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amenities

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amenities last won the day on September 1 2019

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  • Birthday 01/01/1869

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  1. “I like to think she guides but does not offer clear direction without sacrifice.” “‘Sacrifice’ sounds a bit harsh, but I can appreciate the prostration part so fair enough. Well met!” Matte’s relatively small hand grasped Yshmael’s with exact firmness for three seconds, then he released it and turned to the bound men as Jericho remarked on their friendship. The small, monk-like alter-ego closed his brown cloak around him as if there were a draft, though the pass was passably warm for short sleeves. His wide eyes looked almost mournfully on the men. "We share a common goal, and common enemies, and have helped each other with each. It looks like that'll keep happening and that's damn fine with me, could always use another sword in the fight. I don't know that's enough to prop up a friendship though. We've never cooked a meal for each other. Allies, that's a better word." Matte smirked without looking at Jericho. He had no defenses, no justifications, no reiterations of his proclamation. Just a couple words. “Maybe you didn’t cook for me, but I ate your food.” Listening to the mens’ story, one thing struck him most profoundly as night descended like a second or third veil for Daemon: he just couldn’t help but feel sorry for the one who’d soaked his britches. Even those without all their marbles did indeed deserve mercy. “Here,” he said before Jericho took to redoing their bindings. Reaching into the Postern, he produced the slacks he’d worn in the mountains. “They’ll be warm, but at least they’re not, you know,” he said, waggling his finger at the one guy’s situation. Matte walked in relative silence for the duration of their journey to the village’s edge. It was dark his hood was up, and like a ghost limb that once was, from within the telltale whisper of a red glimmer echoed in his left eye. For extended periods of time he would glare up and to his right. By the time the group reached the outskirts of the village, Jericho presented the price, and Yshmael presented the price, the men were more than ready to supply accurate information. For both their fears and the mercies bestowed upon them, they were ready to talk and even more ready to walk. Matte wouldn’t do much about a couple bandits doing bandit stuff in the woods— even though he knew someone who would— but if there was a whole village in trouble, now that was a point of interest. Besides, if he could spend some more time near that gauntlet, maybe he could do some more fine tuning of his tracker. He wasn’t after Jericho, not that he’d tell him if he were, but if chance brought them closer to one another then Matte wouldn’t deny an opportunity to use the Justice operative as a test subject. Who makes chance, anyway? "This is what you wanted right? So what's your plan?" Matte came near to observe the map, rubbing his palms together, waiting for the plan.
  2. What is Arashi Baby Sinclair from Dinosaurs?
  3. LOL I'm like I swear it was me. K I just finished a different post, I'll try to get one up before work here. If not, incoming after!
  4. Mykur was as sharp as the edge of an atom. At first. Hacking and slashing through dozens of enemies, Shikai would be able to appreciate its unruly capacity for cleaving through obstructions; he would be able to feel the void within Mykur beckoning to his most Unnatural inclinations. Shikai would see the very darkness warping around his blade as he swung it through the shadows and dark figures, and soon he would grasp at inklings of manipulating those shadows to his very will— but for now, wielding something of such greatness would come at a cost to the zombie general. His first strikes were surgical by Mykur’s very nature, carving terrific chasms through Keli after Keli; but eventually the blade became more cumbersome. Its weight became taxing and it became harder to summon. By the time Shikai had used his jutsu, fought off wave after wave of the man they were in fact robbing blind, and caught up to the Mistress and Cain, he would find himself noticeably more taxed and/or out of breath than typical. In fact, his blow upon the large Keli would only sever one of its arms. “Sorry sir, I should have told you:” said the blue avatar in the dark basement. “It will take your body time and training to grow accustomed to Mykur! This blade was forged for High Lord of Darkness, Zenhariel. No normal mortal could even touch such a thing, let alone come this far. I recommend you rest for now or risk damaging your body!” The sword of night, it is said that Mykur could swallow the sun with its darkness. The greatsword's blade is pure black, dark as the abyss, and drinks in the light of nearby sources. The crossguard is violet and ornate, connected to a pommel that is wrapped in dense leather. At the end sits a large amethyst. Now, as the blade returned with another notable energy expenditure, even the great man’s adrenaline could not fend off the weight of this incredible artifact as it settled on his