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Everything posted by amenities

  1. A man adorned all in black, with a brown hood over his face that whipped in the chill, walked across farm and prairie land north of Blairville. To his one side, the sloping giants of the mountains; to the other, a desert. Behind him was the city, his people, two separate entities. The five had eaten in town before leaving restocking on food and water. Having spent everything but potential funds for lodging on their way down from the mountain, the operatives were optimally prepared to climb a mountain this crisp fall. After all, this frozen foot of the mountain was the last path rumored to lead to the artifact. A wizened Cain had opted not to buy any wine until after the lantern was found; believing after many a merciless experience that nothing was a romp in the park until you lived to tell it like it was. He still longed to be drunk, though. His sense of smell was damped by the desire and the cold. A bearskin mask and gloves staved off the cold, but their primary function was to conceal the likeness of Tia’s old regent. “Just look at it,” said his muffled voice. The yawn of his hood stared out on the rolling hills rising into Blaurg Mountain. Descending from the mountain’s peaks shrouded in black was a cascading energy that created evil dissonance with the city behind them. Thunder and lightning and freezing rain distributed down to the valleys so that, even in the early afternoon it appeared to be nighttime. Near the deepest scoop of the valley, a quarter mile up the dirt road, was a village. Looking down from the other side of the valley, Cain could see that rain besieged it and there was little to no traffic. “We start there,” he said. @Rin @Aleksei @danzilla3 @-Lilium-
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    GIF association

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    [Dead] Is it because of the name?

    They found him in Hell's Gate. They found him at night. The silhouette could be seen through Amraphensbane's door, its shadow stalking behind the backlit shades making its way to the door. When the creak issued signifying its open, what stood there was no typical client for the killer investigator— no, what stood there was a zombie. Its bottom jaw hung from precarious curtains of flesh and one of its eyes were puckered shut, its general complexion sitting at a good -1 out of 10. Breath wheezed gently from the cavernous maw missing teeth that sat gateway to its fluting throat. Its singular yellow, jaundiced eye scanned from left to right, slowly, across the office, until it landed on Amraphensbane. There was a type of sorrow in the creature's balding brow, long wisps of black hair clinging to the fringes of its purplish scalp. It was either so bereft of emotion it could attack at any moment, or it was an innocent creature so deformed from its original self it was forever contorted into lament. Finally, after staring at the wolfish man for a moment, a drawn-out gasp signified its long inhale. "You search for decent employ," it wheezed with disturbing coherence, as if imparting this message superseded the very physical capabilities of its deteriorating body. "The Dead calls. "Be it gold or power, secrecy or fame; the Dead holds your fortune in the palm of its hand. Do for us what we ask, and you can be king." --- Days later, through a rift in the Blue Hills of Terrenus, Amraphensbane found himself in a spacious two-story carriage. On the first story of the carriage was stored a large mass of medicine on its way to Lunaris. Sitting at the forefront of the steedless carriage was a joyful pauper. His only purpose was to ensure that the carriage didn't crash into one of the many tall trees between which they drove, assumably with an enchantment to reroute them. In the second story of the carriage sat something different; something even quieter than the clinking bottles of medicine in story one. Something sinister. In the second story of the carriage sat the First Officer, a Lieutenant, a Skeleton, and a recruit of the mysterious criminal organization known only as a whisper on the lips of the most in-the-know to be the Dead. Each of them had a black circular adhesive patch stuck somewhere on their bodies. This adhesive patch was a trademark of covert Dead operations; it allowed the wearers to communicate telepathically with one another so as to maintain silent communications both short and long range. The First Officer even held a mask in his hand this time, but for now he held it in his right hand, which was leaned on its respective knee just like the left. He made eye contact with the others as if he were speaking, because he was— just not aloud. His voice issued with perfect clarity in their minds, his yellow eyes moving from one to the other. We've bribed one of our hookups in foreign trade to document Sebastian's transportation schedule for the last month. According to this schedule, the plan is to try and get Sebastian Heiliger alone while he is being transported from his main offices home at the end of the night at 2000. We will need one party to distract the caravan, one to do a surprise attack on the guard, and two to take advantage of the surprise to attack Sebastian. Now remember before yo pick your sides, Heiliger will likely be guarded by the Lunaris sheriff. Alright, now who picks what? @susitsu @Rin @Thotification @danzilla3 OOC:
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    GIF association

