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Die Shize

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  1. Hmmmmm I'd wager it hasn't been many hours if any, but there were one or two points where time passage was kinda 'loose' so I can see hours But yeah I reckon it hasn't been days yet...but our fearless supernal can confirm
  2. Sorry for uber delays on my part, IC and OOC. Sometimes the holidays come and go. Other times, those holidays turn into other extensions lol I'd like to at least finalize the Khrol-Veron shindig as I thoroughly enjoy the dynamic going on there. Whether that takes till February is however probably unlikely, unless we touch on more afterward. Otherwise, as long as I'm around OOC, Veron is around IC. This whole Skaven thing gave me a lot of inspiration and I'd like to see it through more.
  3. Ambience [Recurring] Kaori frown-hummed at Will’s response about the possibility if not probability of the sword-thief being as dead as a dead man who had drowned and died in a pool of dead goo-water. When he mentioned a gem and a quest, she pondered on ‘gem-quest’, and wondered if he had been referring to the shiny thing she thought she had seen some time ago. Wait, was it even a gem? Maybe it was a ring or a coin or a cookie. Wait… She now found herself pondering on what he meant about a shrunken person not surviving that much water. What do shrunken people have to do with anything? The more she thought, the more Will talked, the more she thought that Will was kind of silly and therefore kind of cute. At last, the sword-thief had a name: Luke. Apparently the two weren’t brothers after all, and she was glad to know that Will also didn’t have a particular fondness for those who stole swords. Just the memory made her hand tighten around the hilt of her own. Who, though, was Mone? As if the crusty ceiling might hold the answer, Kaori watched it as she walked. Mone, Mone, it rhymes with bone! Then, all at once, Will’s own body had halted hers when he stepped in front of her. She was caught off guard and bumped into him. Her first instinct was to give him a great big hug. Her second instinct was to gasp. She did the latter. Splashes up ahead, dancing light and creepers creeping closer. Suddenly, Kaori was glad that her man was using himself as a shield. If nasty monster is hungry, he will eat the manmeat first, and the womanmeat will skip-skip away. The figure that approached was dressed in robes, a bad choice for the sewers because the robes could get soggy and heavy but maybe he was cold. “Run!”, he had said, making Kaori’s eyes flutter as she wondered whether to do just that. Will spoke where she found herself to be speechless, brandishing his stick of truth like the warrior she had always dreamed of. Except not quite because Will just then darted aside and away from the man who ran in robes and, by consequence, Kaori herself. There was no grace to the proximity between the latter two souls. A moment later and the fleeing man bounded into her shoulder and spun her like a top. “Waaaagggghhh!!” Kaori shrieked, almost collapsing to the floor save for the wall that caught her back. Will then had the audacity to speak her name, demand they leave and take off running in the same direction as Robes, as though the two were best friends, and without so much as a hey-look-I’m-sorry. For that, she bit her lower lip like it were made of jelly and swung her toothpick around in his general direction. “YOU DISGRACEFUL SON OF A B—” She cut herself off when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement down the tunnel. About half a dozen dark shapes scurrying her way like rats. What is it!? A stampede of robes!? With a gulp and a gup, Kaori took off running after Will. “WAIT FOR ME, WILL STUCK. PLEASE, I’M ONLY FEMALE!” Onward, Kaori scrambled, her toothpick swaying from side to side in both hands as she ran for her merry life. At one point, she stole a look behind, spotted the advancing shapes, could have sworn that she made out red eyes in the maddened torchlight, and then her whole piped world spun around. Maybe it was her own two feet she had tripped on, congealed goop, a loose screw or a slick surface. Whatever it was, Kaori fell forward, landed on her stomach, and panicked. “Will—HEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPP!!!!!”
  4. I should have a free night tomorrow where I can get a post up. If not then I have a free weekend for sure. #selfmadedeadlines
  5. Die Shize

