Jump to content

The Alexandrian

  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited


About The Alexandrian

  • Rank
  • Birthday September 16

Profile Information

  • Location
    The Miskatonic University
  • Interests
    Mechanical Engineering; Electrical Engineering
  • Occupation
    Mechanical Engineering Undergrad

Recent Profile Visitors

3,081 profile views
  1. Nah! My character shall claim that title! Jotnotes's research on Changelings reminded me of my penchant for playing them, and I am considering sending a new one to the party, albeit a week late and totally unconnected to my other dealings on the forum. I'm tempted to try to incite a Changeling flash-mob so the uniqueness of each concept I read about in that thread becomes more pronounced, but I shall refrain for the present. I do, however, reserve the right to engage characters that are not otherwise engaged and do my darnedest to drag them into whatever may or may not unfold (or insanity of my own design).
  2. [Middy and Caeceila Glasmann] Caeceila steeples her fingers and, to the detriment of the efficacy of her somewhat vexed expression, gazes attentively at Middy, The Mistress, and whatever else might inhabit the corpse of her ornery guest. She assiduously dissected every syllable that slithered past Middy's tongue, yet she had to concede that she was utterly baffled by the complexity of Middy's connection to The Mistress, or rather The Mistress Black Head. Middy had opened, of course, with a classic strategy - venomous mockery of Caeceila's performance and her intent. Caeceila had not discounted this response; her adversary had, presumably, spat in the faces of both those who mindlessly enforced the law and those who stained their hands in delirious rebellion against the law. Why would Caeceila Glasmann, the Caeceila Glasmann, be treated as a special case? Although Caeceila had, in some respects, foreseen Middy's reaction to her risky gambit, she found herself fighting the urge to render unto Middy a sharp slap as punishment for her insolence. This conversation had deteriorated into altercation, and Caeceila was disinclined to back down. It was a territorial dispute, of sorts, with a challenger invading Cae's household for the sole purpose of making Cae miserable. Cae settled on glaring at Middy for a time, practically boring holes through the wall behind her. Innocent and defenseless. Pah! Middy was a coiled serpent, dangerous as can be, yet she lacked, from her earthy station, the perspective to evaluate the beast with which she trifled. Thereafter, Caeceila's aspect yielded, gradually, to thoroughgoing befuddlement. Biological mother? Take over the organization? Not the real Mistress? Disturbing exploits? What was Middy smoking? Caeceila silently meditated on Middy's words and tentatively sniffed at the smoke Middy exhaled before turning away in disgust. Could it be that this woman, this Middy, who had purportedly usurped The Mistress's corpse was the spawn of whoever or whatever this Mistress Black Head was? What is a Black Head, and what, then, is the chain of command within Middy's cartel? What nefarious plans does the Legion of Doom have in store for the Shawnee region, and what actions are available for Caeceila to combat them? For Caeceila, more questions arise from Middy's speech than answers, and speaking of answers... I fancy myself a gracious hostess - more gracious, perhaps, than present company deserves - and consequently, I am obligated, honor-bound, really, to clarify what might become a point of contention. Not once have I declared that I would expunge the Black Head from the face of this earth, and I assume that title is an irreverent joke by design. I merely stated that if ever she entered my domain, she would belong to me. Take that as you will, and kindly take care not to misquote me if you are waylaid by the press as you depart. Representatives of the associated press are moving in for the kill, rising from the ground and rushing from corners of the room to harass Caeceila and The Mistress with an interminable litany of questions. This intrepid group is rapidly intercepted by a wave of Glasmann servants who stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the pair, forming a humanoid wall on which wave upon wave of reporters break. Caeceila hikes up the volume of her voice so she her words ring clear above a flurry of activity. I don't buy your excuse for attending this event. I postulate you are in attendance because you want to rub elbows with a certain caliber of people - people who can't be found walking our fair city-streets. You may continue to do so as long as you cause no trouble. I am of the opinion that, for all your cheeky remarks, you are harmless enough to my people and my person, and I encourage you to remain as such. If your information on the Legion of Doom, which you provided freely, is good, I shall owe you a favor. If you have betrayed my trust, I will be all too happy to track you down and take you for my own. Belong to me. Take you for my own. These ominous phrases bespoke Caeceila's dreadful nature, and as she uttered the latter, her voice a whisper nearly lost within the din of the crowd, she looked upon Middy through orbs rimed in ice... And she smiled. I don't suppose you'd be willing to share more intelligence on the Legion of Doom with me, would you? I'm sure I'd enjoy hearing more about your predecessor as well, if you're in the mood. You may be surprised by how sinful and wicked I can be when I am properly motivated, so you needn't hold back any information you've aggregated for my sake. Specifically, I'd like to know more about the means and methods of the organization. My offer to compensate you still stands.
