submissions
  4. chapter 1 :: hungry

    Xaengri-La :: the Spirit Realm Jaakuna Keimusho :: Prison of the Damned In a dark and twisted cell, sat an indistinguishable figure. The cage around him like that of a bird's own, mixed with the growth of vines and roots of the blackest tree, which only spread higher and lower, from the floor and roof to other cells. In this bank alone, the swaying cells numbers more than two dozen: a pod, as it were called in the form of a joke. Peas, and such... The mangled ebony encased the crazed, the delusional, the perfectly normal—yet no longer. Killers, thieves, murderers, and simpletons; anyone who had offered their life within the confines of Izral's own pledged darkness, loomed somewhere in the depths of the spiritual side of Xaengri-La. Killed by a stampeding horse? Xaengri-La. Butchered by savages? Xaengri-La. What about drowned at birth, to the postpartum? Xaengri-La. Sad, but true—a paradoxical purgatory and all whom had lost their lives was invited to partake in the afterlife... or the hellish nightmare that no one knew about. Heaven? Angels? You thought you'd be singing glory to the God on high, did you? Praises to Tellah, yes? Where is YOUR SAINT ODIN, NOW?! Ha.. hahah.... hahaHah! There is certainly no heaven and nothing pretty, fancy, or majestic about the slithering darkness, bathing in a liquid that cannot be identified; this nightmare exists because of human indecency. The darkness of hearts keeps the death company, even after the corpse is still cold... So this man, right? He sat in cell AAA1. That's right, the third string of the first cell, except his was tethered to the molten floor, that writhed with a plum and amethyst swirl of the most psychedelic colors known to humanity. Perhaps not even a color existed to describe the iridescent shimmer of black that the boiling mauve emitted. A glow of black was unheard of. Perhaps though, a mind game in itself to test the waters. But this guy, right? He didn't even move. He just sat in one spot, day in and day out. And every month or so the prison gets just a little too full and they decide that doubling up is a good idea. Or rather an entertaining idea. But this guy, yeah? Suspicious. So suspicious in fact, that this individual had watchful eyes on his cage to determine what exactly he was; how he did what he did; and now and again, the boss would feed the enigma someone special, just to try and catch a glimpse. Humans had a great many words for the Devil. Satan or Lucipher were always the usual go-to names, but for ages, they have changed. Eris. Even Set. But he preferred Cyric, it had a classier ring to it than the boredom of being called Set or the androgyny of Eris. No one could ever get that shit right... so frustrating. About as frustrating as this creepy bastard in the cage, right? The special souls were the defiant ones. The one's who denied their spiritual life and decided that a full-death was far more reasonable and understanding. Those who chose this path stared up into the ebb of cerulean light that split the great dark world above, as if peering through reality into the bluest skies in the clearest of atmospheres. Their hope disgusted Cyric, whom had none to begin with. How could he have home as a time-honored and permanent guest of the PP. You know... I know you do. Don't sit and wonder about PP. It'll certainly taint your mind and wander to something thick and solid... throbbing ... and thrashing, like the bodies of those who paved the walkways—still living—...well, spiritually-ish. Of course there are walkways, silly... did you think this was a world of pitch, blood, and lunatics? Well, you're 100% right, without other fact though—like there's theater portals that those who have served their time and would rather spend their time in the afterlife of lunacy, doing as they pleased. They sit and watch the real world upon the corporeal and laugh at the stupidity of humanity and their selfish squabbling over nothing important. This world is just like yours. Except this one has death everywhere and schizophrenia isn't taboo—it's the norm!
  5. prologue :: tease

