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The Alexandrian

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About The Alexandrian

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  • Birthday September 16

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

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  1. Salvation Through Steel

    [Telerian - 1534] The trek from Ham's Repose to Telerian is interminable. The roads leading to Telerian aged gracelessly in their disuse, and the uneven footing compounds the discomfort of an already disagreeable trip. Ker trots and gallops over the rough terrain ahead of Agony, pausing for no more than fifteen minutes at a time when she is required to satisfy her basic physiological needs. Not once in two days does the centauress trade words with the blob, though they are frequently at a range wherein conversation among friends or acquaintances would ensue. Despite Ker's decision to say nothing to Agony, she is adamant that he allows her to split her rations with him whenever she dines, notwithstanding that she packed only enough food for herself. That Ker gives a hoot about Agony's well-being to the extent that she willingly marches on with a rumbling stomach on his behalf even as she holds a grudge against him (for fairly obvious reasons) spices the situation with bittersweet awkwardness sprinkled with salt. As with bittersweet chocolate, it is this salt that brings out the sweetness of Ker's conduct. In time, Ker and Agony arrive at their destination. Upon doing so, it is immediately evident that Telerian was a barren land long before the undead overran its defenses and eliminated its inhabitants in a wholesale slaughterfest. The flora encircling Telerian is extremely limited; the few trees that Agony and Ker can spot decorate formerly upscale areas of the ruins of the city proper. Unlike the Gaians, the Telerians appear to have annihilated the fauna in their region; their history being one of environmental exploitation and aggressive expansion for the good of Genesaris, the scope of this ecological devastation is unsurprising. Nevertheless, the desolate cityscape, with its stark structures of tarnished, dark metal and cracked glass, crumbling brick and stone, and rotting wood, hammers home the emptiness of the birthplace of Genesaris's magitech. This technological powerhouse has become a mockery of what it once was. Drakes crowd the skylanes where airships once soared. Wyverns ascend from their roost in Uhltorian Bridge, sullying both the memory of Jordan Uhltor, the man credited with pioneering Genesaris's airship technology and guaranteeing the quality of Telerian's educational programs, and the brave men and women who perished in Telerian's defense. Chromatic dragons nest in the airship factory, coveting the polished scraps of metal the Telerians left behind. Shambling creatures in tattered clothes haunt the buildings that some of the greatest of Genesaris's engineers and scientists called home, slinking through the sepulchral shade of interiors the sun will never again touch. In the distance, two red dragons and a small, lone silver dragon engage in aerial combat. Although the silver dragon is outnumbered, it seems to possess the upper hand, facing off with one of the reds as the second, whose wings are caked in ice, careens into the side of tall metal building and narrowly avoids being immured beneath a pile of rubble as the structural supports fail and the building folds in on itself. As the red crashes into the street, sliding a quarter of a block on its side before it comes to a halt, a dozen gaunt humanoid figures emerge from a corner of the wreckage that has remained largely intact, mindlessly lurching toward the dragon as the fist-sized pustules protruding from their bloated, half-rotted corpses flare with sickly green flame. One by one, they detonate, their bone shrapnel plinking harmlessly off the dragon's scales but lodging themselves within the dragon's leathery wings, inflicting no more than a superficial wound. On average, the legs of these undead are undeterred by the loss of everything above their waist for a good thirty seconds, plodding forward with sections of their spines and hips exposed before tripping over detritus and becoming effectively neutralized. The red rights itself but makes no effort to rejoin the fray, one of its wings having been bent at an odd angle during its undignified landing. Ker scans the battlefield, reaching into the vacant air before her as if testing the temperature of a hot shower. The muscles of her fingers elongate and contract as she plays with an unseen force. She withdraws her hand, delays for a handful of seconds as she inspects it for any mutations, twisting it about the axis of her forearm so she can view it from all angles and tentatively curling her fingers into a fist, readies her lance, and, ever vigilant, addresses Agony without looking at him. Can you feel it? This sensation... I had heard rumors of Telerian's magical radiation, but this... I feel as though I am disappearing. Something is amiss here, as if in this locale death and life become indistinguishable from one another. Whatever this is, it isn't lethal; the silver is our pilot, but it is - it is wrong, this much I know. To be sure, the magic of the land is itself disturbed. It reacts to the presence of the necropolis, to the extermination of millions of lives and the inferior substitute that now pollutes the city. Telerian is falling into the void; Ker and Agony are at the boundary of reality unmade, though they may not yet be aware of this. Ker for one was shaken, and she hadn't wherewithal to hide it. Whispernight. It must corrupt this land still. We must understand it that we may prove more resilient to it, but in my heart of hearts, I fear we cannot best it. Truly, the best we can do is rob the dead of the final fraction of power they possess and move on. For all her weakness, for every fiber of her being that begged her to turn back and preserve herself, Ker could not but take a step in the direction of the city. Her instincts rebelling against her, her throat dry and her breath shallow, Ker planted her hoof in the soil and forced herself to inch forward. Each motion was quicker than the last; the sooner her business here was concluded, the sooner she could depart. Her strides lengthened, and she began to amble, unless Agony did something to prevent her.
