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amenities last won the day on May 26

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  1. Tell me sir, from where does your character hail? What is he like? These would help inform his crash landing pretty well imo
  2. @Dredge come and meet your kin!
  3. Please fight me! I am open to any style. T1, UFS, Narrative, or just plain talked out. Accept my challenge by posting here or sending me a PM! ~~~ Michael Commager stood on one of two hills separated by a grass valley. The valley was a quarter mile, a perfect bowl, all around nothing visible but the green of grass, the blue of sky, and the white of clouds. Morning sunlight filled his half of the valley, the west half. There were picturesque clouds in the sky that did nothing to blot the swelling daylight. A white tunic clung to the golden band around his neck, the diamond of white satin fit to his torso coming to a skirted point between his knees. His bare feet were spread shoulder length apart. There was a red sash tied around his waist, a perfect trapezoid affixed to his abdomen. The trapezoid was gilded in natural edges of red gem, its center a ribbed tortoise shell pattern of the most matte obsidian. A wooden switch was tucked at his left hip beneath the sash; it was both subtly warped and endlessly reliable. One end of the switch was slightly bulbous and the other a flat end. On the bulb was a perfect triangle of three gems. One was red, one was blue, and the one nearest the pommel purple. There were other gems on the man. Two, to be exact, nestled one beneath each earlobe as if dangling earrings except not. The one beneath his right was red, a deeper crimson than the one on the switch, the one under his left as black as imaginable. Michael's arms were held to his side, elbows bent at a 90° angle with flat palms facing upward. His eyes were closed and he breathed solely through his nose. He meditated, yet to be activated from a seemingly impenetrable slumber.
  4. As Schrei demonstrated her unaffected dexterity by flashing her sharp, Cain was above all pleased with her assimilation of the limb. Underneath his pleasure though, he felt the uncontrollable urge he always felt when looking at something beautiful to reach out and dash it, swatting the blade to the side. Instead, a kurt grin she received before being led onto the vessel. Indeed, the Dead could stick together like coagulated blood cells. If a virus ever arose, even though one never had, the First Officer always always would and always had stood guard like a white blood cell, ready to slit the throat and cut the threat. In defense of the Dead, he would do anything. He knew there would be a line that, one day, he could not cross in guarding it; but he had killed entire kingdoms for the Dead by now. What more, he wondered? What more? Lying there curled up like a cat, the audiomancer would hear for the entire 3 hours her First Officer standing in the exact same spot. For the first hour she would hear almost nothing, not even the squelching of regular human organs. Blood still coursed through his veins, that much she would hear, but its flow wasn’t powered by a beating heart; she would hear instead the gentle whine of magic coming from two sources; a circle of runes around his wrist and his brain. The rest of his organs seemed suspended in some sort of stasis, either immune to aging or long dead and somehow preserved. For the second hour, as Schrei really got a feel for the F.O.’s machinations, she might focus in on the brain. When she did, even focusing as hard as she might, she could only just barely hear something. Maybe it wasn’t even there; but maybe, just maybe, Schrei heard millions of voices shrieking out in pain and revile from deep inside the magical whine. For the entire ride he peered with utter motionlessness into the black, crushing ocean that through the depths of which their vessel’s automated navigation sailed them. Magi-computer errors were nearly insignificant in the equation of fatal crashes, but there were plenty of other… influences in the ocean. After spotting the miles-wide angler fish that defended Aidni years ago— finding that all of Aidni, soon to be Amalia, would one day rise on the back of a massive hermit crab— he had developed and fostered carefully a genuine fear of the depths. They were going fast. Although reaching Kalopsia took 3 hours, the devastating strike team that was Schrei and Cain had spanned several time zones. When they arrived it was evening. Slipping into a cove of the Water Court, the sleek black vessel guided itself straight up on to the smooth stones. Its pointed end slid from the black water so gently that nobody in this secluded corner of Kalopsia would be around to see. Cain wouldn’t speak, Schrei would know that they had arrived when the door hissed open and the First Officer moved. He grabbed his back in the exact manner he had placed it down as they moved down the sloping platform. It had been programmed to find the nearby dry land so that neither of them walked in the water. Perhaps a meaningless feature, perhaps not. Wordlessly he extended one of the classic black circular psychic comm pads for Schrei to stick to herself anywhere. As soon as she did, his voice