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About Syncopy

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    Les Enfantes d'Enfer
  • Birthday July 17

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  1. Syncopy

    With great power ... comes devastating revenge

    "Epoch -- His power is overwhelming. He must be contained." "I understand your advisement, Kalenis -- but not only is he our brother, but he is of the Brand." "My Lord -- of the highest order, King of Kings..." "Stop. You as my mentor, we have always been equals, brother." "Then you understand the graveness in which I speak to you as your subject. Loyal adviser. Companion. Friend. Blood." "... yes." "Onesimus is one-of-a-kind. He is an acted gift from us all. A cluster-birth. This is not something anyone could have anticipated. Not something anyone could have ever expected. Realities, we've seen. The Nothingness, we call home. The very existence of our Resonance within the cloth of crystallyss, designed specifically for us, by Ino Yosouya himself... deemed impossible, as an existence and yet here our avatars stand, as deities over all." "My heart aches..." "As does mine, brother. As does mine. But Oni is an anomaly, even among us. We each have our traits that are enhanced beyond our wildest dreams and each has their paramount, but ... insanity ... chaos ... a second life ... no one could ever possibly come to the conclusion that in our world, with our cognitive birth -- that we could breed twins within a single Resonance strand. His existence is literally like the DNA of humans, except it is the very life we breathed into him that helixes two souls. Beyond an impossibility, yet fathomed." "What would you have me do, Kale!? I will not see him dead. I cannot." "This must be the way." "Then you all will fight against your King." "Epoch ... you know that isn't possible. There isn't a Raven among us, who would -- let alone could, stand against you..." "Then what I say -- is so. Find another way." Guise was panicking now. Screaming and morphing from not just a man, but animals, beasts, things -- inanimate objects. His mind blank with terror, blank with fury, blank with fear -- now all but losing the ability to shift as a polymorph might. The matte black bird seemed to grow and flex along the child's back. An ink-stain upon the flesh of the child looked similarly to that of the Silver and Black, the one he thought was harassing him with whispers from the unknown. One's eyes faded white to red. Blood ran down his back, and began to slick what looked like black spots all over his body... The Brand coiled and slithered, consuming the figure. The more the polymorph struggled, the less his existence was to be. "W-What are you doing?! S-TOP THIS A-A-AT ONCE!" He screeched, trying to phase back into the man once more, who looked so calm -- so pristine -- so confident in his actions less than an hour ago. Ultimately, there was nothing special about him, except the properties that he was made of -- whatever sort of alien entity that may have been... ...but when he tried to create the once-face of crime in Arkadia Prime, the figure was missing his opposite arm and leg entirely and nearly a quarter of his torso. The entity could not form what could not be, and whatever he was -- the construct of life that he had come to be -- was now nothing more than a rippling fluid upon the back of what was no longer a child. Guise no longer remained. What was once thought to be a tattoo, now took the blood of the host and a powerful sacrifice to be reborn into the present-day. In the enlightenment of the situation, the boy no longer remained either. It was in this moment of clarity, that the beast which emerged from the shell wasn't bound within the tattoo on the back of a boy at all, but entombed within a prison of innocence for what should have been an eternity. Surely the fates saw a sacrifice and blood as the prime catalyst for a key. Surely they had witnesses the fall of the great tribe's numbers and with it the power of the seals and locks that controlled the boy. Perhaps not -- but they certainly would come to understand the gravity of their choices. Fingers splayed now in the sand, thrice as long as they once were and taloned. Sinew was covered with a fine ebony fur that did not reflect the light of any surrounding ambiance and hugged the frame of muscle and bone with a taut, majestic finish. Hunched over, he was easily the height of an average man, and bent knees came to gaunt, slender ribs. His tail flicked side to side, more as a sign of agitation than anything else and a curled maw produced a gang of razor sharp teeth. He was a sight to behold, and yet not at all. Enough intimidation to lock a grown man to the ground and piss himself standing there. The creature's jaws flexed slowly. The feeling of joints, muscles, bone -- all so foreign. It had been ... a thousand lifetimes, since he'd seen flesh. His mental presence, however was beyond compare; it expanded across the breath of the beach, in moments of his enlightenment and emotions mounted rather hastily. "You." It spoke. Jaws yawned and rolled once more, tasting the gravel and grit of his voice with a loll of his tongue; this unfamiliar language was translated immediately do a spoken tongue, a language forgotten would not serve him well in this world. Fingers curled and retracted with a fist full of sand, only to sneer at the pain within his digits and then remember the attack, the blood, the feeling. "What year is this? Where am I? Where are the Ravens?" So many questions he had. So curious. So confused. The past was a blur and so-so-so long ago, that it stumped him into an anger... "Why was I imprisoned?!"
  2. Syncopy

