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Valucre

proximity to corpses

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About proximity to corpses

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    Spatiotemporal Mage

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  1. For Joyeuse.

    Notations became scribbles that bore semblance to insanity. The sigil that lay before the Crithe was his entire focus, it had consumed both hand and eyes; it was all that mattered. In his obsessive study he took pencil to paper, page after page filled in the hastened state—nothing must be forgotten. In his obsession he ignored the pain slowly sprouting at his heart, pulsation along his chest. Instead he focused on the design, the concept and the hiding spot of such a relic; gently poking at the object with the end of pencil. All this time it was with him? A simple question, the answer obvious as it was the Ogre that handed it over, almost without concern for what it meant. Perhaps that was the nature of their friendship? Continuously his hand scratched the pencil against the paper, daring the point to break, daring the very notebook to catch on fire from the furious nature of his thought. Again the pain swept. And again the youth ignored it in favor of his desire. Tip traced his lips slowly as he pondered all that was wrote, the simple image burned into his head, one he had seen and one he wore―the Council. It was at this moment did the pencil descend, bouncing twice before rolling under the desk. Auberon’s hand snapped sharply upon his chest, first rubbing at the pain and then tearing at it. Suddenly thoughts of sigils and his Father vanished as the pain nearly doubled him over where he sat. In that instance his tearing became frantic as the Eternalist tore the very shirt from his body, leaving discarded chunks of cloth scattered about his chair. There the source came to light, four circles tattooed upon his breast in the shape of a diamond. They would hum pulsating and shaking him to his core, each resonated with a different hue. Groaning Auberon’s fingers pressed delicately to them, twisting against them faintly before finally pushing inward, his fingers vanishing beneath this flesh. Unexpectedly they hit a solid object, wrapping slowly around it before withdrawing in a careful and deliberate fashion. A wound without blood laid open on the youth’s chest and within his hand a single, large cube. It filled the palm that held it and gave off a soft azure glow. Curiously the Crithe looked it over and without knowing how, he simply knew the source. Remind me to thank you, Father. Turning it over in his hand he would admire all sides before going to set it on the desk, the wound slowly closing and the markings beginning to reverberate less and less. Yet, likewise curious, before the cube would come into contact with the desk it would vanish into a series of smaller cubes before dissipating into the air, bringing the sigil with it. “So much for a good night of sleep, eh?” And with that Auberon sought the comfort of his notebook, there was much more to write.
  2. For Joyeuse.

    A half hearted wave was the dismissive weapon of choice for the Eternalist. As comrades departed and patrons began to fill, swelling the establishment with their presence, the youth merely sat with a gaze fixed upon the center of his glass. Lost to his self for the time being Auberon was able to finally and fully process the events of the night, slouching against the chair as he pondered. It, like the rapping of his fingers, began simply enough. Admittedly pleased to hear they would depart in the morning, the town had hardly grown on him; something the youth was thankful for. Another sip, another fleeting thought as his mind raced to the tingle that had finally faded from his hand. The temporal itch that sparked the moment he touched the hilt. What was that? A question without an answer, without the need for one as Auberon sipped once more, the glass nearly empty; it would be the last one and he would savor it. The room continued to swell Auberon made his way naturally to the thought that had been eagerly chopping away at the back of his mind—his Father, of course. As his fingers ceased their tapping he would withdraw the sigil from the best pocket of his jacket. A ponderous thought, a series of questions began to hammer throughout the expansive mind of the young Crithe. This is all I need? All I needed was here the entire time. Dropping the sigil it rained upon the table, a comet with his gaze place firmly at the tail. It was in this moment did he sigh, all at once everything clashed and as promised, he pocketed once more the sigil. With a curled lip his hand brought the glass for the final time to his lips. Leaving behind a small tip and half a glass, he would take the advice of his elder. It was to his room he would retire.
  3. Feeling staring/a presence constantly

    I am covered head to toe in tattoos. I am often stared at, nbd. Embrace it and love it.
  4. Valucre Discord 2.0

    ^this, but only because I was using it as a replacement to YIM in regards to keeping or rather getting back in touch with people after so long. So not being able to do that semi-regularly will take some adjustment again, as, it can sometimes take me weeks to complete a single post due to a hectic real life and it is almost nothing to have an app open, pop in for a bit and then peace on the quick. However, as someone who understands the desire to make it more 'for those who are using the site for what it is for' (etc) I have no complaints and actually think the idea is a pretty solid one, and wish it the best of luck on being used for that, even if it means I won't be in it anymore, sadly.
  5. For Joyeuse.