shoulders. If only for a moment before the sea of Kelis crashed in on the Dead operatives, Shikai would be humbled by the great thing bestowed upon him. Then, two things happened in quick succession. Cain grabbed the single remaining arm of the Keli and flipped it over him. Neither his nor Shikai’s maneuver would save him, though; for their enemy had made his clones’ entire bodies into weapons. From the 8’ Keli’s chest extended a barrage of needles that pierced Cain’s back over and over in passing before the giant figure was thrown wholesale into the advancing Kelis behind them. Without any warning, the ceiling exploded and tons of heavy stone pounded down all around them. What looked like an elephant-sized black fist appeared to have blasted through floor one level above. As it deflated, the Dead operatives would see Black standing one level above in the store room. It looked as if he had used a giant fist to punch a hole into the corner of the store room, both creating an entryway to the basement and the lobby they had first entered through. As the thick debris settled, dozens, maybe hundreds of silhouettes could be seen standing around Black. None of them were like Keli, though. As the smoke cleared further, the bodies of the Kelis that had filled the auction house lobby minutes earlier zapped and sparked in various states of violent dismantlement. Just after that realization, a hail of ammunition rained down around them, shredding the bodies of Kelis that dared protrude from the rubble. “Well what are you waiting for,” said Captain Black, surrounded by the crew of the Black Fleet’s flagship. Wearing a decorated waistcoat and his captain’s hat, he looked far less subdued than he had all night. Much more authoritative. He jangled a set of keys in one hand, assumably the ones that had gotten him into the store room before blowing it open from the inside. “Let’s get our shit and get out of here! You need help?” Shikai would be in an intense state of exhaustion and Cain, after regenerating a body and having it pierced to bits, would be worse for the wear too. Nevertheless they made it up into the store room and Black commanded an attache of men to help the Mistress gather her desired belongings. “Cops will be here real soon. Our mad dash through the city didn’t help, that’s certain. We might need a decoy,” said Black to Shikai and Cain.
  5. “I second Brother Yates’ comment on housing,” came the apprentice’s voice in immediate succession to Yates’ statement about Fjord’s emotion. His eyes flicked to Hela’s drink a moment before it began to boil, and he quietly resigned himself to watching her. Tumnus’ round eyes reflected the dim light dully, but Commager’s gaze perceived everything in the taproom. A couple in tall chairs near the door who had just entered who looked real out of place, an old fisherman in a giant rubber coat slumped in the corner, and tons of Fjord’s men rambling about the journey and the fates of their earnings. Then, without looking in any visible capacity as they left the bar, his attention settled on Fjord. The merchant was cast in stone, waiting for them to return with pampered suspicion. No matter what they said, he was going to give them some pushback. Matters like these tempted him to just pull the mask off, tell the man what’s what; but he knew the nuances that must be considered. Even if he could muscle Fjord into making a connection now, opting out of finding common ground now could make things rocky in the future. "If this empire was going to actually do anything for the people it's supposed to help, it would have done it a long time ago! Not even a 'graceful' visit from his Royal Highness, to lift the spirits or anything like that!" To Michael, Fjord’s words were the epitome of misunderstanding. Deep inside there was a flame of anger, but he quickly quenched it. His hands were folded loosely at his midsection, and with just a little effort he didn’t even clench a fist; but he did take note. Michael always took note of anyone who said Aspyn wasn’t cared for. He also noted that ‘Brother Tumnus’ must be affected differently by this display of faithlessness in the governmental institution of which Michael was part. Hela brought some respite from his displeasure with her response. Indeed Michael had found a book in one of the far realms in the Vortex, called The Battle of Kursk. It was an extraordinary fiction on a war in which one of the greatest competitors, the book’s subject, was the slowest to organize but of great effect once it did so. It was an exact reference he knew Fjord couldn’t summon but a concept he figured one ought to appreciate. "But it's easier to convince them if the circumstances are right to make it happen. That they can see the resources they would require are there. We would probably want to start stockpiling soon." “If I may,” Tumnus stepped forward so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Hela. “The process has to start somewhere, sir.” The way his lips formed the word ‘sir’ was with honest supplication. He was a stark calm against the storm that was Fjord’s feuding psyche. “Here we are, ready to turn tents into houses. So we’re saying, let’s do it. You’d be getting paid to help the people we all care about.”
