Jump to content

Praetorian

Site Moderator
  • Content Count

    10,066
  • Joined

  • Days Won

    106

Praetorian last won the day on May 31

Praetorian had the most liked content!

About Praetorian

  • Rank
    Hero of Daydreams

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Place
  • Interests
    Nouns.
  • Occupation
    Everyone's favorite something.

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Praetorian #5153

Recent Profile Visitors

21,187 profile views
  1. There isn't an exclusive place for it. A lot of people will create their own art showcase threads, and there is an artist user group. So you could just do a thread in: https://www.valucre.com/forum/331-chat/ titled something like "Phase's art" or whatever suits your fancy. The art club is found here:
  2. Welcome back, sorta. You'll probably find a few old Eden/Ayenee/YIM people around, but it's mostly new blood. Handful of us are vaguely familiar with overkill, but at this point it's pretty much a fresh start for you. Look forward to seeing what you contribute, if you have any questions feel free to reach out.
  3. “Who the hell sends a message by swallow?” The guard murmurs to himself as he detaches the birds embedded talons from the husk, and then splits the coconut open to reveal a tightly rolled piece of parchment. Although he doesn’t immediately recognize the seal embedded in the wax that seals the letter closed, he appreciates that it must be of some importance and significance. Post haste he makes his way for the capitol building, well really, he leisurely strolls there, stopping for a snack at a corner street cart, before finally arriving. Upon entrance he treks to the secretary and extends the parchment to her while proclaiming, “A coconut has arrived.” With a raise of his eyebrow and cant of his head, the secretary looks at the soldier quizzically, before finally replying. “Sir, are you to suggest that coconuts migrate?” “What? Heavens no. It was carried, by swallow.” “You’re telling me that a five ounce bird carried a one pound coconut?” “I think you’re missing the point. Please take the letter, it has a royal seal on it. I suspect it’s of some level of importance.” There is a moment of hesitation before the letter is finally taken. “Well, I suppose it could be an African swallow.” The secretary muses as he makes his way to the offices in the back. With a double tap of his fist on a set of French doors, he makes his way into Howard’s office with a brief nod a greeting. “You look very handsome today, sir. Perhaps you have a date?” The quip is almost immediately abandoned as the letter is extended from across the desk. Dear Mr. Admiral Governor Howard Esquire, It is with great honor that I write to you today, to inform you that her highness, Lady Lucinda Valentine, Duchess of Externus, Governess of Roselen, wishes to meet with you. We have already made arrangements with a local hotel to serve as the venue of our conference. While we hope this to be a friendly, relaxed, and casual affair, please understand that this is not a social call, and a discussion of state and local affairs will be the order of business. With great regard, Greg Master of Swallows @Jack Howard @Lucinda Valentine
  4. Vague hints of citrus waft up from a steaming cup, flutter around his nose, and then dissipate into the air. He inhales, breathing deeply the aroma, before bringing the porcelain cup to his lips and taking a sip. The warmth of the liquid washes over his tongue causing the organ to spark with the sensation of each nuanced flavor. It is a fleeting reprieve from the dullness of existence, and the titan cherishes it. Setting the cup off to his side, upon a saucer that floats a few inches away, he cants his head to the right, dropping it into an upturned palm. His gaze, ever decorated with boredom, pierces through the cloud coverage below him to settle upon Evelynn, her small army of people, the golems, and the newest arrival. “Well, they’re certainly making progress.” The words, laced with annoyance, slither through the clouds causing them to visibly darken. “Perhaps I’ve offered too much assistance?” He muses over the notion, rolling it around within the hive of voices. The golems are certainly efficient, by design naturally. However, he hadn’t considered that she might have an army to help her. “Perhaps, I should take back my gifts?” It wouldn’t take much to destroy the golems, or even turn them against her. But, by the same account, it would be bad sportsmanship to take back what was given. Perhaps there is a valuable lesson here about hubris? Lifting his left index to point skyward, causing a depthless ebony sphere to materialized above it, aphotic waves ripple from it, warping the surrounding air. His finger flexes, bending the slightest amount, casting the orb into motion. It rolls forward a few feet and then drops into the clouds below. All at once the vaguely grey wisps crackle to life as thunder roars out from beneath them. They grow, fueled by unknown currents, swelling into vast seas of impenetrable blackness. Another crackle of thunder, and a single bolt of lightning that writhes across the sky announce the torrent of rain and hail. All at once the construction sight is assaulted by the abrupt onset of an unnatural storm, fueled by the titan’s whimsy and malice.
  5. Praetorian