  3. Here goes! Tentative Title: Protean Ooze Natural Physical Traits: In an ecological vacuum, Protean Oozes, collectively referred to, in esoteric literature, as the God-Cell, favor no sharply-defined base form, electing to exist as glistening congeries of anomalous protoplasm only faintly resembling various amoebas of terrestrial origin. This base form evolves as a Protean Ooze develops. Initially, Protean Oozes submit to their survival instincts, assembling themselves into streamlined shapes well-suited to survive in their respective environments. More often than not, this stage is characterized by a series of trials, all of which result in failure or bloody conflict which proves the Protean Ooze's artificial form inferior to that of a competing species. Eventually, Protean Oozes emulate the most successful species in their region, compelling them, in all but the most remote regions, to initiate themselves into humanoid society in some manner. At the onset of this stage, Protean Oozes are identified by their inability to speak any articulate language, though they can express basic ideas in a bastardized derivative of Godspeak, and their charming naivete or terrifying savagery. In many cases, Protean Oozes have difficulty understanding any societal constructs/technology lacking natural equivalents. For example, they struggle with the concept of ownership and are easily tricked out of any material goods they acquire. As they gain an appreciation of aesthetics and culture, Protean Oozes further refine their base forms to suit their personalities. When subjected to extreme duress, Protean Oozes will first revert to their most dangerous form, a chimeric monstrosity unique to a particular Protean Ooze, then back to their amorphous, amoeba-like form. Protean Oozes rely on anatomical know-how to achieve their transformations and maintain stability. Healthy Protean Oozes are extremely heavy for their size. Specimens have been known to accumulate so much biomass that their size rivals that of a small house, though this is an exceptionally rare occurrence since experienced Protean Oozes view too much biomass as excessively cumbersome. When they amass extraneous biomass, Protean Oozes typically store it in living hoards: powerful, secondary bodies lying dormant beneath the ground. During apocalyptic events, Protean Oozes may choose to join with one of their secondary bodies and meet the force head on. Secondary bodies may also serve as a Protean Ooze's home. Protean Oozes change forms by attuning their biomass to fields of magical energy they project and modulate at will. Changing forms requires a Protean Ooze to expend biomass. Switching to a smaller form may require a Protean Ooze to eject excess biomass. Protean Oozes may mold and control biomass shed from their bodies with a range limited by the amount of time, energy, and effort spent creating the creature. In the vast majority of cases, biomass can only be manipulated through physical contact with the Protean Ooze and only creations within 100 feet of the Protean Ooze can be directly controlled. Creations may be pre-programmed and capable of acting with complete autonomy. When subjected to antimagic, Protean Oozes may either retain their current form, if it is a stable form, or revert to their amorphous, amoeba-like form. While under the influence of antimagic, a Protean Ooze may not shapeshift but may use natural weapons built into its form, including weaponizing their pseudopods with devastating effect. Location: Historically, Protean Oozes were kept by now-defunct cults dotting ancient Valucre. Each original Protean Ooze was a gift bestowed by a chaotic deity warping Gaia's creation to match its twisted idyll. While creations of the Protean Oozes were used as weapons, the originals were kept as "patterns" to facilitate the manufacture of monsters for combat. A plethora of sickening rituals, normally involving human sacrifice, channeled energy through the slumbering God-Cell suspended in alien machinery to create massive beasts, some of which plague the land to this day. In the end, these cults were bested and their temples razed. In modernity, a handful of Protean Oozes have escaped the forgotten contraptions in which they were imprisoned ages ago and exchanged the malice of their dead god for the warming rays of the sun (much to the horror of all Gaia-fearing beings). Religious/Spritual Affiliation: At times, Protean Oozes feel the call of their dead god and are mesmerized by its dream. During such times, they conduct grisly experiment with flesh, blood, and bone and treat "inferior species" with loathsome cruelty. On the solstices, some go mad, joining diabolical feasts at secret ritual sites rent into the earth to compare notes with modern-day heretics. Others isolate themselves on those unhallowed days, desperately waiting for the moment to pass. It is whispered among certain cults that some of the Protean Oozes are striving to replace their dead god, though no one knows if that is merely idle gossip since Protean Oozes are extremely scarce. Antiquarians who know of Protean Oozes theorize that Protean Oozes are organic machines that are programmed to respond to specific stimuli in a very specific manner. If this is true, all "awakened" Protean Oozes have become self-deterministic due to widespread corruption of their programming. Sentient/Nonsentient: Protean Oozes are sentient and capable of novel thought. None of them are comfortable with technology; the majority create organic equivalents to achieve the same effect. All Protean Oozes are intelligent, but scarce few Protean Oozes are wise. They are gullible and easily tricked. Moreover, Protean Oozes are inherently logical in matters concerning science and reason, inherently passionate and illogical in all matters unrelated to science and reason, and prone to fall back on their survival instincts if not properly cared for.
