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-Lilium-

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-Lilium- last won the day on February 15

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About -Lilium-

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    The Body Merchant

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    athrelecaliver
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    Fighting Disillusionment

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  1. 'With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.' - Eleanor Roosevelt

  2. -Lilium-

    Faejarhe AMA

    Being that the continent as a whole will have no entirely ruling body, and there will be several different hands in the pot, it could be a mixture. A section can be dedicated to bounties, and players can contact Meraxa and myself to have them placed on the board so all are free to participate (if open participation is what's wanted). Pending availability and time, I would even enjoy making wanted posters with posted rewards. As of right now, no there is not. With Faejarhe in a more feudal state there may be older associations, but we haven't developed those finer things as of yet. I feel that a bounty hunter's notoriety and popularity would be genuinely stronger through an organization rather than through government means. So a tier system via the organizations themselves may be more beneficial for each individual hunter. But that doesn't mean they won't eventually earn contracts from the different militaries or governments. And by that extention they'd probably have a high notoriety (or deep pockets) among their organization.
  3. -Lilium-

    Faejarhe AMA

    Lol. I don't think there will be a barrier aside from the sea and the reef. We planned for Faejarhe to be more of a forgotten realm lost to time, rather than hidden away.
  4. -Lilium-

    Faejarhe AMA

    Hmm, as of right now that doesn't currently exist... Although there is still an existing empire being worked on by @Meraxa in which his character is the highest of the high by birthright, and an area that's going to somewhat be developed by myself where that character will become a 'ruling' body through rebuild and work efforts (where that empires thinned out blood holds an heir to that throne). Not to mention other areas being ruled/presided over by others. (The Isle of Judgements quest may put some hair on any character's chest and make a serious hero-ish badass...?) @Priestess I think once we have quest hammered out we can definitely come up with some decent 'hero' type tiers. Otherwise status is currently through work effort...or birthright. Y wutru up 2? >>
  5. -Lilium-

    Faejarhe AMA

    Faejarhe is an underdeveloped land once ruled by warring empires. In the end, one emperor won and took over, eventually cutting off contact with Lagrimosa and the rest of Valucre as a whole. Due to his choices and actions they were eventually struck from trade routes and maps, leaving them forgotten to time. Now, the empire is crumbling and left to chaos in the aftermath of this emperor's greed and faithlessness to the gods he once worshipped. It is believed that these gods showed themselves to him in a glimpse of destruction, which destroyed his home empire and he himself. Turning a peninsula into a cluster of large broken landmass and a cluster of tiny islands in which sandbars and a coral reef eventually sprang up. A map which is being worked on. It also lacks the technology of the rest of Valucre and is more feudal in nature. Overall, yes there is a lot of free land for the taking. However, it isn't freely given and must be worked for. I am still working on lore with the lore team, but if you have ideas or wants I am open to them. @Meraxa Please feel free to add or take away from this.
  6. -Lilium-

