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Jotnotes last won the day on January 2

Jotnotes had the most liked content!

About Jotnotes

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    Alberta, Canada
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    Gaming, Writing, Occasionally I Draw Poorly.
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    Jot Notes #6666

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  1. She shrugged. They all said that, but Dreggz was quite good at finding games, exams and married men that she could cheat at, if she wanted to. Hair shook himself clean, and once he was fully recovered the two of them took in the scene. Elsewhere, things still looked kind of ugly: the swords were swanging and clanging around the hot guy's head. Other junk was flying everywhere, a few of them had even exploded by colliding with each other mid-air. She saw movement to her side, and stepped back as Hair hoisted his guitar triumphantly. She rested her hands on her own guitar, and glanced around. Was now the best time to practice your tunes? Dreggz watched as a sort of ozone scent filled the room, asif the room were suddenly above the cloud cover. The ends of her hair stood on end, she could taste metal in her mouth as if she were about to be struck by lightning. Nearby, objects began levitaing ominously, hovering a few inches above the ground. Then, she felt a slowly growing pinching in her face as her various piercings began to lift up ever so slightly, rising up into the air but still pinned to her face. It wasn't terribly unpleasant, for most of them. However, for a few of her piercings, the Goblin uttered a low moan of surprise. She dropped the guitar briefly, pressing one hand to her chest and pressing her knees together tightly as her face turned bright read. Heat rushed to her face, and she took several seconds to take her breath. Nearby, Leon didn't seem to mind much, and instead was doing his own thing. Oh...huh. Dreggz reached for her guitar, floating a few inches above her head, and took...stage? Wait a minute, what was this guy even trying to do? She gave him a sideways glance. Around him, stuff still continued to float around. It kind of gave him a very serious tone, somehow, and she ultimately decided to go with it based entirely off this alone. She took up rank close by, and strummed a few chords, making sure the Scrap-Gun-Tar-Axe was in tune. Then she nodded haplessly at the two of them. "Alright, boys. Let's do...whatever this is!"
  2. From his spot on the ground, just belowdecks, M'yr didn't get to see any of his companions move around the ship, immediately losing them. Possibly forever, if they didn't remember to respect The Widow. Even now, his stomach churned as he glanced at the space where the wall and ceiling met. He recalled hearing once that when a house gets hungry, every room becomes a mouth. Mind, he didn't actually know the context for a 'hungry house,' so he wasn't sure if it applied to boats. You spent most of your time at sea in a boat, so it could be considered a home in that context. Or was the sea your home, if you were a sailor? Maybe home was your cot belowdecks, or if you didn't have a cot, the little groove you'd worn in the ground from curling up and vomiting every voyage. Did that mean that, despite the Widow's obvious hate for him, and perhaps all sentient life, that he had a home on here as well? He eventually uncurled his body, and patted the ground around him, trying to get his bearings. M'yr immediately put his hand in his own vomit, and rolled his eyes in disgust. The acolyte sat up with a painful groan, and wiped his hands on his trousers. It was fine; he hadn't washed his clothes in...months? He rarely changed out of them, either, unless somebody (Slake, usually) forced him to undress. A little more vomit would fit right in, with the stench of sweat and blood and salt. The Widow groaned in protest as he glanced around, evidently furious he hadn't died from vomiting. By the gods, this boat hated him. He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the intruding pain her baleful intentions had left upon him. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he groaned softly, then belched. His breath reeked of vomit and sea water. He snapped up reflexively as Blackbush approached him. He didn't recognize her at all at first, and pulled his knife immediately, brandishing the ruler like an animal backed into a corner. He backed up slowly, across the ground, eyes trained on her. His hands trembled noticably as he stared her down. However, his defenses softened when he recalled who she was, and he lowered the weapon and bowed his head, suddenly ashamed of himself for failing to keep it together. "Oh! It's....Right. Yeah....Yeah, my bad. Lemme just..." He got up to his feet slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Then, in a moment of visceral rage, or perhaps frustration, he lunged at her with the weapon. M'yr wasn't on the Widow anymore, but outside. He couldn't make out the details, his anger clouding his periphery, but the air was cold and hurt his face. He knew he was already late for his next class being out here, but that didn't matter now, as the weapon came out fast and furious. M'yr had no trouble stabbing her once, then again and again until she fell over, at which point the stabbing and cutting was no effort at all. The air was still and frozen, and the sun had set long before he sat up again, realizing what he'd done. M'yr blinked, and the world was normal again. He hadn't moved from his place on the wall, and hadn't gone for his weapon at all. They were just standing. His heart was throbbing in his ears, though, and his breathing had hiked up again, but only his eyes were visible with the bandanna across his face. They were wide as saucers, and the room dimmed after he blinked a few times. His pupils must have dilated far more than they should have; how your pupils might behave if you were suddenly confronting something darker than dark. He glanced away and blinked a little more, waving at her in apology. "I'm sorry about that, I'm still getting my sea legs, I guess you could say." He joked. "I guess it's pretty obvious why I want to keep the world from flooding, huh?" He fell silent, and awkward for a minute, and took a chance to look Lady Blackbush over, away from the grim atmosphere of his room, and in the oppressive, daunting atmosphere of The Widow. She was pretty, and definitely older than he was; maybe as old as his mom, if she wasn't dead. She looked younger than that, though, for sure. She was also strikingly familiar, in some odd way. It probably had something to do with his hallucinations, he guessed. Heck, maybe he was hallucinating how she looked, too. It definitely wouldn't be the first time he'd done something like that. He'd been staring for too long, and decided to state, very intelligently. "I'm uh...trying to figure out if you actually have tentacles or not."