  4. All units, the infected have breached containment. Caeceila Glasmann, Project Lead, has issued a facility-wide cleanse order. Alpha Contingency is in effect. Alpha Contingency is in effect. All units, the infected have breached containment. Caeceila Glasmann, Project Lead, has issued a facility-wide cleanse order. Alpha Contingency is in effect. Alpha Contingency is in effect. Use of deadly force is authorized for all security teams. Terminate all lifeforms approaching your posts. Glasmann Elites are exempt from the cleanse order and have been automatically tagged on your SmartSurgery HUD Version 3.1. Due to the apocalyptic potential of this pandemic, all personnel who (1) are not tagged and (2) are unaccounted for are subject to voluntary quarantine or mandatory termination. Facility surveillance reports that zero personnel are currently unaccounted for. Take no risks. Assume any subsequent communications on an open channel are misdirection. Observe Alpha Contingency protocols in all forthcoming transactions. It was the distillation of a dream, this panacea Glasmann Cryonics sought to concoct, though the still was diabolically incongruous with terrene machines of comparable form and function and the condensate they so tidily siphoned was putrid tar that slithered across the tongue and writhed in the gut. The uninitiated could not conceive the paradigm-displacing convolutions by which the infernal still transmuted volatile chemicals, in godless, exacting cycles, into a semi-fluid treatment, however unpalatable, for the worst of Terrenus's afflictions, yet here they are, muddling a house where everything is invariably in order, sniffing out blood when they themselves reek of it. The scope of this operation encompassed powers well beyond their ken, and their perception of its surreal workings would be stained by an aversion to the warped reality dwelling in the shadows mortals instinctively shun. A cursory examination of the zone divulges no earth-shattering truth. There is, admittedly, a lull in the shuffling concourse of plague victims transitioning to and from the primary care facility, but the sedate handful of patients exiting the hospital are, physically, no worse for wear. Mentally, these patients exhibit childlike docility, conforming to the decrees of their robotic handlers without question or delay. It is peculiar, perhaps, that Glasmann Cryonics engineered this hospital with a permanent chemical dispersal system, but it would not strike anyone as an irrational decision, taking into consideration the substance that halted the progression of the disease Glasmann Cryonics is tasked with combating and the vehicle by which both the plague and the inhibitor were delivered to the populace. Conversely, inspection of the secondary facility, hereafter referred to as the Glass House, yields tantalizing fruit. First and foremost, not a soul has accessed this facility except by means of the skybridge or, ostensibly, the rigid, armored excursion tubes mounted on the docking ports of the fleet of House Glasmann airships. The only footprints in the dust belong to a platoon of com-bots patrolling the perimeter of the structure. It should be evident that the Glass House is not an overflow medical care facility, yet there is no signage posted in proximity to the Glass House which so much as hints at its purpose. Secondly, and alarmingly, the com-bots drawing power from the charging stations are not deactivated; they aren't even on standby. When Capria's shade slips dangerously close to the sealed, sliding gate of the Glass House (for there is, surprisingly, a entrance to be found), it may observe that several of the "charging" com-bots have aimed sophisticated magitech canons that pulse with unnerving red light, fed directly from their respective charging stations, at the gate two more com-bots, none of which are visible from the path patients are restricted to, make a show of guarding. Beyond the line of charging stations and robotic guards is a conspicuously untrodden aisle of earth wrapping around the windowless building. It extends no more than six feet from the building flat-wise. Within the boundary of said aisle, to the left of the gate, is a no-frills, military-grade access panel manufactured by a publicly-traded corporation in Hell's Gate. It is properly labeled, but the "digital" screen emits no light. A solitary robot, a floating, silver-eyed orb, impedes Capria as she, unbidden by Glasmann Cryonics, advances on the primary care facility. It plants itself smack dab in front of her; she may bump into it if her concentration is elsewhere. This is the first silver-eyed orb that has strayed from the interior of the facility. Seconds thereafter, five others soar past, destined for the Hibernation Facility. After bobbing in greeting, the orb strikes up a conversation with her in a soothing, androgynous voice. WATCHDOG interface initialized. Good evening, patient. You are speaking with 'Connie 0001 - Mark IV.' Glasmann Cryonics regrets to inform you that, due to an outbreak of NECROMANTIC PLAGUE, we are unable to offer you immediate medical treatment. Please return to the HIBERNATION FACILITY and await further instructions. Shishi, Holly, and Madame Linda Linda arrive at the outskirts of the camp Glasmann Cryonics established for humanitarian relief efforts, including care of