Jump to content


Global Moderators
  • Content count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Paroxysm

  • Rank
  • Birthday 07/23/1989

Contact Methods

  • Skype

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    South Carolina

Recent Profile Visitors

7,920 profile views
  1. Additional reactions

    has become pretty popular, too. It's worth consideration.
  2. Additional reactions

    Remove confused and put in its place.
  3. Wonderland Resort: Dunk Tank and Comedy Show!

    Renata made a face as she lowered the camera. Those jokes were nauseating, but maybe that was the point. What did she know about humor? Maybe her tastes were just different. Like dunking Van would be funny, she knew that. It was a thing that needed to happen. She would endeavor to make it so. After a few seconds, she found the booth that would exchange money for an opportunity to humiliate the volunteers, and approached it with something that almost resembled a skip in her step. “Hello, ma’m, are you here to participate in the Dunk Tank? For—” Renata slapped down several varieties of metals, the legal tender of Terrenus, removing her hand from over the small pile of treasure so that the attendant could collect them. The woman did so hurriedly and provided in their place a single ball. Then the attendant pushed a slip of paper forward, requesting Renata’s signature. She signed and dated it, but left the amount donated for the attendant to fill. Picking up the ball, Renata tested its weight, tossing it once, twice, and then decided it was good. The attendant waved her past the waist-high fence that cordoned off the way to the dunk tanks proper. The trip did not take long. Van was as Renata had last seen him, suspended over water, ripe for the dunking. If she could. The targets shared a purpose and similar design; they were brothers to one another, one in action could move all three, if the appropriate connection was made. Which it wasn’t, because that would be cheating and even if she was so base, Van would probably have cottoned on fairly quickly when all three targets flipped back and his ass was sent for a dip. Tossing the ball again in one hand, Renata sauntered to where the participants were staging their throws and trying their luck. Several people were ahead of her, each missing, some more than a little surprised at their whiff. “Hey, it happens!” She told one young boy, whose head had ducked low after his friends jostled and teased him at his miss. She removed her hat, which, when turned around properly, read: 'SAINT KING' in blocky white letters. She shook her black, shoulder length hair free and placed the cap on the kid’s head before stepping forward, only briefly reconsidering her stance on cheating, but then she shrugged, and, without fanfare, threw the ball with all her strength behind it, aiming at the left target.
  4. Isaiah 9:2

