amenities

You don't need to persuade me at this. I enjoy bombarding new folks with even more stimulus from this site!

Throwing out those feelers to see if anyone is interested in some island jungle fun.
One option is a quest to protect some traders harvesting some resources at the bottom of Mount Ichthys. See Lore
 
Another option is to research new species and the natural landscape. 
Adding @amenitiesto this. 
I enjoy a good post or two a week. A few people is fine. I find large crowds can be difficult in navigating so possibly no more than 4 peeps. But I don't follow my own rules so....
 
 

‘What am I to be,’ Ash thought as the cocktail table twisted midair in Phoebe’s grasp, as it turned to-and-fro like a CADD model of a shield before hovering into his grasp. ‘In a place where people are so strong?’ Phoebe’s directions weren’t necessarily background noise, but he only listened enough to hear them while he examined the enemy. They seemed to be somewhat more organized now, and their various armaments were drawn. Behind them stood Amirah wreathed in flame. ‘What am I supposed to be besides afraid?’
As evening air poured through the widening tear in the shadowspell above them, Ash bolstered his shield. He tightened the grasp around his nimble blade’s hilt.
“You heard the lady.”
Ash snapped out of his reverie, looking at Shikai. The General looked so ready, not just ready but totally hyped to execute the orders of the First! The General and the First… How would he ever get close to the Architect if he couldn’t even survive amongst these ranks?
"I'll take right, you go left. I think our friendly bartender is a bit more than you can handle at the moment."
Bass pulsed below them, its throbbing tempo faster and faster, building to a climax alongside which both groups’ tension seemed ready to burst. Not unexpected, but instantaneously, the entire room was filled with magic and steel. In the beating darkness the entire room exploded into microcosms of chaos. These were moments in which the future Ash would thrive because of this very night.
Running, sprinting in an arc to his left around the enemies that sloped in toward the nearest of them, his makeshift shield held to the right side, Ash vaulted this steel furniture and hid behind that overturned table. In the interlude between his cover, solid rounds pelted against his psychically enforced cocktail shield and magic rounds made the table’s metal searing hot against his skin. Within the flashing lights and the distraction of his teammates, though, Ash finally made his way to the far left flank of Amirah’s men while she and the brunt of them were distracted by the louder foes. Ash was smart enough to realize that, here, his best element was stealth.
After enough circling, enough evasion through the depths of the club’s vast VIP deck, Ash found that he had escaped the observation of Amirah’s men. Grabbing a black tablecloth and covering his naked whiteness, he crept through the darkness until he was behind the center of Amirah’s forces.
Just as he found himself in the storage area behind the bar, where most of the alcohol was kept, the heat from Amirah’s immense surge in energy washed through the room. Through a porthole window, Ash could see the forces giving way to the General only to be partially revived by the bartender. He could also see, from behind the engulfed Amirah, the First preparing to face off with her.
‘What am I to be,’ he thought, ‘if I cannot be afraid?’
"You killed them! I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU ALIVE!"
“Hey, bitch!”
‘Brave. If I cannot be afraid, then I must be brave…’
If Amirah turned, she would see the white-haired boy in boxers and boots just after he kicked the doors open from the back room of the bar, his sword-arm launching forward with its blade aimed like a masterful dart for her center mass.
"BURN THIS!"

‘What am I to be,’ Ash thought as the cocktail table twisted midair in Phoebe’s grasp, as it turned to-and-fro like a CADD model of a shield before hovering into his grasp. ‘In a place where people are so strong?’ Phoebe’s directions weren’t necessarily background noise, but he only listened enough to hear them while he examined the enemy. They seemed to be somewhat more organized now, and their various armaments were drawn. Behind them stood Amirah wreathed in flame. ‘What am I supposed to be besides afraid?’
As evening air poured through the widening tear in the shadowspell above them, Ash bolstered his shield. He tightened the grasp around his nimble blade’s hilt.
“You heard the lady.”
Ash snapped out of his reverie, looking at Shikai. The General looked so ready, not just ready but totally hyped to execute the orders of the First! The General and the First… How would he ever get close to the Architect if he couldn’t even survive amongst these ranks?
"I'll take right, you go left. I think our friendly bartender is a bit more than you can handle at the moment."
Bass pulsed below them, its throbbing tempo faster and faster, building to a climax alongside which both groups’ tension seemed ready to burst. Not unexpected, but instantaneously, the entire room was filled with magic and steel. In the beating darkness the entire room exploded into microcosms of chaos. These were moments in which the future Ash would thrive because of this very night.
Running, sprinting in an arc to his left around the enemies that sloped in toward the nearest of them, his makeshift shield held to the right side, Ash vaulted this steel furniture and hid behind that overturned table. In the interlude between his cover, solid rounds pelted against his psychically enforced cocktail shield and magic rounds made the table’s metal searing hot against his skin. Within the flashing lights and the distraction of his teammates, though, Ash finally made his way to the far left flank of Amirah’s men while she and the brunt of them were distracted by the louder foes. Ash was smart enough to realize that, here, his best element was stealth.
After enough circling, enough evasion through the depths of the club’s vast VIP deck, Ash found that he had escaped the observation of Amirah’s men. Grabbing a black tablecloth and covering his naked whiteness, he crept through the darkness until he was behind the center of Amirah’s forces.
Just as he found himself in the storage area behind the bar, where most of the alcohol was kept, the heat from Amirah’s immense surge in energy washed through the room. Through a porthole window, Ash could see the forces giving way to the General only to be partially revived by the bartender. He could also see, from behind the engulfed Amirah, the First preparing to face off with her.
‘What am I to be,’ he thought, ‘if I cannot be afraid?’
"You killed them! I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU ALIVE!"
“Hey, bitch!”
‘Brave. If I cannot be afraid, then I must be brave…’
If Amirah turned, she would see the white-haired boy in boxers and boots just after he kicked the doors open from the back room of the bar, his sword-arm launching forward with its blade aimed like a masterful dart for her center mass.
"BURN THIS!"