    With great power ... comes devastating revenge

    "The ocean, you say ... have you lost your nerve, Cross? Ruining my operations along the coast..." The voice of the shadows grew white-hot with anger and seethed. Had whatever it was, whomever it was been a tangible essence in the moment, froth would be flung from an incisored-maw, gnashing in some sort of hysteric rage at the audacity of the young man and his feeble demeanor. It was disgusting. Pathetic. Cowardice, above all else that drew rage into the darkness incarnate. "Have you lost your fucking gall -- your wit -- your charm, your MAJEsty?" It spat. Sick with fury and dementia, clearly. Before the youth could speak again, another figure of the night approached and the boy immediately jumped to his feet. Whatever wounds the creature may have seen before, had vanished with the love of the ocean. Bruises mended, scars healed -- for the most part, and all that remained was a crimson smudge within the right sclera, which looked like a fame mounting an ambery-scarlet marble. They flashed curiously, but cautiously. Mistaking the talking darkness for the embodiment of it, Oni questioned the creature with a sense of confusion, "W-what do you want with me? Why are you so hostile...?" The sentence did not belong to the silver and ebony, but was asked of it all the same. The rags that had been on his torso were sopping wet and the weight of the material was too much for the thinly stretched tethers. His quick action left him shirtless, as it nearly discenegrated around his gaunt frame and dropped from his hips to the ground without stopping. Scars and marks sprawled across his body, but the most interesting piece of all was a matte black symbol that the creature could not see... ...but the darkness could. "How dare you turn your back to me..." It spat. It was no where. And then it was everywhere. In moments, ir snapped across the ground like a shade python, cast from a tall building. However with no light, this shadow acted upon its own accord and hit the young man so hard in the back that it knocked him forward to his hands and knees. The shadow was no longer two dimensional, but a man standing there in an ivory suit with what looked to be his fist punched into the child's back -- laughing manically. His hair looked to be chin-length and a shade of carnation, wild-eyes untamed with potential energy, and yet the morphological entity known as Guise -- The Syndicate Boss of Arkadia Prime ... was now stuck ... caught red-handed. "Cross -- you a...re ... mine... ha... hahah .. ah ..ahhh ... w-wh-WHAAAT?! AhHHHHH!" The young man's body convulsed. The spasms started at his abdomen and then began to spread throughout his limbs. Fingers gripped the sand until they were white knuckles and blood had begun to ooze from between his fingertips. Head twitching violently, ivory eyes flicked up to Silver and Black with a blank, and yet agonizing expression etched into his brows. Managing to prop himself up on an arm and two knees, Oni threw back a hand to try and reach the man's wrist that was protruding from his mid-spine. He couldn't reach, but the act alone slung blood from his palm across his back. And then something ... awoke.
  3. Syncopy