plague-ridden individuals. A golden-eyed orb, stationed in front of two divergent gravel routes, welcomes them to the relatively generic encampment in a tinny voice and prompts them to follow the route to its left, a route leading, it appears, to a crowded canteen where complementary meals and lodgings are being offered to all healthy citizens of Casper. The route to its right leads to the Hibernation Facility, washrooms, and ultimately a treatment facility for the infected. Every line visible to the left and to the right appears to be particularly problematic for those hoping for expedient entry to the encampment. The bots at this entry point are terribly understaffed, and there don't appear to be any spares except for the com-bots that ominously patrol the common areas at regular intervals. Some of the com-bots have been reassigned, and are loading and unloading various supplies in the background. These com-bots aren't visibly armed, and they play uplifting songs, audible from the entrance, if only faintly, over the drone of the masses, as they accomplish their tasks. As it perceives that Madame Linda Linda is visibly armed, the sphere slides to its right, partially blocking the route Shishi, Holly, and Madame Linda Linda should follow if they wish to reach the primary medical facility. By default, the sphere does not explain why it has done so.
  5. I typically interpret the word "Changelings" in the most literal sense. I do not conflate "Changelings" and transformative power, though they are, more often than not, closely associated in folk tales. If Changelings "burn" biomass to shapeshift, then I guess I've rped two Changeling on this forum, though neither of them lasted very long. Unfortunately, I don't believe I created a character sheet for either changeling. One of my current characters, who will have more onscreen time in the future, is a redesign of one of those Changelings, but I digress... In my opinion, Changelings/shapeshifters schooled in "fleshcrafting" have one of the most devastating ability sets of all character types. I've often treated Changelings/shapeshifters with great magical potential as either bio-organic weapons a la Resident Evil or hivemind-capable entities. Assuming that they can shift their bodies with few limitations, such characters can spawn and "program" subservient creatures to act on their behalf, provided they have access to sufficient biomass. I would often suggest that the fleshcrafting-shifters I rped were monstrous and manipulative in nature but could control their inner "beast" if properly maintained (akin to vampires in World of Darkness). Due to their reliance on, and control over, biomass, most of the architecture they relied on was organic. Instead of computers or some magitech equivalent, they would design creatures with analogous purposes like the Elder Things of the Cthulhu Mythos. Their residences were often alive and horrific, though the personalities of the shifters ranged from bubbly and naive to cruel and freakish. All of my shifters had an instinctive knack for medicine and an intense fascination with anatomical study. They could shift their cells to match a patients and directly replace dead/defective material. Through the acquisition of anatomical know-how, their powers flourished. By gaining knowledge on how other creatures were put together, usually through vivisection or invasive but non-destructive inspection other creatures, they could enhance their shifting abilities and design new creatures incorporating new organs and such. In my mind, this type of character is so powerful and versatile that I often explained away the scarcity of others like it by implying that the Changeling itself was something incalculably ancient or derived from something incalculably ancient. I suppose, if I was to sum up my perspective on fleshcrafting-capable shifters in one statement, it would be something expressing that they are "smaller gods" with the power to create and control life. I haven't given much thought to the societal constructs that would govern a conclave of fleshcrafting-shifters. I imagine that there would be an incredibly powerful god-like entity to which the conclave would be beholden or some sort of pact which would root out the particularly destructive ones (as just one of these creatures turning into a baddie would be a big problem for civilization). Perhaps something could have constrained their power for the good of the world or modern-day members are a degenerate remnant of an old and nearly forgotten race? Perhaps they are/were servants of a god or god-like creature that was cast out or the followers of a demon rapidly gaining power, like the Drow in relation to Lolth? Personally, I favor the idea that they were responsible for the creation of some group of species and that said group of species rebelled against them and erased the majority of them, though I will acknowledge that such a tale is markedly similar to a certain story authored by HP Lovecraft. On a related note, I think "Pickman's Model," a short story authored by HP Lovecraft, offers a perspective on Changelings that could be useful to this discussion, or, at least, my conception of Changelings. The "protagonist" is absolutely horrified by the concept of a Changeling, though I've concluded that is because of the ghoulish nature of said Changeling.
