Jump to content


Site Moderator
  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won


amenities last won the day on September 1

amenities had the most liked content!

About amenities

  • Rank
    First Officer
  • Birthday 01/01/1869

Contact Methods

  • AIM

Profile Information

  • Occupation
    Super Munchkin

Recent Profile Visitors

8,433 profile views
  1. Here, Cain sacrifices Chloe to assimilate multiple puppet powers at once. Her body was perfect. All of its muscle, all of its fat; its curvaceous ins and outs. The silhouette of her feet hung from her ankles like droplets from a tapered nozzle in the golden slits of sunlight splaying up the staircase he ascended. From the chambers of his shadow, where his damned origin and all of his dead puppets resided, Cain carried Chloe to the Alignak Simulacrum. For great power must come, he had found, great sacrifice. In fact, it might be more apt to say that sacrifice had found him. When a human— a human who wants godhood— takes too voraciously, does not fate's hand eventually press down in protest? Between his psychic and empath backdrops, Cain's inheritance of blood magic had created a particular magic Valucre might have never before seen the likes of; but it was not given freely. Throughout the years Cain met the hand of fate time and time again with everything he held dear. At each turn he presented, without flinching, his every humanity for each aspect of immortality he could attain. A twenty-year-old body aged by years spent simultaneously within the bodies of a hundred others, what remained of Cain was nothing of himself. In fact, the stolen body wasn't even his. It was that of the frozen god Alignak made his by transition of consciousness made possible only by Cain's particular type of blood magic. Pads on the bottom of his feet worn into fine callouses worthy of treading sharp stones and long journeys in tandem scratched like sandpaper across the uneven stone on the mountaintop veranda seating the Alignak Simulacrum. A body like Poseidon's rose from rich stone, opalescent emulations of oceanic splashes atop a great gypsum block engraved with the dead god's name whose heart Cain ate. Inside it was the original Cain's own heart. Within the statue, by virtue of the heart's power, resided the power of its rendition. Worshiping this, anybody could attain Alignak's sempiturnal power- once devoured by the Cain whose heart powered the beacon of power. And now it became only greater. One knee met the ground as he laid her body before the altar. It was finally time he release her; time he feed one more piece of himself to the beast that was power. Cain had long ago learned that the pursuit of power without purpose was mere idiocy, but had so fully given himself to it that to stop now would be even worse. The only other choice, then, was to exact his purpose. Central Fracture was out of his reach for now, but he would become as powerful as necessary to defeat the strongest in every nation who defended rulers both errant and belligerent with authority. The Earthbreaker stood in the sunset beside the outlines of his dead love and the Simulacrum. What came next would pain him worse than cutting out his own heart.
  2. The mail left gathering in my apartment mailbox has achieved fusion and is now an immovable brick of paper.

    That's fair

    1. Die Shize

      Die Shize

      Inside you’ll find a few (hundred) letters from me.

      I included a poem as well. There’s blood on it.


