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  1. Indeed there was a crassness the bureaucrats had adapted in their attempts to impress the Peacekeeper with their autonomy; the reality was, in fact, that they frenzied in panic in the absence of Peacekeeper Vidal. Michael could not scorn them, though, because he understood their scattered decisions. Dump them in Tia? Cut them down? These were the final conclusions of honest men who had tried countless methods of curing the utmost infected. Casper could put on a face of strength and courage, but it still needed help recovering from the plague that befell it a year ago. Commager was in many ways the perfect man for the job, for he was the developer and possessor of a decyptor for the magic behind said plague. He'd chosen Li'El's option and therein taken the least of the evils in dealing with the plagued. Michael, by extension of Li'El, had made the most humane decision. Even still, it didn't sit with Commager quite right. "Round them all up in the NorthEast Hospital (build-a-hospital for this RP's purposes)," Commager had concluded on leaving the room with Li'El. "That's where we'll go to study them." Then, to Li'El, "Pure energy, I think. I can't be sure yet though. I am hoping we can either erect a few towers that project the same energy as the holy rains across Casper-- which stopped this all to begin with-- along with whatever else my men and us find in our studies." While they left, the men got to developing the gas that would be administered on the remaining sick. Even as they spoke, Commager walked with such a briskness that his shoulder-length hair was disturbed by the airflow. His posture and gait, however, were such that he appeared to be walking normally. As it turned out, erecting any kind of barrier to protect against such incidents in the future would also require dealing with the aforementioned plagued, so it was to the NorthEast Hospital that the two found themselves headed within a Casper government vehicle. The insides were a mute cream leather with black carpet and ceiling. A square of cushioned seats surrounded the cab. As they sped along the mostly cured and back-to-normal streets, Michael held his palm between him and Li'El, who sat across from him. "'I'm hoping I can find something that will stop this from happening in the future. Maybe some kind of antibody we can make a vaccine out of." A red crystal that had appeared to be an earring at first came to hover above his hand, a purple aura manifesting in its otherwise crimson heart. A black light effect filled the cabin of the vehicle. "I am no foreigner to the magic of Zengi's gauntlets. Those are the cause of all this. Maybe, just maybe, seeing these poor souls with our own eyes will show us something useful." When they got to the hospital they were greeted hastily by the resident Dr. of the hospital. "They told me you were coming! Praise Gaia," he said with what Michael thought might be insincerity. The man led them inside right away though, and to surveillance, many of its screens observing a huge holding room filled with people ambling around sickly.
  2. For however long Axel Voldstar was present, Cain Rose was aware of his presence. Sitting but not standing, staring at but not at Axel, Cain only averted his gaze from the crystal and the crater when the other spoke. "Greetings stranger! You wouldn't happen to know where The Hells this is, would you? I'm afraid I'm a tad lost" Absorbing both the stranger’s words, their tone, and his appearance, Cain concluded his observation of the crystal on a leather strap and put it around his neck. “This is a neverending, grassy field!” replied Cain from the center of the bowl in a friendly baritone. Even wearing a smile and relaxed brow, Mr. Rose appeared very severe in his attitude. Perhaps it was the context of the situation, or maybe a taste of who he was in all situations. “I wish I could tell you we were a drunken pair last night, and we just woke up here, but no.” Cain pointed to the crude crater, the site of a blast in a previous bout. “Alas, here, we come to fight until one of us surrenders or perishes.” Cain began walking toward Axel. It was some distance, roughly 20m, and his pace and tone were casual. “I’ve never been to this one though!” As Cain spoke, an obsidian mass that looked like living ink with a mind of its own rose from his right shoulder in the form of a 3m anaconda. Between the way Cain spoke and walked, and the form of the Troll as it rose from his shoulder, Axel would know even without understanding magic that his foe was both formidable and also knowledgeable of the predicament they found themselves in. “Let me know if you want me to take it easy on you,” said Cain without menace, ascending the slope between him and Axel. “You know, if you want me to show you the ropes.”
  3. I feel like a prince that turned to a king.

    1. melinoe


      from amenities to luxury space communist amenities.

  4. Calling dibs on your next fyte in never-ending challenge.

  5. Who is/was better, Anthony Bourdain or Gordon Ramsey?

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    2. amenities


      Who is your favorite and why I guess is what I meant

    3. supernal


      Bourdain was effortlessly articulate and I like that 

    4. The Alexandrian

      The Alexandrian

      Gordon "IT'S RAW" Ramsay because he's more meme now than man.