  2. The Anima Imperium

    Nines, now relieved of her exotic, if not esoteric, load, stands with arms akimbo, her eyes sweeping the area behind Dr. Marigold as though they were searchlights illuminating the yard of a prison in the black of a moonless night. As a cloud floats overhead, Dr. Marigold will, in all likelihood, find himself bathed in disconcerting red light. Nestled within the Stygian depths of her gas mask, which blends with the angular shards of metal projecting from her clothing to produce a not quite arachnoid appearance, Nines dissects Dr. Marigold's phrasing and mannerisms without an interjection ever escaping her lips. Only when there is dead air will she continue, her mask's voice emitters doing little to impede the clear enunciation of each and every syllable that crosses her tongue or the bizarre Southern lilt in which every sentence is cast. Idly, Nines thumbs the grip of the extensively modified pistol-crossbow resting upon her hip. In doing so, a bead of metal adheres to the tip of the thumb of her glove. The lustrous ball crawls up the smooth leather, collecting at the interstice between her bracer and the glove. If Dr. Marigold cares to examine this movement, the formation of a new vein, he may note that metal rhythmically flows along these lines. Being a Doctor of Medicine, Marigold may classify this phenomena as a pulse, albeit a most unusual one. Nines herself does not heed this event; either her mind is elsewhere or she thinks this phenomena familiar. In conclusion, Dr. Marigold was not guilty of committing a faux pas when he resolved to view Nines as a specimen in lieu of a person. On the surface, her kind was rare, and Nines was an aberration even among the drow. A vein had formed as a nerve was struck. Indeed, Nines had not expected Dr. Marigold to respond so negatively to the stimulus she applied. It was not as if he was wrong - pretty things were always high-maintenance - he just seemed so very shaken or off-put by her comment. There was a story there, no doubt, but Nines knew better than to pry. That would likely be as dangerous as allowing Rodan to touch her skin, and she took precautions to ensure that would never occur. Besides, unions between males and females regularly created spawn, and spawn got in the way of absolutely everything every second of every day for over a decade after their birth. Yuck! With an exasperated grunt, Nines considers how to answer Dr. Marigold's query. She had to balance censorship, truth, and lies to sculpt a satisfactory answer without divulging too much accurate information. No one needed to know that the Abbadon Triumvirate would become the Abbadon Bipartite after certain goals were achieved. Ker and Nines, having masterminded the whole scheme, had planned to take their leave of the organization when it was at its peak. They had staked everything on the success of the organization, but after they had turned a profit, it would be far more cost-effective to leave the insane to their own destruction than to salvage the asylum. It was about building, selling, and moving on. Everyone was bound to betray the organization; it was just a matter of choosing the opportune moment to step down and departing on a high note instead of dealing with the organization's mounting problems (which would increase exponentially with time). I'll level with you, doc. I don't care what the other triumvirs think about my decision to support your facility. Rodan is intelligent - you'll like him or pretend to like him because you'll be working with him if you sign on - but he's basically a magical rapist. If he touches you, he can screw with the workings of your body. I don't think he has a head for business. Agony is a slime or a pudding or something. I think it eats corpses. I don't think it has a head for business. 'Nuff said. I don't respect them. Hell, I don't even trust them to cover my ass in a firefight. I'm positive the feeling is mutual. Ker is alright, but she's in waaay over her head. Ker has done some bad stuff in her time, but she's nowhere near as fucked in the head as Agony or Rodan. She's a good soldier in a bad situation - she won't survive this ordeal if she doesn't shed what remains of her humanity or quit before people catch on. I stepped up to slowly take over her duties as triumvir because I don't have half as many scruples as she does. I killed my little brother when I was seven; I've been in the "murder people who get in your way" business for fifteen years. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn, but you and Ker are pretty much the only people who have done right by me, and I'm a surface elf now, so I have to repay the favor, right? That's not to say I've gone soft or anything, but believing there are two people out there who wouldn't stab me in the back if they had the chance helps me trance at night, you know. Nines slouches forward, quietly sighs, and digs her heels into the dirt. This is a depressingly heavy topic, but at least she has nearly said all that must be said on it. Take my advice: use the Abbadon Triumvirate to get what you want. In time, the members who are chaotic stupid will ruin everything, but the organization is serviceable for now. Don't get killed and you'll be fine. I'll back you up if you need me to back you up as long as you promise to share some of your research with me every once in awhile. I might not be as intelligent as you are, but I'm intelligent enough to know that you're one of the people who can change the world - actually change the world, not just change the names of the people who do this and that like most "revolutionaries." *Ahem.* Having completed her rant, Nines once again adopts a more professional demeanor. She visibly straightens, turning on her heels and gesturing for Dr. Marigold to follow her as she treks through the forest. I've brought a few people to make your acquaintance, people who can help equip you to process the ore and whatever else you find buried beneath the soil. They're reliable merchants, and they can supply you with lab equipment and industrial machinery components at relatively low rates. One of them is a specialist who tracks down formulas for intriguing chemicals. I purchase all of my cleaners from his company and smuggle him samples of a few of the more interesting items that move through my warehouse and in return his techs are hooking me up with a formula for a potent antimicrobial emulsifier fit for a decontamination facility adjoining a Level 4 biolab. I've vetted all of them; they won't try to rip you off or kill you. I should warn you, however, that one of them will probably offer you alcohol when you meet. As you well know, alcohol is a depressant. The quantity of alcohol imbibed is inversely proportional to the perceived ugliness of those around you and your intelligence. Don't overdo it or you might wake up with a centauress, a buxom elf, a lamia, a neko, and a she-dwarf in your bed the next morning and dedicate the next week-and-a-half of your life to becoming a priestess of Bacchus.
  3. Salvation Through Steel

    Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed, for if you merely offend them they take vengeance, but if you injure them greatly they are unable to retaliate, so that the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared. - Niccolò Machiavelli For all the men and women the Shackled Overlord had slain, for the nation of orphans who so lovingly carved her emblem into their parents' gravestones, Ker could not countenance gratuitous violence. Was such antipathy to the deeds that made a hero of her paradoxical? In a word, no; she only defended her people from retribution, well-deserved though it was. The acrid smoke of their impudence stung the eyes of the gods, and when mortal men strove to punish the citizens of Ninus like the depraved iconoclasts they were, to wash their sin away before they damned all who walked upon the earth, champions rose to strike the angels from the skies and drown the demons that dwelled in the dark corners of reality. The directives Ker issued to her men compelled them to seal the devout within their sacred temples and burn them alive. Her hands guided the flames that immolated the faithful. The void rang with the frenetic wailing of the young and the old, of men, women, and children as Ker removed her helmet and smeared her forehead and cheeks with the ashes of noncombatants. In this moment, Ker was a horror of war, an avatar of violent death. She was a legendary hero; no one paid her trembling hands or wavering voice any mind. Her ruthlessness saved more lives than it claimed. Her humanity waned in service of the greater good. Just as no amount of penance or prayer had the power to redeem her, no crime she could commit would impact her postmortem reservations. In the grand scheme of things, it would make no difference if she lamed every soul within the bar or executed them on the spot. She could sever their tendons and relish their anguished expressions as their