    Fake Book Reviews

    "I glommed this book, figuring it was a wooden nickel at best, but I wasn't firing on all eight. This little gem is the bees knees. Who knew the dames love a sheik who can read? Now I can finally get rid of my dog." - Jack Ermilo Morro
  6. Asher’s eyes had nearly fluttered shut by the time Will approaches, his attention drawn not to the tone or volume of his words but the lack of enunciation. At a glance, Will looks like little more than a farmhand, and his vernacular suggests as much. Of course, first impressions are often deceiving. With a tiny bit of struggle, he is able to force his eyes a quarter upon, along the brim of the deep blue pools to sparkle in the cursed sunlight. Another grand show of effort sees his eyes open even more; however, he falls short of a full opening and the lids start to fall shut again, eventually arresting midway. “I suspect it would do little good.” The words, ever as lethargic as his halfmoon gaze, struggle to find their way into the air. The truth is that he’s been running on fumes, and his brief little fit of outrage has burnt up the last of them. “Will huh?” The words are muttered, barely vocalized before the elf’s train of thought takes it skipping around town. Clearly there is an issue with focusing and attention, and Asher isn’t sure that he has the bandwidth to deal with it. With the slightest shake of his head he declines the offer and then drops his chin and face into an upturned palm. “I’m Asher by the by. And I’m a knight, I think.” For some reason he had assumed that his lifestyle was going to change for the better when he joined the group, however, with each passing day he becomes increasingly cemented in his belief that nothing has or will change, it has merely been rebranded. His ears twitch as people start to gather around the duchess, and hush their murmurs. He doesn’t bother moving, beyond slightly turning his head to cast a side glance in her direction. Although he’s an appreciable distance away, he can clearly make our her ‘speech’, even over the small pockets of whispers. “Dunno about you” he glances back at Will, “but I reckon I’ll help out with the guardhouse and outposts. If there is anything I know a little about, it’s defensive fortifications.” @Lucinda Valentine
  7. A communal hive of thoughts echoes between the networked golems, each one processing nuanced bits of information until the instructions are broken down into their most simplistic bits. Their collective intelligence infers additional actions from the vague tasking, and with some level of autotomy they set about their tasks. Near the tops of their clay domes, a small fissure opens up, revealing a hunk of obsidian with a vaguely pink tint. The stone flashes several times, at first all in sequence, before breaking into grouped patterns. Breaking up into groups of three, one team heads west and the other east. From the ebony minerals embedded in the heads of four of the husks, beams of blue sweep outward, carving through the base of numerous trees with every pass. As the trees are felled, the two lingering golems approach the timber and use comparable beams to slice, dice, carve, and trim them into smaller, more manageable pieces. Within an hour, large swaths of forest are cutdown and reduced to little more than smoldering stumps with a mess of unorganized timber. In a large part, thanks to the fact that the golems are relentless in their tasking, needing not break or pause for thought.
  8. I've got a small group of RPers that I'm working with who are in the process of developing their own nation. I am personally very interested in introducing a centralized villain concept, that could further drive story and RP. So it isn't exactly what you are looking for, but if you are receptive, I'd like to engage in further discussions.
  9. You have my interest, and I'll be in touch with a proposal once I've fleshed out the idea a bit more. Just wanted to post something so that you are aware that there is interest in your interest check.
  10. "Mister night walker... are you fucking with me?" Without warning Asher hastily gestures to the sun, unceremoniously motions back to himself, and then walks in place before finally indignantly throwing his hands up into the air in defeat. "Sure, whatever." The words are huffed, nearly spat even, but he retains some semblance of dignity and control. His outrage fizzles out and his composure mostly returns. "I think what the bodiless, boneless, golem, yokai is trying to say is that our initiation didn't go how we planned, a lot of people died,, and I haven't been up to socializing, because ..." He catches himself and stops. Not only isn't this the time and place to settle whatever growing issues might exist between him and Maelstrom, the duchess certainly isn't the right person to vent to. Fortunately, the situation is defused when some winged guy crashes into a tree, drawing everyone's attention away from Asher's outburst. With the crisis momentarily averted, Asher retreats from the vehicle side and negotiates his way into the crowd of guards, affording himself an opportunity to get lost within a crowd, if only momentarily. "If he had a dick, I'd kick him in it." He murmurs to himself as he sits down atop an unopened crate, presumably filled with tools or building materials. With the slightest movement of his lips a subvocalized wish and pray is sent floating through the air, one for serenity and another for peace of mind.