  6. While Tyra talked, the tantalized traveler consumed his meal-- no, consumed isn’t the right word. More like, he inhaled it. Matte was done eating with alien speed. Even a patron four seats right of Yshmael and the bartender on the opposite end of the counter glanced in discreet awe. It was as if Tyra’s vigor for escape empowered Matte to finish his meal and absorb himself in her. Why else absorb yourself in a new area or person than to catch up in the winds of adventure? Matte’s elbows were on the table, his entire shoulder-to-neck complex arranged into a leaning fathom culminating just one wide-eyed foot away from Tyra. "Fascinating.. Even the sky is privy to Her Influence.. She truly does provide for all possibilities! Matte, might we accompany the lady? I would want nothing more than to find connections in this world to further propel our endeavors! My horse might even find rest, if all goes well! " Gaia's phenomena for bringing the wayward inward filled Matte on a more inner level that Yshmael's. Silence endeavored between the three there in an almost uncomfortable span where Matte might otherwise have thrown in his own chips of excitement. Instead he gazed up from their table to Tyra like a mannequin with only one expression for almost twelve seconds during which the breaking-down onions and mayo and pickles filled his stomach with their resulting gasses. A momentous but breathy-versus-vibratory burp filtered through vented fingers as Daemon turned his head away from Tyra. “Yeah let’s do it together!” he exclaimed in the regurgium of his afterward agreement. Perhaps Yshmael and Matte’s forwardness was a foreign friendliness to Tyra. Perhaps Yshmael’s sharp issuance and Matte’s blunt machinations hadn’t deterred Tyra; and if they didn’t, a merry trio they made as they finished their meals. Staring at his plate as he downed his wine and then some dessert, Matte wondered aloud about the forest of which he had, admittedly, heard in scant conversation prior. “I wonder if we can decide the ship we want or if it gives you what you get, you know? Just imagine,” he said, biting something like a giant bite of key lime pie and talking through the bite and imitating a flying ship with his fork. “'I want a laser ship!' You get a flying toilet instead.”
  7. Returning to the otherwise hillside guarded by 100 Aspyn soldiers (as all Biazo Isle Fauxton sites were) whereupon the gated Fauxton receiver hovered, Michael sat cross-legged at its base and placed the back of each hand on its corresponding knee. He closed his eyes. He fell into so deep a meditative trance that he didn’t even breathe until the next sunrise. As soon as that sphere of starlight subsequently surmounted the skyline, the surrounding soldiers saw their statuesque savior stand silently. In the waning-most hours of sunlight, Tori shot away from her position as his earring apparent to upload his edict into the encampment’s databases. Before any besides the earliest of risers had risen, he was gone. Operations specialists, however, knew upon viewing their daily dossiers that they were to be prepared for the potential for a large shipment of survivors from a human trafficking ring. Extra care and the utmost amenities would be arranged for their arrival. Some might have come late; they might have rolled up in a monster truck or brought an entourage of gangsters with them; Emile did not. Silently, undetectably, Emile had arrived early. He did his due diligence in doing so, scouting the area out better than many would have. Quickly, also hours early, he would see Michael recognizable only as Matte Daemon, arriving as a spectre. As Emile scouted his rifle’s scope one way and then another, he would suddenly perceive the boyish figure clothed in a black tunic with twin-rowed brass buttons. “Wadaya want, kid?” said the guard at the adobe-style building with stairs leading up to the third story, the only story with cutout squares for windows. “I’m the pickup contact,” said Matte, his wide and passively hateful eyes settling on the outermost guard. Immediately his aura and understanding beset the man with shivers. Forget the fact that Matte was right around the age of the kids he was dealing from one party to another; he was a damn fright to the adult male for his sheer forwardness and the practiced, palpable gravity emanating from his body, “Where’s the guy I’m supposed to meet with?” asked Matte. His tone, the question, was perfectly normal. It was the power behind them that spoke volumes to the guard. “I’m a busy man, let me in so we can get this over with.”
  8. “Even if we don’t find him in Hyde, we need to collect a piece of one of those totems,” responded Commager firstly. “It might help us track him.” The Peacekeeper stared at the peace of flesh as he spoke. He wasn't revolted by any means, but would take it in his hands if allowed. Flapping or flipping it this way or that, smelling it, looking at it closely, Michael observed the thing as closely as one could even while Tori ran analytics on its composure and any latent energies remaining therein. Michael could memorize as much as he needed to in any given scenario, and Marigold had a satellite, but Tori could also assimilate the technology used to track Kru’Gorah’s power into her tiny crystalline form and take it with them as a backup and supplement to the satellite; so that is what she did. Accessing the back-end of the program that the Imperium used to track the Djinn, copying its code into her Warmind processor, and spitting out a tracker of her own, the little red crystal took its perch below Michael’s earlobe like an earring. As the wolves took off, Michael expressed a half-grimace. “I suppose having them head straight to Hyde will help put us in two places at once,” he said, his tone cautious of the failure he saw woven into splitting up. “But I can’t shake the thought they may be putting themselves in danger... Do you have any way to keep in touch with them so we can tell if they get into any danger?” The next day as they embarked on their journey toward Hell’s Gate, Michael observed from horseback the displaced citizens of Hyde raising their fists and tools above them in solidarity. The hopeful eyes twinkling out from the craigs of desolate faces filled him with purpose that these people needed. Even if he couldn’t restore Hyde to what it had been, he could rid it of its oppressor and bring a new type of dawn to its innocent denizens. ‘I’ll save all of you!’ he wanted to shout back at them, but he didn’t. Michael knew too well the dangers of making promises you don’t know you can keep; he knew too well what convoluted dangers lie ahead to promise them anything.
  9. “The Scarlet Region is in tumult,” said Black, verbally shouldering past Potato’s objection to stealing a hat. The wheels behind his eyes were already spinning bright with thought. “It will take something somewhat significant to cause a distraction away from our target.” They were looking down on a map of Port Caelum and the surrounding villages with a few images of the Port laid around it to help visualize their plan. “I am loath to bring up explosions,” said Black, “so we should find something other than that. I’m in the mood for something spicy,” he continued, pacing around the table and examining the images. Black was vicious in that, when playing around with somebody he didn’t know, he might jab you in the stomach or slash your throat apparently just for the fun of it— especially in front of his men. Black was, however, pragmatic. There were reasons for the things he did. Attitudes he had beset on his men by defending them to the death that would cause them to fight to the ends of the world for him. When something great was there for the taking, even if he was just taking a hat, he might swipe that something great in the process. “Let’s fake an attack on The Akari Estate,” he then turned his face, chin always tilted down and eyes wide in a constant state of provoked thought, to Shikai. “Captain.”
  10. What's the best movie you've ever seen?