    The night was brisk with low clouds and fog forming off of the chilled winds that came in from the south. Two hours after the sun had set, the house still had no movement upon it, but the boy had set his plans to work long before this moment came. A gut feeling had told him that the two would be watching the house to see if he would lead them to where his father may be and in the curiosity, he watched and waited. And in that two hours after the light, he saw silver glints on the hillside and a shrill guttural whine of a rabbit take a final cry before dying. Shadows played along the side of a tree which had perfect visual access to the house. He had nodded. He knew what to do. Slinking into the cellar, he took nothing with him but his black over-tunic, which was used more for cold winter nights than now, but the color would hide his presence better in the shadows. Through the rear of the cellar was a narrow tunnel that lead to the east where a wellspring had been found several winters back, by he and his father. For the sake of the general store, they'd created an underground tunnel to this point in order to make trips far more simple than the bounding hills, but this path had been easily more than a half mile from the house and no one but he and his father knew of it's existence. Out the other side, he was inside of a small storage shed they had set up for the colder temperature items, which were encased within the cave's thick limestone walls and remained an ambient, low temperature all year round. It was here that he would notify his father, because it was here he knew his father would return first. He always did when out on the hunt. To clean and hang the food and have access to clean water while doing so was necessity. From inside the coat, the boy pulled a pen and paper and began to write—or so he tried. Tears burned in his eyes once more as he processed today and what may come tomorrow and with a heavy heart and hand, he wrote: Father, Men who called you The General came today. They said they were from your old work. I tried to tell them you were away on the hunt. They did not believe me. I believe they will hurt me tomorrow. Do not worry, father. I will never tell them where you are. I will never give you up. You have taught me well. The value of family and loyalty. Honor. Duty. Sacrifice. I believe now, this is what you have trained me for. I believe now, more than ever, in what your lessons have meant. I believe I may die tomorrow, father. If I do die, know that I honored mom's memory. Don't come back to the house. They're watching it. If I do die, I love you... Clarity is Peace. — Your Bya
  6. prologue :: tease

    Five Years Ago— :: twelve hours before his death The night was brisk with low clouds and fog forming off of the chilled winds that came in from the south. Two hours after the sun had set, the house still had no movement upon it and the spider yawned and picked at his teeth with a slender bone of something small which gave its life as a snack. "I gotta hand it to the runt, he's a tough one. I think he's telling the truth." "Of course he is," the titan mumbled groggily from the base of the tree the spider lounged in, overlooking the house. "You never knew his father, but the man was ... honorable. Even for our line of work, the rarest breed." "Honorable? Oh, I was gunna say ... in our line of work, that doesn't exist anymore. A rare breed, eh? How so?" "Aye. He was the strongest of us all and as timid as a church mouse, but a dragon on the battlefield. When there was something to fight for, we fought. But when the war ended, we had nothing left to really keep us motivated. Some for coin, but he hadn't ever been about the coin or the blood, but the nobility of combat. And a powerhouse, he was. Such a soul, not even the boss could contain it." "Bullshit..." "No, I'm serious. They called him many things: the Silver General, the Silver Dragon, the Silver Slayer, the Argent Noble... all of them an aspect of his greatness." His sighed wistfully. "Ha. You sound like you're in love." "In a way... I was so enamored by his power, so infected by its glory. You wouldn't understand. Have you see the boss take a life? It's heartless, ruthless, vengeful." "Aye... it's terrifying." "Being taken by the General would have been the exact opposite, I imagine. Every strike. Every bolt of power. He controlled it with such precision and affection, that all of his kills were in love... if that makes any sense. He used to kneel to the battleground after a fight, place his hands to the grass, and bow in some sort of ritualistic prayer. He said he communed with the angry souls and helped them to pass into the next life." "..." The spider was silent. The spider was in curious thought. "So that's why the boss wants him?" "..." It was the Bruiser's turn to think silently. Upon his first mentor and then upon the question before clearing his throat, "I believe it's because of these times and the plans of expansion into Izral and other regions. There's a lot to be had, and a force like the General's could be something fierce. I also think that it's because he's the only person to resign from the boss and he let it happen without recourse or word." "Hm... pride isn't the boss' strong suit."
  7. prologue :: tease