began. Though they were on Kalopsian land, it would take a while longer. He talked while their feet delved through up the hill of pebbles leading away from the beach. It seemed like they stood on a vast, endless beach of pebbles, the hill swaying high then low to either horizon. “We’re in the Earth Court. Nobody on this side of the island is as experienced with water recon as the Water court, so this made a good infiltration point. We’ll have to carriage over to the Water Court. Aisha Kajal is our target. We have two options. Kill Kajal and I can work the puppet,” he said, waggling his fingers instinctively without any real intention for Schrei to see, “or take her out entirely and install our own friendly leader. Our plan hinges on your choice between the two.” Cain removed two meager cloaks that would cover their visages. Cain’s was an almost nationally known face and, though he draped the hooded cloth over his shoulders, he didn’t even bother concealing these weathered features. “People are sloppy these days,” he said, making eye contact with her as if she could read his mind (she could). He had no confidence in anyone to find him; was he talking about them being sloppy, though, or chiding himself? It shone in the lines on his face the dwindling care with which he gazed in the face of death. It was ingrained in their very mission, really: no life was sacred, not even their own. Schrei boarded a wheat carriage headed to the Water Court with a true nihilist.
  5. Black's eyes were, like his shoulders, slouching. To say he was high on something like weed didn't quite cut it. The white-clad vagabond looked, as some might say,. faded. He gazed with almost impenetrable attention upon Keli. There was a little red tinging his eyes that indicated he just might have used some substances, but the most obvious thing was that he'd issued his statement about one of the most powerful people in the world trying to kill him without altering expression— without so much as appearing to have ever looked at Cain. As the group made their way to the auction, Cain reached beneath his expensive blazer and withdrew a stick with the number "69" on it. He handed it to the Dead Mistress with a mere extension of the wrist, hardly moving the elbow around which her now-elegant hand wrapped. As they made their way through the vast auditorium, the lights went out. All other sculptures in the arena were shrouded by the darkness while Keli's was illuminated by a single ray of light. He stood before the ray of light, accentuated not by being within the light, but by being in the way of it and the 20-ft structure from the crowd's perspective. "Velcome," he said, spreading his muscular black arms wide, palms placed so pleasantly upward. "Today, zis adventure we go on, vill lead von of you to invaluable nirvana." Leading their way to the fringe of the crowd that gathered around Keli and the siamese sculpture, the half-masked Cain elected to respond to Black only after a disrespectfully long amount of time. "If I had ever tried to kill you, Mr. Neon, you'd be a tiny speck of dust nobody ever remembered." "Today, von of you will leave vith zis sculpture vitch I have crafted in memory of the two fighting being visin us all." Cain's words had not been spoken harshly; just as an undertone to the "great" Keli's words; but Black's regularly pale visage appeared even more paper-white than ever.
  6. It was lucky she'd slapped him so his oldened face flopped away from the sheriff, because the unstoppable masochist in Cain grinned shakily even in his elderly visage as the Dead Mistress smacked his disguised faec. He even drooled a little. In just a moment though, it wouldn't even matter. Shit! She had hit that old man hard! Looked like she could have broken the geriatric fuck's neck! As the Sheriff disembarked the vessel with Seabass aboard, he left the door *wide open*. The Sheriff neared the lady smacking the grandpa, maybe a hand outstretched or maybe a word of protest— all for naught. As he came within two feet howver, the old man's head snapped back to face him, the bondage-loving lull still painted unnaturally on his expression. Old Cain stuck his tongue out, out, farther out. The wet appendage extended with languid grossness through the space between them. Twisting through the two feet, seeping with liquid, the old man's tongue caressed the Sheriff's face. Its wan extension caught him so off guard that he hadn't even reacted until the tongue was nearly toughing his face. "Sweet Gaia's snatch!" He snatched it out of the air, disgusted when he had finally processed the uncharacteristic happening. But it was too late. As he tried to grab as tightly as he could to the tongue, it used its saliva as lubrication and plunged into his right eyeball. The Sheriff cried out, shrieked like a child as his hands fell slack and he fell to the ground. Just as his cries echoed through the air, Esben's attack had begun. Just as Esben's attack began, the elder visage melted like ice cream in a microwave. It melted, shifted, until the tongue extended from the maw of a cracked grey skull mask, the rest a tight black material that fit over the rest of his head and covered his neck, one long braid of red sticking out from a small hole on the back left.