    Faejarhe AMA

    For questions and concerns regarding Faejarhe.
  7. I think it's wonderful how you also brought animals into the mix, because the viral nanotechnology definitely possess the capacity to infect the wildlife as well.
  8. the Cascade. Aaron Shurst, son of Priest of Humanity Theron Shurst “Do you see what I mean?!” A hand angrily gestures towards the crowd gathered below. “They’re fucking praying...They listen to him, and pray with him...in a shithole...where people are starving to death.” Disgust and resentment curls the dribbling lips into a sneer. “They should know better by now. There’s no God here. Not anymore.” Even after all these years, the resources necessary for survival still continue to dwindle. Many lives lost in this continual irrefutable process. Streets are now marked by nothing more than blood and death as those forced to live in the torrential heat and cold of a topsy-turvy world fight over scraps. All the boy can do is look down on them from where he sits. His pulpit up and away from the lowly street scum. Watching and looking down at how they flock to the pure mindedness of his father. So few in number today as compared to last month. Every new day is worse than the one preceding it. No matter how hard he tries to scrub away the relentless amount of pain at watching his brethren die, it lingers. Over time having spoiled and rotted into resentment against them. Innocence gone. All he worries about these days is how the stink of them never leaves his clothes. Like shit and piss cooked too long in the oven. Were his mother still alive, maybe he would think differently. Perhaps not though. “Ugh...the filth. Let’s go.” There’s no care for the shameful clatter created when his worn out chair topples, its light aluminum frame smacking hollowly into the dilapidated wood splintering beneath his heels. There’s nothing without faith in something. Even if only to give people hope… The drivel his father seems to spit out daily, more pious than ever. But still the people starve, they die, they sin, they slave themselves out. Whatever it takes to live. To breathe polluted air and stay ‘pure’. “He’s wrong...you know. Purity doesn’t exist anymore.” “No shit. Let’s get to Ringo’s before it gets dark. Otherwise we’ll get cited.” “Right.” For whatever population there is, the number of humans is so minor a fraction that they’re weak compared to everyone else. And still a commodity of sorts. So they flock weakly to the sermons of those who’d fill their heads with lies and deceit, fake hope that they will survive and make it in what’s left of the decaying world. Something the boy knows straight to the core of his marrow. We’re all going to die here… And yet, he no longer lifts a finger to assist the downtrodden. Preferring to use whatever his father is able to pocket for the poor and homeless for himself. Needlessly squandering it on ‘todays’ that never seem to cease in their comings and goings. “I hope you have what he asked for this time. Otherwise he might cut your throat and dump you into the sim pool like he did Devon.” “Yeah...Yeah, I got it this time.” Nervous fingers tighten at the knot of a tie against the base of his throat. “Hopefully he has a few extra discs with him tonight. I’m so sick of seeing this dump from down here.” Maxine, Model: Aquarius-X2530 “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to never come back!” “I need you to adjust my arm. The connections at the elbow are loose, causing the fibers to twitch.” “Look kid...get the fuck out. I should have just let you fizz out...or even killed you!” It’s true really. He’d rebuilt her, fixed her and made her work again. And all she wanted...well she can’t have. One day the Tallymen found her mopping floors here, and knowing how valuable an asset she had the potential to be, took her away. And from then on with them she stayed. A complete body build capable of death and destruction used to fulfill their sect leader’s bidding. But every now and again she’d come back to visit and give him baubles stolen from the victims carded to her. However, the last time she’d come in to ask for his help she’d brought friends. They’d been ordered to follow and keep an eye on her. These impure beings that truly exist for nothing other than the anarchy they create. They’d destroyed everything in the shop to teach him and her a lesson. Her place in this life bound by the hands of another. Tallymen, the gangsters, thugs, loan sharks, arms dealers, you name it...of the slums. Markers for the new justice system of chaos. Transhuman machines built to outlast their human predecessors. Held to a decree of volatile viral engineering that had taken place in the past. Artificial constructs...eventually broken down and parted out. To humans who wanted nothing more than to be ‘unique’ and ‘special’. That’s when the system was born, all in order to teach junkers a lesson they needed to learn. At some point, when society fell, they still stood. Groups of them hellbent on being the best they can be in what’s left of the trash heap. No martyr to the cause or anything, this catastrophe does the opposite. Trading it’s own parts to come in touch with something other than the mainframe coursing through the microchips infused into her brain. “You belong to the Tallymen now… There’s nothing I can do about that. You need to leave...NOW!” “I don’t have to trade you anything outside of promising not to kill your family.” Bitter words fueled by an undying need. She wants this old creature’s help in order to be right with the world. And if threats help to make her will realized, then so be it. Either way, everyone left in this world is marked by the blood of another… Dr. Elaina Montgomery of the Refractory Inspector Alan Garner of Lenidad City-State Nails scrape weakly against metal. The full ability of the fingers to flex and curl, taken away by the fact they're strapped at the wrists to the arms of a metal chair. Finally he had awoken, those first signs of arousal garnering attention from a woman standing in front of a large window overlooking the neon lights of the city some distance below. "Where am I?" "A few months ago, a new drug," stilettos scrape the floor as she turns and click as she walks, "called the Cascade surfaced. Aptly named for specialized coding that elicits a cybernetic waterfall in humans and a whiteout function in the matrices of the cybernetically enhanced." A pulp