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    GIF association

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    General chat thread

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    [Dead] Opus Magus

    Ramesses was himself a mountain of steel and Uru. The quad-gear that served as his hip joint was as large as a two-story house. Presently, thirty Ulway walked in a layer beneath the gear, carrying it like ants do a giant bread morsel past Cain and Shaman. The jungle landscape— vines, trees, fauna— decorated the massive humanoid machine as it laid on its side, vacant visor that represented its visual field watching as the Ulway deconstructed it. Engineers with skeletal masks pored over blueprints and schematics, altering the materials to add radar fields and sensors of magical and scientific makeup. Meanwhile, two masked psychics levitated the pieces into an orbital field established around Mt. Ichthys. Presently mechanical gears and screens emitting infrared rays and radiation rotated around Icthys at all different altitudes. Lowering his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he looked to the right at Riforte. “What do you think so far,” he said, keeping the fauning out of his voice the best he could. A door stood nearby in the dirt, frameless, detached from anything. Reginald was on Cain’s other side. Looking to Reginald after Riforte appraised the work made of one of Cain’s Tian Titans, he quirked a brow over the still-lowered glasses. “You’ve told me you had a propensity for artifacts and magic scrolls. Picking out your prison record I can imagine the historic docket runs back rather far. Well, we do have need for a couple things I don’t think I can or have the time to procure myself.” Cain unshouldered a cylindrical case with a strap, handing it to the maggotous magus. “Contained in here are a few disembodied ideas with which I, forlorn engineer with too many toys and not enough hands that I am, require assistance. Take your pick and show me your wares, footsoldier, and we’ll consider a chair position in the Arcana division. Right?” Cain looked to Riforte for her approval. @Aleksei @Djinn&Juice
  8. Do you have a criminal character you want taken seriously? — No, like, you want them to be taken REALLLYY SERIOUSLY? Then I have a proposal for you. A mysterious criminal syndicate digs its claws into the entirety of Valucre. As it grows, it swallows entire territories one by one. The means by which we achieve our dastardly ends are not always brute force. While power is a staple of our existence, we like to use finesse to solidify our legacy wherever we go. Join a decade+ legacy by trying out in this thread to join the mysterious criminal syndicate. The Tryout Mission: You will be assigned to attempt an assassination on Sebastian Heiliger, governor of Lunaris, Taen. As part of an initiative to rid the world of select rulers, the mysterious syndicate reaches out to your character for this deed to be done by them. Damage will be decided by using a version of the Narrative Damage System. It's very simple. Every time there is a conflict, you roll a d6 in the Dice Rolling Thread linked here. 1: No damage 2-3: Minor damage (cuts, bruises) 4-5: Major damage (breaks, major lacerations) 6: Mortal damage (lose a limb/eye, noticeable scarring for life) Looking For: 1-2 players who want to try out for the Dead by attempting to assassinate Sebastian 1 chaperone from the Dead @danzilla3 to play a couple Sebastian Heiliger posts Your Reward: Membership in the top evil organization on Valucre! Access to cool weapons on your character's request. Access to the the Dead artifact vault, carrying all the best gear gathered by Dead operatives! Great opportunities to advance your criminal character on Valucre — I will work with you to make your character better in whatever direction you like! @Djinn&Juice @bfc @Rin @Ataraxy @Tyler @Die Shize @Aleksei @-Lilium- @vielle @Thotification IC:
  9. Condensation huffed beneath a dashed in mustache as he looked through the clouds, out from a the veritable Tech Mountain, to the East. Skeletal word, like tingles up the spine, had found its way up the chain to Cain. Word of something left, or perhaps something unfindable. Unattainable. Aidni, all over, had been tropical inside its biome atmosphere. Seven leagues and 20 seas, scores, scissors, whatever. A few miles under the ocean, Aidni had possessed its own atmosphere. There were three gardens then as there were now, but the mountaintop Garden Ichthys had once been a lush grassland imbibed with the crystalline shine of its stretching calquartz trees. Now though, that the Ginger God had dragged them to the surface lands, Mount Ichthys— the endless expanse of tropics— was no more. Blown to smithereens, as some might say. In the underwater mecca’s place was a cold, sharpened peak— Tech Mountain. Panels of steel orbited around the mountain’s upper hemisphere, puppets climbing across their surfaces affixing sensors and solar power panels to keep them calibrated with very sensitive gravitational pulls emitting from the mountain itself. Now word came down the mountain. It crossed the seas on dead lips exclusively and found its way to vagabonds of the most sustainable sort; killers of the killerest magnitude. ‘When you look a certain way and see a something you want, we can give it to you,’ said the whisper from the gaunt, icy-eyed puppet that approached each of them on legs driven by eldritch and far-reaching power, ‘serve us and we shall give you wings to fly to the ends of Valucre.' “Visas, check. Mask pellets, check” the ginger, wearing brown slack and a black tunic open at the chest, held up a small black pill to the three present. His face did not change at a noticeable rate, but at looking away and returning one’s gaze it was clear that his facial features were constantly shifting. Nothing notable about him remained the same for long. “Personal effects, some extra gold, your guts. Everyone good?” The personal effects were a bag given to these individuals by a skeletally masked figure on their first discrete approach. Inside the received black messenger bag, wherever the selected recruits were when they accepted a call to join the hands working behind the curtain, would be three things. The first was a black ring which, when worn, dulled the wearer's ability to feel pain. The second item in the bag was a golf ball sized circle of matte grey fabric. The last object was a dossier containing details on where to meet for shipping out should the given conditions be accepted. A public Genesar airship carried the four into Genesaris. Across deserts pocked with warping sandstorms of random and terrifying proportions, lush grasslands, and over unimaginably forests they went. Dr. Amantis, an associate of the Dead, had acquired the visas associated with these particular peoples’ faces so they could access Genesaris on a visitors’ basis. Once inside Genesaris, they would make their way to Jorah City. This hub of magitech innovation had an underbelly teeming with crime of all levels of fidelity. From pickpockets to illegal art connoisseurs, a creative individual could find any degree of right or wrong they wanted. “We’re going to meet a contact at Hero’s Lounge who says he’s found something… unprecedented,” said the ginger as the group pulled up to a public drop-off zone and passengers of all races and proportions disembarked. The aisle was tight on the way out, but the ginger found his way out quickly. There was nothing for them to look suspicious about, because in essence this wasn’t even a criminal journey. It was, in a sense, a breath of fresh air for one of these tryouts. That was why an unexpected face had tagged along. Or rather, partly why. Waiting for them to gather outside, the ginger led them down a crowded street. Jagged towers of steel curved and sloped over them in the form of exuberant buildings interwoven with laced jetstreams from all manner of aircraft. The group was, by all means, concealed by the sound of the dense city but assumably perceivable if anyone wanted to technologically listen in on them. The ginger was wary. “So,”: he said, walking in front of them. Neon signs were visible up ahead which read ‘Hero’s Lounge,’ “we’re meeting up with this guy who trades stolen museum art. Says he disguised his goons as cops and raided an old as dust vampire. Got him with a holy spell and he gave ‘em the key to his vault. Inside… well, that’s what we’re here to find out. Only his goons could take on a vampire, and he knows the reputation of the people he’s dealing with. Guy likes to flash his wares, so expect these vampire fighting goons. I don’t want trouble, and he knows me, so maybe one of you can try to see what he wants for the information? You just tell him we can give him just about anything,” said the ginger with a wry grin. @Die Shize @Sentient @Ataraxy
  10. amenities