muscles rolled up beneath their skin. She could cleave their midsections asunder and lap up their desperation as they instinctively held in their intestines or scooped what they could of their innards off of the splintery floor and, in a panic, shoveled them back inside. In spite of her foreordained condemnation, the images that flashed through her mind sickened her, and she restrained her bestial modes as she had done so many times in the past. Losing face with Agony was immaterial to Ker. Virtually every other member of the Abbadon Triumvirate would not have tolerated the levity of these malodorous hicks. The triumvirs themselves were fundamentally dissimilar and, as Nines predicted, regularly at odds in intent but not technique. Ker was obsessed with averting the end of all things whatever the cost. Nines campaigned for dominion over the land and stability for her "subjects." Rodan ostensibly hankered for knowledge, but the collaborative strategies he employed spoke well of his character. Agony was viscous, vile, and violent. He - or it - was unnatural in every sense of the term. While Ker hadn't a clue as to what motivated him (he may be a sadist for all she knows), she identified an uncanny correlation between his tactics and the tactics she so actively forsook. Ker could not dispute the intrinsic efficacy of these strategies, the cultivation of fear through an exercise of barbarism, but the toll they exact from one's spirit and the reverberations that propagate outward from the epicenter of such ham-fisted malevolence were generally unacceptable in quotidian situations. Whether or not Agony was soulless and inhuman, someday Ker would be forced to educate him on the finer points of diplomacy and decency for his sake. His ignorant and hasty comportment was unbefitting of one of her charges. The consequences of his actions could very well bite her in the arse, so it would behoove her to teach him to properly evaluate all alternatives before separating a man's head from his shoulders sooner rather than later. Even as the cowed peasants began to disperse, some jumped at the chance to demonstrate their stupidity once more by cracking jokes at Agony's expense. Such delinquency could not go unanswered; before the peasants egress, their path is blocked by a chuckling centauress. Her left hand conceals an object behind her back, but none of her weapons are drawn. What is she doing? This is the polar opposite of wasting no more time on this filth! These lowborn farmers flirt with oblivion, and you, Agony, intervene on their behalf, admonishing me to release them from the debt they owe for frittering my time away. You would deny me the fun that is my just recompense for the amusement I have provided. Ha! We'll make a warrior of you yet! Agony might feel the warmth of Ker's playful smile upon him as she raises her visor. In time, he will learn of the commonalities between a toothy grin from Ker and the bared teeth of a beast. Ker's expression is eerie and portentous; the warmth in it succumbs to ice and aggression the instant before anyone can smile back at her. But you and I both know I can't let them off so easily. Tit-for-tat, comrade. These slack-jawed jackanapes and slatternly wenches treated me like a beast of burden, so I shall treat them like beasts of burden. It's more than they deserve, but I am a generous individual, as you well know, which is why I am willing to overlook your transgressions against me in recognition of your dramatic entry provided you assist me in this matter. Can you believe that I have forgotten what farmers do when they acquire new animals? l say that we should exempt from our game the first individual who reminds us of the name of this practice. What say you? Ker, with perfect theatrical timing, produces the branding iron she hid behind her back while the crowd was distracted by Agony's entrance and rotates it within the flames of a nearby fire, stroking her chin with her right hand as if pondering the nature of reality. Her eyes are fixed on Agony as the room erupts in a chorus not of insults but of hysterical shouting. Each man wishes to save his own skin, and none wish to venture near the centaur guarding the entrance. Only one will leave this bar unscathed. Ker patiently waits for Agony to announce who this lucky individual will be.
  4. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Well, if y'all want to capture/dissect something eldritchy, there is this... There are standard Whispernight quests as well.
