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The Alexandrian

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The Alexandrian last won the day on November 3 2019

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About The Alexandrian

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  1. Hey there. Hope things are going okay with you on your end.

    I've gotten a reference picture for Rai in the meantime fam.

  2. [Violet Room] Caeceila's muscles tense she feels Rai's fingers dig through her clothing and tunnel into her skin. Grinding her teeth, she bites back the impulse to tear her arm free and slam a fist into Rai's false ribs. Under Rai's unbidden touch, Caeceila is a raging blizzard divesting the chamber of every shred of warmth and comfort. Ruinous power swells within her, gorging on the malice and ill-will she consciously cultivates. When Rai accuses her of executing Stormbreaker, Caeceila nearly doubles over in anguished laughter. Rai's words echo in her mind, distorting ever more with each repetition. Play nice, Caeceila. Behave, Caeceila. You are a puppet, Caeceila! You are weak! Injustice abounds, and you can do nothing to rectify it! Scores of spiteful eyes assault her from the shadows, and for a moment, she imagines plucking them from their casings like bloodshot berries and pressing them into jelly - a notion she had entertained only in passing during her tirade. The irony of her condition sets in, yet she continues to madly chortle. She would have to bring Rai to heel lest she fall on her own sword. One evening in Genesaris and you're already aiming to fuck me. Fair warning, sis, I am not one of these porcelain dolls that obligingly lie on their backs as a caste of misogynists breed them like livestock! I am an animal though and through; fuck with me and I'll bury you. Five psi to crush your windpipe. Thirteen-point-seven psi and your bodily fluids boil. Three thousand pounds-force and your organs tear apart. I could dispatch you at a distance of 600 yards with a metal button. With a thought, I could detonate your skeletal system and kill every living creature behind you with fragments of bone. Wreathed in cerulean radiance, Caeceila defiles Emperor Rafael's Sitra Achra with her corrupting presence. She is draga, and in the reality he seeks to impose, she is an anomaly. She does not submit to his desires. If he seeks to contain her, he must pit his will against hers and win his paracausal loop against a tide of paranormal interference, for she is not alone in mind, body, or spirit. When Rafael returns her to her stomping grounds, a threaded cane with a silver ferrule and a handle shaped like a serpent's head apparates in her dominant hand. This, she had checked at the door alongside a sem-automatic service pistol and a dagger - both of which had vanished from coat check as she strode to the door. Newfound fear and indelible grit cross Caeceila's manic grin. He's pretty good, that she will admit, but does he comprehend how dangerous he has made her? Cornered by her enemies - the majority of Genesaris's ruling class, no less - Caeceila has little reason to abstain from diving into the thickest sections of the crowd and devouring all who hide within. Cleaving skulls, splitting ribcages with a pop, hacking tendons apart, and watching severed muscles curl beneath skin: Caeceila comes alive when committing such valorous deeds, but as Rafael's bargaining chip, Rai stays her hand and gains her ire. If Rai had not followed her here, she would have felled dozens before the Emperor of Genesaris and his guards brought her down. With her off-hand, Caeceila thrusts her thumb at the brazier in the corridor. If ignited, the bulk of the vampires in attendance would burn like kindling. The rich fabrics and furniture that adorn the palace would convert Lana'thel into a great conflagration. The Emperor's esteemed guests - bloated from their feeding frenzy - would be hard pressed to escape Caeceila's wrath and the encroaching flames. As her audience considers the implications of her gesture, Caeceila's sinister expression promises that Genesaris's ruling class will suffer catastrophic losses if Emperor Rafael moves against her. If necessary, she would exploit their innate weaknesses to maximize casualties and collateral damage. He could do far worse, I am sure, but he will not. Caeceila's glowing, saurian eyes lock onto the cocksure Emperor. Tapping the silver ferrule of her cane on the ground, she proceeds to savage him with recitations, constraining his authority with bodies of law he created. Imperial Edict. Article I, Code 1.2-B, which applies to visitors seeking to become residents of the Empire, reads: "Criminal actions of any manner will result in the immediate failure of residency, immediate expulsion, and the permanent forbearance of seeking residency or citizenship within the Empire." By your command, all lords within the Empire are bound by the Imperial Edict, Lord Father. If you care to check, you will find my residency application was hand-delivered to your Bureau of Immigration thirty minutes prior to reception. Ergo, you will neither jail nor punish me at your leisure - especially not for speaking the truth. Your lackeys will escort me and my sister to Port Caelum and release us into international waters. Failure to comply will abolish rule of law in this backwards land by demonstrating that your laws are optional and arbitrary. Attempt to make an example of my family because you are afraid of challenging me to a fair and honorable duel and I will diablerize those I can sink my teeth into before you are overwhelmed by our common enemy. Earn my respect by washing away this stain on your honor and you might profit from this exchange.