    “―but we both understand your desire to be with Astaai.” Truer words had not been uttered to Auberon before, at least, not in present company. Yet fearing the stammer he felt budding in his throat, he sat in silence. It was this moment of silence that was disguised as clarity, semblance of escape lay before the trembling hands of the Crithe. As fingers slowly reached, daring to the breach the air, towards the symbol bore by the Durandal, Auberon felt his body quiver; not unlike when Charmaine uncovered Joyeuse. For what felt like an eternity the Eternalist sat in this silence, absently ignoring the arrival of food despite the way it hung about his nose, absently ignoring the harmonic voice of Charmaine. A laughter sparked sudden bravery, his fingers collapsed downward over the sigil as he withdrew it from the table, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket before smiling faintly. Auberon had found his sword and as he usher Charmaine, it would be kept from the view of others; while he sought he his father for his own greed, others might seek him too. Perhaps it was in that did the Councilor find his desire to hide, even from kin. And so the youth finally spoke, “I—thank you. You remain as extraordinary as they say, rather, as he always said.” Keeping the faint smirk on his face, he took a moment to sip from his drink, moments after it was refilled and replaced before him. “And you are right, both of you, I have no personal obligation to either of you. Yet—“ Another sip, his face dropping its smirk, solemn as the hand that only moments ago trembled at the sight of his father’s symbol, lifted to trace the one sewn to his own breast. “My father, nor I for that matter, would rest well if I simply. If you would have me, still, I would like to see where this sword goes a bit longer.” Another sip, slowly he found the will to smile again.
  6. For Joyeuse.

    As the Durandal approached the table, the focus of the Crithe shifted; banter dissipated into a haze that eventually drifted into nothingness. A faint smile as he adjusted himself so, allowing the duo before him to land center of his gaze, just above the rim of his glass. The final, or nearly that, sip of his drink seemed to be where the potency laid, his lip curled and he withdrew the mug from his lips. It was in this moment did he discern the shift in the Eternal before him—his apologetic tone masked the tax he paid for the information he mentioned, while Charmaine spoke; Auberon remained silent. It was unneeded, the apology, they should seek his forgiveness for not taking part in such an ideal. As the youth sought the words of comfort, he found himself suddenly derailed by such a simple question: What have you been up to past couple months? Something. Nothing. Everything. A hand familiar with chilled glass absently rubbed the back of his head as he bowed it gently. “I have been seeking my Father, actually.” A pause, it seemed foolish, yet he continued, “He set out a bit ago in search of something—he wouldn’t tell me. And as time drew on, he stopped writing and eventually has sort of vanished. I heard he took up farming or something someplace? I don’t know, but it is clear he wishes to be left alone.” Perhaps the child should respect this? The Eternal he called Father had well earned his peace, his time served to the land would be recalled in hymns and tales; yet the boy could not simply forget. “Regardless he has recently sent word after all of this time, something seemed, uh—off. I have been trying to track him down but, well, you guys have never made it easy to find you when you wished to be a ghost.” A sigh as he noticeable sank in his chair, the idea of failing weighed him down, an Atlas to the tableside. “I see, or rather, assume you have been well?” A deflection, Auberon could ramble on about his Father until the sun rose two days pass, had he the chance. It was best for him to move on, for now.
  7. For Joyeuse.

    As a hand slide beneath the table, the tremble had to be hidden for it was not stopped, his gaze ophidian; it was all he could do to take his focus from the table—from the sword. As he peered slowly about the inn his mind, like Charmaine’s, was left to wander absently. While she sought answers to sword and cause, he sought answers to kin and kith. It was an allowance he had let slide, which had grown and birthed the obsession to find that which he hardly knew. His Father. It was the soft voice, a whisper to the static of patronage, which brought his attention back, bowing his head softly as he tightened his hand, subduing the shake momentarily. “Oh, you must forgive me, I meant no insult. I am sadly unaccustomed to the nature of nobles or rather, I suppose, nobles who are as highborn as those who inhabit such a city.” Pausing to sip slowly on his drink, “I am sure the city is proper and wonderful, should I come merely to visit with the avoidance of people.” Auberon’s tongue stammered and then stilled, fearful of potential or further insult, he would continue after another shallow sip. “I wish I could mirror that love for home, sadly, of what my father was able to provide in our fleeting time, a stable home was not on the agenda. I suppose I know of a place and feel as such for it, however, it is not a true home.” Releasing his glass his finger lightly brushed along the edge of his breast placed sigil. It was true, he had neither official home nor place he would call his own when this quest and his quest had ended. Inns that owed favor to the highest of councils kept a room here and there, nothing more. It was when her lips murmured the name of the Silver Ogre did his attention break, once more pulled from the depths of himself, smiling and offering a wave. A small note was made in the back of Auberon’s head: When this is over, ask him.
  8. For Joyeuse.