    Join the best criminal organization on Valucre

    Beautissimo! I'ma wait for like 2 more days then post if I haven't got goodies.
  11. amenities

    Spurs for the Burro

    “0800 is when the next caravan comes by. Tomorrow at 2000 is the one after. Scuzzballs haven’t sent any reinforcements yet, so it’s safe to say they won’t send anybody until a new deployment of soldiers comes to Aspyn next month.” Dervish the half-man spoke to his comrades in a small den off the main path from Aspyn to its sister colonies on Biazo Isle. In the boroughs of Bi’le’ah, 12 Half-man gangsters belonging to notorious Half-man crimelord the Mule planned the assault of a produce caravan heading from Aspyn to an auxiliary settlement to the northeast. Armed with rusty knives and faulty guns, half-derelict armor constructed from metal sheets and a couple highly intelligent leaders with hidden magical powers, this dozen had relieved several supply caravans of their supplies and relayed them back to the Mule. Most Half-men of Bi’le’ah were busy picking up the pieces of their broken lives since the unnatural magical hurricane and the war in which it shrouded itself, and they reviled the Mule for the stereotypes his actions cast upon them. Nonetheless the Mule persisted with his unsavory means of acquiring means to survive and, in some twisted perspective, a degree of warped lavish. “Alright.” Extending from an orb in the center of a table was a hologram of Peacekeeper Michael Commager and regent of the budding Aspyn. The filaments fit together perfectly, except for when he moved and in the pixels around his mouth; the hologram’s live feed didn’t quite have perfect resolution. This room was full of soldiers and vigilantes dedicated to stopping the threat coming from the Mule’s men. “The attacks on our caravans show all the signs of the Mule’s handiwork. We have dealt firsthand with the Mule and his men before. Escapees of his raids with tetanused scratches and bludgeoning injuries report roughshod groups of mutant-looking creatures attacking their wagons. The physical profiles are consistent with half-men, but it’s alleged that there are a couple powerful individuals among them. According to sources, they are the Mule’s left-hand men. “You will depart with the 0800 group in the morning or the 20000 group in the evening tomorrow, your choice. You must disguise yourself as caravaners and merchants. You can either capture the perps and question them about the Mule or defeat them to send a message to his men. “Afterward report back here, and we’ll take your analysis into consideration when establishing an outpost and division to deal with caravan theft. Questions, or can we begin planning specifics?” Those who didn’t know Michael Commager shuffled their feet, wondering whether or not the hologram was actually a live feed, or a recording. That was when the quizzical image of the Major shifted, his eyes scanning this way and that, dispelling any notion that this was not in fact the real Peacekeeper. “Well?”
  12. Hi! I'm just looking to shake some rust oFf my bones with a good ol' T1. If you're here because the topic name fired you up, let's dance cowpoke. If not, I would still fancy a waltz. 🤪 If you need to look at the rules they're here, though I'd prefer somebody with a little bit of experience and some sort of character sheet for whoever they use. It's first come, first serve. You can respond with a first post or a character and a request for me to make the first post. I will use either Cain Rose or Nica Sero. One is easier, one is tougher, you can pick if you'd like or I'll make the choice once you post.
    1. Dmitry

      Dmitry

      Not really at a point where I’d put my character in any organization, just for lack of development and certain other milestones I’d need to meet in his story. Appreciate the offer though.

    2. Dmitry

      Dmitry

      I wouldn’t mind rping with a member or two though, just as a potential introduction to the syndicate.

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    GIF association

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    GIF association

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    GIF association

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    GIF association

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    B|E: The Aspyn Chapter

    Draug, I hope you didn't mind me sending my associate. Lieutenant Barrett can be somewhat boisterous, though I trust him to be succinct when I need. I am writing confirming that Barrett imparted to you we had cleared a more than sufficient space for a Book}Ends chapter in Aspyn. I have supplied the labor and the lot; and I trust you will have schematics and supplies on hand. Don't worry about your travel visas, just send ahead of time and I'll be waiting! Best, PK5, Michael Commager; Acting Aspyn Regent On the sunny day in question, Michael stood wearing his dress blue uniform and a grin on his face. Barrett stood beside him, reaching about the hip area. What led up to the stone walls of Aspyn and the ornate gate before which he stood was a dirt path framed by long grass. A couple hundred meters away from the walls began thick forest, but the treeline cut off sharply to allow a flat scene just outside the walls. @KittyvonCupcake
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    [Dead: Killing Kajal] Water and Wine