  3. As discussed, the Terrenus Military was walling off paths outside of "the zone." An assault team attempted to move outside of "the zone" to relieve pressure on the Platform via the sewers only to find its path blocked by meddling geomancers. As a result, the Platform is being overrun by undead Xelken (I use the terms interchangeably in said post). The intent was to elevate tension, create an opportunity for other players to help HGA, and get some Starship Troopers-esque swarming going for atmosphere. Also -and this may come across as somewhat untoward but it has merit regardless - why are you doing things like lolnoing Sigil's missiles and lolnoing stuff as minor as threatening dudes with physical violence? I get that you run Aspyn, but let players have some agency over the direction of the plot, please. Especially if you're gonna play the whole "your characters are terrorists and ineffectual" card after lolnoing stuff.
  4. Ruvallah Rav'naggaath... How do you even spell a name like that? Damn, it auto-corrects to Raving Ray'Nugget. That's not helpful. Raisa casually taps the screen of an enchanted slate she fishes out of one of her pockets. She enters her password and types up a text to an employee on another floor. She eyes her fee, but she doesn't touch it. Not yet. Not until someone texts back. Then, she pockets her slate and her coinpurse. She opens the bar flap and motions for Mal to follow her. Y'know, you could have just said you were looking for Nines, Well, come on! I can't be away from the bar for long. If Mal follows, Raisa leads him through a storeroom and up several flights of stairs to an unmarked door. It opens inward revealing a remarkably plain break room. Every piece of furniture is clean, comfortable, and well-used. From the center of a cotton rug, a catgirl waitress lazes in a beanbag chair watching a comedy. A pouch of catnip rests in her lap. Nines was always a lithe creature, muscular only in comparison to other members of the elven race, and she is pleased that her curse has yet to strip her of her natural grace and the myriad opportunities it affords her. For her kind, she is neither short nor tall, and were it not for the spindly spider-legs jutting from her spine and encasing her torso, she would be the archetypal drow, exuding dark beauty born not of dreams but of lucid nightmares tearing at a mind. Sections of her obsidian skin are horribly scarred, and a shallow gash extends from the right edge of her eyebrow down to her cheek. Ashen hair, silky and braided, sweeps down to the nape of her neck. Her ears are longer than they are wide and taper to a point, as is typical of her kind. The little finger of her left hand is conspicuously absent, but this is no great handicap considering the number of appendages at her disposal. Her eyes are red searchlights staring at the screen from her spot on an old couch. When she opens her mouth to laugh, Mal will, in all likelihood, observe that her fangs are quite unlike those of a vampire. These retractile needles supplement rather than replace her canines, which have also been honed to a point from her many mutations. Nines still wears her cut-off vest adorned with official patches from her favorite bands. The gas mask stored in a transparent satchel slung across her torso resembles the ShMS gas mask coated in silver film. In addition to her iconic attire, Nines sports a black A-shirt, woven from strands of spider silk, solid black jeans, black combat boots, and a duty belt featuring a push knife, a dozen unmarked metal canisters, and a multi-tool. Nines appears to pay Mal no heed as he enters the room. Instead, she chuckles as a bald man on the television is hit in the face with three pies. Mal might recognize the movie as a bootleg of Target Costco Nvidia's, latest masterpiece: The Three Brothers Costello. It isn't even in theaters yet! A tub of buttery popcorn sits on the seat beside Nines. She holds a cup of red soda and sips from it occasionally. Raisa rolls her eyes in exasperation. This again?