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    2. amenities


      @princeben07 hey that movie is actually already on my list! Maybe I'll move it up the line.

      I've been swell, old boy. Wrapped up in a couple projects of my own currently. Ping me when it's going down and I'll let you know if I have any time in my schedule!

    3. Ataraxy


      One of my all-time favorite movies is Gladiator.

    4. amenities


      @Ataraxy imo, Gladiator was both Russel Crowe's and Joaquin Phoenix's best movie.

      The Joker was great, but I thought Joa was cooler in Gladiator.

  11. Prose had always been, at her core, a simple woman. A ship only a little larger than this had been her home for seasons, piled over and over on one another, on the water. She knew the tips and tricks, signs to watch for, weather fronts to avoid and how to do it. She knew to fish for predator fish in the same place she caught her bait fish or where birds were hunting; she knew that big, sometimes dangerous game liked to hang out around large floating debris; she knew her own sea legs. Letariat's experience had warranted at least a once-over of the ship on boarding, and she was immediately struck by the different sheen of this room. Moving her hand near the flower in the vase as if to touch it only to trace its outline with her fingertip, eyes running along the corner of the table, she came to reside beside the window with an aftward view of the skipping along ship. Looking back, in the bare light offered through the window, she saw that the corner of the table had a single chip notched out of it; a sign of wear that one can't scrub or polish out. "I used to have a real good hand as a fisherwoman," she said as her black aqueous silhouette mimicked casting a line in front of the window. With the seas and the harbor along her back, her reminiscence looked serenely cinematic; but when she turned her face, the image was marred as her life had been by the smooth black surface that was her whole epidermis. Throughout the journey for an indeterminable span of time Prose would eventually take up a spot to the right of Emlio, one chair closer to the window from him, continuing her openness with small stories of her past. They would learn of the aforementioned skills she possessed, that she was once a deepsea fisher of the outlaw variety— she'd hunted trophy animals in her past that were protected by some groups. They would learn that, somewhere in the Ariatic Ocean, her ship had sunk about 5 years ago. The last thing she remembered were the huge jaws of what appeared to be a kraken rising from the depths beneath her, and then she woke on the shores of Lagrimosa. During their downtime, the gentlemen would also trade whatever stories about themselves they elected for introductory's sake. "Ever since then, I've dedicated my life to searching out the amazing. I'm excited to see what fun and new specimens we might come across!" she said, punching a fist into her hand before picking up her now room temperature cup of tea taking a dainty sip of tea.
  12. What's your favorite dessert?

    1. supernal


       Cannoli is wicked 

  13. Back and forth, to and fro. North, west, south, east. East, south, west, north. Cain twirled a purple crystal on a leather band, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the basin as if no Michael, no Amelia, no James, no Esperan, no fountain had ever been. This was the serene bowl in which it all began, in the dead center on an endless field of grass. Around that giant bowl of grass were four giant circular bronze pans. In the northern bowl burned a great fire. No smoke, but ripples of heat sizzled in the air above it. To the east, there was a pan of dirt. To the south, water. The western bowl was, mysteriously, empty. In the northeastern quadrant of the 100-m diameter bowl of grass in which he sat center, a giant crater had been blown. It was still fresh that no grass grew, it was this toward which he faced. This crater stank of the magic of those who followed Gaia. Stank of, dare he think, Michael Commager. What more than aimless whimsy had it all began as? Painful experience had molded that into both a past and a future for Cain— made of him something indomitable. Airtight. Cain wore a brown tunic that exposed his black-tattooed chest and stopped just above the knees. He didn't meditate, but sit with his hands on his knees and stare furiously at the crater. He racked his brains for knowledge, for connection with the earth. He was frantic, scattered, afraid of his own power without direction. If he couldn't find Michael, if he couldn't spar with Gaia, what even was his purpose? Who would push him farther without scorning him, without simply walking away? "GAH!" Cain's roar as he fell back onto his back would tear mile-long slits into the default dimension of The Neverending Challenge The sky was blue. Cain was distraught.
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