<That's a good look on you..>
In the darkness and the rage, Phoebe found her humor and a fair bit of appreciation as she glimpsed the half-garbed samurai, mid-spin and dragging the Mindgorger out with a flourish.  She teased, but not cruelly - and as she slowed to a halt, encouraging space with the wide carve of her spear's blade, she winked at Ash before turning her attention to the oozing burn on the top of her arm.  
"Looks like we just need to fight straight into her.  
Anyone have a shield I can use?"
A glance up from the aching wound across the ruined club top spied a small, metal, cocktail table and with a thought Phoebe snatched it and jerked it over toward the gathered Dead.  The hardened alloy screamed as each leg was invisibly wrenched free and the fourth was smashed, pounded into place with unseen hammers, and bent until it resembled a buckler's double handles.  For a moment Phoebe held it aloft, examining it, her sharp eyes finding faults and adjusting until it was good enough given the situation- better than nothing, certainly, and she gave a little shrug as she directed it over to Ash.
"Will that work?  Remind me to get you a tactical underlay.  Honestly, " she added, bisecting the sentence with a deep breath which she pushed out, still recovering if one gauged by the flush pinking her cheeks.  "I thought we had already had you geared up- sorry for that getting missed.  I'll keep their fire off of you," A look took in Shikai before she continued, "both, as much as I can.
If I can stay distant, I can cut their angles to attack.  Just stay smart about your charge lines.  Covering you gets harder if they spread out- so, a pincher assault would be ideal.  Come in diagonal from the edges, fight on one side, and peel inward to surround once you hit the back.  It's harder with these numbers, but you're both good enough to do it."
A beat passed, a natural pause in which Phoebe dropped to a crouch and studied the gathering attackers who were, in turn, studying them.  In the silence, the First snatched bits and pieces of the air and her Will, and wove them end over end until a shimmer betrayed the rising barrier between the two groups.  There was an uneasy stillness which grew, marinading in anticipation, and Phoebe had no want to see it shattered by a surprise bullet.  When combat renewed, it wouldn't be with the Dead caught unaware.
As Phoebe wove, she thought, spinning through the scenarios and rubbing a growing bruise on the side of her knee.  After a moment, she spoke, "If she's smart, she'll come out while the flanks are engaged and chance the one-on-one with me."  A glance checked Ash and Shikai, watching for agreement or counter points.  "If that happens, I won't be able to cover you anymore - in that case, stay mobile, and pair up to cover each other's back.
I'll prioritize the guns."
 

The Greatertown Shopping Center
Location: Aelindra City, Rising West, Genesaris
Owner: TBA

Stores
Barry’s Bears and Toys for Girls and Boys: A toy factory that toils day in and day out to produce an enormous stock of children's toys and products from hairbrushes, cradles and onesies to action figures, dolls, bicycles and squirt guns. Gardens Inc.: On the surface Gardens Inc. is a massive gardening emporium full of fountains, fake grass, floaties, custom pools and gardens and pool and garden accessories of all shapes and sizes! Girdy’s Girders: This is a storefront for placing contracts and orders with the massive steel mill that produces steel and steam products. New Jidoor Hall: A huge inn and tavern with a beautiful courtyard in the middle. Priscilla's: A massive department store, connected to its manufacturer, for home goods and appliances, clothing, perfumes and colognes. Greater Bank Branch Daniel's Drinks and Smokes Wyte Nght Security Agency Humble Horsehoes: A delivery service that offers postage of any kind to be delivered across the world on safe, but swift horseback. It's store front being established in Aelindra City, Genesaris by It's whimsical but passionate Postmaster Gavel Armitage. The Cosmopolitan Cache: The storefront was beyond elegant-- far more on point in a place like Versilla or Aspyn, which was very up and coming on the style scene, it certainly classed up the place.  Inside, visitors would in time be able to find expensive and unique eccentricities from across the globe- jewels, baubles, one-of-a-kind exotic entries only found in specific places, or specific times, and always difficult to get. Catalyst Pharmaceuticals: A producer and global provider of painkiller, antibiotic, and other medicinal supplements and supplies. Welcome to The Greatertown Shopping Center,
Feel free to roleplay any shopping, slice of life, or small-scale thievery plots here!
Have cool ideas for stuff to sell? Want to build a market for your stuff? Build a shop in Greatertown!
(attempts to sabotage or destroy Greatertown may result in defense or interferance)
Credit for stores so far goes to: @amenities @Djinn&Juice @Noko @Zashiii

Honestly, if the grass had been black and the sky orange, Irri would have just accepted it as-is. Even here, as it was, she did not question the youth's proclamation of godhood, instead nodding slowly in a kind of understated awe. 
"I see....." She blinked, trying to figure out what sort of god he was: it was a fun game in symbolism to play, but at the moment, Irri was too fog-headed to have the slightest idea beyond the most obvious.
“You said you came from your Mother’s house?”
For a moment she prepared to nod again, certain that that was correct, when suddenly the boy crushed an entire fistful of the honey-sack and just.... went for it. Her eyes widened, both shocked and impressed. That amount of sweetness all at once would surely knock her unconscious, how could he stand so much at once? Was it because he was a god? The bees eagerly feasted with him on whatever came out; it was like a weird, tiny living ecosystem.
"Wow....." Irri breathed, watching him suddenly come to a new kind of life and skipping his way over. She stepped back slightly, not in alarm, but just so she wouldn't get accidentally whacked by the beehive, and bit her lower lip nervously when he stamped all over the Road. To her surprise though, the Road said nothing. Had it ever spoken...? 
“What Mother? Like Gaia??” His sudden eagerness, while charming, threw her off-guard and she had to stop for a moment, thinking. 
"Gaia.... Gaia....." She repeated, unsure if she had heard of this thing. Yes -- maybe once -- a word whispered among peaceful cultists somewhere, sometime, that her mind couldn't recall. The word brought a soothing comfort to her that she didn't understand, but when she reflected upon 'Mother'... 
Irri shivered. 
"No," She replied at last, wrapping her arms around herself as if to self-soothe. Her head gave a great twitch to the side, then another as it righted itself. "Mother was..... different. She wore skin and bones, and she danced on Father's spirit. She left me here..." 
Another pause, wherein she felt overcome by sorrow. For comfort, she repeated the name Gaia in her mind, then looked up and smiled hopefully at the boy, her senses uplifted by the warmth of his color and the smell of honey and the soothing buzz of lazy insects. She began firing off questions, eager to think of something else: "What is your name? Who is Gaia? Do you think they're nicer than Mother? Were you headed somewhere before, when you were humming?" 

Grass was black! The sky was orange! The air smelled like grapes! Just kidding, Irri’s observations of Valucre would actually be starkly similar to Earth’s makeup— at least, her first ones. The young ginger’s arrival, his appearance, would be the first weirdest sight she beheld.
“Are you some kind of forest spirit? Are they your friends?”
He pushed his goggles crudely up over his brow with the heel of his free hand. The frayed elastic band had once been of the utmost, probably military quality; it pushed his bright crimson red hair back over his brow, golden plates with the singular olives of his pupils focused on her. Bright, more knowledgeable than a fourteen-year-old’s could ever possibly be. The golden compact discs of his gaze pierced the daylight between them, and surely some godly wisdom would soon muffle through the honey-sacked gasmask.
“Yeah, I’m a forest spirit. A god actually,” the boy corrected, his finger raised like Max from Where the Wild Things Are. “You said you came from your Mother’s house?”
*Gushhh!*
The hand clenched, bees climbing between his knuckles and up his fingers around the sack of honey to eject a, one might say ‘gross,’ quantity of the honey-like substance into his mouth. It eked out of the seals on his cheeks, dripping down his chin. The bees that seemed disinterested in his flesh swarmed on the excess goo pouring down his throat and neck. His eyes never left her but they blurred, lost focus if even for just a milisecond as he ingested the honey. The next second though, the boy became conspicuously more lucid, almost exhilterated.
“What Mother?” he bounded across the road— all over the Road’s face, if it could be so sacrosanct— as he trounced his way toward her swinging the bee’s nest this way and that. “Like Gaia??”