  3. Quick Scribble done on Aggie.io tonight, to ease back into things. Fur is kind of tricky to draw, so the pelts on her hip are kind of difficult to make out unless you know what to look for, but the quilted fabric on her other hip looks pretty solid. Arms are obviously very undercooked; didn't really feel like exerting too much effort in this one. It's not terrible, I think. It's kind of got a very cartoony, simplistic aesthetic, for a 30 minute draft.
  4. We haven't heard from @The Alexandrian so I'll be trying to post sometime today after work. I also intend on trying to find the time to draw/game/threaten the Baby Peanut, so we'll see if I get it up on time. In the meantime, it looks like everybody probably has someone to interact with, or is currently trying to find a conversation. Why not call out whomever you'd like to get to know better in the OOC here, so you two can cooperate on a dialogue?
  5. @Venus Sprite your next post can return us to the surface, if you like, or bring us into another fight/another room to explore if you want to keep going. When we reach the surface, we'll move onto another story beat, and work from there to reach the thread's conclusion.
  6. @squid peanut a small opportunity for you to do some pixie magic/motivational speaking, if you like. Afterwards, I'll write another post to push us into the next story beat.
  7. Eryel glanced from one of the girls, to the other, but only one of them spoke up right away. Great! Eryel almost clapped her hands in delight, but something kept her from acting, keeping her from embarrassing herself further, perhaps. Nervously, she coughed once, and cleared her throat, before speaking flatly. "Excellent. Then let me tell you what I know." Which, she couldn't say out loud, was admittedly not much. "Me and my father rented a caravan service to help ferry our supplies from Ashville." She explained. "We only purchased from one service, so afterward the caravans needed to return to their stables, or customs, or what have you. From there, I suspect something went awry, and they decided to keep my family fortune for themselves." Eryel didn't know where the wagons had parked, nor did she know precisely where their customs office, or stables were. However, she did have a fistful of theories, little ideas and fantasies she'd toyed with constantly while she guarded the front of the store. She leaned away from the desk, and reached behind the til, grabbing a knife still in its scabbard. Without much else to her name, she strapped it to her hip, and stepped around the counter, leading the way out. "Well, let's go then, shall we?" She smiled at them, hoping she looked like someone who knew what she was doing. As she passed across the counter, she cast a glance back towards her father's room. She was tempted to talk with him, and explain where she was going, but he'd tell her to stay, and she wouldn't be able to refuse him if he did. Her adventure would fail immediately, and Eryel couldn't afford to wait any longer. Once their journey was through, it wouldn't matter anyway, as her father would have the money and tools needed to purchase his expensive medicine. She ushered the others out, and into the sunlight. Eryel imagined what it must have been like to see the sun after your entire life in the dark, or to see the first sunrise after a brutal winter. To be the first person to see the sun reappear after an eclipse; the birth of a new, radiant god from nothingness. Arrogant as it was, that's how she felt leaving the shop. The esteemed Miss Emmingwether had spent days upon weeks upon months doting after her father, long before they fled Ashville, She didn't mind it; of course she didn't, she loved her father immensely, he was the only family she had, or really cared for. Taking care of him was a full time job, though, and it taxed her body and brain to wait on him, especially now. Hyperion's open streets and markets were busy as ever; the walls of nearby buildings cast short shadows across the roads, and bodies and beasts and vehicles took up all the room before her. Yet, when she took a sharp inhale, breathed in that well-used oxygen, it tasted like freedom, or a break even. She took another sharp inhale, and let her shoulders relax. A lazy, hopeful smile glanced across her features, and the turned back to her newly hired 'posse'. "Okay," She clapped her hands once. "Okay! So first of all, we need to find our way to the office in question, and find out what we can about the caravan we hired. Following that, we'll need to talk with the folks who interred my family fortune. Then we get paid!" She turned around, and began walking down the street, keeping to the side of the building they dwelt in. Noticably, Eryel moved incredibly slowly as she passed by the house, particularly when she felt as if she were passing by her father's bed. She glanced at the hovel guiltily, and hesitated for a second, staring at the side of the house. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe she should head back inside. Eryel stared at the wall, practically entranced for a second, and then a minute. Her body language had changed; tight back, tense muscles, her breath catching in her lungs. Her eyes didn't appear glassy or out of focus, but rather overfull with emotion.