  5. Caeceila's longsword clangs against the tarnished floor. Gnashing her teeth, she leaps at Stormbreaker! Without hesitation, she lays her trembling hands on the miserable creature and shakes her so violently the ground shifts and bucks beneath them. Cerulean energy erupts from her eyes like the light of a dying star. Her facial muscles tense, and she roars so loudly people on the other side of the globe rear back in terror! Fool! You absolute fool! I am not her! I am not the sister you knew! Her body burns with uncontrolled rage. She feels an illimitable weight pulverizing her lungs. Her breath comes in short, harrowed gasps. Stormbreaker and the pain she wields - pain hacking at her bosom - pain more intense than any wound Dredge or Kahd or Jason could inflict - command Caeceila's full attention. Her vision blurs. Her ears ring. Her fingers numb. She knows the illusion is crumbling around her; she does not care. The sister you knew was an utter failure! She is a black mark on my grim legacy. She never deserved your respect. The world rots away as Caeceila presses her cheek against Stormbreaker's. Their tears commingle, losing all identity as they roll down their skin and puddle at their feet. She must look ridiculous, standing on her tip-toes surrounded by broken clipboards and miscellaneous rubbish, but again, she cannot bring herself to care. To hell with the rest of the world and what they think of her; her sister needs her love. As she throws her arms around Stormbreaker to shield her from all the evil in the world, Caeceila's serpentine tail curves around her body to meet Stormbreaker's. Ever so gently and with the utmost care, it attempts to intertwine with Stormbreaker's. Caeceila is barely conscious of the movement. When her lips part, her voice is no more than a choked whisper fraught with worry and grief. If you love me as I love you, you will treasure yourself as I treasure you. If you love me, you will not surrender yourself as a sacrifice to gods or men. You will surround yourself with people who love you. You will find peace and grow old. You will find prosperity, happiness, and laughter. Caeceila's wish imposes itself on reality as she weeps. Without any warning, Stormbreaker might feel Caeceila's energy flowing into her body. If Stormbreaker accepts this gift of power, a part of Caeceila will reside within her for all eternity, protecting her mind, body, and spirit from all who try to do her harm no matter what becomes of the rest of Caeceila. It seems that the transfer takes its toll on Caeceila. Weak and vulnerable, she clings to Stormbreaker for support with her good arm. Her left arm hangs uselessly near the hilt of the longsword at her side. You will live. Blood oozes from the pores of the black fabric covering Cae's left arm. Stormbreaker's punch had connected and she had heard the crack of bone.
  6. @desolate If there's something I should change about my post, please let me know.