  11. Although the audacity of Evelynn’s response isn’t unexpected, the nature of the request still catches him off guard. Clearly, she doesn’t fully understand her situation, specifically how dire it is. There is the briefest of considerations, a single moment where he considers making a point. Sometimes the only way to get someone to understand is by showing them, and what better way to show her than by splitting her familiar in half. However, admittedly, that wouldn’t be very sportsman like and although he is no devil, it seems to him that any deal should offer fair compensation. Plus, the truth is that this contractual agreement is only enforceable by might, and consent is entirely meaningless. Ultimately, it’ll be his whims that determine if any aspect of it is upheld. “Sure, why the fuck not?” The words drift from nowhere, yet permeate everywhere, echoing and reverberating from all directions. With legs crossed, he sits in a wrought iron chair that rests atop a lone cloud overlooking the clearing he’d fabricated only moments ago. Next to him, a ivory cup of tea floats within reach, the steam of the earl grey wafting up a few inches before a small fog of condensate cascades downward. Raising his left hand to his mouth, his fingers loosely curled, a single puff of air passes from his lips through the small opening between his fingers. Thoughts entwine with the exhale, forming an iridescent bubble that floats a few feet out in front of him, before suddenly dropping to the earth like a meteor. Inches above the ground it explodes, sending arcs of lightning raining into the ground in vast torrents. The scorched earth bubbles, the dirt turning to mud, as half a dozen vaguely humanoid looking shapes ooze up from the writhing stone, clay, and mud. Just under a meter tall, the humanoid masses, dotted with antediluvian script, plod forward, slowly, relentlessly, yielding only once they’ve gathered around Evelynn, awaiting her directions.
  12. “Lady Valentine it is.” The statement is punctuated with a brief nod, although he’s already resigned himself to never saying m’lady or whatever equivalent. My lady and my lord have always sounded ridiculous to him, some word pseudo ownership bullshit that he has no interest in partaking in, especially since their relationship is almost strictly a financial one. Addison might have told them they were knights, but at this point, as far as Asher is concerned, they’re just a bunch of mercenaries hired on as a private force, with no war to fight. “I am Asher, Asher Gnosis. The walking armor is Maelstrom, and the guy with the big sword in the dress… robs? Whatever he is wearing, he is…..” Asher freezes, realizing he doesn’t recall Hyo’s name. Had they met? Had they traded names? Perhaps, however the broken sleep cycle has ravaged his ability to remember. “a guy that works with us.” The finally blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind after an uncomfortably awkward pause. “Anyway, what’s the plan?” @Lucinda Valentine @Maelstrom @HyoDoin
  13. Evelynn’s response is met with yet another dismissive wave, as the titan’s amusement dwindles and vexation starts to take hold. Whatever levity might have been brought on by her brash attitude is now expired, and the novel charm of her existence has worn out. However, for better or worse, his own mischievous nature gets the better of him… perhaps because the hive of voices has unified into a cry for a game. “I could rend your pet and take your head, with next to no effort.” Both hands slip into his pockets as he turns from the woman and takes a few steps away. He pauses though, long enough to cast a glance aft, his eyes scrutinizing her very existence. “However, that wouldn’t be fun.” The words are murmured, and although loud enough for Evelynn to hear, they are entirely meant for him. “I’m so confident that you’ll fail at your endeavor, that I’ll give you three months.” His lips purse with consideration, “No, six months. Half a year from now. In half a year if you haven’t developed a proper civilization, I will return and not only lay waste to all of your efforts, but also eat you and your pet.” Without even a gesture a sudden weight befalls the land, crushing ground and trees. Within a matter of a few seconds a few acres before him has been cleared and flattened, affording the witch a place to start. “Best of luck, I’ll be sure to check in.” He takes a step, his body dissipating into the air before the footfall reaches the ground.
  14. He dismissively waves his hand at her, as if to brush her words aside. The motion casts the wind into chaos, causing dust and debris to spiral into the air. "You want to build a safe haven for a handful of people that may not even exist? An entire city or town for some hypothetical problem? On a single whim you wish to undergo a feat of construction, with no way to forecast the worth of your investment?" With each question the titan's tone becomes more accusatory, although his lips never relent and remain frozen in a smile. No, frozen isn't the right word. The proportions of the smile grow until they are unnatural, and what Evelynn face's can only be described as cheshire. "How do you plan to attract these wayward souls? How do you plan to feed them? How does someone as foolish as you, intend to market this safe haven to the downtrodden masses that may not even exist?" A finger tip is leveled at her, his palm facing skyward. "What hope does your errant foolish dream have?"
  15. Farkis’ eyes flutter shut, open, close again, and then open once more. The lines of his visage twist, the edges of his lips curl upward, and all at once he bursts into laughter. Never once had some stood before him so defiantly, so unaware of the danger they are in, so brazen in their convictions. There is something undeniably endearing about the foolishness, and admittedly adorable about the familiar trying to defend its master. Half bent over, a tear running the length of his cheek, he rights himself and casts aside the lone droplet with a flick of his finger. What ever ill will he might have felt or dark thoughts that kept through his mind, are all at once replaced with bemusement and a hint of vexation. “Build a town so that magic folks aren’t persecuted huh? Is that even a thing? Seems to me that witches and warlocks have free reign.”
×
×
  • Create New...