    A returned smile as Auberon ordered the opposite of his comrade, something darker and something with a slight kick, though; for the sake of the day it was weaker than the nostrum sought by those unable to sleep. It was when the sever departed did his focus shift once more, scanning the room out of habit before letting his gaze gently hold Charmaine. As she spoke and uncovered the arms that bound the party he would smile and betray himself with a slight bow of his head. “It is my understanding our Christian has a knack for saving those in need, or, so I would believe if I were to believe the fables of kinship.” Drawn to the sword his fingers would reach out, gently caressing the blade before withdrawing slowly. “Perhaps though, until the nature of the sword and your quest are known I full—you might want to debate keeping such a weapon hidden, for now.” Auberon sighed softly as he attempted to make sense of the sensational steel, the weapon that begged for his embrace, the weapon that drew the Silver Ogre to this girl; though not the blade alone, assume the youth. Subtle movement brought the stuffed animal back to the table, behind him drinks were set and the Eternalist wasted not a moment. The lip of the glass tucked to his own, a single sip before a shrug shifted from his shoulders. “Sadly, no—I was asked by letter to arrive here and outside of that, I am in the dark.” Rolling the glass between fingers he would smile. “I am sure when Christian is in better state then he withdrew in, we shall both learn of our fates.” Another sip, reflecting gently on the distraught face of his comrade, Auberon not as receptive of this place as Charmaine, “I do hope however we are not here for long, this place, these people. I do not like it.” Another sip as the youth fell to the static of the patronage.
  9. For Joyeuse.

    It was before the eyes of the Eternalist befell his comrades did he notice the shift in the air, a twisted aura that swept without alarm from the Silver Ogre. Allowing his gaze to trace him, the youth shifted slightly to the side, allowing the man to pace without hindrance up the stairs and into isolation. Notations were made as the voice of the girl, Charmaine, drew his focus and began the process of restoring him to reality. Yet, the soft jingle that emanated from the depths of folded sleeves still hung as he twisted and descended towards his companion. “Ah, Charmaine, my dear, you are certainly correct, it has been far too long.” It hammered again in his mind; the storm ushered by the mention of Christian, attention deviated for a split second before Auberon smiled faintly. “Ah yes, me too. I am certain however he will be done sometime—hopefully. Until then, care for something to drink?” Allowing an arm to wave slowly towards a free table, his gave instinctively surveying the area. It didn’t take long for Auberon to spot a disturbance, though; it came in the form of a stuffed lion. An oddity that drew the attention of the crowd, an upturned populace unsure how to react the antics of something otherwise presumed to be inanimate. A soft smile took shape upon the youth’s face, his attention fixated on Charmaine. “A good question without a sound end, I am afraid. We are acquainted and familiar; however, the bulk of his travel time has not been mine to claim, though a legacy of my family. My father and Christian are better friends than myself, however, in the absence of my father and my familiarity and joining of—them both, I am here as a personal request.” Taking his seat within the booth, his head bowed softly. “And how about yourself? You two seemed cozy enough on the walk.”
  10. For Joyeuse.