  7. Enshrined in her well-appointed Tactical Operation Center (TOC), the nerve center of HGA's operations in Aspyn, Caeceila Glasmann directs the defense of the HGA-occupied zone with the same ruthless efficiency she strives for in single combat and small unit engagements. Silhouetted against the austere radiance shed by banks of tactical displays, servers, and monitors, she scans a holographic projection of Aspyn with gelid eyes. Intricate solid models of structures and landscapes shift and rotate, the local frame careening through firefights and crashing, like a heavy tank, through walls as Caeceila processes sitreps summarizing troop dispositions and damage to critical infrastructure throughout Aspyn, tracks the trajectories of incoming and outgoing missiles, artillery shells, and their magical and biological equivalents, exploits the holo-display's gesture-control scheme to expeditiously edit and review audio recordings and visual footage captured by ground teams and dedicated surveillance equipment, and issues orders to subordinate tactical officers, communications officers, commanders, and engineers via the ruggedized transmitter integrated into her headwear. Through the glut of coaxial cables protruding from her spine and skull and snaking through cable trays suspended overhead, Caeceila maintains a mind-machine interface with the facility's droid controller and Virtual Intelligence, Invidia. Senior staffers, tasked with supporting leaders at and below squad-level, are outfitted with wireless headsets and interface with Invidia through blinking consoles arrayed in semi-circles surrounding Caeceila's dais. Mobility and communication are vital to these staffers since Caeceila requires that they collaborate in small teams to predict and rapidly implement solutions to dynamic battlefield events. This procedure grants HGA units a tactical edge while protecting command staff from the hazards involved in "leading from the front," provided communications are reliable and manpower is abundant. While one might assume from her typical pugnacity that the dastardly heiress would froth at the mouth and savagely, if not bestially, bark orders at her underlings when under fire, she falls into her rage and acts not as an insensate beast but as a fell strategist who ignores codified rules of war for the sake of her soldiers and the glory of Hell's Gate. This is no great departure from her baseline, and her people take some comfort in that revelation. She belongs here, amid chaos and corpses. Her mouth is set in a grim line and her voice drips with distilled hatred and supreme authority in equal measure as it carries across the chamber. Articulate. Logical. Succinct. At her bidding, Heavy Machine Gun Teams and Light and Medium Defense Teams setup in positions overlooking the South and Southeast approach to the Power Plant and Heavy Defense Teams stopper gaps in the Power Plant's walls. They blanket the South and Southeast in overlapping fields of sustained fire. Rather than line up shots and pick the undead off one-by-one, they pepper the approach with a high volume of energy beams and bullets, firing and reloading without more than a perfunctory attempt at aiming. Such tactics - tactics revolving around massed fire - are as old as the matchlock and, while no longer in vogue, continue to be effective against the massed charge of creatures like the undead. The remaining Artillery Units and Turrets lay down saturation fire to the North. As with the Heavy Machine Gun Teams and the Perimeter Defense Teams, accuracy is not a priority. Indiscriminate shelling of the area - stripped of cover weeks prior and rigged with explosive ordinance to boot - is a half-decent tactic, but the undead swarm is relentless. Undead creatures violently explode into clouds of goo and gore and the Artillery Units follow shortly thereafter, 15-meter balls of fire and smoke igniting the night. Blackened metal husks lie uselessly on the asphalt as horrors, jaws working as though masticating flesh, drag themselves past. The doors to the Platform burst open and lines of violent purple energy streaming from Backup Turrets and grounded Aircraft fill the undead with smoldering holes. They reach the hangar only to be pelted with scores of Silver Eyes, hovering, modular robots equipped with dinky welding lasers that don't pose much of a threat to any large Xelken except in large groups. The Xelken push forward, crushing Silver Eyes and peeling open the metal birds to feast on the crews within. They climb over the motionless body of their fallen, some pausing to spill Stitch Worms onto the ground as particle beams shear them open. Torpedos scream toward the entrances. The ground shudders as gravity wells envelop corpses, undead, men, and machines. The Mage Corps and the Eldritch Assault Team reposition to compensate for the loss of the firebase. Dashing through underground tunnels to reinforce the Platform and blockade the main route by which the Xelken, they are utterly dumbfounded when they encounter a 2-meter thick granite wall obstructing them. Obeying their mistress, Camelia Sorina, blasphemous creatures hew at the wall with wicked talons and disintegrating rays. Caeceila's private communications channel crackles to life. Cammy delivers her report. Color drains from Caeceila's face. She grips the holo-display in front of her to steady herself. Betrayal! Her people are dying because the Terrans blocked their access tunnels! All eyes are on Caeceila as she wheels around, grabs a Terrenus Military official by his throat, lifts him off of his feet, and slams him into a wall. She broadcast the resultant exchange with the traitors on an open channel. This is a nonviolent corralling meant only to protect Aspyn to the maximum extent possible! No, this is a breach of contract! You're killing my men because your death-worshiping superior hates unnaturals more than he loves his people! You intolerant bastards! No - When I commit my people to the field, I do so knowing some of them will die. Tomorrow, I'll have to look their children, spouses, and parents in the eye and tell them their father, mother, husband, wife, son, or daughter is gone and there's little anyone can or should do to bring them back. If I can substitute something - a zombie - an abomination - a robot constructed for the express purpose of waging war - for a human life without impacting my ability to accomplish my mission, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Why? No one mourns a pack of zombies. My people are paying the ultimate price for your intolerance, and before you try to justify sabotaging us, let me remind you and the whole damn world of your deeds. You let Dredge rise to power. You let the Enrele snatch our people. You let widespread poverty shake the foundations of Hell's Gate. You restricted individual liberties with your damned Safeguard Act. And you're too afraid to act openly against those who hurt the people you've sworn to defend. I quit, and so help me god, if you don't knock down those walls, I'll gut every last representative of the Terrenus Military I can lay my hands on and overload this goddamn reactor!