  7. What a bout of camaraderie Craxus and Yintor were having. That’s what Peacekeeper Michael Commager would have thought if he were around (>_>) In reality, there was a wolf exchanging honorable drinks with his opponent while on the other hand two people who might one day know each other well fought without even the respect to reveal their own identities. While the half-men approached, the soldiers around the carriage began changing hand signals rapidly. The signals went from rotating in two eloquent patterns of different signals to, with some strange algorithm of timing, syncing up with one another. Just as the half-men neared and the mysterious white-haired lady shot her hydro balls and moved to enact her light, they made the simple act of forming fists with their signaling hands. Each of their bodies turned into a flock of rock spikes that fled for the half-men. Dervish would receive two spikes in each eye and one in the wiener. Though the spikes assailed all approaching half-men verily, it appeared the carriage would be left open after they were all pierced similar to Dervish. Meanwhile the carriage driver and the strange bitch duelt. His hat had sliced one half-man’s head off, his fire launched another. When she released two artillery-strike-like blasts of liquid, he made a 70° turn to her left. For some reason he, the meager carriage driver with white hair and a crystal floating around him, had the battle awareness to assume the hydroball would change trajectories to follow him. So it was that, with the ring on his left hand gleaming with increasing red intensity, he ran in a wide arc that would (eventually) lead him to the woman herself.
  8. Barrett's eyes were like what one would imagine if they were to think of the classic cartoon alien. His bulbous head and bulbous eyes blinked up toward Kyra in a manner that couldn't help but appear perpetually awestricken (and cute). The congealment of sentient fungus that was the impesque First Lieutenant didn't process emotion the same as others, but through highly redundant practices of human emulation, he had mastered the ability to summon an almost exact imitation of any capacity of interest on demand. The Terrans were in distress. This Barrett knew; and, being an old compadre of PK Michael Commager, he was an unwavering agent of the light; so after a moment of gazing upon the bedraggled refugees he extended his four-fingered hand. "You are safe now." Two men in white togas approached from the ranks, which cast glowing light into the forest around them, on either side of Barrett. Their bodies were soft, untrained by battle but not unfit entirely; simply enough to be entirely unthreatening. "These are some of our best healers. Will you lead us to the infected you captured? We wish to understand more without nearing the city for fear of contamination. Perhaps, especially when we get back to Aspyn, we can work together toward a cure to this disease." Kyra and the rest of the Nicholes' encampment gathered their things as the Terrans made a barrier of men between them and Tia. None infected by Maleficence came, but the precaution as always better than none. When they were ready, both groups headed Northwest. As they walked, the sound of a million footsteps the only thing pattering in the prairie night, Kyra would notice that Barrett had been looking up at her for a while. When she looked at him, she would see his gentle eyes emulating wonder. They looked almost.. sorry. Then his calming voice came in the cool dark. "What did you see in Tia?" @SelenaNichole
  9. Now it was Michael's turn to blush. He had been educated on many subjects including war, righteousness, health, and even sex; but marriage was something he had scarcely ever spoken of or heard about. Shanti and he had been happy together- would always be, he knew- but was marriage the institution they would call it? "Not yet, but something like that!" he said in response to Ross, beaming over to Shanti. "This is Shanti, Ross. My love, and not the only one!" he said, eyes following Roswell's attention to her stomach. "A plate at the table is all for tonight dear," he said shifting his full attention to her. "Let's show this ruffian around a little first, though." Taking Shanti by the hand, Mike led the three away from the giant pot of simmering food and around Aspyn's great perimeter wall. Theree was a modest pathway separating most of the wall from dense forest. There were eight gateways into and out of the city spread dozens of miles apart. As the three ventured into the shade of the canopy farther and farther from the North gate toward the Northeast gate, Michael told Roswell about the city and its wall. "We're nearing 6 million in population now! Been growing for 5 or 6 years. All of Terrenus is not so lucky though," he went on, bare arms gesturing to implicate the city's great rise and others' less fortunate fate. "Cities, whole cities, are falling. I've never seen any national discontent of this level in my life. It scares me. That's why, with help from Archbishop Twizzen and Gaia's clergy stationed in Biazo Abbey, I have led a Terran military venture to establish a refuge city. A haven away from the destruction and, Gaia willing, a place from which we might levy a brighter future. People steadily pour in the South gates from all over the continent, following the good word that there