  5. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    I love this idea, but I believe it would be much more effective if we implemented it in an area with a large population whose basic needs are not being met. I don't know if Genesaris has a large population of poor people who were displaced by Whispernight somewhere, but if it does (or if there is a similar group elsewhere), giving food (and propaganda) to such people would easily bolster the organization's forces and sell the organization's message. That type of feat would have to be done in such a way that a figurehead harnesses and directs the negativity of the destitute while simultaneously appealing to their hopes for the future (namely their hope that they and their children have a future). If Hell's Gate was still in a bad way, its unemployed population might prove receptive to such measures, but I, regrettably, don't quite know what is going on 'round any of those parts right now.
  6. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Sweet! This organization now has access to the freshest produce in all of the land! I believe everyone would agree that the character I was rping before was, well, completely unsuitable for any leadership position ever. >.< So I created Ker to act as a military commander for the organization. After my first post in the first scene pertaining to this organization, I determined that Ker would need a support staff to handle logistics. Logistics is a boring but crucial job, so I figured none of the other players would want to deal with it. Rather than handwave it, I started generating a character to act as Ker's personal assistant. I chose to incorporate bits and pieces of Amethana into this personal assistant (though what I included varied at first); Nines was the result.
  7. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    I don't know about that. The current leaders of the organization are an amorphous blob with a penchant for mutilating delicate womenfolk, a biomage who mutates people into bling, and a drow who is secretly devising Batman-esque contingency plans to deal with members of the organization who decide to go rogue/a knightly centaur. The centaur is alright, I guess. Ker is a bit odd, but she doesn't seem to revel in violent death or anything, so she can't be that bad, right?
  8. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    @Afro Punk I checked out the character sheet you posted, and I noticed that Malediction is resistant to nearly every form of damage. I don't believe he'll actually succeed in traumatizing Nines by conventional means, but he can certainly try. @FirePenguinDiscoPanda To be honest, I was half-expecting Xerxes to incinerate the toy while Dr. Marigold chuckled at Nines's failure. I'm glad that it went over so well in the end, though! I'd like to submit two quick comments/questions regarding this post, if I may be so bold. Is Malice affiliated with the organization as a whole or exclusively Agony? From the scene between Malice and Agony, I got the impression that Agony was being asked to spy on the Abbadon Triumvirate or something of that sort for Malice's benefit. I believe The Anima Imperium scene is occurring in Terrenus as part of supernal's civil/faction war plot. Also, thank you for posting a profile for the organization! It is much appreciated! Also also, I just noticed the design Tyler is working on for this organization. I think it looks great!
  9. The Anima Imperium

    Verily, today was a picturesque day. The sun shone through the heavens, warming the earth and the adorable woodland critters that scurried up, over, and around the wizened, leafy giants that stood watch over the land in what could have been a timeless vigil. Wispy white clouds lazily rolled across the bright blue sky, casting shadows here and there as the wind had its fun weaving through the trees and tickling every animal in its path. The wind carried with it the prayers of flocks of brightly colored birds as it rippled through the turgid blades of grass that blanketed the ground. The contrast between the industrious creatures of the earth, the tranquility of the clouds reposing on a field of blue, and the gaiety of the breeze that acted as an intermediary between the two was subtle in its form but breathtaking in its intensity. An artist would call the scene inspirational, a cleric would call it a blessing, and Nines would spit in both of their faces, declaring that it is naught but a bother. Nines had no affinity for sunlight. The oppressive radiance of the celestial orb harassed her senses, offending every pore of her obsidian skin as it groped at her and all but blinding her as it fell upon her fierce, imperial red eyes. Although Nines was most unwelcome in the Underdark, not a week faded into obscurity wherein she did not yearn for endless shadows interwoven with varicolored patches of faery fire. Aye, her projected lifespan more than quintupled when she traded her umbral world for the sunlit surface, but she took to the surface like fish take to arid air. She, unlike the drow of Doughton, was ill-adapted to her newfound habitat, living by night and barricading