Grass was black! The sky was orange! The air smelled like grapes! Just kidding, Irri’s observations of Valucre would actually be starkly similar to Earth’s makeup— at least, her first ones. The young ginger’s arrival, his appearance, would be the first weirdest sight she beheld.
“Are you some kind of forest spirit? Are they your friends?”
He pushed his goggles crudely up over his brow with the heel of his free hand. The frayed elastic band had once been of the utmost, probably military quality; it pushed his bright crimson red hair back over his brow, golden plates with the singular olives of his pupils focused on her. Bright, more knowledgeable than a fourteen-year-old’s could ever possibly be. The golden compact discs of his gaze pierced the daylight between them, and surely some godly wisdom would soon muffle through the honey-sacked gasmask.
“Yeah, I’m a forest spirit. A god actually,” the boy corrected, his finger raised like Max from Where the Wild Things Are. “You said you came from your Mother’s house?”
*Gushhh!*
The hand clenched, bees climbing between his knuckles and up his fingers around the sack of honey to eject a, one might say ‘gross,’ quantity of the honey-like substance into his mouth. It eked out of the seals on his cheeks, dripping down his chin. The bees that seemed disinterested in his flesh swarmed on the excess goo pouring down his throat and neck. His eyes never left her but they blurred, lost focus if even for just a milisecond as he ingested the honey. The next second though, the boy became conspicuously more lucid, almost exhilterated.
“What Mother?” he bounded across the road— all over the Road’s face, if it could be so sacrosanct— as he trounced his way toward her swinging the bee’s nest this way and that. “Like Gaia??”

Was this what it was like, to be born for the first time as an adult, with full comprehension of the world around you? Irri understood what trees and grass were, what sunshine and rain were, but she was entranced by these things all the same, stopping frequently to stare at or listen to things; on occasion she would catch a pattern in the song of the birds and would try to sing back, or find herself particularly lost in the spirals and whorls of the younger, developing ferns. Eyes seemed to wink in and out of the leaves, branches, and blades of grass, as though watching her. 
It's only fair, She thought. I'm watching them too, after all.
Close enough was she watching, that when the eyes all suddenly blinked out of existence at once -- so quickly she was unsure if they had ever been there at all -- and when the soundscape around her shifted about to a new focal point -- Irri immediately stopped where she was and peered around. The ghost of anxiety niggled at her gut, but with an apparently fresh life, her curiosity was greater. 
And it was not disappointed. 
While taken aback by the sight, her scarred mouth found a delighted smile. The boy looked too young to be out here alone, from what she could see of him, but he also appeared to be carrying his own small-but-mighty army with him, and the more she watched that army's behavior, the more she became convinced that this boy, too, wasn't real. She tipped her head back slightly towards the path behind her while keeping her eyes on the youth. 
"Road..?" She asked, but the road had fallen silent. On her own to decide the legitimacy of the vision, with naught but darkened lenses to gaze into for living connection, she stepped forward slightly to greet him. He peered around, then, seeming to be curious, spoke first: 
“Where’d you come from?”
Irri opened her mouth to say something, but her brow furrowed and she shut it almost immediately, realizing as if for the first time that she...... didn't know. 
"I....." Her face scrunched up slightly and she lifted her hands, rubbing her temples, clearly thinking about the question. Her gaze drifted away from the youth and towards the sky, and she stared at it for several moments before her hands slowly lowered. 
"............Mother's house...." She finally answered, unsure what she even meant, and paused a moment, lost in thought, before looking back to the stranger with all the bees. Her smile returned, twisting her scars and marks into a new, but not less terrible pattern. "Are you some kind of forest spirit? Are they your friends?" She gestured to the bees.

Zack looked around for anything he could grab onto, his frantic gaze fixating on a pipe by the far wall. He rushed over to it as quietly as he could and grabbed onto it. His rattled nerves caused his grip to be just tight enough to make the pipe creak ever so slightly. Something about being bitten into and ripped apart by some kind of animal just seemed far more mortifying than getting shot, blown up, or stabbed. His boss had made it a point to set Zack up on jobs that got him 'acquainted' with the wild-life native to the planet, and Zack learned really fast that there was a reason the Spire never tried to set up shop in lands uninhabited by humans. 
"O-okay!" Jerry nodded, his hands becoming even shakier. His eyes kept flicking up to the busted window Zack had come through, his ears listening hard in case the metallic thumps started heading it's way. He'd never been this scared in his life, which he felt was a big deal since he often flew injured combatants in and out of gunfights. He figured that the reason why had something to do with the fact that he could not see a way out of this. Below was death, inside the ship was death, and outside the ship was death. 
"Father always told me to avoid the number three." Jerry muttered as he heard more thumps echo throughout the cockpit. "Thought he was talkin' about women!"
He waited nervously for Mara to say when, trying to resist the urge to make the maneuver early.

This day was as bright and sunny as any other. The girl who walked beside the road would notice birds in the air, hear the sounds of wildlife in the lush wilds, feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, if those senses were in her wheelhouse. Trampling the halfling ferns and braving the prickly bushes, the wasteland girl talked to nobody while walking in her particular way. Somewhere along her dialogue she would notice a quieting of the wildlife before her. Or rather, not so much a quieting as an overcoming, one that came from another source.
Thing was, the girl wasn’t alone.
A disjointed rhythm, close to a popular Terran song from a couple years ago but off by a couple octaves, hummed in a perpendicular line toward the path down which she walked.
Quiet at first, then louder and louder, the sound of a stick whacking tall bushes grew and grew until the girl would swear it was right on top of her. Suddenly, straight across the road beside which she walked and to which she spoke, a gnarled staff swatted horizontally across the fruitful crops and halved them. Behind them stood a thin ginger boy of about fourteen with goggles and a badly weathered gasmask on his face. Within the valve where a canister would once exist, there was simply a golden sack of what appeared to be honey.

‘Madness,’ she might think. Why would she find anyone out here, especially a kid wearing a gas mask with… a bag of honey on it?
Then, as the two stared at each other, the rest of him would come into focus. His staff was of majorly durable make with purple runes encircling it. On its crown sat an active, quite alive beehive. Bees and beelike insects belonging to all different sorts of colonies converged on the perfect hive to sup on its purple honey before buzzing off. None of the bees paid any mind to the girl, but they climbed across the boy’s face and neck in large disinterest even with him.
The boy looked to the left, then the right. As far as the eye could see, the road was empty. Then the black lenses covering his eyes faced her.
“Where’d you come from?”

This day was as bright and sunny as any other. The girl who walked beside the road would notice birds in the air, hear the sounds of wildlife in the lush wilds, feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, if those senses were in her wheelhouse. Trampling the halfling ferns and braving the prickly bushes, the wasteland girl talked to nobody while walking in her particular way. Somewhere along her dialogue she would notice a quieting of the wildlife before her. Or rather, not so much a quieting as an overcoming, one that came from another source.
Thing was, the girl wasn’t alone.
A disjointed rhythm, close to a popular Terran song from a couple years ago but off by a couple octaves, hummed in a perpendicular line toward the path down which she walked.
Quiet at first, then louder and louder, the sound of a stick whacking tall bushes grew and grew until the girl would swear it was right on top of her. Suddenly, straight across the road beside which she walked and to which she spoke, a gnarled staff swatted horizontally across the fruitful crops and halved them. Behind them stood a thin ginger boy of about fourteen with goggles and a badly weathered gasmask on his face. Within the valve where a canister would once exist, there was simply a golden sack of what appeared to be honey.