    Though his pace was good and his intentions were clear, a child named for the kismet she inhabited would draw the steps of Auberon to a halt, prior to descending the stairs of the inn. It was the fault of Ladon, the flirtatious arm that sought the attention of the room, eager to once more ride on the hip of the youth. In her movements she pulled in a child, who, with a shaky hand snagged the end of the Auberon’s jacket, stopping him almost instantly. “Excuse me, mister, are you a knight?” Releasing his jacket the child spoke softly, having found this moment to escape the sight of her father, drawn by the air of Ladon. Auberon smiled faintly, kneeling before the child. “Well, no not exac—“A huff cut off the Eternalist. “No, child, of course he is not a knight! A proud and rich caste would never be caught looking so drab in our fair city, do not confuse the sword of a vagrant for that of a crest bearing nobleman!” It was the father, turning swiftly and coaxing his daughter with a firm hand upon her should, who spoke with disdain. The youth peered upward slowly, his gaze landed firmly on the man who, twisted his face upwards as if to elevate his point. Embarrassed by the confusion the child lowered her head, seeking solace in the floorboards. Yet, it was momentarily, as the hand of Auberon ruffled up her hair as he stood. “Sadly, your father is correct. I am not a knight, nor do I wish to be if the opinion of such a person here is guided by money over valor, as it would seem.” The Crithe flashed the man a simple smile; turning away from the couple and drawing himself down a few of the stairs before stopping, sighing as he turned over his shoulder. “Though, should purchased lineage and exchanged valor fail you, I know of people who could lend a hand.” And with that the youth descended the stairs, careful and aware now of Ladon, patting the sheath through his jacket before finally, as he started to do, depart the inn. It was his name that drew his gaze to the woman, a face he recalled but perhaps had been lost, smiling he would offer the pair a wave, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, For a moment the words of the father hung, his gaze drifting to the crest sewn on the breast of his jacket.
  11. For Joyeuse.

    Upon a balcony the Eternalist sat, casually sipping what remained of his tea. It was from this vantage point did he observe those proclaimed highborn that inhabited this cityscape, this Elrux. Since his arrival, only a day past, the youth had seen nothing but pompous gaits on the backsides of arrogance, cadence marred by the value of birth. It was almost humorous to the Crithe, who, like them was considered to be of nobility—freeborn, however, as his legacy was born from the arm of his Father and not the value of his purse. And what could you be thinking, Christian? An inquiry to be made as Auberon continued with both his tea as well as his observations, humbled by the knowledge of his own caste against those who squandered it as these men did. As the cup drained so did the patience of the youth, placing the glass with a soft clank atop the saucer his attention would once more turn to that of the leather-bound book that lay before him. Etched into the well read pages of this book were the scribbles, accounts and general notations in regards to his obsession, a ghost. Though the man within the book was not dead, his elusiveness made it seem so. Auberon sighed softly as he once more thumbed open the notebook. By now the pages were recorded into his mind, yet, he would still find himself idly revisiting them as if they would somehow change. In that moment he would have the realization that the man, this ghost, was in the most obvious of places. But so far this was not the case as he continued to thumb, perpetually hunting for the ghost—the Muhirian Saint. Auberon began to find himself getting lost in the sea of pages when a familiar face cut along the edge of the balcony, the bobbing head of the Silver Ogre. Smiling the notebook was gently shut, the Eternalist stood and twisted in a single fluid motion towards the room. It would take only a matter of moments as he retrieved his coat from the bed, stuffing the notebook inside of a single pocket that lay against his breast. Beneath his coat, attached still to a belt was that of Ladon. A formidable blade normally left behind was instead brought, if the Durandal had summoned, perhaps it was need? Regardless the belt was fastened to his hip, his footfalls started anew with a calculated precision. As the duo approached the door, the Crithe would greet them. It seemed accidental to those who passed, the chance meeting of friends long lost.
  12. crithe, auberon

    1. Adjusted coding, font size and other matters of appearance. 2. Altered areas (minor).
  13. The T1 Gripe Thread

    The bickering is typical of a combative nature, I am unaware largely of the RP here (right now) but I would assume that it is still the same. That being said there is very little reason to bicker about general role-play, so if you avoid combative/competitive role-play the silliness of the first 6 pages can be avoided.
  14. The T1 Gripe Thread

    Majin Buu?
  15. My luv! <3333

    1. Show previous comments  10 more
    2. proximity to corpses

      proximity to corpses

      I spend all of my time working but I am management level in a factory with fantastic pay and a 60 hour work week. So hardly a moment of free time it seems. But otherwise no real complaints. How about yourself?

      Clearly fantastic!

    3. Tebo
    4. proximity to corpses

      proximity to corpses

      Yup, same place for the last 5 years. In that time went from grunt to a form of management, basically. I am a team leader.

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