herself behind closed doors in windowless rooms by day. An unbidden governess, the heir of habit and instinct, dominated her life. Like a base vampire, Nines sequestered herself at comfort's command, yet there were times when she could not afford that luxury. This was one of those times. Nines recognized Dr. Marigold's latent potential. He, like the members of the Abbadon Triumvirate, was a resource that she could capitalize on if (and only if) he was managed effectively. As with the vast majority of her allies, Nines wheedled and reasoned her way into Dr. Marigold's affairs. Her methods were insidious; strumming the threads of the web he had spun to lure him to her side was second nature to the female drow. Taking a page from Émilie du Châtelet's book, Nines treated Marigold well and assisted him (but admittedly had no interest in romancing him) in an attempt to advance her own education. Nines would maintain that Dr. Marigold's technology, principally electricity, is the future of warfare, and she would be remiss to abnegate the profit that is so very fond of hanging on the arm of technological innovation. To this end, Nines constructed a gilded spire of Machiavellian humility founded on fantastical piles and half-truths that would sublime the instant they were of no use to her. Presently, largesse was the optimal path to achieving Nines's objectives. This occasion approximated a housewarming, and as such, there were customs Nines was obligated to observe, silly though they were. It would not do to arrive empty-handed, so Nines bore gifts for both Dr. Marigold and Xerxes: a pricey bottle of Vintage port aged for forty years in an oak barrel for tradition, a set of yellowing manuscripts (now laminated) concerning the fabrication and operation of synchronous motors (specifically synchronous generators) and the installation of hardened microgrids for the good doctor, and an oversized, durable squeaky toy resembling a bandit for Xerxes. As Nines sees it, this selection of gifts is quite the haul. Magitechnicians would rather crumple the documents that Nines so jealously guards up so they might play a game of H-O-R-S-E with a wastebasket than study them, but they, in their gross striving for technological advancement, fail to grasp the true nature of reality. Who, they ask, can find a use for science, real science, when your neighbors are gods and goddesses and even the probiotics in one's yogurt are suffused with magic? Nines's ancestors could and did. Although she did not know enough to contribute to their legacy in her own right, Nines, with the aid of Revolution 9, now followed in the footsteps of the giants who preceded her. Passing these documents to an ally who can without a doubt make better use of them than she can is the best she can do for now. Nines was a counterintelligence agent by trade, not a scientist, so it should shock no one that while Nines found the subject of electricity positively fascinating, the underlying principles eluded her to such an extent that she was able to do no more than apply the material, albeit with great efficacy. So it was that Nines, after erecting a tangle of concertina wire and stationing guards on all sides of the supplies the convoy she organized deposited beside the road nearest the site, hiked through the forest to meet Dr. Marigold. She was clad in her, erm, sui generis battledress, that is to say, in reinforced, waterproofed leather, subdued black combat boots, solid black cotton socks, solid black tactical pants with padded titanium knee guards, padded titanium shin guards, and padded titanium thigh guards, padded titanium spaulders, padded titanium rerebraces, padded titanium elbow pads, (all of which are fastened with ties (under) and Velcro (over) for convenience), a solid black, zip-up, studded kangaroo leather jacket with cushioned titanium inserts, a rugged magnetic bracer with Batman-esque sword breakers and several embedded electrical generators concealed within it, wicked, spiked leather gloves with a rubberized grip and metallic veins connected to the aforementioned generators, a solid black battle vest (cut-off) adorned with official patches from her favorite (heavy metal) bands over a solid black women's A-shirt, a duty belt featuring a push knife, a kukri, crampons, two ice picks, a hand crossbow, a pouch of bolts, a dozen unmarked metal canisters, a multi-tool, and a metal flask, an ergonomic, gray-tinted M17 gas mask lookalike, and a modernized titanium combat helmet. Reacting to the darkness the tinted lenses provide, her eyes emit beams of eerie red light that flit about the interior of mask as she assesses her environment. Nines herself is a slim lass. She is neither exceptionally tall nor exceptionally short, but for an elf, she is quite muscular. Sections of her obsidian skin are horribly scarred, and a shallow gash extends from the right edge of her eyebrow down to her cheek. Her cropped hair has been dyed charcoal black to match her outfit. Her ears taper to a point that is currently obscured by her helmet. With high cheekbones and the like, Nines possesses a dark beauty, one more intimidating and nightmarish than elegant