    Outreach Team AMA

    Is there any restriction on editing a post I made far back in my account history? Like if I wanted to edit a post I made in 2015 or something. I ask because, while there's a minimal 'archived' board on this site, I've been to a site that had a lot of archived threads and apparently a user is no longer able to edit their own posts if the posts were archived. Just trying to figure out of this site has the same or similar restriction, or if any post I make can generally be edited regardless of when.
  6. I tap my knuckles against my head as I try to keep up with what my friends are talking about. What the heck was a sundance, anyway? Last time I looked at a sun it made my eyes hurt. I also had the distinct disadvantage of having missed out on a significant portion of what they had experienced as far as butchers and children and butchered children went. Then came the query regarding whether we can die in this world-away-from-a-world or not. I was reminded of my own daydream and the hari-kari found within. Creepy deer, indeed. "Hmmm..." I muse into the thenar of my hand. "There is a sure way of finding out." With that, I unsheathe my sword and place the blade's tip against my ribcage, specifically the spot where my heart is hiding behind. "I can do this myself, unless someone wants to do it for me. There is much honor in either course of action. This is not a problem." I wait.
  7. Also, just a broadcast request for all involved in the IC hub thread: Mind stating here where your characters are located? Just so I can personally keep up with locations and whatsuch. It'd be a big plus!
  8. @Fierach Who won? Particularly asking since I'll need to feed the result into my post in the IC hub thread to some extent, not immediately but coming up.
  9. Ambience Hand over hand, the woman shifted up the makeshift rope in tow behind the crossbowman named Will. He was a decent climber, if a little slow, also he had a firm rear and he smelled damp. Kinda musky. Manly though. All in all, the two’s adrenaline, amalgamated with a need to escape from being drowned, boosted them upward. The woman pursed her lips at Will’s request for some storytelling after settling down for marriage. What is my story? At the top, she released the rope from her grip and let it dangle beneath. It was unlikely that either of them had any intention on going for a swim but she had long since learned to leave every way open in a place like this (unless a monster was trying to climb up said rope; then it was cool to cut it). Standing with a dark tunnel stretching before her, she followed suit with her partner and retrieved her walking stick. “I thought you are Will? Oh,” She clicked her tongue. “You are Will Stuck! Well, Will Stuck, I am Kaori Tongwa! Gwaaaa!” With that, Kaori slapped a hand atop his shoulder and squeezed. “Will and Kaori! Kaori and Will! HUMMMMM. The Fates are kind! Sometimes.” With quivering lips caught in a smile-frown battle, she mumbled murder beneath her breath, poked the pointed base of her toothpick on the ugly floor, and walked forth. This tunnel was like the other tunnel, and the tunnel before that, and the tunnel before that, and the tunnel before that, with goop and goo and crust and rust, dark and cold and scary. The darkness, though, was broken at least in part by her party-light-makeshift-lamp hanging from shoulder to hip, painting the gloomy sewer in a purple tint as they traversed. Fortunately/unfortunately, the glow revealed a pile of foamy white stuff that Kaori had narrowly avoided stepping into with a grimace. It looked like congealed shaving cream. Or cappa-coopa, who knows-knows? Onward, the couple marched, and Kaori found little around them to talk about unless Will had a particular fondness for sewer pipes. One hand on her broken toothpick, another hand around the hilt of her sheathed sword, she drummed her fingers against it with newfound fondness. “Your friend...the sword-thief...I hope he’s okay… Maybe he made it?” She sighed. Gooze-things and ooze-things were among those things that had no real right to exist but exist they did until they did not. No soul should have to suffer on account of a gooctopus. Nope, not even sword-thieves. “What was his name? Was he your brother? Did you both get lost in these sewers too? Did you find any food? Any idea how long we’ve been walking?”
  10. Kaige is an awesome name

     

     

     

     

    FYI

  11. What is my status? Well, this weekend I'll be officially 'back' from a something something extended break, though New Year's holiday may add to that break give or take a day or two, otherwise I am looking to pump out overdue posts this weekend

  12. Slow West was pretty good. Some parts were like watching Red Dead Redemption 2. Lots of @amenities at your disposal.
  13. I think of obscenities Any time I think of @amenities
  14. Sorry for my tardiness. I’ll be back in action on this site relatively shortly reasonably soon. Stay small, my friends.
  15. @Rabbit Not sure if you caught it but, while my gnoll has other priority sparring in mind, I had my dwarf charge the gnomes so that Vito’s efforts weren’t in vain lol I guess you could edit if you wanted or we can move past it!
  16. I'm back-ish. I have some extra down time with the holiday. Any writing I am doing it is going to be slow moving. 😄

  17. On a brief hiatus due to holiday circumstances (I don’t partake but I get time off)

    If you need to skip me just lemme know first!