  8. Apologies for the delay. I'm working on a post now. My objective is to have the post up tomorrow. I think HGA might start prepping for a withdrawal while the Xel'ken and the Terrenus Military are duking it out so they aren't at the mercy of the military when the dust settles.
  9. [Lakeside - Prior to Departure for Sharpmate's Noodle Shop - Cae and Stormbreaker] Caeceila does not shy away from Stormbreaker's embrace. Instead, she plants her feet in the dirt and stands firm when confronted with impending physical contact. When she is touched, Caeceila stiffens visibly in discomfort but abstains from squirming out of Stormbreaker's arms or biting at her. Even so, she proves as cuddly as a statue - which is, objectively, a massive improvement over proving as cuddly as a shark. As she gazes despondently into the placid lake, her muscles tense. Jellyfish! God damn jellyfish! They're here! They must be! Her eyes flashing wildly, she struggles against Stormbreaker's grip, her body wreathed in cerulean splendor. Heat drains from her surroundings as she snarls, like a rabid dog, at an empty stretch of water. I'll kill you! Every last one of you! I'll be so merciless the chroniclers will rename King Levas! Answer me, cravens! Whether Stormbreaker restrains her successfully or she frees herself, her episode quickly subsides. Her knees buckle, and she collapses, abruptly, under her own weight. As her hood slips back, her eyes betray her. She hasn't slept a wink in days. Stubbornly, she shakes herself awake, props herself up against a stump, and pretends nothing happened, electing to pick up where Stormbreaker left off. For your information, I have petitioned the OFM, the Terrenus Military, politicians, minor deities, major deities, spirits, guilds as far north as the Shawnee Glacier, and cults from here to Taen for aid in combating the Enrele threat, and I have received little more support than I had at the outset. Funding - I've always had funding! I need innovators, inventors, tacticians, and strategists - people who can devise a solution to this infestation - and I need people courageous enough to implement it! Her volume decreases. She feels coarse grit abrade the roof of her mouth, turns aside, and spits. She rubs her face with a dirty sleeve, glowering at the empty space before her. They'll pay for abandoning the world to the parasites! At least she tried! At least they tried. I keep tabs on the group that liberated Dougton. Argi vanished. Maybe he and Jason the Useless are training somewhere. Some hero. Aya returned to the Shrine of Judgement. Shishi and her sister traipse across the continents as they please. Emile continues to advance within the Terrenus Military. I've had minimal contact with Liz and Ventrix, and I have reason to believe that's because the Enrele are disrupting their operations. I think Dauner and Gozen lead a militaristic faction now. She paws at her waist, clumsily retrieving a syringe full of colorless liquid. I'm certain Shishi, Shishi's sister, and Aya hate my guts. I can't blame them. I know I'm not a good person. Come to think of it, I don't know that Shishi's sister - who may or may not be The Mistress - has the presence of mind to hate me. Something is wrong with her, that much I know. I can't trust Emile. The people he reports to may be compromised. Besides, the Terrenus Military's philosophy isn't compatible with mine. Our goals align, but our methods couldn't be more different. Liz really hates me, and I'm not all that fond of her either. We're the reason the mission in Dougton ended with millions comatose. If she had allowed me to sneak in with the rest of them, my girls wouldn't have had a run in with Jason of the Lions. And maybe I'm picky, but I don't want to work with Dauner again, and Dauner and Gozen seem like a package