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  1. We can go ahead and continue the post order without our missing party. @Don't Hug My Trees when you get back (because I know you will you magic disappearing man), if it is within the next two weeks, you may enter back into the order. If not, sayonara nice seein ya tell your mom I say hi have a nice day hopefully you come back so we can mess with Biazo Isle some more.
  2. r u ded

    1. Don't Hug My Trees

      Don't Hug My Trees

      NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I NOT DED!!!

      So sorry! I've been SUPER BUSY AF and I couldn't even file an AFV! XD

      But! I'm back :biggrin: 

    2. amenities

      amenities

      Double like 

  3. That was quite a tall lady-tesquerie, Michael noted. He also noted the removal of the blindfold, stroking his stubbled chin behind Donovan as Cutler exclaimed at her remarks. Then, as Donovan’s reasoning ensued, Michael thrust his finger in the priestess’s direction. “Yeah! And what’s with—” "Renés was a fellow professor of pharmacology,” the priestess went on heedless to Michael’s interjection, much to his chagrin, “what you say is impossible, we killed her... we had to" “Hey don’t ign- wait, what?” Michael’s finger trembled just barely and the questions mounted in his eyes. The priestess’s neon glow reflected in the uncertain and unlit orbs, danced in the thousand mirrored facets of his Oculus, the cracks in her skin the cracks in his resolve. "Clearly you have been lead astray by an impostor. How can I presume the intentions of the stranger that sent you down here?! Behind that door you will find wealth, a monster, and the only way out." ‘Yeah! And what’s with—' Michael had said the words earlier, the beginning to the sentence, ‘What’s with the blindfold?’ Thusly, he had been staring at her stark blue eyes since their unveiling. Thus, he saw the anger rolling off of them and from where it had come- but he did not look where she had looked. He did not need magic to know where hers was directed, and what approached from behind them. “She cornered us Donny,” the hand he had pointed at the priestess with flew to his pistol and drew. The Wielder turned and looked down his sights at the encroaching army of undead. In fractions of fractions of a second he cocked and took two shots at two heads with explosive intent. He heard the door crack behind him and immediately backed toward it. He saw the green glow creep out along the floor without having to look, saw the Grotesquerie move backward. So he glanced behind him to see if there was anything directly threatening beyond the door. If there wasn’t, if him and Donovan could enter without immediately clear harm befalling him, THEN he would reach for his second Tszok. He reached past the Tszok though, and grabbed the medical bag containing the alleged Professor Renés. He’d had a dastardly plan for her earlier, but now knew he could not contain himself. He had to know. Now it was Michael’s turn to probe Donovan’s rib with his elbow. Donovan, who would now either face the door or face the encroaching masses he himself did. As he probed, a series of thoughts blew through his mind at lightspeed. Renés was all green smoke. The priestess glowed green, and so did the door. There was green everywhere, but there seemed to be two different sides. Maybe more. As he saw the Grotesqueries withdrawing from the open door and processed the anger of the priestess upon perceiving Renés, he concluded that Professor Renés now seemed most linked with whatever lay beyond that door. Did that impostor bitch lie to him about knowing Vilka? How did she know? He just couldn't let it slide. On the other hand, these other creatures didn’t seem too fond of her either. He had come down here to vanquish evil, dammit, and now this place was so muddled he neither knew nor wanted any longer to know where the line was. These things were undead. These things had killed people, and Professor Renés was a physical and moral aberration who had lured aplenty to their clutches, and he knew he didn’t want her reunited with whatever lay behind the door. He was also pretty sure that until he figured out what to do with this army of zombie-like people, he didn’t want them getting out of these catacombs. He could always come back. “Hey you,” Michael’s voice tore from his dry throat with anger toward the withdrawing priestess. His adrenal glands were boiling, and he had become the warrior he sometimes could not contain. He turned to her. He unclipped the bag, still holding it shut. The arm holding the bag wound back, way back. With all of his strength coiled into it, all of his natural might springing out along his entire body as he stepped forward, he whipped the bag at the priestess. “Say hi to your old friend!” Then, with pistol in hand, he turned right and pried the door open enough for him and Donovan to get through, and as soon as they had done so he would pull it shut behind them. If there was something through the door that he could peep, he would still pitch the unclasped bag at the priestess but would reserve deciding what action followed for what he saw. Even without his Oculus, he had a careful eye, so if anything was too out of place he trusted himself to see.