  18. OOC Music [Recurring] Eirene As the model was displayed, all eyes were on it. Eirene’s tongue slithered between her lips as though to lick the design. The would-be architect had clearly gone to great lengths to produce the model, apparently to the very crevice in rock. It was, for all intents and purposes, a pretty thing. Platforms and elevators, ports and docks, buildings and towers, a fortress and the very airships themselves. She could easily admit that the miniature skyport before her was not quite what she was expecting. Pretty, indeed, to the eyes who find such things pretty, at least. As Alzahra opened her mouth, Eirene listened closely. That woman was not one to waste words. She meant every one of them. There was no hyperbole on her part when she suggested riding an airship to go kill some poor soul, if only to test how quickly the vessel could take her from points A to B. If Maxwell’s response had pleased the assassin, there was no way to tell. Her face was as solid as the stone on Kayan’s body, as blank as Basinah's mask. In or out, she doesn’t know yet. Yet, she has all but already decided. Eirene let a moment pass in silence as she gave way to thought. The pause was in harmony with her six peers, save for the raven which cawed again. It was at the bird’s beak that she spread her lips. “Trade and taxation. A skyport would, quite honestly, bring bounties to this city that we otherwise would not conjure. But Maxwell, my friend, what you propose is no skyport—but another city.” Her tail rose from the floor to cross her chest, wrapping from shoulder to hip like a sash while she stroked her scales. “A network of lifts and landing pads and little communities. I think I can even spot a house or two that look familiar. A fortress like a citadel. And all of it right next door. That’s what I see when I peer upon your ‘skyport’. I see no less than a town nestled outside our walls and, as impressive as it is to behold, it looks no less perilous.” She spoke true, though her tone was not condescending. Eirene wanted to keep her personal conversation with this man as amicable as allowed, at least for her part, at the same time as expressing her truth. “Even built up against the Wasi, there is no magical or figurative ‘shell’ I can speak of that would cover both Dairut and your port. It is a wall that wails ‘Here I am and my wife is just one wall away! Go rape her!’ “ She shrugged. “Granted, a skyport probably needs to be seen from high enough, and those cannons are of course a symbol of stabbing the eye that stares too lustfully, but those same cannons are only needed to defend against a threat that this skyport would have already created, simply by existing.” She had spoken earlier about the risk in drawing attention to Dairut by the creation of a skyport, and the design before her did little and less to diminish her concern. Slaver’s Enclave was ever so in no small part due to placing a high value on its reputation for isolation. It was an idea that Eirene had long since held in her bosom. Asar The dark ale was thick and bitter, with tastes of roasted nuts and burnt meat. It slid down his throat like molten metal into a stone cast as he guzzled back. The mug came down with a thud, a hand wiping froth from lips, and Asar let out a satisfied sigh. I can taste it already. The future. The Dairut of tomorrow. It will take more than slaves to take us there. By the sun and the stars, it will take more than airships. “I should remind everyone that the only reason this skyport would be created is due to what our friend has been proposing all along: trade and transportation, expanding our economy and modernizing it, allowing Dairut to explore other avenues for profit, and even explore other lands.” Asar swept his gaze around the room, feeling life in his eyes as his heart leapt like sparks from the furnace. “Alzahra, you yourself wish to feel the wind on your face before your dagger finds both the wind and a face. Airships will grant any one of us the ability to travel far and fast, without having to worry about being away from home for too long.” He knocked his knuckles on the wood. “No, even more, without having to worry about crossing leagues and leagues of sand just to get there. Snow, Mr. Rubicante brought us.” He slid his hand across the tabletop and the watery powder upon it. “I’ve felt it between my fingers. It is colder than sand, more solid, but soon enough it melts into a puddle. Our sand serves us well, better than snow, yes, but when I hold this substance in my hand it is not snow I feel but supremacy!” Asar pointed at the model of the skyport. Or, rather, the model of the future. “That right there, ladies and