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King last won the day on February 11

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  1. I say fuck the police, that's how I treat 'em. We buy our way out of jail, but we can't buy freedom.

    1. Ataraxy


      Why does the riot police get up so early in the morning?

      To beat the crowds 


  2. King

    Wicked Game.

    Ser Andross Kholin Though present at Milorian’s estate, Andross’ mind was miles away, poring over the reports he’d received just hours before leaving. While many had taken a stark liking to his brother’s bride—especially those of common birth—and Alexandros had done well to quell the unrest rising in his court, there were still those that opposed the union. Few and far between, but this men and women were individuals of import, with weight to their words and sway to their influence. He knew what his brother was planning with this meaning, what lurked beneath the “familial reunion”, and knew how easily it would be for those with gripes to shatter the unity of their people. If the Reach was to emerge stronger, better, it would need to be as one. “Ser Andross?” Delaney’s voice, soft as the finest silk, stole Andross’ attention away from his worries and concerns. It was the first time he’d seen the woman in anything other than her more serious attire, and once again, the Lord Commander found it difficult to reconcile the beauty he saw with the stories he’d heard. There were rumblings of the Seeker’s vast power as a sorceress, of her raw and terrifying skill was a warrior—rumblings he, at first, hadn’t believed. Not because she was a woman (many of the finest swordsmen Andross knew were women), but because she seemed too lovely, too soft and delicate. But as he’d spent more time with Lyrei, hearing first-hand of Delaney’s adventures, it became hard to deny. “Evening, Ser Delaney.” Unlike his counterpart, Andross wore the traditional military trappings of his rank, formality forever a staple of his ensemble. A fine commander’s sword hung from his waist, long and slim, gold filigree laid into the a deep magahony handle. Beside it, hanging just a little lower, was his dueling sword. It was a hair larger than the former, plain in appearance as swords meant for work often were, with a larger, heavier handle to counter the weight of Rosinderian steel. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m quite comfortable just being out of that carriage and on my feet.” Traveling great distance often proved difficult for so large a man. Andross followed the woman to the waiting room, stepping inside as she bid him entrance. True to his nature, he scanned the room in a thorough sweep, gaining his bearings of the new surroundings, then gave a second, more appreciative once-over. “I wouldn’t be opposed to your company while our lords and lady enjoy their reunion.” He flashed a small, inviting smile behind his snow-white beard. “I’ve heard a great deal of things on the wind lately,” he began, pacing idly around the room. “Some of which appear to be cause for concern. I’m wondering if you might confirm them, or hopefully, calm my worry.” Lord Alexandros Kholin Alexandros removed the glove from his hand shook his brother-in-law’s hand firmly, the gesture itself intimate for him. It was not common for individuals of noble birth to be so hands-on in their display of affection, for the founders of their people found it to be inappropriate and, to some extent, vulnerable. And so it became a statement unto itself, showing that you trusted someone absolutely—enough to put your life in their hands—to draw so close, to bind yourself for however fleeting of a moment. “You’ve missed a great deal, unfortunately. Your sister has done quite well accommodating to her new home, and the people adore her almost as much as I do.” He could not help but look at her as he spoke the words, undress, idolize her, even as they stood in the company of her brother. She truly was the light of his life, his sun and moon, morning and evening star. Their hands undone, Alexandros once again returned the soft, off-white glove he wore to its palm and set into an idle stride about the room. Like his father, he often paced while in entertaining his thoughts, finding the motions helpful. They help me navigate, he’d once told Lyrei when she questioned him on the habit. My thoughts are like a river, always moving, always swelling, and if I stay in one place for too long, I’ll drown