  4. *Green light Go! Resume posting with @BananaBarbarian*
  5. Pause the main thread pls. Conversing about the most recent post. *I'll post here again letting you know when to resume*
  6. Theodore had instinctively leaned forward with interest, not as a result of naturally intense interest, but as a result of the hallucinogenic effects he himself was feeling. All the colors were brighter. Everything was sooo very extremely whatever it was, and behind his mask there was a permanent smile plastered on his face. One that made his cheeks ache with its exertion. There was a clench in his stomach and the slightest sheen of sweat on his palms, which he unconsciously rubbed with his fingertips as he watched them. “Hahahahehe haa.. Haha.” He chuckled a couple syllables too long at Morrin and Vlad as they adjusted in their own masks, quirking a masked eyebrow at Akil when nothing much appeared to happen. “Hm, you’re an interesting one then,” he said, prodding the forehead of Akil’s mask as if to say ‘is this thing on?’ Amantis suddenly jutted the same finger he’d poked with into the air as Vlad spoke. “Ah, yes, the device!” He ran and retrieved it, tucking it in a specially fashioned pocket on the inside of his jacket. The Ulway did not spare such time for such pleasantries. The masks were not a strange new experience to them, they were a medium for communication the Ulway had always possessed embedded in their brains. But when those wearing the masks looked at Shaman, the extra-feathered Ulway with the spear who stood at the front of the tribal children creatures; when they looked at him, there seemed to radiate off of him a heat that transcended the sense of touch. The heat beamed warmly into their souls, like a tree’s trunk must gleam from the perspective of one of its leaves. Shaman possessed a strange centrality in the world governed by the mask. Where there was paranoia and fear in the wilderness and the wild sounds haranguing all around the island, Shaman was a bastion of peaceful energy. He held an outstretched hand to them, palm up, and inside of his palm was the very concept that they should follow him. He spoke no words and used a gesture foreign to the action of beckoning someone along, but the meaning was clear to them. Then the Ulway turned and parted a curtain of tall grass, and walked down a surprisingly wide path that cut through the forest. Somewhere far away another giant crablike leg reached up out of the ocean. Waves lapped against the shore of Amalia. With the masks on, the protagonists would hear the very groaning of the creature to which the legs belonged. It did not appear to be in strife or anger at all, merely shifting of its bored accord. Beneath the island. Inside of it. Part of it. The very it. The forest to which they turned was immediately a dark swathe or greens and dotted purples, reds and whites. Fungus the size of children undulated slowly on the bases of elephantine trees, humming lightly as it did. These were spread in intermittent groupings for hundreds of yards down the stretch of path. The Ulway did not point to them, but Amantis immediately unpocketed a tape measurer and began taking its parameters. Then he took out a metal poker and hovered it over the fungus, hesitating whether or not he should stab into it. The sounds of massive creatures moving through the forest in places sounded off nearby, but due to the effect of the masks it could have been a monkey tearing through some bananas on the other side of the island. The tremors felt on the bottom of one’s feat were not fake though, not fake by any means. And then the forest before them was suddenly crushed apart by a giant foot, the overgrown rhino it was attached to stampeding by alone and leaving a fat path perpendicular to theirs that aimed toward the mountain. “That is Mt. Ichthys, and we call these creatures horniks,” a voice came to them. Shaman’s. It was not spoken but articulated through thoughts so that they could see the very word and its spelling, and the creature it referred to.
  7. On the pie side of the stage, Merrin Blastice had pie all over his face. He was actually starting to feel a little bloated, and frankly he’d never in his life experienced the notion of utter fullness. Perhaps it had something to do with being raised on the teet of awesomeness and riches, and therefore developing an unquenchable taste for all things succulent. Gold and pie were damn succulent, but that wasn’t all Merrin was after in life. One doesn’t come out of hiding in a hostile state without good reason. ‘Three pies behind… Two pies behind… One.. pie.. Behind..’ As it were, his reason was ostensibly to beat that fat bastard Sal Birkshaw in this pie eating contest. ’Must.. Persevere..’ A ruckus. "Sorry for the mean shove but it would suck for you to lose your head before the mission began." Merrin’s elfin ears perked receptively up at the commotion on the other side of the curtain. His fork and knife hand froze as it unfolded, before his assistant Jane barked some insulting encouragement at him from the crowd and he resumed his eating, again two pies behind Sal Birkshaw as they came around the final turn of the contest. But what had happened on the other side of the curtain? Borris, the archer who had been taking aim at Janus from above, was actually a Watchman in disguise who was scouting the area for danger. As Tobais lurched forward, Borris was trained into action. He had expected an attacker, and Tobais running at Janus matched the description an attacker would. Borris fired a warning shot. The arrow would careen from between his bow and the cradle of his hand, blazing at Tobais from behind and scraping his shoulder as it whizzed by. The arrow would then clatter to the ground at the base of the stage. Janus had raised both hands. One hand raised, palm facing Tobais. The other hand made a pointer finger and moved to a gem nestled in her left ear. It became apparent she had not raised her arms to defend herself from the arrow, but perhaps to Tobais’ surprise she appeared to be defending herself from him. “I don’t need protection, sir,” she said to Tobais, “please stand down.” Borris had already nocked another arrow, but Janus’ eyes glanced his way and he lowered his weapon, realizing perhaps that he himself had sparked the incident. No worries though, agents of the law didn’t typically apologize for following their orders, and his orders had been to protect Janus. His worries were assuaged by the sight of a mechanical bird in the sky. Not Hana’s aircraft, but a much smaller birdlike one. He took aim at it and fired, and a bzzt of circuit-shorting proportions brought the thing down before it could report. “Third-party surveillance spotted,” he said, and his voice came through the crystal in Janus’s ear. She turned to the Ransom brothers who were on her left, Hana on her right, after each had concluded their piece. “You two are welcome to make up one party. Captain,” she said, turning to Hana, “Would you take one more group into the other side of the location in question?” Then Janus turned to the rest of the group who had gathered around the stage. Jack the alcoholic. MIIA the Artificial Intelligence unit. The masked brothers. A smattering of random mercenaries and Watchmen. Sir Merrin Blastice, though she didn’t know it, listened too. “The rest of you, decide now. Scout the forest with Captain Alenko by night, or scout the city with me by night. If neither of those options suit you then get out of here. You are of no use to us.” The sun and blue sky sat above them, but around every far edge of the horizon there ringed dark clouds laced with thunder and lightning. In the northwest corner, just above the clay tiled building tops around the marketplace, there was visible a black tower clawing into the precipitation. Lightning struck it. Lightning struck it again. An uproar of men holding weapons ranging from pitchforks to plasma phasers to being slung with grenades and K bullets rose above the distant grumble of thunder, hanging competitively in the humid air. “I’ll scout the forest with the Ransoms,” shouted one. “No they wanna go alone, styuuupid,” drawled his friend. “Fine then I’ll go in the other forest group, styuupid,” “I want the city,” yelled a third. “City,” said a fourth. Cries of ‘forest,’ and ‘city,’ now climbed in volume until people cheering for the pie eating contest began slowing their roll and listening in. What was going on on the other side of the curtain, some wondered. Some knew. Janus looked to the Ransom brothers. “You really want to go alone, huh? Would you be opposed to leading a small group yourself?” It was early, but today the city stirred with excitement. Blood raced and tempers and fears were high. The Beast stirred. The Jester stirred. Madame Jerine’s Poor Joseph stirred. Their blood, their tempers and fears, grew hot with the sun in a way the moon that night would not cool. The symphony of the day and the concert of the night had the same conductor, and when night came it was certainly not with the burst of light morning possessed. His sleeves stayed rolled, eyes and ears open; so that he could see, listen, and conduct an malevolent work by finger strokes both moonlit and minute.
  8. Sir Merrin was a noble in the city of Tia. In fact, before the current mayor had taken the city from a clutch of rather powerful and kind vampires, Merrin had been leading material in the city. People still understood his rank in society well enough to shy away from him and the girl. Any chuckles Annie was suffering from would disperse quickly and the two of them would be left to their peace while everyone else went about their day. Merrin could tell he was dealing with a being of fragile senses. He was also aware that his attempts at lightening the mood sometimes resulted in hurt feelings. His joke hadn’t meant to scorn her further, but it appeared that was the effect they’d had. He kept his hand extended toward her and cleared his throat, working an apologetic ‘let’s start over’ into its tone. “Sorry,” he glanced down at her, light reflecting off the surface of his circular gold-rimmed glasses. “First let me introduce myself. Merrin Blastice, lord and protector of Tia’s northeast quadrant.” He hoped she would let him help her up now, or at least that she would stand, because he now gestured kindly for her to walk beside him down the street, away from the shop he’d promised her did not