gentlemen, will take us around the world without ever having to take down our tents. It is an undertaking worth taking. For years upon years, Dairut has survived, never waning, but such a skyport will see our city thrive. Whatever eyes draw our way due to such developments, we need only the protection that the skyport itself will provide. New horizons that lead to new profit will in turn lead to new partnerships; alliances to ensure that Dairut will never be anything less. Aye, we will instead be much and more.” Khafre “Always the visionary, aren’t you?” Khafre didn’t look at the man. He couldn’t bear it. His eyes were on the model skyport. An amalgamation of commerce and military. The fool who had barged in here to even propose such an idea had spoken just so, and Khafre could see the evidence. Airships were in full view, as well as the holes that held them, alongside buildings and sections of buildings and cannons and a fortress that filled his mind. We’re being raided. The guns turn on our enemies. A storm in the sky. Lightning and thunder. A force lands on the Wasi. They assail the fortress. They cannot breach. Khafre cradled his face, squeezing his cheekbone as though it were another’s. The array of defenses, indeed the entire complex at the Wasi, were an imposing display. In real size, all the more so, to Dairutians and foreigners alike. It was a bastion of power. A pop in his jaw suddenly brought him out of a daze when he realized that the model skyport was as still as it had been. Kayan "Hmmmmm..." Kayan pondered on the thing of platforms and elevators and holes in the rock with things inside. He imagined what it would feel like if somebody drilled a hole in his present form and stuck metal inside it. Probably painless, at least physically. My dignity? Skinned. And I'm already skinless. Wasi, the Guardian, was much more than just a giant rock. In his observations, Kayan had discovered planets beyond the sky that were bigger than their neighbors. When great rocks flew by with another planet in their trajectory, the 'big brother' planet would instead pull those rocks toward it, gravity hurling them in, where the rocks burned up in the atmosphere. It was quite fascinating, further proving how science had a whole unique power in and of itself. To Kayan, however, it was more than science. It was purpose. It was design. It was a shining symbol of how another power was at play to present so beautiful a relationship between one object and the other. Wasi was like one of those big brother planets to Dairut. It wasn't just there out of convenience or coincidence. It was there for a reason. The Wasi was an entity in its own right. Its rock was finer than marble. It had stood erect for time on end, ever the guardian of the city below. Thus, to see even a mere image of such ugly things slapped upon its face, sprawled about and tangled up and dangling, was quite a horrifying thing. It is a monstrosity. "The idea of making Dairut richer to in turn become stronger is very sound, and I like it, but this I do not like at all." He waved a hand at the model skyport as if to wave it away. "Our traditions are more valuable than coin, and this 'thing' has defaced one of our most cherished traditions. Let the wind sweep away the deformities that your skyport has imposed upon our Wasi, or perhaps it is best to let the wind sweep away your entire proposal."
  19. Had a day off so that made things easier. xD Also, Jot, I’m sure you were going somewhere with the shadows and such, and my own IC input on that front isn’t to detract from your own direction. I just used your narrative to fork toward another direction (Shadow of Night) as I found it quite convenient. Depending on what you had in mind, the advantage of writing third person limited means I can always say that Veron’s interpretation of events were influenced by the ‘wine’ lol
  20. The Crippler of Foes OOC Music [Recurring] Urtag Ummor Combat Theme Urtag laughed into the wind as her opponent staggered backwards with a scream. It seemed an act of instinct on the rat’s part; a dart out of danger as it came his way. The Skaven way, isn’t it? Flight or fight? How do such creatures ever know when to pick one or the other? She granted herself the curiosity as she watched Zhot recover. She herself was already in position, not following up with her missed swing just yet. Instead, she licked slobber from her lips and smiled at her opponent. “Yeth yeth, juth practith…” Practice, however, did not mean painless. Scrapes and bruises, broken bones and severed limbs, scars and stripes—all lessons, all reminders, there to preserve the past, perceive the present and promise the future. For Urtag