  6. Sorry! I missed this for some reason. Post tonight or tomorrow. Also I'm down to pair up missions!
  7. Be the first like for my freshly posted profile! Only if it's even a little dope tho
  8. name: Michael Commager monicker(s): Wielder, Bastion alter-ego: Matte Daemon age: 23 sex: male race: humanoid, unknown alignment: defense of Terrenus, military and holy occupation: orphan - protégé - splinter cell squad - Peacekeeper; Apprentice of Gaia’s Priesthood rank: private - corporal - lieutenant - major clergy: apprentice appearance_ height: 5'3 > 5’9 weight: 134 > 180 eye color: blue hair style: cropped, shoulder-length hair color: white skin: fair; black veins in right arm; calloused hands Roseus Oculus: gem that was once planted crudely in Michael's later healed eye socket Now identifiable as Tori: a free-floating red gem containing a fragment of the Terrenus Victory Battle Artificial-Intelligence; conduit for true sight, form of information storage and mining, capable of firing armor piercing incendiary beam weapons_ beam saber, tenchi-ken > Peachy Keen— sword of tangerine-colored light with a hilt of blessed wood whose density and form bend to wielder's will. The hilt is embedded with four crystals blue crystal, Motra— generates waves of concussive force red crystal, Insuma— conduit for the wielding of fire Stalwart Crystal, absorbed into Michael's right arm-- touch causes entropy & decay (degree of deterioration depends on preparations) Shanti's crystal— made by Shanti's blood. Just as she once amplified his abilities during fighting, this crystal will do the same innate skills_ explaudere (primary means for pyromancy): channel and control explosive aura through skin preternatural augmentation of cognizance and strength true sight: magical veiling effects are weakened, ethereal plane becomes visible as do the machinations of magic therein darkness is illuminated but physical objects are not made transparent special skills_ runology: study of runic alphabet and inscriptions - the language of the world, access to elements of earth and fire divination: assimilation of inanimate objects (willing objects in direct or indirect contact with Michael to certain feats); increased efficiency of runology fire elementum seal (secondary means for pyromancy): inscription on the left shoulder blade allowing the summoning of regular and spiritual flame spirit fire is capable of burning through steel and magical spells of equal or fewer preparations other_ bull ring: super strength dragoon armor, fire class (tertiary means for pyromancy): a single plate of 4130 steel gilded with red beryl which, when activated, covers the body and head in red red plated armor and chain mail. training_ Faustus Clemens (tenchi-ken > peachy keen and R.O. mastered, stalwart crystal's insanity overcome) Terran splinter cell Terran Peacekeeper No. 5 Gaia's clergy in the Biazo Abbey crystals_ Tori: free-floating red gem containing a fragment of the Terrenus Victory Battle Artificial-Intelligence; conduit for true sight, advanced form of information storage and mining, capable of firing armor piercing incendiary beam Stalwart Crystal (absorbed into Michael's right arm): touch causes entropy & decay. degree of deterioration depends on preparations Motra: blue crystal embedded into Peachy Keen which generates waves of concussive force Insuma: red crystal embedded into Peachy Keen which serves as a conduit for the wielding of fire Shanti's Crystal: Crystal made by Shanti's blood. Just as she amplified his abilities during fighting, this crystal will do the same Michael is known to produce from his body and plant crystals almost everywhere he goes, some as small as the tiniest of seeds. From them he can project images of himself by manipulating light history_ Michael, an orphan, was found in Weland at age 13 by a mysterious mage named Faustus Clemens. Seen as a diamond in the rough, he was taken and honed into a finely tuned war machine. Neither his origin nor the divinity about him were well understood, but with each day his mental and physical faculties continued to grow at increasing rates. Months after young Commager turned 14, he arrived on the scene of a military conflict with Unnaturals, aligning himself with the Terran military to great positive effect and enlisting thereafter. Unknown to the Terran government or military, he was an implant as a double agent in order to bring Clemens information about Odin Haze. At age 15, Michael's left eye was forcefully replaced by a gem stolen from the devil of a Dante's Inferno style hell, by whom he is pursued for rejecting a Reaper Contract he made freeing Clemens from the deepest circle. Commager, by now a Lieutenant in the military at age 18, exterminated hoards of Unnaturals with extreme prejudice alongside Archbishop Twizzen of Gaia's clergy in Biazo. The young Bastion consequently renounced Faustus as his mentor, acquiring the final piece of the puzzle required in his career to be promoted to Major and enter the Terran/Fracture Peacekeeper program. Shortly afterward, Michael Commager took post as PK no. 5 of Biazo Isle. Two years later the peacekeepers were disassociated from cities, and 23-year-old Michael dedicated himself to pursuing the word of Gaia alongside the clergy in Biazo Abbey and building a safe place for refugees of the hard times in Terrenus; Aspyn. But much focus could not be spent on the development of Aspyn by the Major, for a new threat emerged like a blemish on the face of Gaia's country and began slaughtering the innocent under a recognizable flag— the Legion of Doom (LoD). Michael planted a double-agent with the Legion named Barrett, a former member of his splinter cell squad in younger days. Tracking LoD to a raid they had planned on Last Chance, Peacekeeper No. 5 and an army in Last Chance headed off their commander, Dredge, and battled them away from the coast of Last Chance at heavy cost to the Legion and low cost to Last Chance. Since the battle, Commager continues to cut deals everywhere he goes in favor of Aspyn's productive growth. Where the bright streaks of Michael's heroism trail to an end in the night, though, rumors circulate underground of a menace to the most heinous criminal organizations who lie in corners out of justice's reach. It is in the places some criminals find themselves safest that a man whose name nobody lives to know— a man named Matte Daemon— might strike. thread history coming soon_
  9. Yeah! In fact I just got it recovered from a database sweep (because it was posted back in ~2007). I'll clean up and post it tonight then link you here ?