    The beach was a beach. Like all beaches, it had sand, although the sand on this beach was not white or gold, but a dark, unnatural black and silver, through which light appeared to course, throbbing and pulsating through the space between each and every grain. So this beach was a beach, but it was not *just* a beach. It was more, and less, than just a beach. The ground shifted beneath Destrakghery as he walked, staying just shy of where the waves lapped against the shore. In the distance, there was the distortion caused by the maelstrom, where the sky and water appeared twisted and ugly. Pausing, Destrakghery stared out across the ocean, where sky and water met, and felt himself drawn toward that horrible point. His mind had detached, racing across the distance at alarming speed, weightless and free. Before he could reach the maelstrom though, he reeled back and away, causing his awareness to snap back into his body where it belonged. Destrakghery staggered, and it took a minute to remember how to walk, feeling out the controls of his body as things slid back into position. It was a minute before he was comfortable with the reins being in his hands again. Remembering his guide, Destrakghery glanced back at the dragon from over his shoulder. It said nothing, only watched him with its unknowable gaze. They continued on like that for a long time. Up and down the beach with Destrakghery occasionally pausing to find his mind and body separating, with his mind returning to his body the moment he fought against the unusual sensation, and despite the trouble the dragon never spoke. In time, Destrakghery found, the trick was to neither give in to the sensation, nor fight against it. There was a middle ground where the tumult of the world around him bled away to a singular point, to a calm where he was only dimly aware that he was in motion, his senses questing outward. It was an inexplicable expanding of himself, as if he were a wave washing over everything in his path, unstoppable, indifferent, ancient. He did not care for what he washed over. There was only the sequence, the rolling wave, the crashing, and then the drawing back of himself. He was an immutable fact. Destrakghery found the experience difficult. It was not exactly exhausting, not as he understood it. He was not sure he could become exhausted anymore, at least not in the conventional sense, and not as he had been during his stay in Hell, when every inch forward through the unforgiving land had had to be forced, his determination reaching deep and dragging his will to go on out from within, even as it bucked and kicked and screamed, and whispered that he should just accept defeat. Still, the expansion of himself, and his subsequent return to his body, was something else. During the swelling he felt whole and connected, exalting in newfound power, but then he would return to standard, and he would feel hollowed out inside. He was dimly aware of the Dragon speaking during his experimentation, but Destrakghery paid his guide no mind now. Instead, he focused on his surroundings, on pin prick points of light, each a voice, indistinct but a chorus of sound. He felt he would be able to discern more, make them out clearly, if he could only just… “Do not blink, I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing,” a voice said from afar. Destrakghery veered toward it, finding himself standing mid-act in a scene of carnage. A dead child, whose meat had fallen from the bone; a woman, whose grief and agony had been forced out; and another child, a survivor, left to live or die as nature and will decided. Her attacker, along with her mother, leaving just as Destrakghery arrived. The Child’s name was Emily. He saw her short life unfold from within her, not over time, but all at once. From the moment of her conception to her lying crumpled on the dirty streets, he saw it all as if he had been there all along, saw her, knew her, and so loved her. She was light, as he knew she would be. Destrakghery helped her stand and steadied her with one hand while the other felt at her face. The eye was gone. The man that had done this to her had also absconded with the organ. It didn’t matter. The girl—Emily, Destrakghery reminded himself—would die from this injury. Not now, but a month later, weeks after the fever had set in, well after the flesh surrounding the socket had turned green and the maggots had burrowed their way in. He would not be there to take her, just as he had not been there to take her sister, whose soul had already departed by the time of his arrival, guided by unseen hands. In time, those hands would be his, but for now they had been another’s. “This will hurt,” he told Emily, helping her back to the ground and forcing her to lay flat, “but it will help.” Avenues of choice flooded him, countless paths he could take, their twists and turns, and an infinite number of dead ends. A hundred thousand times, Destrakghery saw the girl die, ten years from now, five months, ten days, five minutes… There was no path in which the girl did not die, he realized. Only paths where she died well, or died cruelly; in this case, he would choose the one he thought best. The one where he would see her again, many years down the line. “You’ll see everything you need to see,” he assured her. “We’ll find you help.” He plucked at the strings of causality. Th girl had two eyes again, even if the socket remained empty. She would see the flow of power around her, be able to follow it to its end, a binary choice where her benefactor would be taking her. One, an emperor of men; the other, a Queen and her lover. The girl would live. Not just survive, but live and live well. “Here,” he told her, offering the girl, who was now standing, if shakily, his hand. He had just finished deadening the pain, the memories. “I’ll take you to your mother.”
  5. What are you playing?

    So many bugs and glitches, but the game has charm, that's for sure. And entering a town or forest felt like I was entering a town or forest, instead of a sparsely populated stand-in for towns and forests like other open world RPGs do. When changing configuration options, it would put me behind an infinite loading screen for some reason. Had to put the game on my SSD, which reduced loading time to about 1 second. I don't know if that's an option for you, however.
  6. How are vampires dealt with in the lore?

    However you want. There are different Vampiric "species" in the various locations of Valucre, but you're not forced to pick any one of them.
  7. What are you playing?

    Monster Hunter: World.
  8. uuuuuhhhhhhHHHHHH.. *dumps characters* There.

    I've been bored lately and looking to jump into something casual, and normally prefer giving my limited posts to members actively looking for something to do; I'm generally up for anything so long as it takes place on the main Valucre boards (as opposed to Alternative). If you're interested, consider some character goals and objectives, things you'd like to explore with the character, that sort of thing, and we can see if we can't get something rolling.
  9. Predators Keep AMA

    This is related to the discussion theme in your Water Cooler thread, but being posted here so as not to detract/distract from the purpose of that thread. Is it feasible for Red (the character) to be pressured through IC lobbying and dynamic political maneuvering into passing a law that she personally does not agree with?
  10. Every time I see your account name, it's a blast from the past, tbh. I was friends with Sean, Shenfald Destrakghery's RPer.