beaten face turns, eyes opening as best they can to find themselves blinded by illumination assaulting him from overhead. The ache of it in his ocular array nearly too much to bear. They shut again. Listening cautiously to the slow metronome of clicks produced by the feminine walk made toward his person. There’s something else, a sense of a crushing anomaly within the domed facet of his mind that forces a grunt of pain followed by a weak scream, "Rrraagh!" "You cannot retreat from this place. The harder you struggle, the more my barrier squeezes in around you. Similar to being caught in quicksand. Just relax and let yourself float above it, or drown. Your choice of course. Now..." Heels having stopped begin to pick up and click along the floor once more. "Ahh yes… You see the Cascade actually began as a marvel of engineering by the Relique Foundation. Mostly as a new form of netting in the matrix not only to perform routing functions and connectivity from cyber brain to cyber brain, but also allowing what few pure humans are left, the adaptability to navigate a system once out of their reach without joining 'the darker electronically mechanical side' of things." Finger quotes are done more out of habit than the need for his closed eyes to view them. "What...what the fuck do you want?" Try as he might against the brightness of the overhanging light he remains unable to fully open his eyes. Catching only black toe rounded heels at the ends of what seem to be very long and pale stems. The sheerness of them enough to make him question their owners' unique existence. Whoever she is, she ignores him and continues on with her story. “Right after this impressive infrastructure of matrices was created, there was an explosion at the Relique Research and Development plant. The source coding and prototypes all stolen and or destroyed in the ensuing fight to retrieve them. However, as I said, Cascade has been seen on the streets for the last couple of months. Its ability to scrub out reality and whitewash it with firmware that allows both humans and the cybernetically enhanced to connect on a neural level is too strong. Unfortunately, what these junkies don’t understand is that by dipping into this frame-worked waterfall they are succumbing to the penetration of hackers and enough adware solicitation to completely fry their brains.” “You haven’t answered me yet, lady.” “For someone who’s traveled all the way from Lenidad to Valovia...you have no patience. Please, if you don’t mind...the point is very close in coming.” It’s nearly unbearable, the pressure drilling into either of his temples. Unexpected relief is found in once again opening his eyes after watching shade cross over his lids. To which there is a completely different happenstance to be viewed. He’s standing...no floating because there is no floor in this space. Just glittering holographic sequences in the curvature of a woman standing before him. This time when she speaks images flood into the space, framed to fit the discussion as well as diagram and frame them out. “That was almost two years ago. I believe it was a radical sect of purists aided by the government. From what I’ve been able to compile in its chronology, the people who destroyed the facility and stole the goods were trained and professional. Not to mention the technology they used to do so. Oddly enough, what you don’t see here...is the complete eradication of every family member associated with those that worked in the facility.” Again, but with his ability to view it, are finger quotes, “ for the sake of the cause ‘they never existed’.” “You still haven’t--” “I found this in the rubble,” another internal projection into the net space they’re both inhabiting. This time it is small, slightly smashed probably from stone or even bone. “This is a conduit round and as far as I know only Black Rangers were trained to use them.” “Intriguing...yet another ‘nonexistent’ group of people. I’m surprised at all you know who they are and what they’re called,” he can see it as clear as the sun on a cloudless day, an unveiling curl of a smile creeping up her cheeks. “Then again...you were one of them, weren’t you Inspector Garner?”
  9. In The Woods Somewhere... Avoided, hid, and ran. Every twitch, every single twitch burns with unbegotten fury. Wanting nothing more than to erupt from each heavily pounding thud within its chest. It pushes further into the jungle, and farther from Amra. The singular failsafe it can reconcile with are the words typed so neatly into the file that had been shared about this Amraphensbane. Yet it proved not to be enough. Lacking certain details that could have prevented this growing rage from ever being born to begin with. It keeps moving. The body merchant is capable of surmising enough that it glitches through the thickets of vines and brambles, using shadows to indulge in its speed. Becoming nothing more than prey to its own curiosities and the hunter’s bane. It takes time but eventually it finds a precious moment of stillness, and listens as the Amalian jungle creeps to life behind it. Sounds of creatures pining for the light so soon to fail swirls in melodious concert from every shadow the leaves create. Another day coming to an end. One viewed silently from a rocky shelf overlooking the sea. The poise and gesture of casting are easily mimicked, however this is not what is coming to pass. Rather the tips of fingers reach out and slowly lower with the descent of the sun. Dip, dip, dipping beyond, below, the horizon. It needed an escape, to break away from the noise, the game of chase. To momentarily allow its focus to crumble and blow away with the chill of a sultry breeze. Vibrant fuchsias, violets, and marigolds once painting the sky become darker deep royals until the open canvas in turn becomes nothing more than darkness with pin pricks of light breaking through. For once it finds like in that sky, an ilk of dying light passing through just to reflect back from its eyes. The following actions coming without pretense or mannerisms befitting such a deathly cretin of the shadows. Rather what is displayed glows in the darkness falling upon it. Those appendages that had reached so longingly for light of day now gone from the horizon dapple along the fringes of hardened petals. Carved delicately into bone and painted for the fashion of an illusionary form of discord. Easily peeled free from a face that