    2. danzilla3
  3. There's a little brain in his throat extending a nervous system into him that controls him. He will be dead with no traces of the brain's control. Since the system isn't attached to the heart, it can be deduced that blood magic was necessary to pump blood through the exterior system. Those onsite will be able to see the blob slowly dying and turning to ash, but there won't be any solid matter left to study. Slugs are just slugs aaannnddd the man was from outside Taen.
  4. But one thing is for sure, I'd rather be the Giver than the taker.
  5. I'm interested to see the different outcomes. Surely there will be both War and Peace
  6. In her day, Elyah had been a skilled water bender. After being separated from her tribe in the deep woods of what is now known as Fracture, Elyah came upon a city of total abhorrence. "Tia," it had once been called, crawled with what must have been people years ago. The mutants had been twisted from an original state by a purple fog that exuded from behemoth plants that appeared to have wrestled all of Tia's great structures to the ground in an as-of-yet unsolved plague. She fought, ran, escaped her way to a once great Black Tower that was broken in half like a toothpick on the face of Valucre. Here, inside, Elyah found Him— or rather, He found Elyah. "And I'm sure she won't have a problem with sharing some of her newly aquired wealth" Now, snapping from her reverie as Dauner finished his casual attempt at extortion, a psionic line traced between the beautiful woman's innocently clasped hands and the liquid falling from Dauner's lap. A gentle blob of the alcohol paused, floating inches above the dirty bar floor on which the monocled man once laid. After all of what Dauner had said- the beautiful woman had been too lost in her lost past to remember what- the bartender percolated with suspicion. "Yeah sure," he muttered as the blob of liquid rose discretely from the floor and lingered beside the beautiful woman's head. Now was when he would have returned to the register and called the cops. "Why, wait," she said, raising her gloved, bejeweled hand in an apparent effort to reason. There would be no calling the cops, no reasoning. What happened next instead was as horrific as the woman was beautiful. It was immediate chaos. With a flick of her wrist at the man as if to rid the beautiful black suede of her delicate digits, the discretely floating blob of whiskey zinged at the bartender in a sharp line. Much to the shock and dismay of the bar crowd, the tender flailed backward as crimson sprayed out of the atomic line slit through his throat. With a slap of the delicate hand on the wet bar, the beautiful woman mounted the surface and slid with unnatural ease to the register. Statistics of Shrine City showed that there would be trouble from the general citizenry and she'd better be prepared. Her second brain, the one that was really in control, knew this in its premeditation of this day. One hand plunged in between two buttons of her jacket while the other withdrew a folded bag by the opened seam and flapped it open, jumping from the counter and hipping into the closed register hard enough to dent and break it against the wall behind. Withdrawing a very familiar sawed-off with one hand, she put the bag in the same hand, holding the bag between finger and trigger as she grabbed the whole register tray and dumped it into the bag. As she loaded the bag, the first to attempt to hinder the prime suspect in the bartender's murder was upon her. Soon, an observant onlooker might guess, the weight of the bag would weigh her finger down and— BANG! The beautiful woman blew one shell and his brains out all over the nearest barstool denizens still in shock from the first murder. Unlike last time the beautiful woman, for all she knew, was still all alone in her uncivil unrest; so this bar she would leave standing. Stamping on the bar in one leap, jumping over the bloodied who were most shocked and least likely to anticipate her vaulting over them, the beautiful woman was out the door zipping down the canal on her waver before most people could even understand what was happening. Dauner would surely be shocked that her smalltime crime would so quickly measure up to two cases of manslaughter, but two things were imminently clear: 1) there was about to be a lot more trouble in Shrine City and 2) he still had time to join.
  7. A well of light forming around the clashing Michael Commager and James Eredas sucked in photons faster than the atmosphere was being replenished by them, darkening their arena even with the sun hung above. The two piercing entities, Michael a stark white and James a burning crimson, had duelt into a fine finale. Michael had filled four cisterns, one for each geological direction and one for each element, so that he could bring someone young and moldable to this dimension and teach them. But what, when a master of another art came to challenge him, did he have to teach? After a few minutes one quarter of the arena was wartorn and would be left to molder a monument in Michale’s memory to the most recent time he wasn’t outright victorious. One head over all those who ran, faltered, died, Eredas had been the most steadfast in recent memory; a signal to Michael that he would never be done growing stronger. James was able to get off his spear attack before being entangled in Michael’s killing blow. The very motion saved him; and to be frank, the very necessary rushed nature of the attack saved Michael. Rotating to his right as the rapid throw took place, Michael realized that due to James’ skill, he would be unable to evade the distributed aura of the attack. Continuing to rotate, flicking his blade wielded by a broken hand against the spear’s blazing approach, Michael could ultimately only offer his left shoulder as a sacrifice for him to escape without whole debilitation. After slamming into and destroying his left shoulderguard, half of the spear’s sharp edge would slice through his left deltoid; but the crossbar would slam into his shoulder and back with enough velocity to send him tumbling forward with the attack. Extending his left arm before him, fingers plunging into the dirt to stop his momentum, Michael’s right arm was thrown forward and against his chest. The dispel bracer on his left arm ensured that his wrist wasn’t further damaged, absorbing red aura from the spear and processing its origin to dispel it next time; however, the Peachy Keen flickered out of existence with the impact. One day, he hoped to bridge a semblance of this experience to his on-world self. James would resolve on his feet at the same time Michael was able to face him in a three point stance. Both of them were badly injured in their own ways, Michael’s entire left arm a useless ragdoll for a limb, James’ arm and torso bloodied and exposed. Dirt rained around them and fire licked at the bubbled fringes of the crater in which they stood. Michael was breathing hard as he straightened, mostly from the pain blazing up his arm. “Okay, you’re good. I admit it.” The sharpness in his eyes softened and, maybe suddenly in the wake of their bout, he laughed. “I just wanted to train some newbies, never thought I’d catch a big fish like you! What do you say we call it a draw so I can get to teaching people before you kill me?”