Ummor, that meant more of the same, even if she had yet to lose a limb of her own. Zhot might, if he came too close to the fire. Sure, Urtag would hold back some, but flames had a way of getting out of control. Urtag turned her head to face the speaker, one eye on the rat before her lest he try anything sneaky. Their visitors, Thril and Vito, had interrupted their spar. It had better have been for a good reason. Coiling her fingers around the haft of her axe, she watched as the masked man erected three constructs of rock from the ground. Immediately, Urtag stepped backwards, furthering the distance between both Zhot and these new guests; the former on her right, the latter on her left. Golems. Bloodless beasts. “No bone. No fleth. No fun.“ Urtag scoffed at Vito, twirling her weapon between her hands. “My akth can’t take their armth or legth off!” Spitting upon the dirt as she looked away from the challenge, her focus was back on Zhot. “It’th you I want to fight. Thow me what Thkarr ith made of!” With that, Urtag darted forward toward her opponent. Zhot’s weapon might have been of equal or greater reach than her axe, given the size of the rat and the size of the gnoll, and their weapons’ lengths catering to their bodies' sizes. Regardless, she could react to his glaive as needed by the time her own weapon was in range. She intended to run past his left side, swing the back of her axe into his own back, and turn to face the outcome. The Iron Victor OOC Music Galrim Ironbreaker Combat Theme “COWARDS! GET OUT HERE AND FACE ME!” Galrim’s fist pounded on the metal wagon, punching for a response. The cowards within were not budging, and neither was the Scourge. The great thing was immovable, ignoring the fists that hammered against the walls, as did the cowards within. “MY HAMMER HAS NAILS TO HIT!” Moments later and the dwarf was leaning against the wagon, panting. Curse them all… What do they know of battle? Walled up within this wagon, safe and sound, while warriors like me bloody our fists upon the dirt. He held his own two up. Their knuckles were red, the skin was split, a few beads of blood trickling down. Had they beaten metal or bone? A wagon or a woman? I beat her to death with my own hands. But she gave me no choice. She gave me only horns. When Galrim looked up, he saw the great fire, as hot and naked as she had been that night as dark as this one. The fire crackled. She had screamed. He had sobbed with her. Each time his fist had found her face, he had howled. When he had given her body to the lava, he had wept. The fire crackled. But he had cackled. That damned bastard. His hands hurt. Then they went numb. Then they hurt again. The sound of metal was hollow when he had struck it. Now it was ringing. I see, I see. You are why. Beside the fire, a gnoll and a rat were dueling, their scuffle getting more attention than those rats all about who clashed blades. Rattleneck faced off with some Skaven creature. Dirty rodent. Galrim grunted, catching himself as he swayed and stumbled, seizing a bottle from the grasp of a rat who snored on the ground. No, not a rodent. I mustn’t think it. Never say it. He’ll know. Blinking himself out of a daze, he tipped the bottle back with his head, and when he leveled his gaze he saw three giants made of stone instead of bone. What’s this? Visitors from Tazarek? Could it be..? The golems were standing before the fight. Galrim didn’t know who was winning. Maybe Rattleneck would devour her prey. Or make the rat eat himself piece by piece. He swallowed his drink, tossed the bottle and stepped forth. Three golems there were, not two or four. He could see well enough. Could they see him? They would soon. Taking the warhammer from his back, he held it in his two hands. They have beaten before. They will beat again! “You!” The Iron Victor called across the chaos. “You of the rock! Be you my opponents?” He didn’t wait for a response. Their conjurer knew a thing or two about earth. But I was born beneath it! The Skaven had tunnels, but the dwarves had halls. His hammer had collapsed one such hall. Now it would collapse three golems. He sprinted forward and swung the hammer for a rocky chest with all his might. The middle golem raised its arm to block the blow. The hammerhead struck true, sending jagged lines splitting around the golem’s forearm, and then the arm shattered into pieces. The golem’s remaining hand punched down toward the dwarf smaller than it. Galrim dipped low into his hammer’s swing and rolled aside to evade the punch. Another golem down the line stared down. The dwarf stared up. Come, then! Kill me, if you can! The Black Captain OOC Music Veron’s lips curled upward, a finger tapping