in them. “There are some things that we need to discuss, brother, and I did not want to do you the dishonor of sending a missive. I hope you won’t find my directness rude.” Reaching out as he circled behind Lyrei, he brushed his fingers along the small of her back, playing with the lowest ends of her rich, golden hair. Then he was gone, moving further in the room. “I looked upon the state of Ursa Madeum and found it…” his words fell away as he searched for the right word. “…lacking.” His eyes lifted, gaze flicking to Milorian. “You remember at the summit that I, along with Dali, were the only two houses to opposed the reinstating of a monarchy. The council ignored our concerns, yourself included, and I must say that Ursa Madeum is in a poorer state for it.” There was neither venom nor disappointment in the young lord’s tone, obviously haven’t found something more rewarding than even the envisioned republic. “Since that time, I studied the Svanhild Queendom, and I believe they had the right idea all along.” Alexandros looked to Lyrei then, drawing strength from his lady. “Lyrei and I intend to unite the Reach until a single banner, our banner, and separate from Ursa Madeum. We will forge our own path, our own home, from this rag-tag kingdom.” But what did Milorian have to do with this? “That expansion will require resources—resources the lands currently owned by House Mythal have in vast quantities. I would have the ownership of those lands formally transferred to Lyrei, as Lady of House Mythal.” They would, of course, become Kholin lands by right of their marriage. “Better to see these lands remain in the hands of our people than be squandered away by those who know nothing of it.”
  3. Shadow nodded. “Pleasure.” Ikari didn’t seem to be a woman of many words, which struck Shadow just fine. The less talking she did, the more she’d be able to focus on the task at hand. “Our bounty head is a guy going by the name of Loken. Runs a gang here in Palamon called the Wild Boys.” His helmet continued with its occasional swiveling as he cast his gaze here and there, searching the shops and their occupants. “Apparently, in a bid to get themselves a little more reputation, they crossed a few nobles here and elsewhere. Loken orchestrated the whole thing, so he ended up with a pretty sizable bounty on his head.” It wasn’t long after they’d entered the city-town, perhaps a half hour, that he found his prize. He nodded at the building ahead of them, one of the many tavern halls in the city, directing her on. “Problem is, there aren’t many that know where Loken is. He knows there’s heat on him, so he’s gotten into the habit of not staying in one place for too long.” The Grey Shade wasn’t the prettiest tavern Shadow had been to, far from it, but that was exactly why he’d chosen it. A quick, cursory glance revealed a dimly lit space where the dingy furniture did well to match its grizzly customers. An exalta sign burned bright above the bar in blue and red-white neon colors, while lamps crackling with soft, pale light hung from the ceilings. Word was it had become a watering hole for Palamon’s unsavory types, which made it the best place to start their search. Of course, he didn’t expect to find Loken hiding in a corner or lurking in the rafters, but it would have been nice if he had been. “I figure we start here. Might not find one of his goons, and even if we do, I doubt anyone dumb enough to hang in public will know anything of worth. But, it can’t hurt to try. Maybe we find someone else from a rival gang that can point us in the right direction. They want him dead too, after all.” Of all the folks there, Ikari certainly stood out. Of course they couldn’t have given me someone that blended in a little better. Like most places in Genesaris, Palamon was a melting pot of peoples and cultures—but those seemed to naturally segregate themselves from the others, purging their ranks and communities of impurities and interlopers. The Grey Shade was a reprieve from that, but only just. “Remember, we don’t need anyone knowing why we’re here. Not yet, at least. And—yeah, while I’m sure you can handle yourself, let’s keep this as bloodless as we can. The guild isn’t fond of collateral damage.” Not that she had reason to care, being outsourced and all. “We’ll meet up in a few hours. Down the road, on the corner where that boy was selling fabric.” Then he was off, making his way to the bar.
  4. I give zero fucks, and I've got zero chill in me.