    With great power ... comes devastating revenge

    By the light of the moon, the young boy passed silently down the streets. He hadn't heard anything from the darkness again which only dashed his hopes against the rocks of despair. He dare not sigh though, for fear the very exhalation would bring forth another random and mysterious beating from complete strangers. One arm cradled the other which hung a little more slack at his side and showed signs of dislocation, winking from beneath the tattered rags now and then that clung effortlessly to his gaunt frame. He was close now. Pain had all-but left his face. He'd grown accustomed to the abuse of the world, allowing only the darkest thoughts to remain ever-so deep within his soul -- to have that kind of power and authority over other people ... And just like that, the thoughts were washed away at the sight of the ocean pier. Constantly drawn to water, the young boy moved down a ramp and the faintest twinge of a smile crept to the corners of his lips as his toes curled into the sand. Arkadia Prime was a clean, beautiful, and technologically crafted masterpiece, unlike any others upon Valucre's vast expanse. Buildings so vast and tall, that their tops couldn't be seen beyond the reef of clouds. Air traffic just below the clouds illuminated the sky with a myriad of colorful vessels of transportation and commerce, selling and trucking things across the heavens and outsourced to other nations. But the beach... The beach was serene. It was a place nearly forgotten within the Ark, because so much more was going on. People rarely stopped to just relax. Always busy. Always going. So when a little boy stepped onto the beach alone in the middle of the evening -- there wasn't a soul in sight to see. There never was. Or so he thought. So there wasn't an sort of angst to hide the water moving beyond its natural boundaries of tide and lapping waves to greet the young man. Water elementals and spirits were rare enough, but for the ocean itself to emerge almost like an outstretched appendage to take the boy, would have been considered impossible or unimaginable. He nodded softly and began to weep, taking to his knees once more. The mixture of blood and water was soon diluted enough that only water remained as it spiraled his form. In doing so, abrasions began to lace themselves back together, bruises that were swollen and flush, seemed to dissipate all together and the bloodshot stare within his sclera had vanished once more. His head dunked into the water, as his right arm twisted about unnaturally and snapped the joint back into the socket like an elastic band. His open-mouth scream was muffled into gurgling blurbs, but immediately relaxed after it was set. He laid there, face down in the water allowing it to sooth him once more. It seemed to be a weekly thing, since the first time that someone had "taken out the trash." That's how he had discovered this mysterious ability in the first place -- his relationship with the ocean. He'd been beaten nearly to death by thugs who thought that he'd seen a crime. Wrong place, wrong time. He'd only just rounded the corner when they found him and assumed the worse. It was his nap in the ocean that they thought would cure their witness issue and instead, it was the exact opposite. They left, and he live. Now, he knew that even if the pain was agonizing -- he wasn't ever more than a mile from the shore. The young boy now sat cross-legged on the beach, drawing with a finger in the sand, whilst surrounded by a pool of water that looked more like the reverse of throwing out a life preserver into the water -- the water was thinly tethered to more water and a sand canal, and bubbled around the youth, like a protective parent. "So ... you say you're not Cross ..." The darkness whispered once more. "... but your affinity to water, I have heard of. If not Cross, baby -- what is your name?" The darkness spoke. To him. Again. Butterflies ebbed in his stomach and he cleared his throat, testing it out once more since the assault, "The ocean sometimes calls me One. Sometimes Oni..."
  4. Still curled into a fetal position and shaking like a leaf, the young boy was too scared to mutter a whimper and too worried about the rush of pain that would befall him -- dare his body relax. Like a bound spring, he whimpered. Eyes clenched tightly, afraid to see the blood that he lay in, but he knew the warmth that surrounded him was his own. Teeth gritted until the root ends sent shocks of pain through his skull, and still he held fast. Fingers were white at the knuckles, interlaced with one another as his gaunt arms wrapped about his knees and cradled his head and face to the best of his ability. They were gone. He could hear them laughing and mocking as they walked casually away, as if nothing had happened. Their footsteps fell into puddles and the delicate splash upon the concrete marked one of the few sounds in the empty street. It was late. A shop keeper stood in the doorway, without saying a word during the beating, and certainly not after it had passed; just merely to stand there and wait to see if the authorities needed to be rung due to dead, homeless child in the streets. Arms across his chest and narrow eyes shifted to the three walking down the street, as his lips adjusted and waggled his thick mustache. Green eyes slowly flicked open. The pain was seering at first, as the dim light from the alleyway streets flooded into the pupil and the synapse reeled to life, trying to discover exactly what it was that he was seeing. Bloodsoaked visuals, blurred by the hot liquid left a crimson painted image of a man staring back at him, but far enough away not to strike immediate fear, and in the same token -- made him feel so hopeless and worthless, that he wasn't even worth a question, a grunt, or a Samaritan's aid. Instead, the man saw the boy was living and shrugged a sighing shoulder, almost as if he was disappointed and the door closed behind his back. Alone. Moments ago, he'd been jumped by some kids that attended the local private school. There wasn't a reason for the action. They were just bored and feeling powerful in their youthly design and he was the prime candidate... but who was he? A nobody. A nothing. An anomaly. A quark in the system of design that was built into Arkadia Prime, but for what purpose and reason was yet to be determined. The city clearly had a plan for him, but whatever that was -- the cards had yet to be shown. Slowly the tension released, and the boy cradled a rib with a lithe hand and grimaced in an effort to sit up. The rags that once covered his form were more torn now than before, and soaked with whatever he prayed to be water from the rains and blood of his own, but the stench of pride and hubris clung to his clothing. He winced again. This time it was mental, over physical -- treated like a dog -- pissed on -- beat senseless -- was he worth so little? Was their no purpose to his existence? "Well ... hello, Cross ..." The whispers came. "Or ... should I call you Vortian?" He sighed, rubbing his head slowly. The shadows themselves spoke to him, as they had for nearly a year now, and yet -- he never once responded. Not until now. He had always been afraid -- a coward -- a loser -- a lesser being than the rest, on the simple truth that he was someone else's trash, thrown away without use or care, and discarded without any remorse. "... I ... I'm not ... Cross. I don't even know who that is..." Words; even they hurt. His jaw ached with a throbbing pain and metallic fleshy taste. In time, he stood. Energy found it's way to his feet, and the body traveled toward the water's edge -- western Ark. He'd always been afraid to respond to the darkness ... ... because he was afraid even the darkness would reject him ...
  5. Try being a boss that doesn't attack...
  6. It's far, far worse than that... I'm trying to give you (specifically) writing liberty without being fuckin' melted and abused, lol. But my boss-dice are god-damn disappointing. Absolute trash. I was hoping to punch you through some shit, Hulk-style, but NOOooooo....
  7. Syncopy