against his empty goblet. If only you knew. But you will soon enough. Veron’s mouth had been filled with blood ever since he came squealing out of his mother’s womb. Blood dripped from his speech as much as his sword. He had tasted blood, bathed in blood, heard his own blood beating about his body as his heart pumped life into his veins. Fitting, then, that the drink that bloodied his tongue was garnered from those whom he had blooded with his blade, the same blade that made mouths bleed after he had taken their tongues. Mouths to bleed. Mouths to feed. Teeth and tongues in need. As Veron dismissed a drifting rhyme, Khrol stepped out from behind the pulpit, and strode among the shadows. Those same shadows seemed to stroll with him, swaying and waving amid the candlelight. For a moment, Veron thought that he might have seen one of them crawl along the wall like a worm, or maybe slither like a snake. Then it was Khrol’s turn for his own tongue to slither out between his lips. Finally, the Grey Seer sought to learn about the Black Captain, no doubt for his own ends. Though, by the gesture, it was as much and more to poke and prod the same way one stuck a stick to a dog in a cage. Veron was no dog. He was no mere rat. He was Shkei. More than that. I am Veron. A chill tingled his tongue as soon as he moved to speak, like ice as it melted in the mouth. The candle flames danced on; flickers of flame with a dark audience of shadows that warped and spread and took on shapes that, here and there, were not quite normal. It begins. “What even is ‘noble’?” Veron looked into his empty cup, grazing a lone finger around it. There was barely a drop of wine left. “Nobility? Aristocracy? Royalty? When you remove the lines and the lineages and the legacies, all you are left with is one individual among many who are not so different. A living being who will lie and cheat and steal and kill to claim his way, to forge his own future, carve his own path up the hill, toward a crown at the top or not.” Faint blue liquid smeared across his fingertip as he touched it to his tongue. “King Gnaw Blackrot of Nesthome. King Odin Haze of the Terran Empire. Queen Irene DuGrace of Orisia...” He shook his head, turning the goblet this way and that way. A pretty thing of gold and rubies and intricate carvings that meant little and less. He relaxed his grip. The goblet fell to the wooden floorboards with a dull thud, rolled a few inches, and was halted by Veron’s boot. “Take away their thrones and these kings and queens and lords of lands fall quite ungracefully, and all it takes is a boot to keep them down.” He tilted his head, studying his listener, wondering how Khrol would take his words. The candles whispered in the pause, the barest burst of firelight flashing over Veron’s eye before he blinked the shade away. “You and many more may not remember me, Skysplitter, but I remember you. I remember my people. I was there when our kinsmen warred with each other day after day. I was there when one ratman sought to unite the rest. When he campaigned to conquer war with peace. I was there to witness how he did it.” His eye roamed, glimpsing the past as the walls and ceiling and floor of this ruined hall took him there those years ago. “Whispers in the night. A pale shadow over a throne. Omens in sight. A gift of poison and claws of bone, climbing from the pits of blight… Oh, I was there, Grey Seer...but now I am here, and that is all that matters.” All that matters. Past. Present. Future. To claim all three, I must first claim one. “Here you are.” Veron pushed his foot and rolled the goblet toward Khrol’s feet. “To claim your right, Khrol, all you have to do is first take the cup. Not that goblet of gold and rubies, but the cup of the world. It is not crowns or thrones that make rulers, but blades and blood. They are the rungs of the ladder that leads out of the pit that awaits us all. Gnaw Blackrot promises peace, but peace is a lie. Only the ladder is real, and I promise the world. The choice is yours. Live a thrall or die a king. But, whatever you choose, you may want to first sit down, for you have already taken your first cup.” Veron followed his own advice, turning a fallen chair upright as he sat down and faced the pulpit. Standing up created the possibility of falling down for what was about to happen. Not immediately, but soon enough, maybe only moments after Khrol might respond. Shadows shifted, whether real ones or ones that were never quite there, and one shadow in particular was now creeping into both Khrol and Veron. Shadow of Night. Show me what lies within the darkness. Come see. “It begins.”
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