    "Did he say what sort of message?" The spider questioned curiously, having stood and was peering through one of the window slats to the livestock out in the pasture before the house with a sort of nonchalant, yet idea-stirring gaze. "Concise and intentional, were the chosen words. Where is your mother, boy?" The large man's voice boomed in question as he approached where the child sat. "S..." He cleared his throat and wiped a grey sleeve across his eyes and then his nose, smearing dirt stains and tears in a windblown fashion. "She passed away. Last winter took her by fever. You can't hurt her..." He hissed. "Man, you are a strong willed little shit, aren't you." The titan barked. "And how did dear old dad take that hit? Hm? He seems to have left you here alone for several weeks now... I cant imagine he cared much for her." It was a curious thing to goat the boy's reaction, but the spider's smile drew wry to the darkness of the larger man's words. O, how he'd tainted the beast in their years of traveling together. How he used to be so much nicer about these rendezvous... "Shut your pigwhore mouth of my mother!" The boy snarled, little fists balled into white-hot mitts of anger. "He loved her more than anyone has ever loved an oak like you! He was devastated! And he leaves me to hunt for the store because I'm ten now, and I can stay alone by myself! Now get out of my house!" His molten temper had the young man standing now, staring up with his neck craned back and head staring up at the giant, who almost seemed startled for a moment. He looked down at the boy and a belly laugh exploded from the great maw upon his brick-laid face and he doubled over, still towering over the boy. "By the gods, you're a savage one. If we weren't going to kill you, I'd beg the master to make you my pet." The titan chimed. It is here the history books tell of the demise a lineage. It is here the story ends and no one is heard from again. It is here the mystery of the General becomes legend. And it is here the rumors of the General's son and shadowy visitors begin... The spark. Whether it was the talk of his father, the spit upon his mother's grave, or the mention of the boy's death—none would know. Not even he, himself would know the final chapter of his own first life, but as it happened the memories were erased and the remains left behind were shrouded questions, a mysterious aura, and a crater—the size of one of the village's home plots. With the titan doubled over laughing, his large cheeks had squeezed his eyes closed. The spider's own mockery could be heard behind the youth, and in that instant, neither were focused on the pinprick of light that was upon the boy's forehead. A vibrant light that shone like the sun and no sooner had the titan's eyes opened, he was blinded instantly by it's radiant power. With his voice caught in mid-stride between a laugh and a yelp, the home was immediately filled with a cerulean ethereal glow—the boy's miasma was like a thick gelatin that had the men moving in such a fashion that time itself hiccuped, stuttering their motions by the seconds and jerking them back to an origin point to repeat the same movement over the course of the last two or three seconds. "You are safe, father." His very whisper was the spark source for the accelerant which filled the now consumed the house and saturated the land and with a rebounding sound that concussed into itself, canceling out any sort of noise that may have exploded, the three figures literally imploded to an epicenter and the house with it. Time pulled inward swiftly, blurring matter and streaking the house inward at such a rate that reality itself tore and in an immediate necessity to repair its own flesh, rebounded and the house exploded. Dust filled the air as the land was simply no-more. Pieces of the house flipped through the air, blood smears from where livestock had once stood now stained the grass, and as the mote settled once more the remains of anything standing were null. A dusted, rock-littered crater.
  8. prologue :: tease