deal. Dauner just wanted to kill. He was in it for the glory, not to save lives. In a way, he's too much like me. We savor violent death and the glory of the battlefield. Bah! Worst of all, I've lost contact with Ilyana and Aislyn, and as a result, I've lost access to their network. I've been compensating as best I can. More than that, Ilyana was a good friend, and-and I don't have the heart to tell Cammy that she's gone. I know you and Cammy haven't had much time to talk, but this news would destroy her. I've been less than honest with Cammy. I've been sending her fake letters and video footage from Ilyana for weeks. She plucks a red cap from the syringe with her teeth. Unless Stormbreaker stops her, she jams the needle through her trousers and into her thigh. With no concern for the environment, she spits out the cap. I have you, Rai, Cammy, Iolanda, and Nines - and I thank the makers for you lot every day because right now you're all that keeps me sane - but I can't do this. I can't beat the Enrele without millions of deaths or - or losing what makes me human. I mean, I can kill signle Enrele - that's no problem - and leave the host intact, but without immediate medical assistance - and on a grand scale - There's a ritual - with the sacrifice of thousands of lives, we might cleanse a city all at once. If we fail to cleanse a city all at once, the Enrele go on a rampage killing hundreds of thousands if not millions - I've created sims to back that up. Moreover, we don't have enough information on the ritual - we just have the name of the book the ritual is detailed in. If I had several hundred exceptional telepaths, we might be able to take control of a city, but there aren't that many who will work for me and I can't source them from the Xer in Taen without being declared a terrorist - I'm nearly at the point where I'd say screw it and accept the infamy. There's another solution I've entertained, but I don't know how interfacing with, well, we're calling them Caerele, will affect my mental health. If it doesn't work, I fall and, if no one takes up the torch, the world falls with me. One of the good outcomes is it works in the short term and several months later I develop dissociative identity disorder. One of the bad outcomes is it works and my priorities shift and I become fixated on becoming a god and I attempt to assimilate all life in Valucre. The probability I would succeed in taking over Valucre is low to moderate, based on the sims. It might not even matter because without more samples and research, we'd only be able to implement this on a small scale with compatible individuals. To challenge a hivemind, we need years, not months, and we don't have years! She rises from the ground, exhausted yet functional. Miraculously, she maintains her balance, wobbling as if slightly intoxicated. During the Dougton Incident, I retreated. I retreated because I know myself too well. To me, there's no greater thrill than watching the life drain from someone's eyes. When I snuff out the spark of life burning within someone's body and drag them, screaming, kicking, and pleading, to the afterlife, I feel alive. That's the pull of the Beast caged within me. But to take innocent life - Caeceila falls silent, and for a long time, she says nothing. She blinks, and it's as though she is looking at the other guests for the first time. Their contented smiles are a balm to her aching soul, yet she does not smile. No, a smile would not suit her - not now - not before their future is secure. But when Cae recognizes her... Stormbreaker, please call Cammy and help me to your ship. I need a nap and a change of clothes before we head to Sharpmate's. Oh, and you might want to warm up by singing some arpeggios. Cammy has a thing for duets and I've only one or two songs in me.