is a place defended from the dark by Gaia and the Terran military. "Even this isle isn't safe, though. To the east is the unnatural chasm that ruined Biazo City. The population has been mutated into what we call Half-Men. Most of them are just trying to get by in the ruins of the city, now called Bi'le'ah, but some of them aren't so peaceful. The Mule, a Half-Man mafioso who's benefited from the Half-Man plight in Bi'le'ah, has erected somewhat of a criminal syndicate. He aims attacks at our caravans, travelers, and even the city itself. That's why we have this wall," he said, fingers brushing along the perfectly natural looking barrier. "10 squads of geomancers run 24/7 rotations manning this wall. Their magic has been infused inside it to allow perfect responsiveness to their defensive geomancy. The wall is coded with our blood. Only one person in this city can grant a new person access or remove access from controlling the wall." To demonstrate this intimate connection, Michael withdrew his hand sharply from its surface. A spike jutted out from the wall just beneath his palm with enough force to punch clean through an assailant's chest, had one been approaching the structure. Now the group ventured away from the wall into a dark patch of forest, Michael turning to Roswell with interest twinkling in his eye. His hair was somewhere between short and medium-length now, and he swept a side bang behind his ear in heat that permeated the forest shade. Though he focused on Roswell, his hand still clung to Shanti's. "Anyway, tell me about those friends of yours Roswell! Perhaps an alliance and expansion is in order? The benefits will be laid bare even as we walk, I'm sure!" It was clear that Michael had picked up education in more fields than just the aforementioned— it shone in his tone and entire demeanor that he seemed to have acquired quite the pension for diplomacy as well.
  10. You're really gonna do that to me right before I go to work 😭
  11. And just like that, all of the humility bled from Cain's face like blood from the damned. And like the milk that spilled around the dead milkman outside, the nefarious smile spread across the ginger god's face. He let Nefarious make her conditions without so much as batting an eyelash. She could speak whatever frail precautions she wanted, but everyone in the rickety house on the bluff knew; Cain and the Dead would take what they wanted when they wanted. The fact of the matter was that Cain had taken quite a bit from her though, so it only seemed fitting that she be given some semblance of it back. He looked at Riforte for a moment, showing something (as he couldn't help with her) in her eyes that he wouldn't show anyone else— they were the only two left who had come from a simpler time for him— before addressing Nefarious again. "Here." With a light soccer kick, he shunted Nefarious' head toward her headless body. It spun across the floor like a football, narrowly missing one leg of the living room table before spinning to a halt at her feet. "You can have however much you want to do with building the thing, too. Was it not your greatest joy? Then make it so again and we'll stay out of the business. Just don't make us come knocking with our hands out. Meet us on the southern trail to Casper in three dawns. We'll clear the plagued from the harbor and collect what we can of the old Deck." With that, Cain left Nefarious to her devices. Inside the sack that contained her head was a divination that would attach it to her neck again. She may feel cold and alone, but it was really only as long as she denied the Dead. What she didn't understand was the ocean of pain that writhed beneath Cain's exterior; the other side of him that thrashed in revile for the pain it felt. It wasn't me, it was him, was a terrible excuse though, and Cain knew it; so he swallowed the blame. If he must be the bad guy to some people, then so be it. He was willing to bear this burden and a thousand more to bring on the world that must be. Full Summary Cain, Riforte, and Ina travel to Nefarious' house. Nefarious was the prior owner of the Full Deck Casino boat which traveled between Casper, Tia, and Last Chance. Almost a decade ago after a cataclysm which separated Cain into a well-controlled half and an utterly uncontrollable half called the shadow, the shadow attacked and destroyed the Full Deck. This cast Nefarious into an emotional poverty that lasted until present day when operatives of the reinvigorated Dead visit her. Offering her a host of control over the vessel, as well as her head back, Riforte tries to tell Nefarious she wants to reinstate her as Captain of the Full Deck. Nefarious doesn't take Riforte's word, remembering what Cain did to the ship years ago and in disbelief that Riforte was truly able to speak for Cain. Cain, who had been standing outside the entire time in an attempt not to exacerbate the situation with Nefarious, now enters. He convinced Nefarious she could have everything back, including her head, and she posed the conditions that the Dead stay out of her business except for where she allows them. Cain allows and leaves, scheduling the rebirth of the ship with Nefarious at the helm. Short Summary Riforte, Ina, and Cain approach Nefarious and reestablish the Full Deck Casino Boat under Nefarious' rule. Nefarious gets her head back. Cain kills a milkman.