and divine. Though the little finger of her left hand is absent, the motions of the fingers of the gloves she wears are not abnormal, denoting the presence of a sophisticated prosthetic or something of that sort. At a glance, Nines is (by and large) your average drow (exile), if a smidge disfigured. She isn't buxom and carefree; she is graceful yet burdened. There is something about her, however, that a run-of-the-mill being would find highly disconcerting. She is a most unnatural being not in body but in spirit, and even if her unnatural qualities are unseen, they leave their mark on those who interact with her. Revolution 9 was as much of a curse as a boon, it would seem. Without further ado, Nines offers her gifts and greetings to Dr. Marigold. "I am pleased to hear that you are so confident about the outcome of this project, Dr. Marigold, but you would do well not to overstate the stability of this region. At this time, everything in this region is in flux as evidenced by the challenges I was forced to contend with in arranging for deliveries of certain materials to certain locations. In fact, convincing managers to send their personnel to this location left my purse a little light, so I suppose you could say that I'm personally invested in the outcome of this project. If it does not pay dividends after such hype, I will be sorely disappointed, and I swear like a mule driver when I'm pissed off." "Anyway, these are for you. When I selected these gifts, I assumed that there still is not a Mrs. Dr. Marigold; if there is, just warn me now so I can hoof it to the nearest convenience store and purchase a card with the words 'My' and 'Condolences' printed on the cover - kidding, kidding!" "Since you remember what all I've been working on of late, why don't you remind me of your plans for this area? I'm ever so confused regarding the layout of this complex. In short, I don't understand why you are so keen on moving out here when you have a perfectly good fully-functional lab elsewhere. Did aliens bury their dead here or something?"
  10. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    There have been technical difficulties on my end. As of now, these have been resolved. I will be posting in what was formerly the Ravenspire thread in a few hours. My sincerest apologies for the delay. >.<
  11. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    As far as I am aware, a drunken Gabriela entered the royal gardens trailed by a wounded Lunara. Rodan and Immie entered the gardens together, so Lunara decided to pretend that a third party was attempting to kidnap the queen to enlist their aid. Roen joined the party, supporting the idea that the queen could very well be under attack. Rodan attempted to heal Lunara and is now gathering plant fibers for an unspecified purpose.
  12. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Verily, I am my own worst enemy on both of those fronts. I am currently attempting to sort the first so I can sort the latter in due time.
  13. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    I do not have a Discord account. It appears that Nines won't really show up until the current thread is wrapping up (if that - we could handwave the customs prep and Nines's reaction if your characters are willing to keep her in the dark for now), so any posts I type really shouldn't send the story in a different direction or anything. Omitting Nines from this scene would likely expedite the kidnapping so Pasion can return to rping Gabriela quicker, so I'm all for that if y'all are.
  14. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    >.< Please refrain from vilifying me for merely not responding to an instant message on short notice. I've been behind on posting and updating forms all around lately (my muse left the building temporarily - I believe this problem was solved yesterday as I found inspiration for Nines (my conception of which underwent several revisions (from personal assistant to CEO to eldritch spell slinging CEO to estranged, eccentric drow business woman)) and started typing a character profile for her). Besides, your board is your board, and I don't have anything to say about your choice to modify it that I haven't communicated in the past. You'd probably be better off discussing potential modifications with supernal or creating a discussion thread for it so people with more experience and insight than I can provide you with feedback on how you ought to proceed. Also... @FirePenguinDiscoPanda I'll finish my reply to the Ravenspire thread over the next few hours. I've been dragging my feet somewhat (which I must apologize for), but as I mentioned above, the problems I was having regarding that scene should be sorted now! Also also... I'll have to check out the Dolor-Malice scene. I'm a bit behind in reading the org's threads.
  15. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Everyone will ask Ker how her baby is, and she'll be all like what are you smoking. Also, Ker should be there when Gabriela and Arashi are presented to Roen so we can name the scene "So a Knight, a Queen, and a Dragon Walk into the Lorespire..." or something.