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. amenities


      And boy you got me walkin side to side

    3. Ataraxy


      Actually. technically speaking there's no such thing as "cold," only the lack of heat. In that sense no one has any "chill" but rather some lack more heat than others haha fun fact

    4. King


      @Ataraxy This icebox where my heart used to be would disagree.

  5. King

    Faejarhe AMA

    Hey @-Lilium-, I've got some questions about bounties. Will these only be government-issued bounties (so either by you, the board leader, or by players that govern areas of your realm) or will regular players also be able to make custom bounties? Will players be able to put bounties on each other (i.e officially hire assassins)? Will it be a mix of all these things? Do you intend to have a bounty hunting institution that players will need to register with in order to legally participate in any bounties posted in Faejarhe? Also, do you intend to have any kind of reputation factor for a bounty hunter to raise their status in the public eye?
  6. A swordmaster, huh? While some may have thought it premature to apply the likes of master to the woman, Shadow had a strong nose for this kind of thing, and his nose was seldom wrong. There were signs of the woman’s skill with the blade, subtle hints that betrayed her status as a seasoned killer-- things that only another killer would recognize, same as two predators prowling sharing a jungle. It was in the way she walked, balancing her steps; in the way her eyes studied their surroundings, and then studied them again, as though they might change in an instant; and more than that, it was in her voice. What she said lacked the usual bluster and boast of those looking for fame, or looking to make a show of the skill they thought they possessed. It was flat, plain. Killing had become part of her life, long ago, same as eating and breathing. It was a piece of her. At least, that’s what his nose told him. “That so?” He lifted his eyes from the woman, flicking his gaze over her should and down the trail, hidden by the black tint of his visor. They were a scraggly bunch, far from the legitimate thugs and criminals he’d dealt with over the years. “They’re probably just hungry.” Bandits would always be an issue in areas where expansion sucked up the resources of the smaller villages nearby, people included. It was hard to tend the fields and livestock when your help had run off to the big city, looking to make something of themselves. “A few coins should dissuade them out of doing anything rash. And we’re right here in town, so they’ll have somewhere to spend it.” Shadow didn’t like killing off the books, either. “I’ll handle it.” Stepping further from the wall, Shadow fished out a small pouch of coins from his pocket and dangled it on display. It wasn’t much by any means, but more than they’d probably seen in quite some time, and just enough that they’d be able to split it one coin apiece. Or fight over it, if they wanted. That wasn’t his problem. He tossed the pouch over the woman’s shoulder, making sure they saw it thump into the dust, and then turned and made his way past the gate entry. If they chose to press the issue further, well, then that’d be their choice. But after the pair had walked for a bit more, and a quick glance back showed the men hadn’t continued their chase, Shadow eased his gait into one more comfortable and at ease. “Sometimes, you’ve just got to treat people like the beasts they are. Works out better for everyone that way.” As they walked, Shadow’s helmet turned every so often as he studied the shops and homes rising up on their flanks. He was searching for something. “Name’s Shadow, by the way; your contact from the guild. You are?”
  7. King

    Genesaris AMA.

    Not necessarily. The Carmine Dominion has been around for a while now (years OOCly) and, as far as I know, my character-- who happens to be the head of that religion --is still the only active practitioner of blood magic. He took on an apprentice back in the day, though she never ended up pushing that aspect of the story too much. Aside from that, blood magic is mostly used for ritual and celebratory functions in the Empire. The largest collection of practitioners would be found in the church, itself (because of the aforementioned reasons). Outside of that, you're probably far more likely to run into a traditional sorcerer or elemental mage than a blood mage. You're quite welcome, my fellow Canadian.
  8. King

    Genesaris AMA.