    The King's Feast [SS0]

    [□ □ □ Right-Click : Open in New Tab. OH SHIT SON! NEW FORM!? ■ ■ ■] 3rd FORM: http://www.ffmages.com/ffvii/ost/disc-2/14-jenova.mp3 With a blade through it's core nearly to the hilt, the beast would have looked down—had a body not been planted on it's face before ramming blades into either side of it's makeshift skull. The rolling pieces of debris tried to move to relocated to the front of the body, to block and avoid any additional damage, but the torrential onslaught of combatants seemed to pour upon the beast in waves. It couldn't keep doing this forever. The soul core was nearly depleted, but would condense soon enough. Enough to produce a final form, perhaps... The blades wedged into the core and chestpiece of the lava beast was something they saw as a threat, when they should have seen it as a shell. A protective barrier, concealing what lay dormant within the core. They tried to take it on and destroy it. Close. They had come close; but the overwhelming surge of energy wasn't yet thinned to produce a raw stone core to strike down, but instead pulsing waves of fiery inertia which forced some of them into extreme combatives. But now ... ha...hahah...hahahHAHAhh.... At proximity, regardless of whether a man was birthed in the flames or not—the necrotic energy was not just white-hot fire, but also corrosive to spells and the sort, so even with James' saving-throw characteristics, surely the beast felt he could take at least one of these pesky nuisances out of the picture. It bore down. Clamped upon the longsword embedded into it's chest, the monster's boiling eyes bled magma across the harsh contrast of concrete that had constructed it's face. A laugh emerged. It was bellowsome and gritty. The baritone shook the world around them, it came from so deep within. The armor was thick across it's front, but the exposed back was blindingly white. It grew brighter until the shine couldn't be concealed any longer, illuminating it's entire frame and leaned into James, "You... will di—eGRRKKKK—Wh...haaaaannNOOOOOOOOO!!" An ebony spear emerged the beast's chest, bursting cleanly through debris and before spearing through the unknown ally, it fanned before James like a concave dome that spread swiftly. A tactician, to be certain. "B...BAST...ARD!" The spear had broken off in a different direction as well, forcing a spike through the core, but not before the monstocity had gone supernova. The blast from the beast released shrapnel in all directions, except for the allies that had been performing the dangerous acts to whittle the beast down. The explosion followed the shield to perfection and the white-hot blast of fire and molten rock was thrown just beyond the three combatants in a flash that would force them to shield eyes. It would have had an eclipse-like effect, with the black of night as a shield with a flashbang behind it. Chunks of concrete were thrown from the blast. The ground was literally melted in streaks of liquid asphalt and warped metal in waves around the shield that had protected them, but in turn had blasted Kalenis against a building with a chunk of a building that had been severed and sent spiraling through the air. He'd had a moment to sidestep and keep his face and outstretched arm from being impacted -- true support, to the end. To shield allies to the cause. * * * * * When the blast had ended, twin daggers were somehow thrown to stick into the earth nearest Epheren from a black tendril that had managed to salvage them and use the momentum of the blast to return them to their owner. The shield collapsed then, retracting to the focal point and returning back to the owner. The flash of energy left a present for them all. And a single ghoul friend, who immediately was hungry for death. Spying the group of fleshbags before her very ugly, soulless eyes... Dragon Specs: ~15' tall -- bone, rotten flesh, debris, necrotic flames Concept: Demon Flames, Undead, Debris Dragon — first and second forms, combine. READ. & COMPREHEND. DICECRAFT: [ Preparation: □ □ ] | 3rd Form Hits on a 4,5,6 — Roll: 2 - Miss Spawns a ghoul on a 2,3,4 — Roll: 2 - Spawn 1 Ghoul Combative Ghoul: Swings every turn. Hits on a 5,6. — On hit: Ghoul does +1 to all rolls. [ This may be used to your advantage : you're the writer. ] Ghoul dies: on a 4, 5, 6. [ Turn Rotation Target: four 3s to be rolled □ □ □ □ to slay ] + if only one tick is rolled, one damage will be taken, and then one will be regenerated. + if two ticks are rolled, one damage will be regenerated. one remains. + players may spend ONLY one prep +1 or -1 to meet requirement. MARKED FOR DEATH: Boss Strike — On boss turn: roll a D6. 4/5/6 hits all players with a mark. 1 mark does nothing 2 marks instills chaos. If you roll a 3, roll again. 3 marks gives you a +2 to your die rolls. 4 marks initiates "Shot Through The Heart!" — Roll a 4 and you're ejected from the event (death, coma, whatever your story deems) — Non-4, you're safe ... for now. Repeat 4 marks each time marked.
  8. God bless, this post is taking me forever to conjure. I hate having a picture in my brain of what I want to happen, and then being like ... fuck. I gotta describe that...?
  9. Syncopy