allows the spray of ocean water colliding against the cliff face to cool the furnace that has taken to burning its cheeks. None too soon, bits of earth tumble from overhead to break this miniscule revelry, and again it can feel them, those curiously burning orbs of his as they bore into its swathed back. Mask caught in the grasp of trembling fingers, leaves only a hollowed ensemble to turn and peer up into the shadows of swaying branches. A face of solemnity and emptiness but colored by something so ethereal and other. Citrine eyes haloed red with the infection of his rage stare up into the face of the wolf. His trespass marked harshly by a resounding growl, syllables torn and fused that hungrily scorch the sky, “AMRAPHENSBANE!” Inflected by delicate notes of femininity and drunken with a fury it knows nothing of, "What...have..." The secondary set of fingers take to the exposed flesh, hovering first before pressing harshly enough against the pallid pinkness to stunt the exposure of words trying to break free; harshly enough that its lips cut inwardly against sharp teeth. Drowning it's tongue in copperesque tinges of flavor. What have I… It's an unusual thing, laughter. The froth of which bubbles sickeningly forth from between pale fingers, staining them in starlit glistening liquid. And laugh it continues to do. What is this...I have found. Lost, that is what this feeling is. Consumed by untold and well defined hatred… Towards what and when? This it is unsure of, but those eyes are frozen. Locked onto the ones set above a black maw so far up on this island from where it stands. Looking down, back at this monster. It wants to move, to demolish and devour. To break the animal into tiny pieces and feed off the energy emitting from that rocky standpoint. Yet it is held in place by that gaze. Strangled and drowning in what little blood laps over its tongue. It’s own blood and hungry for more. Why... Need, starvation, suffering...and still darkness hangs overhead, surrounding they two. Both watchful and wary of the other. It runs... rock crumbled under toe as it alights from the spot, running with the breeze pushing in from the waves of the sea. html template.
  10. Again, together and fighting the undead to survive. Whatever the infection was-is; it needs to be quelled. Time does little for the memory of muscle, the blade in her hand dancing as magmatically as she herself. Turning spinning and cutting down whatever gets too close to her or the others. Jack’s decision sets the hallway ablaze. Not only taking down those undead he finishes off with his sword but also the already paper and furniture littered ground. The abruptness of the idea of getting out of the building, more necessary than ever. There’s no doubt the flames will undoubtedly die out before consuming the entire building, but it would do just as the man intended. And hold off those creatures at their backs long enough to allow their escape. The only question becoming, what awaits them outside? Having no want to be scratched or infected again, she takes to the open yet foggy air in a guarded stance. Prepared to cut whatever decides to pop out and joint hem, down as quickly as possible. No more playing around. Watchful and wary she waves for the other two to take positions as equally cautious. Being as the objective hadn’t changed, they would make their way for the lift. That broken elevator needing to be restarted so that they could bring help back down to cleanse the town of this….virus. Purposefully, Capria sticks to simple hand gestures. Warning Shishi not to speak again and pointing back at the building behind them as a reminder of what too much noise could unleash upon them. With she and Jack still being on the mend, moving is done slowly. To allow them time to heal further from the injuries endured. Still, no side effects seem to take them down the way the virus had. And why that is is a discovery left for later. Fingers carefully searching through her torn coat for the feeling of macerated flesh...which no longer exists. If anything at all just bubble scars remain. Something to also be curious about and fixed another day.
  11. "And your wounds?" His appreciation is not entirely lost on her, but the next set of words force her vision to cloud over. Blocking her mind from the task at hand if only momentarily. Something expressed physically by the stopping of her work, fingers twitching hesitantly in the muck as her face turns towards him. For once weakness becomes her, the idea of allowing another to touch her briefly in an action of respectful kindness a little too much to bear. “I’ll be fine.” Spoken before thought on. There’s no one she will allow in, her misery a path chosen for and by her and her alone. It isn’t about a man touching a woman, but the warmth of skin when presented to that of more skin. Not even necessarily needing intimacy, but one touch is enough to ruin any person’s day. “But thank you…” Uttered more quietly as if the words are usually lost on her. In reality it’s the discomfort felt at the idea of having ruddy hands scraping across her flesh. More than likely just the tiring day they’d endured.. Which brings about another question. More intended for herself than to be sprung aloud. Out it comes nonetheless, “Is it even day…?” Something neither of them would be able to answer this far below ground, unless Eshara has the magic to bring forth the sun that is. Capria however doubts his ability to do so. I bet he could warm you up in other ways. That causes her to choke. Possibly clearing water from the depths of her lungs or just choking on the guilt of fire burning against her face as she now finds herself more hurriedly digging in the mud. Unable to find solace in the act and too worried about how her expression might be displayed, to even venture a gander at the sopping wet mercenary looking man standing astride her crouched form. “After this...I owe you a meal.” It’s said in the form of an unbreakable promise. Nearly as beguiling as a threat. Staggering, rough, needing to be done on her part really. Capria raises a hand as if to wipe her temple. But, thinking better of how dirty it is, she stops herself and continues to root around, sinking her fingers as deeply as possible, dragging her wrists down and through to scoop up larger amounts. Tossing the thick mess over her shoulder with every new shoveling motion performed. @Fierach
  12. -Lilium-