  10. He is not! He's a human/maybe evolved from crystal
  11. It had been after a visit to multiple stores that the misunderstood and beautiful woman cloaked in the nearby Dauner's robe chanced upon Eywyn. It was common knowledge that he flaunted himself around these parts, so in hindsight one would realize it was only ever a matter of time. The beautiful woman's eyes gleamed as Dauner caught her spinning form. Instead of settling there, letting any pretty moment happen, she kept rotating out of his grasp and landed on one knee and one high heel. Dauner's jacket, large on her slim body, flapped to the side. Fine, if you will not help then I will do it myself. Her wicked mind, her wicked eyes, honed in on the pesky Eywyn— the pesky Eywyn who stood between her and what she wanted: his near infamous suit 'the Glauzer.' Eywyn Donnel was son of one of the highest nobles in Shrine City with an affinity for battle suits. The Glauzer had been on national broadcasts multiple times in the last couple years, and someone had taken notice. The beautiful woman was here to collect from Eywyn Donnel. Dauner and Gozen absconded after remarking on the lady's clumsiness, undoubtedly in search of more meat. It was probably better they didn't see what was about to happen. Daggers in her iris honed upon the defenseless Eywyn as a space in time around them seemed to omit all else besides them. Eywyn's body shuddered at her glare, fearing for his life, knowing he needed the Glauzer now; and not just for show. He needed the Glauzer, or he was going to die. Two things happened at the exact same time. Eywyn the show-pony quickdrew the signaling device for his Glauzer and the beautiful lady launched toward him. From such a stance, with such a frame, in such shoes, she lanced forward with unnatural and unbelievable speed. But the Glauzer was faster. From the very ground upon which Eywyn stood, a cacophony of exotic metals and thick, coiling, golden cables erupted. The unnatural, beautiful woman's right fist rocketed through the jagged, rising spires and pummeled into Eywyn's face just before the suit could envelope him. She blew the coward right out of his suit's reaching arms. As he flew, the suit wretched to a stop, frozen in its processes as his scrambled brain fought back from the edge of concussion. Meanwhile the rising suit chopped brutally into the beautiful woman's arm, straight into the bone but not through it. Yelping in terror at her own actions, falling back, the beautiful lady found herself on her ass looking up at the giant, unmanned Glauser. Skidded to a halt about ten feet behind it was its pilot. She exhaled a breath of relief, cradling her badly injured arm in her lap. That was when the Glauzer's golden eyes illuminated and its monstrous arms came reaching for her.
  12. Matte hopped down to level ground, smiling a half smile in return to Jericho’s tone. Both of them knew that, if by some freak chance he wasn’t here because of the gauntlet, then he had at least known it was used. Did he wonder why? Who knows. Nonetheless, he took the acquaintance’s hand with a semblance of warmth. "I mean really, what are the chances? But hey, I bet guards and cops ask themselves the same thing when a thug gets away by the skin of their teeth. I guess . . . Gaia, right? That one's yours? I guess Gaia saves some of her grace for the good guys too. Makes her better than most." “I really didn’t see it coming.” he said, the smirk evaporating. “But yeah she's mine," he said, the nonchalance grating against his insides with ingratiation and making a short gesture to the arm Jericho wore the gauntlet on with his free hand. "I'm sure she saves some somewhere, but I still haven’t found the other one so how much is yet to be determined.” That was the only mention he made of the artifact, cutting through more than one layer of nuance— to the chase per se. Then in no time he had adjusted his whole attention past Jericho upon the merciful executioner and his bounties, putting the thing behind them (or aside at least, for now). “I’m an old-ish friend of his,” he said, returning Yshmael’s nod. Then like a breeze he had whistled past the bound men and stood before Yshmael wearing a smile, his hand extended; it was calloused and cold, clean of debris but discolored with dirt. “Matte.” “Let’s go bring some Justice to those villagers!” at this a manifold wink back at Jericho, then he looked to the bound men. “Which way, boys?”
  13. I'll post tomorrow! I'm fine with whatever.
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