  10. [Violet Room - to - Exit (Interruptions Permitted)] With a hushed command, Caeceila sends her friend, Camelia, out of the palace and the city for her own safety. Tonight, Cae plays a dangerous game, and while her noble blood may shield her from some of the more lethal repercussions of her gambit, it would not spare her friend from the full force of the Emperor's wrath. So too she orders her human servants away and makes her stand with her servitors in the Red City. The Lagrimosan jingo's lips are tinged with cold contempt as they twist upward into a slasher's smile. Her domino mask irreverently discarded - chucked carelessly over her shoulder as she turns her back on the Emperor - she moves to eclipse him in his own court. In her homeland, Lady Caeceila Glasmann, famous for her polarizing (belligerent) personality, might challenge eminent leaders like Michael Commager, yet she harbors no delusions regarding her standing in Genesaris. Her reputation still proceeds her, but her stature as a noble and a warrior is much diminished - all secondhand gossip transmitted by sailors and travelers - and is consequently a poor motive force. Though her costume, her bearing, and her companion's actions this evening confer certain advantages, she recognizes that she must earn her win the usual way - by outmaneuvering her opponent. Let him work the room and exchange vapid pleasantries with his public; she will work the room into an uproar and gain his hatred. If she escapes with her head, then her victory will be absolute. She swipes her thumb across the brim of her peaked cap, her baleful, saurian eyes utterly devoid of compassion. Her heartbeat is a war drum sounding the advance, so she steps forward, snatches her cape from a servant, and plants her foot on one of the Emperor's seats to examine her laces. Satisfied, she delivers a provocative speech in impeccable Terric. I fear I will discover no allies in this mire. She slips the cape over her head and begins working the buttons. Her unbridled ferocity honors the Beast residing within her. A flash of teeth mixed with the sheer malevolence of her gaze is sufficient to paralyze a young vampire unlucky enough to catch her eye. She looks on her audience like one might look at confections arranged in a display. Beside her, the savage white tiger would seem positively human. Monstrous doesn't even begin to describe her yet she continues to abide by the Emperor's rules, neither casting spells nor raising her voice. I am in the company of leeches gorged on blood, buzzing mosquitoes, groveling toads, wild swine grunting as they tumble in the muck, and pond scum. I would hazard a guess that there are more than a handful of snakes and alligators concealed in the fog as well, but the hallmarks of humanity are conspicuously absent. Having staged her opening on the foundation Cammy constructed, she appeals to stragglers from the same group. If the Emperor would call her a Lagrimosan bigot, her purposes are best served playing to the stereotype. She extends her index fingers, middle fingers, and thumbs as she points finger guns at various targets throughout the room. I see lust, not love. I see control, not care. Her candid opinion of the event is better received than her opening. A select few have the strength to glower at her. Several others avert their eyes. She pays them no heed and steps off toward the exit. Unlike the vampires' outburst, the music continues unabated and many do not hear her or understand her. All this is by design. I see greed, not charity. Then, Caeceila does the unthinkable. She glances over her shoulder, in the direction of the proud Emperor. Her smile grows impossibly wide to match that of her erstwhile companion as though she is fantasizing over pinning him to cork board, regal monarch that he is. I see shameless depravity and a mockery of justice. She continues to walk away, showing him the full measure of respect he engendered by allowing others to break the rules he set with little more than slap on the wrist. Perhaps he will not hear her. Perhaps he will pointedly ignore her. She would force his attention to her. The matter at hand is too grave for subtlety. These creatures are noble in title only, and I shall treat them as their behavior warrants! Caeceila tugs at her gloves, adjusting the fit around her fingers. She may have need of her fists before she reaches the door. That done, she looks to her left and blasts the Emperor's guests with as much cheek as she can conjure, staring down elders and daring others to assault her. She refrains from exhibiting her full power and concentrates on her objective. Her breaths are rhythmic, and her fidgeting, channeled into deliberate alterations to her clothing, hides her fear of the man she slights. The wolves encircling her pose a significant threat to her continued existence, but their Blood God is on another level entirely. Nevertheless, her best bet might be to face him in single combat - which he might be more apt to engage in if she drives a stake into his heart. A pox on you apostates that all might know you at first blush! Let your lacquered hides reflect your blighted souls! Here, in the house of your impotent god - who cannot control his willful wife let alone his subjects - you prey on those you are sworn to defend. Drunk on power and blood, you consider the thumbs pressing your eyes into jelly and the fingers wringing all life from your lands no less natural than