  8. The two had come to sit at a point beyond the golden slits of sun; they were so near the white light at the bottom of the winding stair its source seemed just around the next bend. Darah’s eyes were piercing, a contextless and unreadable inquiry into Cain’s own. What they found was that, for a moment, he spelled out to her something inside him beyond the Dead. He had found Darah through the legal firm and tested her at the Hildebrand estate, but anything prior to that was a mystery to him. Here in the dark, riverbed hues of brown glowed in his eyes, and without him speaking Darah would see in its contemplation that he was absorbing at least some of her story for the first time. The Puppet Master took her next response in two parts. “Then you simply need to find the next why.” This he stole for himself, locked away advice he would employ in as-of-yet obscure parts of his life. “Else even the best tools at your disposable will become aimless toys. Or someone with a stronger why will take your place. That is the way of the world, as I see it.” By the time she finished speaking, the open book that had been his expression during her origin story had become a stone enclosure. The warmth in his eyes evaporated in the darkness as if dying fireflies, his dim pupils now searching in her for the true meaning in her words. It would indeed, she found, be as if he had led her to beg the very question. With endless tons of steel and machinery, sensory satellites and battle technology orbiting around the mountain become fortress, an army of men and children drawing by worship from the power of an earth god arranged into formation above them, Cain could never say the Dead was without purpose. “I have many whys for the Dead,” he said finally as her puppet placed its blade against his neck. He swallowed before continuing, his Adam’s apple rising against the tiny blade and tingling his spine with a shot of the good stuff. Whether he had known the puppet was coming or not, whether he had a symphony of psychic strings frilled around him to sense such threats, he would be the first to admit that this type of pain was kind of enjoyable for a guy with his proclivities. “Many reasons to put my trust in people who could kill me on my best day.” “For now though, my goal is to sow discord in unfit governments. Mess ‘em up good, maybe destroy them entirely. You already know that Norkotia is one. As for the rest, they’ll become clear over your time with us,” he said, smiling with the blade against his neck. “And I do appreciate your willingness to cooperate with us legally! We’ll be sure to work something mutually beneficial out.” When even Cain might have become uncomfortable with the amount of time spent with a blade against his throat wielded by a calculated professional, Darah withdrew and they could continue around the sequestered bend. “You’re going to show me something, I believe?” Darah asked just as they rounded the corner to the source of the light. It was almost blinding at first. It was a brightness akin to the light emanating from the holy Alignak sculpture high above them which, at first, must be reminiscent of the heavens; but when the eyes adjusted and Darah could see what the room was, she would see that it was.. Disgusting. Hanging in the center of the room, a mere silhouette before the brilliance forced through cacophonous circuit boards of cords and wires and tubes extending from its back, was an exact emaciated likeness of the very Cain Rose who had led Darah into this hellish brightness. The Earthbreaker gazed upon his Shadow with wan, distant sorrow marred with what looked like an eternity of time’s passage. Perhaps, once, the two had been close; but what the original Cain sought now stood before Darah, staring at what he had made of the man himself. It would be clear that the body standing beside Darah and the one suspended by white lines of light were at once the same man and entirely different, conditioned by years of not only independent but drastically polar lifetimes. The standing Cain was muscular, with archaic runes circulating his arms and torso and neck; while his counterpart looked as if, without the light that pulsed into his back exuding from his eyes and mouth, he would crumple in meaningless decay to the ground. “He has—” the progeny that was for all intents and purposes, but not really, Cain, paused. Even with myriad lifetimes lived simultaneously through his puppets to serve as a buffer between him and the pain of his original self, he still felt it; still held some demented form of respect for it. “He has become my best puppet. An amplifier for the beacon of Alignak’s power for any who will worship him. It is, I could say, my largest sacrifice.”
  9. Fall is better than summer. Don't @ me
  10. I met someone I wouldn't want on Valucre today and someone I would
  11. You are eating crackerjacks and Satan appears. He has come to compete for your soul, challenging you to a game of your choice. Which game do you choose?
  12. I got some wailing for ya