‘Madness,’ she might think. Why would she find anyone out here, especially a kid wearing a gas mask with… a bag of honey on it?
Then, as the two stared at each other, the rest of him would come into focus. His staff was of majorly durable make with purple runes encircling it. On its crown sat an active, quite alive beehive. Bees and beelike insects belonging to all different sorts of colonies converged on the perfect hive to sup on its purple honey before buzzing off. None of the bees paid any mind to the girl, but they climbed across the boy’s face and neck in large disinterest even with him.
The boy looked to the left, then the right. As far as the eye could see, the road was empty. Then the black lenses covering his eyes faced her.
“Where’d you come from?”

Brutus himself, meanwhile, was standing at a table on the deck. He had made good with Prose's acting navigator, and being a skilled man of directions himself, took to the duty of assisting the effort of charting the course. In the warmth of the morning sun, he stretched and yawned, rubbing a tired eye with a bare hand. Regardless of the circumstances of the night prior and his typical drunken antics, he was tired for want of a better sleep-- greater than that which was afforded to him in the company of Kaznahni sailors.
Ritualistically, he mechanically produced a wooden pipe, but struggled to light it; the winds carried the craft into the open sea, thought the effect it had on small flames was less than desirable. With each strike of a match, the puttering of phosphorus was silenced and choked by the whistling tune of the breezes. Try as he might with dismay, however, he abandons the effort with a ceremonious curse and a huff as he forced the device back into his cape. On his journey alongside him was a valet by the name of Cacambo. He was a lad as brilliant as his master, though of far less importance-- Primarily, he fetched the tea or the coffee, and the occasional drop of rum for either. He did good in this occupation, supplying a small kettle's worth of refreshments for the small cadre of people around the atlas which sought to guide our protagonists. The transparently-amber liquid radiated steam as it settled itself into a porcelain cup, which rocked with the primitive vessel and splashed one of the parchments laid out.
Another soft groan from Brutus.
"Damn these currents."
He was less patient and more surly by every minute at sea he spent cursing the shores of Kaznah. Then came the approach by the enigmatic Prose.
"...I can see you've wasted no time trying to meet your companions, now that they're hung over and trying the seas on for size. She's a fine brig, though I lament the lack of engines."
Brutus rubbed his nose as it was tickled by his beverage.
"Once you're through, we can finally talk about these charts. I don't know where you got them from, but if they're to be believed, we have an arduous journey ahead."

Some battles are fought between singular men; some, singular armies within a bowled arena; but the majority of the very most realistic battles are fought in the hearts and minds of the soldiers and the very citizens behind them. These majority battles are widespread, panicked, and shrouded in both visual and moral haze (And not the Odin kind!). Without ever averting his gaze, the schematics of deaths deep within Aspyn informed Michael that this was its own special type of hell.
“Don’t talk about—"
‘Sir! Foreign vessel in friendly skies. Energy signatures mounting in its hull.’
Tori’s data lanced through Michael’s emotions like a scalpel through a boil. As he brought his hands forward, Tori visualized the building hum in the Banzai’s belly leading to a conceivable point where it would discharge, and the release of Michael’s energy came in correspondent prematurity. It wasn’t some vainglorious attempt at taking all the credit for stopping the rounds— he neither knew what dimension they would come in or that he could even do such a thing— but at the sheer fraction of a possibility that the two attacks could combine for double devastation on the arch-demon.
What this did was two things: 1) Kahd’Xel, with all his smoke and mirrors, would be pinned between the searing grill of Michael’s explaudere and one of the Banzai’s seven rounds. 2) The six rounds that had nearly whizzed past the dueling good and evil at ultrasonic speeds would instead be met with the 100-yard-diameter fan of indomitable white light that expanded from the Major. (It was his coup de grâce, the largest of his energy saved for the singular blow he planned to deliver all along; and this time, it pinned the arch-demon between its original assailant and the far-off Banzai.) Two rounds would raze the forest in each cardinal direction, destroying no shortage of wildlife and charring the outsides of the wall but leaving it intact. One of the two remaining arced upward, blazing up into the stars, leaving the last to plummet with due devastation into the wall behind Michael.
Two blasts, first the initial impact of Michael vs. Kahd and second the whoosh of air following the Banzai’s artillery, sent ripples across the hazed terrain. The sound of a thousand jet engines, the exploding heart of a tsunami blew soldiers and alien bugs back several steps just by being in the same vicinity. Amazingly, in their frantic bids for survival, each side raged on unsure where the bombardment had come from. It was likely that only later data would provide such insights to most of the forces.
The Xelken were visibly slowed by the impediment of their master’s signal as Kahd fell down to two of his four knees. An insectoid roar screed from his putrid maw as he half lunged, half fell forward toward the fatigued Michael. Michael needed only step back, back, and to the right to avoid the falling alien mass that had blasphemed his mother’s name. Some day, perhaps, Michael would learn that he was but a simple beggar child from the streets of Weland. But today was not the day, from this demon’s lips was not the way.
While Kahd’Xel flailed on the ground like a massive moth that had been stomped not quite hard enough, Michael stepped away to watch the psychic alien horror writhe. Meanwhile, water elementals encroached on Kahd with freeze spells and vials of de-animation potions that would slow his movements on a metaphysical level.
‘It seems like the Xelken were a Trojan horse for something else,’ Tori said, projecting images of the city’s inner damage to Michael as he backed away from the giant flailing moth with blood spewing from the gape in its neck, with charred flesh abounding on its chest and face that cracked disgustingly with its every convulsion to ooze green goo that sizzled when it sprayed and dripped on the ground.
“Are units responding?” He said, falling to one knee as he clutched one forearm with his other hand. The exhaustion from generating ventilation crystals for Kahd’s energy and generating such an attack as he had so quickly bore down on him with ultimate punishment.
‘Of course.’ Tori’s voice was a knowing flow of forgiveness against his pain.
Intricacies that would clear up much slower than the fog of this particular battle unfolded between the ultra hawks and HGA. It appeared that unnaturals felt they could trounce the very land that was created out of, created just for the purposes of fending off their first evil ventures.
Immediately upon the release of Unnatural and undead horrors from HGA, Terran soldiers in conjunction with Gaian clergymen closed in on the locale. There was no ‘even if they’re helping us’ or ‘well this unnatural might kill everyone in its vicinity but it also prevents Kahd-rona’ clause. There was only a ‘destroy all unnatural invaders’ clause. People of Gaia’s faith already having surrounded the HGA enclosure, the approaching cadre headed by the thrown ultra hawk would find the HGA monstrosities throttled down the singular roadway down which the ultra hawk was headed, with clergymen and women standing on the rooftops. From these vantage points scattered around the blocks, they shot down on the approaching Xelken and Unnaturals, picking off with intermediate effectiveness the alien horde with its infected legions and unexpected weapons. 
From the Rec Center outward there fountained a holy mist, ethereal lattices containing holy aura that scarred the beings affected by necromantic energy and helped immunize those on the field against the plagues of the Xelken. Within an hour, the entire city would be raining with the rapidly expanding and willed-forth energy all the way to from jungle to coast, and it would be clear that Aspyn was no easy target for Unnatural invaders.
Meanwhile, any alien creatures that could supposedly be running under non-necromantic magics were continually barraged with elemental (particularly ice and fire) attacks until they hit the ground. When they did hit the ground, virtually 65% of the citizen population knew enough geomancy to encase them in a tomb of stone or at least restrain them through geomancy until they could be addressed by ranking officials.