your incestuous sheets and the deformed seeds you sow in cold earth and entrust to the worms. When you all are puppets, peeking out of glass eyes as you dance for the amusement of parasites who have stripped you of free will and wear you as easily as your masks, I will give thanks that the stream of honeyed filth pouring from your bloodstained lips no longer pollutes our waters! She waves tauntingly to occupy her hands, knowing full well the majority of the crowd can understand her. By her estimation, the bite of her words will carry them throughout the Empire. She grits her teeth and tracks potential threats and weapons. No sane man but the Emperor would attack her now, but she spies several rounding up seconds to challenge her to a duel. Relish your feast, you anemic dogs, for as you consume your people, the Enrele will consume you. For the sake of the people you exploit, I have delivered this message, but I shall do no more that could in any way benefit you lot! Fall on your face before your god and beg his protection for all the good that will do you! Seek comfort in the great lies that the Enrele are a product of mass hallucination and that Genesaris is beyond their reach! Appeal to the monsters and cannibals your master keeps in Port Caelum. You have demonstrated you are incapable of controlling yourselves, let alone your fates. Any man who claims otherwise is welcome to try me in combat and die better than he lived. At last, the door! She grips the handle and wrenches the it open, admitting a chilling draft. Now, she can shiver without appearing weak, and soon, she could vomit and be glad that this ill-begotten act has concluded knowing there's little more she could do to spread news of the Enrele incursion. After all, the Enrele could suppress her publications, but this act of insolence would surely prove more than they could control, and if the Emperor takes a personal interest in it - if, at first, only to punish her - perhaps the day can be won without compromise or sacrifice. So her facade of fearless bitterness must persist. I would bid you all farewell but that would be insincere. If I had it my way, I would butcher your sons and daughters and have them raised as mindless servitors simply so I could ensure they did some good to counteract all the bad you've done. So I'll say adieu - to god, you wretches. And as soon as the door is closed, Cae flees into the night.
  11. That I am. I might end up posting in a few places regardless. I ought to be back next Thursday/Friday, but if you wanna post first, please do!
  12. I understand that enclosing people/places/things in earthen/stone walls is a fairly standard Terrenus Military response to things they don't like. However, my characters will view such an act, if executed without any communication, as a precursor to launching an attack on 'em. I might even be able to track down a thread I was tangentially involved in where the Terrenus Military erected walls around the First Temple in Ignatz and then proceeded to attack people trapped inside of the area with snipers to establish that this is a real (imaginary) concern and ought to be treated as such. Such an act would also be viewed as the Terrenus Military allocating manpower to impairing its allies rather than working to duff up the invaders - which is all well and good with me but considerably less than good with my characters. All in all, it doesn't make much sense to march down a path that's bounded by walls manned by people you suspect intend to kill you at enemy forces who know you'll be coming from such-and-such a direction because it's the only one available to you. Units' flight capabilities aside, that instrument resembles a meat grinder. In this case, the kneejerk response to being hemmed in is to try to break out. This may or may not involve disabling one or two of the Terrenus Military's AA sites. Are there other logical courses of action? Yes. Diplomacy is highly recommended. Unfortunately, I don't have diplomats at my disposal; I have characters who will view their enclosure as a means to attack them because that's what they're used for a lot. Edit: Unless I'm reading walls where there are no walls. That is a definite possibility.
  13. Should also probably note that none of them have left their fortifications at this point, and that boxing in mah dudes instead of helping the wall bros (who should have suffered heavy casualties because charge 'n get flanked isn't good for anyone's health) or communicating will provoke quite a response. Just a fair warning lest a battle between two factions evolve into a battle between three.
  14. I see you there trying to shoot at my dudes. This may have major repercussions (as firing on allies without provocation generally does).
  15. Greetings, folks!

    I am currently semi-AFV.  I have been semi-AFV since the resurgence of COVID-19 in the USA.  I am attempting to resolve other issues at the moment, and while I have tried to write in my free time, I keep discarding what I generate because it doesn't feel right.  It feels stiff and formal.  Needless to say, that is not quite the style I am going for.

    I anticipate I will be semi-AFV for the next few weeks.  My apologies for any inconvenience this may cause.

    1. supernal

      supernal

      You should consider a few palate cleansing brevity posts. The low pressure stakes helps me get the mojo flowing 

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