  6. [Middy and Caeceila Glasmann] "Check yourself, jester, for I will not tolerate idolatry. Where your power holds sway, you may enshrine the likenesses of throngs of ignoble murderers on marble plinths, but in my home, and wherever my power reigns, you will have the decency to at least pretend you think your allegedly deceased whore is unworthy of emulation." Caeceila Glasmann, wielding her sanctimonious authority with skill to match her prowess with a blade, has recovered quite well from her "Nines Moment." She stands at her full height, majestic and fierce, and for an instant, the space she occupies extends beyond the confines of what any guest visiting the Glasmann Estate would ever recognize as her body. She stretches into empty air, her distorted human features entombed within a cavern of teeth or immured beneath a squamous hide of sapphire, silver, and cerulean plates. Pride and contempt congress in her starlit eyes, now sickles of ice enclosed in primordial, saurian slits. Globes of energy, dispelling shadows with forbidding cerulean light, swirl in an inexorable psionic tempest, illuminating the beautiful, winged behemoth for the split second it persists. Once Caeceila Glasmann, the so-called gore-spattered debutante, has granted The Mistress the briefest flash of insight into the timeless power she dares to trifle with, the vaguely draconic beast dissipates into the ether. Caeceila Glasmann entertains no conceits concerning her family's clout. This is her city. This is her home. In it, she shan't suffer the exaltation of an omnicidal tart. Caeceila's exhibition of power is easily missed by the majority of her audience. It is a singular event, an altered frame in a reel of film. Scarce are those with the ability to perceive it, and scarcer still are those who are able to comprehend it. Surely, the gravity of the spectacle and the gravitas regulating Caeceila's demeanor at this juncture are not lost on Middy in her role as the leader of the Black Spear Cartel. Caeceila is displeased, to say the least, by Middy's assumption that The Mistress "would more than likely inflict heavy losses on [her] side." It's certainly a malapart play in such well-bred, patriotic company. "You ought to be thankful that I believe your tale, bizarre as it is. If you were as much of a degenerate as the soul you displaced - or, for all I know and for all I care, consumed - you'd have participated in acts so raunchy that your grandmother's ghost would swoon at the indignity of it all. I trust that you've subjected your new host to thorough medical scrutiny. Your enemy laid with a cur possessing a corpse and gods-know what else, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if she kept farm animals and mindless brutes around for use on special occasions. Who else would bed a psychopath whose idea of a night on the town involves multiple atrocities, physical, spiritual, and sexual in nature. You ought to be thankful that I believe your tale, for if I did not, no part of you would ever leave my lair. Whether this is a prank or not, you would belong to me." Tension builds in crescendo as Caeceila speaks. Her aggression is palpable. Brazenly, she taunts Middy, or rather Middy's body, not once sparing a thought for her public image. Again and again, she parrots Middy's rhetorical question. "Who else would have the gall or the sheer level of stupidity to use such a dangerous name especially here in Terrenus?" Who else indeed. It's stupid. It's crazy. It's annoying as all hell. But Caeceila forces herself to relax. This is just the kind of foolishness maniacs on both sides of the line engage in on a daily basis. "I suppose your ultimate objective tonight is to either lure me into a trap or sell me information on the Legion of Doom's whereabouts, unless you really are here for a more mundane purpose. Either way, I insist you deal. You can provide me with access to something I want, and I might be able to provide you with something you want. I might be able, for instance, to do something about the body you currently occupy. It goes without saying, of course, that there are other items and services I am uniquely positioned to provide to you as consideration for the information you have. I might even be persuaded to compensate you for your information on The Mistress's demise." Caeceila approaches Middy and seats herself in a chair at her table. "I am no genie, but it certainly couldn't hurt to tell me what your heart desires."