Galleons Isle was an island near the cluster of islands that composed Kaznah that had a bustling port. Typically its boardwalks were busy with traders, merchants, and sailors unloading cargo or seeking out a drink and some shade to sit in. Every now and then, however, there was a quiet night between arrivals. This was one of those, and it was just right for the type of crowd Prose was trying to draw.
The experienced sailor gone wrong sat in the back corner of a tavern. From the swinging saloon doors she looked like a shadow in her black doublet, and approaching it became clear why: Prose' skin was like a thin film of clear plasma filled with black liquid. On her face there were no features, no eyes.
Picking up a dark drink and pouring the entire thing into the black space that was her mouth, the jellyfish woman set the empty glass beside her tricorn on the table and waited for those who'd answered her flier. A bartender wordlessly brought her another drink, good, just as he had been instructed. He didn't look at her for too long, good, just as he had been instructed.
"Rumors have it that, somewhere in the seas around the shattered island ruins of Kaznah, Faejarhe, there is an unfathomable treasure left by the gods who abandoned Kaznah. Whoever has it is said to be able to navigate air and sea flawlessly no matter where they are, and the most infamous of the Pirate Era were renowned to possess this piece of treasure. 
Join Prose Letariat, a seasoned pirate adventurer, in her search for the Kaznah Piece!"
@supernal @Glamses @Sirloin

Looking out at the gathering crowds in the bar, the transparent captain wondered who among them would be her answerers.
"But that's enough, lads. You'll poke a hole through the roof if I carried on!"
Swallowing another mug of the strongest ale the six seas had to offer, Prose drew her expressionless expression to the man she would soon know as Brutus fondly as he roused sailors, drunkards, and everyone in between with his story (almost literally). When Prose was still a human, captaining her own ship in the South Sea, she’d laughed and danced and got stone shitfaced with her men just like that. Loss of her crew had caused her sadness, anger, and the ultimate decease of that personality. While her passion for damn treasure and power couldn’t be dulled by a thing in the world— a quality Vassago would catch onto most quickly— the once human now jellyfish lady was, one might daresay, a touch more bitter. 
The purposeful arrival of the man who Prose would soon know ‘cooks,’ did not catch her off guard; he would be the first to reach her, the first to be met with a handshake. Her hand paused one third of the space between them. If he met the handshake, Ruiser would feel an incredibly firm grasp and a hand the texture of damp noodles. 
“I cook.”
“Good enough,” she said, her eyeless divots resting on him as electricity concordant with her brusquely feminine voice grumbled up within the depths of her black-jacketed form like a lightning storm.
“I’m here for work,” the next came directly on the tail end of Prose and Ruiser’s not tense, but casually curt interaction.
Another man came, and then another. And then...
“Brutus di Villanueva. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I'm sure you have heard of me, but I am more than interested in you."
“Who now?” She said, rising to address the ten-or-so who had come. “Never heard of ya, charmer.”
“Listen, ye fucking dogs.” 
Her brutal voice, the thunder within the black clouds that filled her jellyfish body, cracked sharply. Not just the men around them but the entire tavern went silent. Standing within her trenchcoat, placing the red tricorn with a black feather on her sparking dome, she posed a demanding presence.
“What’s it give you to work all your days for a penny, just to stay strong so you can work some more?” The manipulation of Prose’s lips was an anomaly in itself, the thunderstorm erupting within her body like a visualizer for her voice another anomaly. She pointed at the sky as she swallowed another flagon of potent ale. “While those rich bastards at the top just hang out and reap the benefits of your hard work! Screw that! Take off your master’s raggedy leashes and strangle them with ‘em! They’re weak, they depend on us. Their gold is already right in front of us every day!”
Now Prose was standing on the bench that ran along the back wall, pacing as she spoke. The bartender had grown even quieter, fearing for his life despite never having been visibly threatened by Prose.
“All you need—” she reached her hands into the deep pockets of her coat as she paced.
“Is to take it.”
Golden coins showered down on the sailors and the pirates. Some were seasoned, some were wannabes, some hadn’t even been there at the beginning of her speech— but one thing was certain: the crowd she’d drawn in the tavern would only grow. As busy as the small seaside bar could be, it was that night with people buying drinks on the jellyfish woman’s stash of unknown origins. It was a raucous party that went into the latest hours of the night and the earliest of the next morning. Perhaps it was purposeful, too, because the crowd would be much smaller once the free booze wore off and it was time to leave the next morning.
So it was that there were about a dozen of them the next morning, taking off on the ship.

All of them were handed their own duty according to what they could best help with on the ship. Now that they were sailing out of harbor, Prose approached each of them in the salty morning air.
“Don’t know about you boys but my eyes’re spry this morning! How’re ye feeling? What’s yer name?”
She asked all of them the same questions except, exceptionally, Brutus, the only one to have introduced himself.