    1. αкαяα яαvεηℓσcк

      αкαяα яαvεηℓσcк

      =) I miss RPing with him, those were some fun stories. At this point there's only a few people I write with anymore and even then my RP contacts have grown quite thin over the years.

  11. I'm back...again? Shit. I don't know.

    Welcome back.
  12. Wonderland Resort: Dunk Tank and Comedy Show!

    It was perhaps not Wonderland's intention to have the dunk tank be the resort's main attraction, but a gaggle of staff had excitedly, and not so unintentionally, let slip the tank's occupant. And Renata Saratxaga had to see it for herself. Just had to. She was compelled to. There would need to be photos, so that they could be forwarded to the Daily Weekly. She didn't do much article reading these days, but that would have to be one she made time for. She flagged down a friendly looking attendant for directions. Before the two went their separate ways, the attendant confirmed for her the special guest's identity. She offered Renata a warm smile and a farewell, but paused, the expression widening until it reached her eyes as recognition struck. Renata returned the smile, a little more shyly, before excusing herself. Like with Wonderland's special guest, Renata was something of a celebrity too. She had her own trading card and everything. On one occasion, someone had offered to license her image for an action figure, but it was still in the early conceptual phase; they hadn't yet decided whether to give her Kung-fu grip or a kickass pose, or both. Her vote was for both. A short couple of minutes later and Renata found Van Edmund where the attendant said he'd be, but had she waited a few moments longer, Renata wouldn't have needed the directions, because, following a brief announcement, a sphere depicting the PeaceKeeper had materialized. Van was precariously positioned above a pool of water, and between him and his finding out the exact nature of water, were three targets with whom his fate rested. "Oh, this is great," Renata said aloud, drawing a curious look from a passerby's young child. The parent pulled their daughter away, but the little girl resisted by planting her heels into the floor, pointing an accusing, but not hostile, finger at her. Renata looked down at herself. She was dressed civilian, with a tank top that read "SAINT" over the front, and with pants so heavily torn and in tatters that they were held together more by luck than by material. That was fine. She had bought them that way., the designer calling it Palgard chic. A statement that was all the rage in certain parts of the city, especially in the areas that could still afford to not dress like hoodlums. Which made the style all the more appealing. An affectation of careful indifference. For how quickly people could recognize her out of a group, she might as well have worn her armor and carried her sword. It wasn't just that she was a PeaceKeeper, though, but it was that fact plus her appearance being one that did not blend well. Her dark complexion was crisscrossed with scar work, a railroad of white tissue that marked her in highly visible places, such as the side of her nose, her neck, and all along her arms. It was noticeable, more noticeable than she liked, but hers was not an easy career path. Renata dug the toe of one boot into the floor and turned away from the child, and the curious eye of the girl's parent. Instead of pulling the hat she wore round so that the brim was facing correctly, which she wanted to do now to help obscure her own identity, she chose instead to bring the camera she wore around her neck up, looking through the lens at Van, snapping a few quick shots of the P.K.
  13. Valucre Discord downsize

    Just to clarify, you didn't receive any moderation specifically for calling someone a furry. After a member asked you to stop antagonizing them every time they commented in the chat (by repeatedly calling them a furry), you persisted in the behavior and received a report against you. I contacted you and explained the situation, and asked you to tone down your antagonizing as it was being received as a personal attack. You refused, implied you would not refrain from the behavior, and, I believe that same day, received a kick for doing it again as soon as the (reporting) member joined the chat and said something. You were later banned for racking up more reports, most of which involved you being temporarily kicked from the chat, all of a similar nature with one another, but you were given plenty of opportunities to just chill and engage the community in a way that didn't involve you attacking or harassing someone. In fact, going through our log of Discord moderation, you received more reports/actions than any other member for repeated violations of Rule 3 and 4. Also, I'm the primary moderator that took action against you, and I don't even know you or care about whatever your baggage is. So lol.