    Dice Rolling Thread

    Ghoul raise: 2,3,4
  10. Syncopy

    Dice Rolling Thread

    Boss Roll, Bitches. 3rd Form. Jesus, this boss sucks. Lol.
  11. Syncopy

    The King's Feast [SS0]

    Current Mob: The Harvester Remaining: 2 forms (2nd form: 0 HP) no damage given | Attack Roll: 1+1 = 2 | Hit Prep Stored: 2 | 1 The tactician's gut feeling was right on point. The flies swarmed this mega-boss and in their victory, came their morale defeat as something else emerged from the bowels of this darkness. The chunks of concrete flew by the boy, pulling from the ground and a piece impacted him against the side and shoulder, sending Kale spiraling before nearly dropping to the ground. As his hands fell, the blow was lessened by the fact that his hands were coated in a thick black sinew, pull in straps from his fingers up his forearms and had slowly began to mold higher, until his lithe frame was encased in the Brand. It pinged and flecked against his armor from here on out, as though the sentience desired to preserve it's host... He watched the blasts come inbound and deflect from the beast with ease, but then a man charged. Foolish, Kalenis' thought. His eyes narrowed to watch the action unfold as the other team drove in to deliver another opening blow. He felt the advantage of his location, opposite of this other crew, as it allowed him the full picture. He watched the blade plunge through the beast, and an interesting thing happened. It hadn't yet seemed to form fully yet, so the plates of junk moved around the body like a serpent's coil, peeling flesh from the rear to reinforce the front from assault. It didn't help, but it did allow for exposure cross the back. Then lunacy begat lunacy. The aerial acrobatics of the team that seemed as reckless as the fire of the beast, allowing the buffering waves of heat to singe loose fringe and curl hair. Their bold actions allowed the exposure to grow vastly. Daggers impaled into the skull was a rather brutal touch to the sheer grace the female commanded. Such a complimented beauty, the boy was nearly enamored and charmed in the moment. The world was still for her in the moment—her moment—to inflict the maximum amount of damage possible, while looking femme fatale in doing so ... such seduction. Not to take from her own personal victory, but the beast was on the ropes and something must be done. [2] From the back, none of the other three would have seen the swelling energy rolling and spiraling with a blade through the core and the momentum that was colliding to build up over and over again. Upon itself, and upon itself once more—the folds of churning necrotic fire raged at their arrogance and forward combative prowess without any regard for their own safety. Their hubris ... it disgusted the monster ... The core went white hot, yet was masked to the crew on the front due to their onslaught. Kale's eyes widened. "Noo... he's ... going to explode ...?" The youth's lips trembled with anger. "No... NOO!" Concentrate... these people need you. They would not be sacrifices. The Brand consumed the youth entirely in ribbons of ebony armor that rippled spikes from the shoulders down an outstretched arm and sent a bolt of ebony lightning from the shadow's appendage... [D1E] | Kalenis | Thread: D Levels Gained: 2 | EXP: 8/10 Current Team: Viktus @paradigm & Kalenis Team Kills: 0 | CL.5 | 1 'The Harvester' 210 | 30—CL.4 | 4 Cliff Manticore, 3 Goblin Shaman 340 | 20—CL.3 | 4 Lung Tiger, 1 Canes Evandi, 4 Dimfyre Soldiers, 1 Witwag, 4 Ripper, 3 Ghouls 030 | 15—CL.2 | 2 Goblin Raider 050 | 10—CL.1 | 5 Pumpkin Spice
  12. Syncopy

    Dice Rolling Thread

    Kalenis vs Form 2.
  13. Sorry I'm running behind. I'll try and get to this today. Work + family + surgery post-op = tiresome
  14. I'll get two posts up tomorrow.
  15. Right. But that's why the 2nd form post clearly says, pay attention to these rules 1 prep for +-1. players may spend one prep +1 or -1 to meet requirement. In this case -1 is the only acceptable prep, from a 2 roll 2nd Form. Rules changed. Lol. You can no longer use more than one prep to raise or lower your dice rolls.