Some battles are fought between singular men; some, singular armies within a bowled arena; but the majority of the very most realistic battles are fought in the hearts and minds of the soldiers and the very citizens behind them. These majority battles are widespread, panicked, and shrouded in both visual and moral haze (And not the Odin kind!). Without ever averting his gaze, the schematics of deaths deep within Aspyn informed Michael that this was its own special type of hell.
“Don’t talk about—"
‘Sir! Foreign vessel in friendly skies. Energy signatures mounting in its hull.’
Tori’s data lanced through Michael’s emotions like a scalpel through a boil. As he brought his hands forward, Tori visualized the building hum in the Banzai’s belly leading to a conceivable point where it would discharge, and the release of Michael’s energy came in correspondent prematurity. It wasn’t some vainglorious attempt at taking all the credit for stopping the rounds— he neither knew what dimension they would come in or that he could even do such a thing— but at the sheer fraction of a possibility that the two attacks could combine for double devastation on the arch-demon.
What this did was two things: 1) Kahd’Xel, with all his smoke and mirrors, would be pinned between the searing grill of Michael’s explaudere and one of the Banzai’s seven rounds. 2) The six rounds that had nearly whizzed past the dueling good and evil at ultrasonic speeds would instead be met with the 100-yard-diameter fan of indomitable white light that expanded from the Major. (It was his coup de grâce, the largest of his energy saved for the singular blow he planned to deliver all along; and this time, it pinned the arch-demon between its original assailant and the far-off Banzai.) Two rounds would raze the forest in each cardinal direction, destroying no shortage of wildlife and charring the outsides of the wall but leaving it intact. One of the two remaining arced upward, blazing up into the stars, leaving the last to plummet with due devastation into the wall behind Michael.
Two blasts, first the initial impact of Michael vs. Kahd and second the whoosh of air following the Banzai’s artillery, sent ripples across the hazed terrain. The sound of a thousand jet engines, the exploding heart of a tsunami blew soldiers and alien bugs back several steps just by being in the same vicinity. Amazingly, in their frantic bids for survival, each side raged on unsure where the bombardment had come from. It was likely that only later data would provide such insights to most of the forces.
The Xelken were visibly slowed by the impediment of their master’s signal as Kahd fell down to two of his four knees. An insectoid roar screed from his putrid maw as he half lunged, half fell forward toward the fatigued Michael. Michael needed only step back, back, and to the right to avoid the falling alien mass that had blasphemed his mother’s name. Some day, perhaps, Michael would learn that he was but a simple beggar child from the streets of Weland. But today was not the day, from this demon’s lips was not the way.
While Kahd’Xel flailed on the ground like a massive moth that had been stomped not quite hard enough, Michael stepped away to watch the psychic alien horror writhe. Meanwhile, water elementals encroached on Kahd with freeze spells and vials of de-animation potions that would slow his movements on a metaphysical level.
‘It seems like the Xelken were a Trojan horse for something else,’ Tori said, projecting images of the city’s inner damage to Michael as he backed away from the giant flailing moth with blood spewing from the gape in its neck, with charred flesh abounding on its chest and face that cracked disgustingly with its every convulsion to ooze green goo that sizzled when it sprayed and dripped on the ground.
“Are units responding?” He said, falling to one knee as he clutched one forearm with his other hand. The exhaustion from generating ventilation crystals for Kahd’s energy and generating such an attack as he had so quickly bore down on him with ultimate punishment.
‘Of course.’ Tori’s voice was a knowing flow of forgiveness against his pain.
Intricacies that would clear up much slower than the fog of this particular battle unfolded between the ultra hawks and HGA. It appeared that unnaturals felt they could trounce the very land that was created out of, created just for the purposes of fending off their first evil ventures.
Immediately upon the release of Unnatural and undead horrors from HGA, Terran soldiers in conjunction with Gaian clergymen closed in on the locale. There was no ‘even if they’re helping us’ or ‘well this unnatural might kill everyone in its vicinity but it also prevents Kahd-rona’ clause. There was only a ‘destroy all unnatural invaders’ clause. People of Gaia’s faith already having surrounded the HGA enclosure, the approaching cadre headed by the thrown ultra hawk would find the HGA monstrosities throttled down the singular roadway down which the ultra hawk was headed, with clergymen and women standing on the rooftops. From these vantage points scattered around the blocks, they shot down on the approaching Xelken and Unnaturals, picking off with intermediate effectiveness the alien horde with its infected legions and unexpected weapons. 
From the Rec Center outward there fountained a holy mist, ethereal lattices containing holy aura that scarred the beings affected by necromantic energy and helped immunize those on the field against the plagues of the Xelken. Within an hour, the entire city would be raining with the rapidly expanding and willed-forth energy all the way to from jungle to coast, and it would be clear that Aspyn was no easy target for Unnatural invaders.
Meanwhile, any alien creatures that could supposedly be running under non-necromantic magics were continually barraged with elemental (particularly ice and fire) attacks until they hit the ground. When they did hit the ground, virtually 65% of the citizen population knew enough geomancy to encase them in a tomb of stone or at least restrain them through geomancy until they could be addressed by ranking officials.

Some battles are fought between singular men; some, singular armies within a bowled arena; but the majority of the very most realistic battles are fought in the hearts and minds of the soldiers and the very citizens behind them. These majority battles are widespread, panicked, and shrouded in both visual and moral haze (And not the Odin kind!). Without ever averting his gaze, the schematics of deaths deep within Aspyn informed Michael that this was its own special type of hell.
“Don’t talk about—"
‘Sir! Foreign vessel in friendly skies. Energy signatures mounting in its hull.’
Tori’s data lanced through Michael’s emotions like a scalpel through a boil. As he brought his hands forward, Tori visualized the building hum in the Banzai’s belly leading to a conceivable point where it would discharge, and the release of Michael’s energy came in correspondent prematurity. It wasn’t some vainglorious attempt at taking all the credit for stopping the rounds— he neither knew what dimension they would come in or that he could even do such a thing— but at the sheer fraction of a possibility that the two attacks could combine for double devastation on the arch-demon.
What this did was two things: 1) Kahd’Xel, with all his smoke and mirrors, would be pinned between the searing grill of Michael’s explaudere and one of the Banzai’s seven rounds. 2) The six rounds that had nearly whizzed past the dueling good and evil at ultrasonic speeds would instead be met with the 100-yard-diameter fan of indomitable white light that expanded from the Major. (It was his coup de grâce, the largest of his energy saved for the singular blow he planned to deliver all along; and this time, it pinned the arch-demon between its original assailant and the far-off Banzai.) Two rounds would raze the forest in each cardinal direction, destroying no shortage of wildlife and charring the outsides of the wall but leaving it intact. One of the two remaining arced upward, blazing up into the stars, leaving the last to plummet with due devastation into the wall behind Michael.
Two blasts, first the initial impact of Michael vs. Kahd and second the whoosh of air following the Banzai’s artillery, sent ripples across the hazed terrain. The sound of a thousand jet engines, the exploding heart of a tsunami blew soldiers and alien bugs back several steps just by being in the same vicinity. Amazingly, in their frantic bids for survival, each side raged on unsure where the bombardment had come from. It was likely that only later data would provide such insights to most of the forces.
The Xelken were visibly slowed by the impediment of their master’s signal as Kahd fell down to two of his four knees. An insectoid roar screed from his putrid maw as he half lunged, half fell forward toward the fatigued Michael. Michael needed only step back, back, and to the right to avoid the falling alien mass that had blasphemed his mother’s name. Some day, perhaps, Michael would learn that he was but a simple beggar child from the streets of Weland. But today was not the day, from this demon’s lips was not the way.
While Kahd’Xel flailed on the ground like a massive moth that had been stomped not quite hard enough, Michael stepped away to watch the psychic alien horror writhe. Meanwhile, water elementals encroached on Kahd with freeze spells and vials of de-animation potions that would slow his movements on a metaphysical level.
‘It seems like the Xelken were a Trojan horse for something else,’ Tori said, projecting images of the city’s inner damage to Michael as he backed away from the giant flailing moth with blood spewing from the gape in its neck, with charred flesh abounding on its chest and face that cracked disgustingly with its every convulsion to ooze green goo that sizzled when it sprayed and dripped on the ground.
“Are units responding?” He said, falling to one knee as he clutched one forearm with his other hand. The exhaustion from generating ventilation crystals for Kahd’s energy and generating such an attack as he had so quickly bore down on him with ultimate punishment.
‘Of course.’ Tori’s voice was a knowing flow of forgiveness against his pain.
Intricacies that would clear up much slower than the fog of this particular battle unfolded between the ultra hawks and HGA. It appeared that unnaturals felt they could trounce the very land that was created out of, created just for the purposes of fending off their first evil ventures.
Immediately upon the release of Unnatural and undead horrors from HGA, Terran soldiers in conjunction with Gaian clergymen closed in on the locale. There was no ‘even if they’re helping us’ or ‘well this unnatural might kill everyone in its vicinity but it also prevents Kahd-rona’ clause. There was only a ‘destroy all unnatural invaders’ clause. People of Gaia’s faith already having surrounded the HGA enclosure, the approaching cadre headed by the thrown ultra hawk would find the HGA monstrosities throttled down the singular roadway down which the ultra hawk was headed, with clergymen and women standing on the rooftops. From these vantage points scattered around the blocks, they shot down on the approaching Xelken and Unnaturals, picking off with intermediate effectiveness the alien horde with its infected legions and unexpected weapons. 
From the Rec Center outward there fountained a holy mist, ethereal lattices containing holy aura that scarred the beings affected by necromantic energy and helped immunize those on the field against the plagues of the Xelken. Within an hour, the entire city would be raining with the rapidly expanding and willed-forth energy all the way to from jungle to coast, and it would be clear that Aspyn was no easy target for Unnatural invaders.
Meanwhile, any alien creatures that could supposedly be running under non-necromantic magics were continually barraged with elemental (particularly ice and fire) attacks until they hit the ground. When they did hit the ground, virtually 65% of the citizen population knew enough geomancy to encase them in a tomb of stone or at least restrain them through geomancy until they could be addressed by ranking officials.