  7. I miss you, man. Let's RP.

  8. HOUSE GLASMANN ARSENAL Purpose: This thread shall serve as a repository for arms and armor specifications pertaining to equipment unique to House Glasmann Arsenal. Format: Each post in this thread, apart from the OP, shall feature a prominent, boldface title containing, at minimum, item name and item classification followed by both a description of the salient qualities of said item and a brief discussion of the mechanics by which said item functions. Select posts will conclude with a segment summarizing the history of said item. Item Classifications: HGA-PW-CG - House Glasmann Arsenal-Projectile Weapon-Compressed Gas HGA-PW-CF - House Glasmann Arsenal-Projectile Weapon-Cryogenic Fuel HGA-PW-LF - House Glasmann Arsenal-Projectile Weapon-Liquid Fuel HGA-JC-L - House Glasmann Arsenal-Jet Cutter-Liquid HGA-DEW-MA-K/E - House Glasmann Arsenal-Directed-Energy Weapon-Magitech-Kinetic/Energy HGA-MW-CG - House Glasmann Arsenal-Melee Weapon-Compressed Gas HGA-MW-MA-K/E - House Glasmann Arsenal-Melee Weapon-Magitech-Kinetic/Energy HGA-MW-S - House Glasmann Arsenal-Melee Weapon-Sonic HGA-EW-O - House Glasmann Arsenal-Exotic Weapon-Organic HGA-EO-DE - House Glasmann Arsenal-Explosive Ordinance-Dust Explosion HGA-SE-MA - House Glasmann Arsenal-Scorched Earth-Magitech HGA-SE-CW - House Glasmann Arsenal-Scorched Earth-Chemical Weapon HGA-SE-BW - House Glasmann Arsenal-Scorched Earth-Biological Weapon HGA-MB-MA-K/E - House Glasmann Arsenal-Main Battery-Magical-Kinetic/Energy HGA-MB-AO - House Glasmann Arsenal-Main Battery-Alien Organism HGA-MB-OW-MD - House Glasmann Arsenal-Main Battery-Organic Weapon-Mass Driver HGA-HGS-FCV - House Glasmann Arsenal-House Glasmann Ship-Fighter Class Vessel HGA-HGS-CCV - House Glasmann Arsenal-House Glasmann Ship-Carrier Class Vessel HGA-BAS - House Glasmann Arsenal-Body Armor System HGA-AM - House Glasmann Arsenal-Armor Module HGA-CB - House Glasmann Arsenal-Combat Bot HGA-FMB - Facilities Maintenance Bot HGA-AD - House Glasmann Arsenal-Active Device HGA-PD - House Glasmann Arsena-Passive Device Note: Glasmann Cryogenics Products (GCP) may be added below until a comparable repository is established.