    Five Years Ago— The young boy stared at the wooden door of the hut with fingers clenched and knuckles pressed to his thighs, using the stiff arms as props to keep from throwing himself to the floor with a precarious sort of balance. The man's words echoed in his mind, 'We'll be back tomorrow at this same time' and when we do, your old man had better be here. He owes us the power.' Nervous and afraid, the hour was fast-approaching and his father hadn't returned, nor had he for the past week. As he'd tried to tell them yesterday, his father would be gone on a hunting trip for at least another week. They were a simple people, though he knew a few things of his father's past and the war that he'd fought in. The neighboring village children all whispered their curious secrets about him, and all of his father's friends called the man General—as though it were an endearing term, but the youth had just assumed it was because they ran the local general shop in their small community. And now it was time. Now the bandits had come back. The pigs in the lot squealed. Someone approached and then there was a stillness about the small adobe hut nestled into the hillside. The boards creaked and whispered a tell of a footfall and the boy exhaled slowly to whisper his own tell, "I know you're in here." "Aye, a smart lad." "Smart enough to have gotten his father?" The second quipped curiously, meddling in the cupboards with a huffed sound. "There wasn't anything good in here yesterday either," he mumbled. The man was as broad as the doorframe, which left curious wonder in the boy's mind as to how a mountain-as-he could enter a house without a sound. The second man he did not wonder about. Lithe and spindley like a spider, he came and when with the wind as did his voice. "Oye, smart lad —where's your father and our power." The statement was saturated in already-knowing-frustration, as the spider ebbed across the room soundlessly, touching the walls and shelves with a sense of curiousness in his digits. "Such a simple and modest life the General leads now, eh Bruiser?" "That it is. No food anywhere for this half-starved rat of a son that he's left behind. Left all alone. Useless, I'd say—your old man is..." "He is NOT!" The boy's rage coursed through his veins and hot tears brimmed the lower lids, quivering desperately with is lower lip to not cry in front of these men. Black shocks of his hair hung about his head and shoulders as his chin tipped to his chest to high the silver drips that danced in the peeking rays of sun through the slatted door and window coverings. "Oye, Bruiser—you made the whelp cry. That's not nice. Where's your father, smart lad? If you're as smart as I think you to be, you'll tell us. Or I'll feed you to Bruiser." "Ooo... fresh young lad, eh?" Behind the boy the large man gave a nasty, queer face that said everything that he was thinking, regardless of their scare tactics toward the child. It sounded repulsive, but if it worked, it would have been worth it. The spider approached the boy once more and took to his knees before the lad and grabbed a hand full of hair and jerked his skull back quickly, to look into a pair of lavender eyes with black swirls. The boy's rage consumed him and in an angry lie, he spat in the spider's face and shouted, "I am the power! He gave it to me!" Releasing the boy, the man wiped his face and licked his palm slowly before laughing at the young boy's courage. "As foolish as his father, this one." The big man turned slowly and exhaled a long, raspy breath that seemed unnaturally long; so long, in fact the boy even turned to look behind him as the spider had looked up and the pair were transfixed for a moment before the titan's chest fell and rose once more and he looked down. "The master calls. He said to leave a message for the General." The pair of men's eyes locked and the spider chuckled, causing the boy to turn back.
  9. prologue :: tease

    Xaengri-La was often referred to as the living representation of the olden story of a man who looked ordinary on the outside, but in certain times of stress and situational frustration changed into something abhorrent and menacing. A monster of epic proportions that would throw a violent tantrum and run a muck through a town, though the story often claimed possession over genetic anomaly—they didn't know any better in the period of time. The isle represents this adage in a deceitful, quiet manner; far less violent than the monstrosity of the story and more the consuming darkness that lurks within the shadows. For those who had never crossed over, had no psionic ability, or lacked soul-control, Xaengri-La was a widely known fishing island off the northwestern coast of Alterion-proper, that often had mysterious issues of monsters and ghosts that almost seemed so frequent anymore, it was commonplace. Some things were better left unexplained—such as those born on the island having higher psionic functionality than those who would have been born on mainland. Whispers of higher power mediums on the matriarch island speak of the dead watching the gift of life without those in the room ever knowing. A native may call a newcomer without any proper gifting a 'corpse', which was a slang translation for someone born of the corporeal—the tangible and physical realm. It was rarely a nice thing to refer to someone in this manner, but was often said without spite or in a tone beyond stating facts. It simply was truth. The spirit essence of Xaengri-La is something that cannot be explained. Whether it was lost at the dawn of the land or during the centuries of conflict and mayhem before civilization caught wind to success, the nature of the island is speculated by scientists to have something to do with The Scar, the Crystal, and the War of the Blessed Riva, but there is nothing historically set in this conjecture. Those of the region blame the Masons within the walls of Cosanastre for hording the information and details within their vast libraries and repository networks, but their denial over the matter has been silenced over the years of repeating themselves. They simply have chosen not to even bother responding anymore.
  10. prologue :: tease