Some battles are fought between singular men; some, singular armies within a bowled arena; but the majority of the very most realistic battles are fought in the hearts and minds of the soldiers and the very citizens behind them. These majority battles are widespread, panicked, and shrouded in both visual and moral haze (And not the Odin kind!). Without ever averting his gaze, the schematics of deaths deep within Aspyn informed Michael that this was its own special type of hell.
“Don’t talk about—"
‘Sir! Foreign vessel in friendly skies. Energy signatures mounting in its hull.’
Tori’s data lanced through Michael’s emotions like a scalpel through a boil. As he brought his hands forward, Tori visualized the building hum in the Banzai’s belly leading to a conceivable point where it would discharge, and the release of Michael’s energy came in correspondent prematurity. It wasn’t some vainglorious attempt at taking all the credit for stopping the rounds— he neither knew what dimension they would come in or that he could even do such a thing— but at the sheer fraction of a possibility that the two attacks could combine for double devastation on the arch-demon.
What this did was two things: 1) Kahd’Xel, with all his smoke and mirrors, would be pinned between the searing grill of Michael’s explaudere and one of the Banzai’s seven rounds. 2) The six rounds that had nearly whizzed past the dueling good and evil at ultrasonic speeds would instead be met with the 100-yard-diameter fan of indomitable white light that expanded from the Major. (It was his coup de grâce, the largest of his energy saved for the singular blow he planned to deliver all along; and this time, it pinned the arch-demon between its original assailant and the far-off Banzai.) Two rounds would raze the forest in each cardinal direction, destroying no shortage of wildlife and charring the outsides of the wall but leaving it intact. One of the two remaining arced upward, blazing up into the stars, leaving the last to plummet with due devastation into the wall behind Michael.
Two blasts, first the initial impact of Michael vs. Kahd and second the whoosh of air following the Banzai’s artillery, sent ripples across the hazed terrain. The sound of a thousand jet engines, the exploding heart of a tsunami blew soldiers and alien bugs back several steps just by being in the same vicinity. Amazingly, in their frantic bids for survival, each side raged on unsure where the bombardment had come from. It was likely that only later data would provide such insights to most of the forces.
The Xelken were visibly slowed by the impediment of their master’s signal as Kahd fell down to two of his four knees. An insectoid roar screed from his putrid maw as he half lunged, half fell forward toward the fatigued Michael. Michael needed only step back, back, and to the right to avoid the falling alien mass that had blasphemed his mother’s name. Some day, perhaps, Michael would learn that he was but a simple beggar child from the streets of Weland. But today was not the day, from this demon’s lips was not the way.
While Kahd’Xel flailed on the ground like a massive moth that had been stomped not quite hard enough, Michael stepped away to watch the psychic alien horror writhe. Meanwhile, water elementals encroached on Kahd with freeze spells and vials of de-animation potions that would slow his movements on a metaphysical level.
‘It seems like the Xelken were a Trojan horse for something else,’ Tori said, projecting images of the city’s inner damage to Michael as he backed away from the giant flailing moth with blood spewing from the gape in its neck, with charred flesh abounding on its chest and face that cracked disgustingly with its every convulsion to ooze green goo that sizzled when it sprayed and dripped on the ground.
“Are units responding?” He said, falling to one knee as he clutched one forearm with his other hand. The exhaustion from generating ventilation crystals for Kahd’s energy and generating such an attack as he had so quickly bore down on him with ultimate punishment.
‘Of course.’ Tori’s voice was a knowing flow of forgiveness against his pain.
Intricacies that would clear up much slower than the fog of this particular battle unfolded between the ultra hawks and HGA. It appeared that unnaturals felt they could trounce the very land that was created out of, created just for the purposes of fending off their first evil ventures.
Immediately upon the release of Unnatural and undead horrors from HGA, Terran soldiers in conjunction with Gaian clergymen closed in on the locale. There was no ‘even if they’re helping us’ or ‘well this unnatural might kill everyone in its vicinity but it also prevents Kahd-rona’ clause. There was only a ‘destroy all unnatural invaders’ clause. People of Gaia’s faith already having surrounded the HGA enclosure, the approaching cadre headed by the thrown ultra hawk would find the HGA monstrosities throttled down the singular roadway down which the ultra hawk was headed, with clergymen and women standing on the rooftops. From these vantage points scattered around the blocks, they shot down on the approaching Xelken and Unnaturals, picking off with intermediate effectiveness the alien horde with its infected legions and unexpected weapons. 
From the Rec Center outward there fountained a holy mist, ethereal lattices containing holy aura that scarred the beings affected by necromantic energy and helped immunize those on the field against the plagues of the Xelken. Within an hour, the entire city would be raining with the rapidly expanding and willed-forth energy all the way to from jungle to coast, and it would be clear that Aspyn was no easy target for Unnatural invaders.
Meanwhile, any alien creatures that could supposedly be running under non-necromantic magics were continually barraged with elemental (particularly ice and fire) attacks until they hit the ground. When they did hit the ground, virtually 65% of the citizen population knew enough geomancy to encase them in a tomb of stone or at least restrain them through geomancy until they could be addressed by ranking officials.