    [GS] Virgo.

    Another shot rings out, but it’s at this time that calamity strikes. The sisters having done their job rather well indeed. As Virgo suddenly begins to fall from the sky. A massive God struck down by the magic and ingenuity of so few. Such a crushing moment. Both for Gods and the ground beneath her and Arashi’s feet. It cracks and explodes under the weight of such a being. Spraying the land with more rocks and dust than before. Flickering explosions of light discoing out before sputtering to and end. But it doesn’t end there, oh no. It is nothing more than the beginning of a new cat fight. Solely on a more..unlevel but fair playing field for those who cannot seem to find the courage to spread their wings and fly. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bullets of corrosion rain down on the fallen being before it has the time to right itself. Her voice escapes her in earnest now, screaming for Arashi to attack. “Let’s go!” @Zashiii @Metty
  13. -Lilium-

    [GS] Virgo.

    A shot rings out, this time a more corrosive expression of herbological combination. The carefully weighed constitutions portrayed in the munition seeking out an arm of the giant Virgo. The explosion of which isn’t volatile in the least. More of a disintegration really. Through the Prime’s ability to waste the power of such a precious being, all Capria can do is duck away from another boiling blast of light. Losing sight of the degrading substance and the angry creature’s wail of injustice at being wounded in such a lowly manner. The woman feels some sort of sadness about it, but self preservation takes shotgun. Many things need to be done in this crazy world filled with intrigue and secrets. So many to break open, so many puzzles to be solved. And she would be there, hopefully. Intact and one piece is the more ideal version of her dreams, but either way. Alive is alive, and dead is not the current preference of the time. I am feeling a little old in age right now. Maybe you should get out more then, and face the world instead of hiding in its shadow. Very pun inlaid, even for you.
  14. -Lilium-

    [GS] Virgo.

    What are you waiting for? There’s no time like the present for a frown to spring upon her lips. And as inwardly spoken are those words, they are outwardly expressed in a black mass. Crawling from the heels of her boots to shield her from dust and rocks. Quickly, she exchanges canisters, better prepared and more aware of those being used this time around. Having the assistance of a shadow to allow her a break. It is short lived as quite a few things happen. It always seems to go so quickly. Engaging the enemy, backing up complete strangers while doing so...coming out...somewhere on top. The thought causes her eyes to roll as memory protrudes from the back of her mind to a more delicate time in the past. Something she’d never forget, no matter the want to burn the blush that takes to her cheeks from existence. Damn it all. The only words for it really. The shadows disembark and take to wings at her back. Not for flight, but for swiping away chunks of the enemy attack. Enabling her to maneuver more adequately through this godly maelstrom of weakening power.
  15. -Lilium-

    [GS] Virgo.

    Despite the ongoing rampage of Virgo’s might as a last ditch effort to take vengeance on the lands being taken from it, Capria and Arashi fight back. The more human of the two ducking and dodging and drawing attention as best she can in order to allow Arashi to make an engagement against the dying God as she saw fit to do. All the while, Capria spends numerous seconds hoping for the other two women to take their pan to heart. And hurry it up before something worse than an arm is lost. There’s little to be helped by the one armed inquisitor as she grapples against heavy ethereal air blasts to pick-pocket her very own person. Plucking whatever canister of rounds she can find that hasn’t been dented by flying earthen rocks. The sounds of which are more like thuds when they collide into her cloth wrapped body. Painful, worse than the sting of bees. Even the tiniest fragments lead to scrapes and scratches, forcing tiny drops of blood to adhere to her skin. Drying instantaneously in windstruck smears.
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