  13. "What specifically are you looking for? So we can penetrate in and get out as quickly as possible," Cain asked the Mistress, Keli's face still suspended by the tendrils and his exposed amalgam between facial organs and machinery projecting a ghostly list of auction house materials before them. Cain emboldened his troops with every move he could make. Even as massive Kelis dove for his bare heels, even as the gestation juice sloughed from his face and shoulders from a forced rebirth, Cain hurled legendary blades and beheaded enemies who were their very own singularities for the sheer information he could gain to help those around him. This cause was the self-same precedent of his very life so far, so why when he could did he not impart greatness and power in its many facets to those for whom he cared? Care was a funny word coming from Cain, though. He helped the self-sustaining while loathing those who were too distraught by their conditions to do anything with them. He gave to the voracious poor while ignoring the wholly indigent. Luckily, by virtue of the voracious poor, these helped the wholly indigent; but without their empowerment would not the indigent be left to ruin? Certainly Rose helped everyone by helping the second-to-lowest tiers, he thought. Those who could still fight, would. So it was that these three figures carved their way across the city night- carved their wretched tabula rasa upon the diamond tablets of yet another great lore. Shikai was instrumental from the very first blow he ever made with Mykur. While perfection is always a far cry from inception, greatness can be stole from the very beginning. Mykur’s single flash in the general’s hand heralded the backward flight of 11 Kelis. It withheld the swarm as Cain and the Mistress burst through the doors. “Very impressive, sir!” said the brown node studden in blue lights as it floated around Shikai’s head. “This is Mykur. My sensors indicate that you are not Keli. Reset Mykur user?” Now, with the three running up an inclined street, the rooftop of the auction house could be seen rising in the distance. Behind, though, the Kelis nipped at their heels. Giant hands grazed their achilles in attempt to grab ankles and drag them back into the swarm’s grasp, but Black Neon was somewhat skilled at crowd control. Holding his right arm against his chest as they ran, Neon gathered pressure in his hand and it began swelling. The appendage grew until his fist was the size of a large man in the fetal position, then Black launched it back behind them in a sweeping backhand. The gigantic hand pummeled into the front lines of Kelis chasing them and plowed them sideways, half shattering through a storefront and half launching down the alleyway right beside the store. Four Kelis leaped over the giant hand with olympic agility, and one of them was able to land a hand around the Mistress’s ankle just as her and Cain were picking out the items they would take from the auction house. In fromt of the group, uphill about 10 meters, a couple Kelis had run along the rooftops to get in front of them and jumped in the street to cut them off. Cain didn’t even look up, preoccupied pulling material locations out of Keli.
  14. "It's not very advisable for a lady such as yourself to drink that much at once" The beautiful woman held up two more fingers when the young 'tender looked her way. The moving mannequin's deception was manifold; sobriety and motor control a concoction of conditions she had long since surrendered to someone with rough hands and rougher ideas. What was sweet and supple to those she could seduce was, in fact, a dead suspense on the very eve of rot. The beautiful woman's eyes were a deep forest green, her sharp eyeliner smeared slightly, deliberately. For the first time they grazed the spaces around Dauner, but didn't center on him at any moment. She didn't say anything because he seemed content with a one-way road right now and she had other concerns— cash register, shelves of bottles, the bathroom, a bougie looking fat man with a monocle behind Dauner. Mr. Bartender returned with two more doubles. This time he stayed, leaning an elbow on the bar to express interest in her drinking gusto— she knew she had some nice pants though, and it was likely the 30-some guy wanted inside. This other man, though, the new one... "Well miss, I'm Dauner and you are..." The beautiful woman did two things at once. 1) She raised her drink to the held one of her two drinks out toward Dauner, now finally gracing him with her tempting iris. 2) Her right coattail fell from the crook between her and the chair as she extended the second drink toward Dauner, seeming not to notice he had just taken a drink of his own. In response to the hanging sentence, the beautiful woman poured her half-pint on Dauner's lap. While the piddle noise signified her drink pouring out on his pants, she responded in kind. "I am so sorry!" Suddenly the beautiful woman with the trenchcoat grabbed at the bar towels the Bartender had been idly wiping with right out of his hand and stuffed them onto Dauner's lap. While doing so, she rotated the chair in a worry that was totally unplaced until she was right next to the rich man with the monocle— and only Dauner and the bartender would see that she had orchestrated the entire situation meaningfully. As soon as she got close enough to the man with the monocle, she jutted her hindquarters into his chair hard enough that his stool went tumbling over with his large body sprawling across the floor. The beautiful woman turned, helping the codger up as her apologies culminated in near-panic. She molested his pockets as she helped him up, grabbing coins and watches and even the very monocle the man was wearing, shuffling all beneath her own coat before the guy's fat rolls even stopped jiggling from the fall; and there she was to help him up. He figured the fall just jostled his monocle off, so to throw him off she held up the very glasspiece. "Here you dropped this!" She said, assuaging his worries that she had taken anything from him. Then she sat back on the other side of Dauner and held up two more fingers at the bartender. Now this young man was skeptical of her. He had seen her pour the drink purposefully on Dauner and caught some of the commotion with the large guy, but she seemed well-intentioned and her words didn't slur at all. "You sure you're good for more?" asked the bartender with a little laugh, including Dauner in the fun. "Just ask this guy's lap, I don't think he likes you drinking." "I'm fine, don't worry." said the beautiful woman, shifting some metal under her coat as she turned fully on Dauner with those smokey eyes. "Right?"
  15. Now listen here and listen close.

    1. Die Shize

      Die Shize

      I forgot what I was going to say

    2. danzilla3


      Roses are red, violets are blue, its been like a week, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!


    3. amenities


      I have been sick af. Life is just a series of blurs rn. Buuuut today is my day off! I'll just replenish the amenities banks and make some post diddlies.

      You know what they say, potato bacon soup and beer every day keep the doctor away!

  • Create New...