Galleons Isle was an island near the cluster of islands that composed Kaznah that had a bustling port. Typically its boardwalks were busy with traders, merchants, and sailors unloading cargo or seeking out a drink and some shade to sit in. Every now and then, however, there was a quiet night between arrivals. This was one of those, and it was just right for the type of crowd Prose was trying to draw.
The experienced sailor gone wrong sat in the back corner of a tavern. From the swinging saloon doors she looked like a shadow in her black doublet, and approaching it became clear why: Prose' skin was like a thin film of clear plasma filled with black liquid. On her face there were no features, no eyes.
Picking up a dark drink and pouring the entire thing into the black space that was her mouth, the jellyfish woman set the empty glass beside her tricorn on the table and waited for those who'd answered her flier. A bartender wordlessly brought her another drink, good, just as he had been instructed. He didn't look at her for too long, good, just as he had been instructed.
"Rumors have it that, somewhere in the seas around the shattered island ruins of Kaznah, Faejarhe, there is an unfathomable treasure left by the gods who abandoned Kaznah. Whoever has it is said to be able to navigate air and sea flawlessly no matter where they are, and the most infamous of the Pirate Era were renowned to possess this piece of treasure. 
Join Prose Letariat, a seasoned pirate adventurer, in her search for the Kaznah Piece!"
@supernal @Glamses @Sirloin

Galleons Isle was an island near the cluster of islands that composed Kaznah that had a bustling port. Typically its boardwalks were busy with traders, merchants, and sailors unloading cargo or seeking out a drink and some shade to sit in. Every now and then, however, there was a quiet night between arrivals. This was one of those, and it was just right for the type of crowd Prose was trying to draw.
The experienced sailor gone wrong sat in the back corner of a tavern. From the swinging saloon doors she looked like a shadow in her black doublet, and approaching it became clear why: Prose' skin was like a thin film of clear plasma filled with black liquid. On her face there were no features, no eyes.
Picking up a dark drink and pouring the entire thing into the black space that was her mouth, the jellyfish woman set the empty glass beside her tricorn on the table and waited for those who'd answered her flier. A bartender wordlessly brought her another drink, good, just as he had been instructed. He didn't look at her for too long, good, just as he had been instructed.
"Rumors have it that, somewhere in the seas around the shattered island ruins of Kaznah, Faejarhe, there is an unfathomable treasure left by the gods who abandoned Kaznah. Whoever has it is said to be able to navigate air and sea flawlessly no matter where they are, and the most infamous of the Pirate Era were renowned to possess this piece of treasure. 
Join Prose Letariat, a seasoned pirate adventurer, in her search for the Kaznah Piece!"
@supernal @Glamses @Sirloin

A disconnect between body and mind, soul and spirit. The alchemical marriage of man and devil. That was Vassago’s existence, after fleeing society to gain complete control over his vessel and host he found himself here. The child’s mind had been mostly devoured, absorbed into the womb of darkness to form a chimera of the two beings. He had put up a decent fight. But in the end Vassago prevailed, the only remnant of the child’s existence was his body and brief flickers of human morality, like a single candlelight in the eternal abyss of hell.
Necessity had drawn him here, living amongst the beasts of the wild and nymphs of the forest was doable, but his greed filled desires needed to be quenched. This was a path of conquest so to speak. To establish for himself a stronghold for his power to be channeled past the umbral plains and into this realm after his inevitable demise. His gear was still subpar by his standards and he had yet to find a way to channel his true power or even to call upon the legions of spirits under his command, his experiments with the limit of power this body could hold we're incredibly disappointing. It was like a connection had been cut between him and his fiendish kingdom... Damn that blasted goddess. He’d vowed to one day devour her soul and become a nether god.
Entering into the sloon was an unceremonious thing. Nothing fancy or out of place, just a man walking inside leaving his war scythe at the door. The tall ebony male clad in leather armor wasn't an intimidating sight to behold and appeared to be more of a farmer than anything, certainly not a spirit from the other side hellbent on increasing his hoard of various treasures. The flier he had found was certainly enticing, the treasure of the gods, well that was something he certainly had to see for himself. Looking at the piece of paper and the several fellows centered around the shadowy woman rung all sorts of bells in his mind, this was the place, and that was Prose. 
Approaching her Vassago rolled up the flier and help it limply in his right hand. ”I’m here for work.” his words sounded strange initially, his infernal accent ringing for a word or two before his tongue unconsciously assimilated to the patterns of speech and linguistics of the others in the saloon. It was to the point, he had no desire in beating around the bush.

*"I've made enough progress that I think I could barter them down from beating me to a pulp to just a few broken bones. But this could be the job that puts us over the top. Then the only thing in all of Valucre we'll have to worry about is you and me."*
This was not a literal transcription of the communication between Ruiser Tenth and Brunhilda, his dragon mount and lifelong companion. Their connection, which spanned the whole of Brunhilda's life and the majority of Ruiser's, transcended the shackles of language. The wordless transmissions they shared were painted with the colors of their personality - Ruiser could sense her contemptuous frost even in the span of a single 'word'.
*"Fine."*
The ground of Galleons Isle loomed at them from beneath, expansive, intractable. Brun shifted the musculature across her back and spread her wings, breaking out of her teardrop shape, tearing out of the plummeting dive to complete the parabola which instead saw the two of them gently deposited along a sandbank adjacent to the tree line.
*"I love you. I'll see you soon."*
That time the two of them shared a voice.
###
Once inside the saloon, Ruiser looked the flyer over again. The interior was decently peopled but the crowd was not so thick as to fully shield Prose and company from inspection. He found them inside of a few minutes of his entrance and deftly navigated chairs, tables, waitstaff and the meandering drunk on his way to them. Ruiser had a travel pack with him and placed it between his feet as he claimed a chair.
"I cook." Was his plain introduction, in thickly accented Unii.

Galleons Isle was an island near the cluster of islands that composed Kaznah that had a bustling port. Typically its boardwalks were busy with traders, merchants, and sailors unloading cargo or seeking out a drink and some shade to sit in. Every now and then, however, there was a quiet night between arrivals. This was one of those, and it was just right for the type of crowd Prose was trying to draw.
The experienced sailor gone wrong sat in the back corner of a tavern. From the swinging saloon doors she looked like a shadow in her black doublet, and approaching it became clear why: Prose' skin was like a thin film of clear plasma filled with black liquid. On her face there were no features, no eyes.
Picking up a dark drink and pouring the entire thing into the black space that was her mouth, the jellyfish woman set the empty glass beside her tricorn on the table and waited for those who'd answered her flier. A bartender wordlessly brought her another drink, good, just as he had been instructed. He didn't look at her for too long, good, just as he had been instructed.
"Rumors have it that, somewhere in the seas around the shattered island ruins of Kaznah, Faejarhe, there is an unfathomable treasure left by the gods who abandoned Kaznah. Whoever has it is said to be able to navigate air and sea flawlessly no matter where they are, and the most infamous of the Pirate Era were renowned to possess this piece of treasure. 
Join Prose Letariat, a seasoned pirate adventurer, in her search for the Kaznah Piece!"
@supernal @Glamses @Sirloin