    Magic is Genesaris exists on a wide spectrum. So long as it doesn't violate the Mild Power forum-wide rule, you're good to go.
  9. These are both absolutely accurate. @Pasion Pasiva @Raptor
  10. Shadow didn’t like working with partners. Especially when they were outsourced. It wasn’t that the man didn’t understand the value, or that he believed himself to be so skilled in his craft that he was above the need of a partner, he simply disliked the distraction. For all the benefits of a partner, there were equally as many drawbacks. Most of all, he hated the idea that his task – his fate, as it were – could rest in someone else’s hands. No matter how flawless his execution, if his partner was even a single step behind, a moment too late, the entire operation could go to shit—as it was known to do. And that didn’t sit well with Shadow. Not when he knew his partners, their reputations, and their skills, but certainly not when he knew nothing about them; and especially when they were outsourced. The administration hadn’t bothered explaining any of the reasoning behind the choice, only that it had been cleared by all necessary parties, approved unanimously by those that held seats at the table, and his partner for the mission, which they’d done well to keep him ignorant of, was to be respected as though they were a member of the guild. After all, it was SHADE’s reputation on the line. So there he was, leaning against the old stone walls of a city-town he’d only visited once or twice in his life. The sun sat on high, not a cloud for miles to veil its brightness, but it wasn’t hot. Winds rolling down from the snow-capped ranges in the south had made their way further north that week, keeping the weather on the permeable borders between the New Union Frontier and Cold South cool and manageable. That day, he wore the dark ensemble of a speedster, blacks and grays, with black, supple leather gloves, thick boots that had long-ago lost their luster to travel, and a sleek, black racer helmet. But of all the details that one might remember, it was likely to be the iron on Shadow’s hip. It was a cannon that looked both pristine and lived in, like a relic of every battle he’d ever fought, hung low at the waist. The runes and ancient texts etched into the weapon’s flanks peeked out from the edge of its dark leather holster, whispering of the weapon’s long history – a history Shadow rarely spoke of. It was a trophy from a dangerous time in Shadow’s life, a time all but lost to the world, but also a warning that neither he, nor his piece, had forgotten. But Shadow’s ire was something that was earned, not carelessly given. All the better for the people of Palamon. Like most city-towns, it struggled from the growing pains of progress and expansion, evolving from a small township into something that closer resembled the industrial meccas scattered across the continent. Growing meant attracting more people from all walks of life, but like blood in the water, it always caught the attention of a few sharks. Palamon was no better or worse than its neighbors in terms of crime, doing what it could to police its growing borders, and striking bargains when absolutely necessary to keep the various factions and syndicates happy. It just so happened the bounty Shadow was tracking down, one Loken Undercroft, happened to be linked to this city-town in particular. Dead or alive—though the administration had made their preference for the latter known. Loken was high enough in the hierarchy to possess valuable information, from corrupt officials to rival syndicate lords. If they could get him to flip – and they usually did – it would be a much bigger prize than bringing in a bullet-riddled corpse. At the same time, they wouldn’t chastise him too much if that’s what he happened to bring back. It was his call, same as always. Pushing off the wall, Shadow tightened his gloves and glanced down the road. It was a long, winding stretch of dirt hammered into the field by merchant wagons and beasts of burden, sloping on the side into a marshy riverbank that followed it for a number of miles. The main entrance in to Palamon, and the agreed upon meeting spot for Shadow and his partner-to-be. Remember to smile, one of the administration had said to him, smiling herself as she did so. You have such a nice smile, Shadow. Simple, disarming. You should use it more often. He opted to keep his helmet on.
  11. Paris eased his mount forward at a leisurely pace, clearly in no hurry to descend on what remained of the marauding tribe. From the previous night’s numbers, they’d sent a hearty size of their men to sweep across the land—it’d been sheer misfortune that they’d happened by the crown prince and his entourage. No doubt some of their forces had remained behind, but the lion’s share of their people were likely women and children, the elderly, none that would pose a threat to so skilled a pack of warriors. So he let his mind wander, fancying the lush, untouched nature of northern Lorean. “When I am king,” Paris said absently, “I will build a city here, sister to Lyria.” He reached out as they passed a low-hanging branch, gently fingering some of its heavy leaves. “It will need to be done in a manner that does not subtract from this place’s beauty, but rather, adds to it. I wish to preserve as much of this natural paradise as possible.” But it could not remain as lawless and unmanned as it had been. They needed to secure this region once and for all. Perhaps one of his many siblings would not mind commanding this front, freed from the shadows of court. He’d need to revisit the thought later. They reached the river by noon, a swollen stretch of water that snaked through the dense forest underbelly. “I believe this is where you earn all of that coin I’ve been so kind as to deposit into your possession, she-wolf.” The crown prince reined in his mount, turning her aside to let the mercenary take lead. She’d assured him that the boy’s scent was fixed to her senses, that she’d be able to track his kin by that alone. “We follow you.” More than putting an end to these insurgences, Paris looked forward to seeing the woman’s talents at work. After all – how many could say they’d seen a lone wolf hunt its prey?
  12. It's the final countdown.

  13. King

    Promotion II

    Rafael had taken to hiding his face behind the palm of his head, nursing his temples with long in the shade provided. He welcomed Kalmuli’s touch against the nape of his neck, yet for all his pleasure, could do no more than sigh to convey it. There was not a soul in all the world that could understand the difficulties he’d faced in so little time, or the gravity of his current undertaking. But he would be successful, even if it killed him. “You are a better friend than I deserve, Kalmuli. Thank you for being there for me, for supporting me when all the world has forsaken me.” Closing his eyes, he slowly sank into his thoughts. “It is a kindness I will not soon forget.” It wasn’t until she lowered herself to one knee that their gazes met, as she’d cornered the emperor in his pose. “I will do my best.” Rafael smiled, hollow and weak, though it was not forced. “Now be on your way, woman. My mind has many a place to wander, and it cannot begin its journey with you providing such distracting company. You have my word, as ruler and man, that I shall send for you the moment I am in need.” Leaning back and away from the elf, Rafael assisted her to a full stand, and then gently sent her drifting away. “Come, come, do not make me beg. Enjoy your day.” Kalmuli’s study became his for the remainder of that day, and per his strict orders, he was no disturbed. And in his loneliness, Rafael wept.
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