have the supplies she hoped for. “I have the supplies you’re looking for at my estate. I am not the boisterously rich man I used to be, but I am still fortunate enough to have some wealth.” Merrin’s clothing was all red. His brown hide dress shoes were even reddish. His suit coat and pants had a red felt look to them too. The sun glistened in lines on it like suede. “The museum I speak of is in a place called Casper. Some people who have not traveled far do not know of Casper, but though bad things happen everywhere, Casper is one of the truly good places in Terrenus.” He spoke of these places like fine wines, tilting his nose up as if able to sniff them. “The Dragon’s Iris Art Museum belongs to the mayor of this whole city, Nica Sero. Because of that I think Nica would love for an art shop with adequate stock to show up. Don’t you think a store like that would be nice?-- Hey, what is your name? It’s so rude of me only to just ask now.”
  9. The week limit approaches for @Don't Hug My Trees. At midnight tonight @spacegy4 you can post. If Trees gets back and can get out a post before space, I'll allow it. When skipped you may post back in at any point in the order, but I request that you post here notifying us of your intent to do so first. If you are skipped 3 times, you're out.
  10. @Robbie Rotten I enjoyed watching that discord t1 last night! Brings back memories If you're ever in the mood to chat fisticuff I would be super down, so feel free throw me a line
  11. Michael absorbed every detail as they went forward. He was particularly interested in the diverse personalities possessed by Dan’s artificial intelligence units. His primary interest, however, lie within what assets he could provide Outpost Grey so he could even sustain access to such technological wonderment. This Peacekeeper had been shooed out of his fair share of laboratories thanks to the destructive reputation that preceded him most places he went in Terrenus, so he began to see a light glinting off most things mechanical here. The smell didn’t even bother him. He recalled worse in pits of sulfur and pools of crimson iron, but contained his many recallings presently behind the mask of interest. So it was that when Dan gave Michael word of a “Snacker’ threat, his head went from following one of the Grey-Trains to facing him. “We're fighting to exist out here. The Snacker threat is getting worse and worse, the Light Wall is eating up precious nuclear power that we struggle every day to nab more of, and many Grey-Trains like the one you just saw transport vital supplies and materials to and from the little construction outpost we have building the Trans-Basin highway... it's far from perfect… But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't worth it to each and every one of us out here." “What are Snackers? I’m recording your answer, just so you know. My scouts back in Aspyn have reported some new findings in the more uncharted regions of Biazo Isle and your information would be incredibly valuable.” The Major didn’t do anything, but a small crystal embedded in his left earlobe winked green. “We can probably supply you with security and a non-nuclear barrier so you can save your power for the good stuff. Just need to take a look at that before I go and get some specs, if you give the word.” And then there was Georgia. Module, huh? Girlfriend, huh? Michael squeaked a finger along the polished desk and took note of Dan’s exchange with Georgia, even though he tried not to, before the MIIA was upon him with her clearance cards. Needless to say she must have had her own form- er, drive, of charm; but Michael preferred his ladies with a little more meat on their pistons, and for the pistons to be bones. He smiled innocently, like a young man who’s felt his first woman’s touch, and took one step back. People with light skin like Michael’s can’t help but blush in almost any situation, it just isn’t fair. “Sorry, I uh-” now, nobody ever said Michael was a wordsmith or anything, “I couldn’t. My girlfriend has this really nice, uh, face module.” He was already walking away, turning with the rest of the group. He hoped she wasn’t, but Michael secretly knew Georgia was advanced enough to perhaps want to go get a face module now. He was blushing again. He did have time to spare a secret smile he hid from Georgia at Serren’s antics, which were admittedly funny when not directed at him. "Don't mind Georgia, Mike. She's a promiscuous one. Opted for the pleasure package over a facial module. I'd stay away if I were you. You said you wanted to see what's in this building? Let's take a look." “You can say that again doc,” Mike said, having picked up quite well on how much more than simple robots these units were, and nodded toward R&D.
  12. /facepalm I'm an idiot The 0 on a physical d10 represents the 10. @ODSTDRAGON if you rolled a 0 on a physical d10, that's 10. Also though, if you used the Valucre discord I linked in the first post of this thread, then click the dice rolling section, we can all see what the others got and avoid future confusion.
  13. I'm picturing him using like a physical d10? I didn't even think the Discord allowed 0 rolls.
  14. You keep rerolling n.n
  15. If you roll 0 reroll!