  9. [The Mistress and Caeceila Glasmann] Rewarding inhuman savagery with unqualified forgiveness is the central theme of plays staged by meek gods and their fawning congregations. Let these pious buffoons stoke their egos as they exalt weakness and celebrate injustice; Caeceila shall strike true. No less of her will nature countenance, for the power she commands and the onus such power entails are beyond dispute. With unbreakable resolve and fierce purpose, Caeceila plunges ahead. For the first time this evening, Caeceila deigns to reveal herself to the public, and it is immediately clear why she refrained from doing so without substantive, practical cause. Guests with transmundane proficiencies sense Caeceila's advance and react with equal parts dread and awe, for she has woken dormant arcane energies which thread through the tips of their fingers, weaving a haunting, age-old tapestry attesting to House Glasmann's magnificent magical prowess. The atmosphere is alive in a swell of magic, currents and eddies, intricate whorls of prismatic light rippling through a choreographed maelstrom of wind and ice. All across the palatial expanse, servants set their tasks aside and silently kneel in a stately display of respect for the youthful heiress. Sages and scholars from faraway lands conform to the custom of House Glasmann while a menagerie of impudent firebrands, construing humbling oneself in the presence of nobility as something quite the opposite of an anodyne gesture or as a relic of antiquity, cross their arms and hold their heads high in impulsive defiance of their generous hostess. An ample crowd, stricken with panic as they recall how efficiently House Glasmann dispersed its riotous inferiors during the spectacle preceding the opening of the gala, retreat toward the massive, metal doors through which they gained access to the Great Hall. Blinding rays of aquamarine light streak from a marble archway, raking those gathered in the room, felling insubordinate men and women, young and old, with a frosty glare of such severity that numerous recipients, previously opting to show Caeceila Glasmann none of the honors she demanded, buckle under its force and descended to the ground with their hands clasped over their heads as though they were ducking and hiding from an imminent and grave threat to their lives. Indeed, the lethal malevolence in Caeceila's eyes is without compare in the world of man. In that moment, she is a prowling monster, a primal creature hunting for prey. Nauseous fear commingles with desperation spurring several individuals, highborn men and women arrayed in gold, pearls, furs, and silk, to crawl across the floor on their hands and knees in an outlandish imitation of mangy hounds as it dawns on them that Caeceila wasted no effort on disguising the fact that she was prepared to take life right then and there. Perhaps more frightful is the reality that Caeceila herself has not changed out of the outfit she wore while partnered with Míra nor has she armed herself with a weapon, melee or ranged. She means to tear the object of her wrath apart with her bare hands. When her gaze settles on The Mistress, a multitude sighs in relief a dizzying condition which, mere fractions of a second later, is once again replaced with panic and fear. Psionic energy coalesces in the palms of Caeceila's hands, visibly manifesting as the distorted light of compressed space. The orbs pulse and whine, bathing Caeceila in ominous splendor. Then, all is quiet. People rush from the other side of the Great Hall, a side largely unaffected by Caeceila's exhibition, to see what has transpired and are greeted by the sight of Caeceila staring at The Mistress in no small amount of bewilderment. Caeceila is utterly confused, and the general audience has no clue just what to make of this development. It's probably for the best - the tabloids have printed articles averring that Caeceila is completely unhinged, but what is it that gave her pause? As Caeceila stares at The Mistress, blinking randomly and appearing totally out of sorts, she initiates a mini-interrogation. Care to explain why you look so similar to the little bitch of a necromancer who assisted the Legion of Doom in the poorly executed attack they launched on Last Chance or, perhaps why you're calling yourself The Mistress like the very same stupid bint previously mentioned? If you're a fangirl or fanboy or something and you wore that cute getup to this event to get a rise out of me, I AM GOING TO SLAP YOU INTO NEXT WEEK and detain you. On the off chance that you are the real Mistress, or The Mistress, one, do you have brain damage because I am going to pummel you THEN turn you over to the Terrenus Military so they can torture you and two, I hate your everything about your name because someone is going to clip me saying the word "mistress" and use it in a news report claiming I'm a pervert. I swear to Gaia that if anyone in this room attempts to do so, I WILL HIRE SOMEONE TO FIND THE OFFENDING PARTY AND SLAP HIM, HER, OR IT INTO NEXT MONTH.
  10. The Mistress? Isn't she technically dead? Do you want to post, then, before I post again? If not, I'll try to advance the plot sometime today.
  11. In that case, it may be best if Shishi breaks into the facility as well. She may attempt to bust in via the skybridge, if you'd like Shishi to encounter Capria later in the adventure.
  12. I do not know what the OFM is. If this is public knowledge, please elaborate.
  13. I hope it shall, though I haven't been able to post for it for over a month. I have a plan for Lilium's character, but I'm not sure where any of the other characters are. May I position Shishi in my next post?
  14. @Dolor Aeternum @Thotification Can do. First posts will drop next weekend. @vielle In the interest of pushing the event forward, I think it'd be best if we move on. For the completeness, lets say Míra won the billiards match since Caeceila is a little distracted. Unless something changes, Míra will be invited to another social event by Caeceila in the future.
  15. I live! I would like to know if y'all want to pick this up again or if y'all are ready to wrap this up. The rounds lasted quite a bit longer than I thought they would, so there wasn't quite as much partner switching as I anticipated. If y'all want to go with the latter option but would still like your char to meet specific characters in attendance, I propose that we use the thread to facilitate such interactions. discard timing, and, in lieu of rounds, let everything run however participating players wish. This would allow simultaneous scenes and, hopefully, speedier progression.
  • Create New...