    Xaengri-La :: the Spirit Realm Jaakuna Keimusho :: Prison of the Damned Prison in the spirit realm was not the same as that of the real world. Madness is the status quo. The real world focused on controlling an environment, setting rules and boundaries in which inmates must follow to the letter or be punished. The segregation of specific persons based on their intentions, their history, and their crime was a paramount priority to maintain this element of control, however in a place such as Xaengri-La ... such control and law were vastly skewed, if not entirely backwards. The realm itself was said to be a mirror of corporeality; like a layer of cells upon the epidermis of the seen, lay beneath in waiting and watching. The mirror could be distorted at times, broken in others, and all housed by the demented and insane, gone that way by merely watching the waves of humanity from a fishbowl looking glass. The demons that rule the place—if they could be called that, were often lost souls themselves at one point that in some way, shape, or form obtained a power or gift that allowed them to begin a form of mimicry control as they watched the those in the looking glass perform. And so the cycle repeated itself... on and on, and on, and on ... you can imagine one going insane for being put in a place like this. The boundaries of the Spirit world and the Corporeal are not to be messed with lightly, and often forbidden for commune. Mediums communicate through telepathy and otherworldly gifts, which are often a means of information transmission, but those who are extremely powerful can perform ethereal projections and more... It has always been those who seek more power in the Corporeal realm that meddle in the arts of Aether, Ethereality, and the Consumption of the Soul (or sacrifice) to gain this power. With such a gift (or curse), some have even been known to alter the destiny of those within the Spirit Realm, an unthinkable act—to meddle in the affairs of the dead.
  11. act i. The Foundation

    With Adara's question the demon looked back to the metal-suit-encased albino with a sort of half-curious look: it was something that may have said, I know we just asked for one hundred thousand dollars, but do you have some spare time to talk about our Lord and Savior Epoch. Cross couldn't help but laugh and nodded slowly to both of them, "Anything specific? I've read up on you two and have some ideas already on how to make You more Utility Support and you ..." He pointed to Adara with a smirk, "More lethal. Fire is extremely effective, but if you run out of air ..." He sucked in through his teeth slowly, making a vacuum sound before mimicking a popping motion with his hand like balloon. "Either way, if you think of something... I have your transmitter frequency. Just use it to contact me." "Oh! Real quick; heading east to accomplish this... do you have some transport to drop us off?" "Sure. I'll send for the Atlas and it'll be on the outskirts of town within two hours. Does that work for you schedule?" "... perfectly." "Excellent. It'll take you out toward the Scar and drop you off on the east side." Dante watched as the helmet collapsed over Ventus' face and then a peace sign was thrown before he took a single step and bolted off above the city scape and then went supersonic, cracking against the sound barrier and rocketing off into the clouds. Dante watched for as long as he could, actually having pivoted to stare into the distance wistfully before grinning, "Man, that was cool... A hundred grand, just for walking out of our own bar." "Lead the way—let's take out the gang and then head east..."
  12. act i. The Foundation

    Dante accepted the handshake without a second thought as the man revealed himself to the pair ... in the most non-sexual way possible. The demon's mind wandered curiously to what the man was wearing beneath the armor, but sidelined the quandary for the status quo. The name rang a bell and when he dropped the company name: Valorous Future Industries, Dante's eyes widened and his mouth parted and he pointed at Cross while looking at Adara. "This is one of the guys we were supposed to check out for our technological needs. I heard he was--I heard you were the god of technology! I also heard that you were one of the few people to escape the Cosanastran army! And ... that there was rumor and speculation of the Valorous being apart of a prison break..." Dante's voice trailed off, wondering how taboo his ranting and excitement was. "Well ..." Ventus cleared his throat, "That is all mostly true. I had a meeting with the Cosnastran government that went south, I also have heard the rumors of the prison break..." Cross cleared his throat, "And I was born a hybrid -- technomancy is in my blood." "Awesssssommmeeee..." Dante stared like a child looking into a toy store. "Oh. Right. The job. Where's it located? What are we looking for? What do you mean ... ish?" "The Prime desires a power source that's specialized... a mineral called Kybarium, Kyba for short. It is only found in the Devla Sands to the east. The ish is ... it's supposedly in a rather large sand worm." "In ...it?" Dante tapped his chin. "In it." Cross confirmed, looking at Adara. "I'm sure she can punch her way through... I've never personally seen one, but I'm a busy man. Your accounts have been credited with eighty percent of the job total, which I would say for this is 100,000 credits. It's dangerous, I wont lie to you. You've been fronted eighty grand -- is there anything else that I can get for you two before I make my exit? You can find me at VFI, due east of here about fifteen miles, if you need anything..." Dante just stared. Mouth open. Dumbfounded. The demon pulled out his phone and tapped a few keys and stared, holding the phone up to Adara, speechless. "I told you ... the Prime has so much money they don't know what to do with it..."
  13. act i. The Foundation