  12. The Dead’s First Officer lay before a knick-knacks shop in a square of moist dirt beneath a canvas awning. Rain poured in a line around his confectoinary body. To his skin he now knew, this was utter decay. A funny situation had become an incredibly dire one; Cain’s right arm and leg were gone up to the shoulder and hip. Before him extended ten feet of earthen spikes, undead aberrations impaled upon them. Still though, they writhed toward their target, drool sloughing from their gnashing jaws and rain flinging from their bloodied claws. And the spikes that contained them were deteriorating in the rain. At that moment, something that could have been good but was, because of the context, awful happened. Cain turned back into a demi-human. Flesh replaced breading, blood replaced dough. The curse was lifted. Cain cried out in pain, his voice cracking with blaring weakness through the rain. Blood sprayed from gaping wounds where once his arm and a leg had been. Under regular circumstances, a careful line of black traced itself around his eyes. Sometimes the slight undulation could be seen, but it was a largely fixated object. Now though, with Cain’s pain, obsidian flared like a rorschach painting across his face and climbed animatedly down his neck. Black tar sapped over the eviscerated limbs and kept him from losing anymore blood; but dizziness had already set in. The Troll, the ink that contained his poor vessel, bled onto the ground. Lying in a puddle of black the world blurring around him, he reached his hand out. In the waning light he could see the manor. The distance between was nothing; it was just a block; it was… He chuckled woozily, amused and delirious. “Damn, that hurts.” And just like that his face, matted with blood and red hair, splashed into the water. Soon the three demons would be released from the spikes he had thrown up in panic and they would be upon him, and soon the hordes from the square would follow. Esben would round the corner and see Cain; the three Unnaturals impaled, but still thrashing on the dissolving pikes ravenous for Cain’s body; and the tall manor where Reginald resided ahead. Thanks to black circles stuck to all their bodies, the group was able to communicate telepathically; so everyone would know that Reginald had reached the manor and a small bit of the plight he encountered. They would also know that Cain’s feed had been cut off in his unconsciousness. Meanwhile Shikai faced off with the Beast at square one. The force of the Beast flinging the undead away was enough to wrench one of its antlers off. Even though rain poured on the piles of burning bodies around the Beast and Shikai the fire still burned, and a mist of black decay rose from their bodies. The Beast walked through great pires of flame toward Shikai as he replaced his leg. Its robes burned away entirely as Shikai absorbed the power of another. Beneath the Beast’s robes was a skeletal form to which steel cables of muscle clung. The cables wound through its ribs and vertabrae, from its mandibles to its scapula to its metatarsals, spiraling up into the longhorn skull that crowned it. Through the eyes of the longhorn it could be seen, this had once been a human— perhaps a great warrior. It still had its head, and upon it had been shoved the massive longhorn’s skull. Through its eyes shone bloody red light. It ran toward Shikai framed in brilliant fire, bone feet crushing skulls and stones into its footprints. It grabbed the flaming body of a horned monster by the head, lunging toward Shikai with the intent to use the flaming corpse’s horns to pierce his body.
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