  8. That post should wrap us up @Rabbit if you are so inclined, feel free to wrap up whatever work you may need to, and then I can finish the thread. It's been a pleasure. I'm sorry for taking as long as I did; it's been a busy week for me, new threads and work and so forth.
  9. The room still felt cramped and conspiratorial, even with the addition of a few new bodies the threatening sensation in the room didn't totally vanish. The Seer could feel this, and raised his hand to decline the offer. Candle light flickered in his dark eyes, and cast shadows over his features. He inhaled sharply, and exhaled slowly, gripping the pulpit tightly. He repeated this action again, and again, until his nerves had settled. The room still whispered of dark secrets, and conspiracies, but at least the foreboding influence could no longer worm its way into his mind. "Yes, fine. Your payment." He raked his eyes over Thril, who stood still, attentive and silent. Then, his eyes slowly moved back towards the raider, and pressed his claws into the pulpit, dragging them through the soft wood. "Your work fed the Clan today," He replied simply. "Perhaps even longer than that. The meat piles high, and wagons spill over with grain and goods. We paid for our home's longevity with blood, and bodies." He considered Vito's efforts, how he'd managed to slip through enemy lines before the rest of Skarr Clan could. Furthermore, they'd also managed to muscle their way through the nobleman's house. That wasn't easy work, or even really reasonable work to pull off. It certainly merited reward. Despite the grimness of the room, the Seer quirked a small grin. His discussion with Blacktear had left much to be desired; his end of the exchange hadn't gone terribly well in his opinion, and Blacktear had left with more than he'd given. Primarily, Khrol's enduring dislike for bringing more mouths home with him remained. This promised him at least a small boon, even if there was a price attached. He glanced towards the cowering gutter-rat, long before Vito finished his barter. He chuckled to himself, and stepped around the pulpit. Khrol and the gutter rat had never met, never spoke. His station, greater than hers, meant that there was never a reason to interact or fraternize.with any of them. She was fine at her job, certainly, but not outstanding. There wasn't much to lose in such an endeavor. "I see." He mused thoughtfully, quietly regarding her dimunitive stance. He stared her down, at the blood that spattered her cloak and fur, and the spatters of dark blood on her shields. Was it the weapons he was interested in, or something different? He tapped the pulpit with one hand, deep in thought. "Very well; Skarr Clan has no need for infertile women." He said to Vito, glancing in his direction. "To fail to provide for the clan, after all, is nothing short of disgrace." Then he turned to her. Thril, though she refused to make eye-contact, refused to break rank, bristled with indignation. "I assume you have no discrepancies, Gutter-Rat?" Silence. And then, "No." "No, seer." "No...seer." She stared holes into the ground, gripping her shields tighter. "You would follow this man-thing, then?" "Yes-yes!...seer." He sniffed, amused. Then Khrol stepped back and waved them off. "You are free to take her, then. We will settle on the other slaves, as well. Take your pick; We are grateful for your work, after all." He paused, and added. "And pick from the carts, if you choose to. Take as you need, just...leave the food."
  10. Haven't heard from @vielle yet, so will be posting tonight after work, most likely.
  11. We haven't heard from @Darth Lager just yet, so we'll be moving down the list now. I think that means it is @Zashiii's turn to post!
  12. Thank you for providing a more visible link Mickey. I'm fine with leaving @Fennis Ursai's post where it is, if he doesn't care to post again so soon. Either way, @Darth Lager (formerly Vilhardt) it is your turn to post!
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