    — Cross The arcana stood there for a moment, listening to the 'mental bantering' before dropping a cognitive pin on the subject for Lucille to research more in depth while he tried to smooth the waters. With his hands raised slightly to hip level, Cross nodded slowly and shrugged, "Money is no object. We have Defense contracts with enough zeroes to make your head spin... I assure you, I am good for it." \ You haven't even introduced yourself. \ Audibly came a female voice. Her sass was justified and the tone of frustration would have been paired with rolling eyes and the gesture of 'pfff ... men' to be attached. He stared momentarily as if a deer in the headlights of reality and palmed his own forehead. "Of course! No wonder there's such skepticis...-wait, they're new to the area though." The arcana shook his head and offered a metallic hand while continuing, "My sincerest apologies. I get ahead of myself at times. I research. I sift information from everything. So I know you, but you don't know me... please forgive me." \ Still haven't... \ Lucille charmed. "Right, right. You can call me Ventus, for now—Commander of the Valorous Order of the Northern Sky and Chief Executive Officer of the Valorous Future Industries. I have a lot of fancy titles, but none of them stop me from getting around or into a lot of trouble as well..." Whether or not the handshake was received, Cross wheeled about on a heel and pointed skyward. There was a visible disc with smaller discs around it that would have been about the size of a fly from their position and he pointed directly at it, "That is The Prime; a snobby bunch, but they have more money than a djinn could ever manifest and haven't a clue what to do with it. So I help them spent it, and right now, I need an artifact." Aqua eyes turned back to the pair, "That's where you come in. That gob of money can be yours, as well as any other loot you find, but there's a catch. Ish." Lucille silently chimed to him once more. / If my calculations are correct, they own the better part of a quarter million on the establishment due to this Zoning part and their accounts are damn-near nothing... enough to make less than a half-years worth of payments at the moment... / \ ... in this zone? Buy it. \ Vortian and Lucille's silent communications didn't affect his exterior communications in the slightest as he watched the pair cautiously, trying not to scare them off, but in the same token—he was a celestial technomancing arcana... how much weirder could this get?
  14. act i. The Foundation

    Dante's mind processed what it is he was hearing and things slowly didn't seem to add up. Whoever this guy was, whatever the fuck he was, he knew WAY more about them than they ever wanted anyone to know about them on the first date—but they were at a blind-sided loss. All this knowledge of their presence in Arkadia Prime and who they even were surprised the demon's curiosity and he bit—hook, line, and sinker. Who are you? "Wait, wait... how lucrative are we talking?" The smart comment went right out the window at the mention of money. Dante didn't have the heart to tell Adara that right now, they were running on flat broke. Barely two pennies to rub together and enough to float the mortgage on their new investment for at least six months, praying that the tide would come in and the bar would be a success. The income of the bar was tied to their prosperity in this country. If it flopped now, they would have nothing... A pointed tooth caught the demon's lip slightly as he nibbled impatiently and looked to Adara with a worried look. * We cannot afford to not take this job... * He said with a look in his eye that she would know too well. They needed a break. Badly. He'd totally forgotten about the stranger's knowledge of their previous transaction, due to the adrenaline and speed of the situation.
  15. act i. The Foundation

    — Cross "My apologies, Ms. Vitalos. You are correct, however with your latest establishment and endeavor, I was not sure if you had an operational phone yet. Or if you'd switched from the Terrenus Line Company, to Ark Prime's yet..." A faint glimmer of the sifter's knowledge graced the moment and then it was gone, to answer her fast-loaded questions. "I have a proposition for you. It's lucrative, on my word. I need you to recover me an artifact, and in return I will add you to my accounts payable line and call on your operation and skills now and again. Not-so-Simple matters, more than likely with my line of work, but it seems you desire a challenge now and again." He chewed at his lip curiously, thinking she needed something more than fire to compete with some of the operations they may encounter, but it was up to her to ask for just how much power, she desired... "The things you could accomplish..." He grinned wistfully. He loved to see people at their potentials and greater. Technology changed the world.
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