    “Hmmm, slaves? That’s not right, no matter what light you put it in.” Though the cold air in the upper hemispheres of Tech Mountain made the inner offices somewhat drafty, it didn’t penetrate the several hallways bisected by doorways that led to the gray conference room in which present company found itself. Cain had pulled the lever beneath his seat to the out position, which afforded his swivel chair a wide backward birth which he exercised liberally. One hand scratched habitually at his long red mop and, the pointer finger of the other lofted to exact his remark upon Nica, who stood before a whiteboard at the front of a conference table gilded with Dead. Upon the whiteboard were scrawled the schematics of a plan to assassinate Kalopsia’s Water Court Raj, Aisha Kajal. What was missing? How they would get close to her, how they would escape— hell, why they were even risking anything for an assassination here to begin with. “Yes Cain,” said Nica, the veritable polarization of Cain, his finger extended in a very Cain-like rebut. The main difference was that Nica always wore his white suit framed with gold jewelry and thin-rimmed glasses, while Cain tended toward the undone black suit and loathed tying his hair up, a tendency on which the former Tian mayor staked humorously large portions of his officiality. The more prim of the two mocked a puppet motion resembling ‘the robot’ dance. “Because you so detest slavery in all its forms. Tell me, what has you this interested in the Water Court Raj?” “You know the brat Michael?” The man posing as the Dead’s First Officer, around who rumors circulated that he was actually an Architect laying low, had taken to examining his fingernails. The motion didn’t look quite natural, though. He actively avoided eye contact with Nica. “The peacekeeper?” said Nica, eyebrow piquing as he analyzed what the Commager kid could have to do with Kalopsia. “Yeah. He’s got a new squeeze who’s slave to Kajal.” “And you don’t think killing Kajal would benefit this squeeze?” “Nope. Their whole culture is centralized around the slave owner. Without one of the four Rajs, Kalopsia will be tossed into a disorder that won’t benefit her in any way. Aisha Kajal is a fine addition to our wall of heads. If we’re to kill all the world’s leaders, we have to start somewhere and with some reason. Isn’t that right?” Cain looked to Schrei, who was seated across from him. “Sure, if we’re going to kill leaders indiscriminately, why not start by discriminating?” said Nica incredulously. “Schrei, if you prefer we start with someone else please say so now.” “Nah, Schrei would love to start here. Didn’t you mention knowing young Mikey in a prior life?” remarked Cain, still pushing the backward limits of his chair’s leaning capabilities, hand buried in his wild hair. @bfc @Aleksei
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    GIF association

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    ????????????????

    Warrant Officer Malam had served in battalions under Peacekeeper numbers 1, 4, and 5 in all his days. He was a proud man, and opted to wear his dress uniform rather than civilian clothing whenever was kosher— though never less-than-kosher. Malam was starkly dedicated to the Terran military cause. That was why he'd followed Peacekeeper 5, Michael Commager, when he went to establish a refuge for what he saw as a crumbling Terrenus. WO Malam had gained some repute in his time. Not dying was one thing, but leading in successful ventures during violent times was another. He sat at a desk in an Aspyn school where he had done an appearance. His guards were down the hall around the corner. Closer down the hall was a bathroom. Today Was the Day Malam Would Die Warrant Officer Warren Malam hadn't used the bathroom all day. Four coffees deep, something told him it was time. Getting up, Malam made his way to the bathroom. His guards never heard him enter, never heard the door swing closed or Malam entering a stall. Never heard the seat clack down or the belt buckle jingle as Malam sat down, or his whistle.
  21. it hurts

    1. princeben07

      princeben07

      You okay DOc?

       

      Benny

       

      Hit me back.

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    GIF association

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    GIF association

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    Religious Revenge?

    Instead of solid screens, Gaian clergy of all different levels stood before scrying windows either summoned or channeled through mirror-like plaques of copper. Behind the scrying windows, surrounding the entire inner cabin of the submarine, was a circuitous solabernite of bright yellow. After harvesting and rending the mineral to its finest concentration, they were able to construct a highly responsive material for use by the increasingly industrialized clergy residing in Biazo and Aspyn. In a joint effort sought by clergy and select interested government officials in Biazo, an envoy had been sent for Umbra to collect a certain somebody. Michael, a fledgling Gaian after historical interactions with both Saint-King Odin Haze and Archbishop Twizzen, as well as Peacekeeper Number 5 residing in Aspyn, had opted to make this his initiation mission. His associate Barrett had originally been assigned to this mission, but Michael and Barrett had gone out drinking the night before to celebrate welcoming Book|Ends into Aspyn. Michael had never had a hangover in his life but Barrett, both of smaller stature and not possessing as-of-yet preternatural tolerances against alcohol, had picked up some degree of alcohol poisoning. So Michael, the culprit behind his comrades disposal, felt guilty. He took on the Dan thing for himself. It was, on one hand, his way of covering for Barrett. On another hand, it was part of a personal effort to extend his justice the world over. On the third hand, it was a perfect opportunity to take his first steps into the faith. The Sea Reaver LG- Pretty Lady's very center as another slab of solabernite that channeled the explosive energy generated to the center thruster on the submarine's tail. This was one of many that created endless radials around the Pretty Lady's exterior for dynamic maneuvering. "So do you have to touch the solabernite to channel energy into it, or are there receivers?" he asked the crew as they neared their destination.
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