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Jotnotes last won the day on January 2

Jotnotes had the most liked content!

About Jotnotes

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    Full-Time Degenerate
  • Birthday 05/08/1997

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

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  1. I don't think we have heard from @squid peanut in some time! @Zashiii, if you like, you can get a post in edgewise.
  2. It is @Mickey Flash and @Zashiii 's turn to act! Friendly reminder that although we have an extended posting time, we can always move on if you're unavailable. Just let us know if something is up!
  3. Post is up, and edited, boys and girls. Please feel free to read over it, and get your responses in when you're available! For those who need some kind of prompt: We are currently in the yard before the Library. We can get in whenever we feel like it, but the yard is likely crawling with a few guards here and there that might make our work difficult. If your characters are inclined to dispatch possible threats, feel free to do so. If they'd keen on investigating anything around for possible loot, go for it. I can even help describe whatever loot they might uncover, if you want to do that. Otherwise, feel free to do what suits you.
  4. The Bastion was quite cool, despite being largely indoors and insulated from the weather, but M'yr couldn't stop the heat spreading through his body, from his toes up to his head slowly. His heart was beginning to quicken, his brain raced and somewhere in his ears, triumphant music began to play in his head. The was it! He wasn't much for breaking the law, typically, but this was a heist, a robbery! That alone made their actions interesting, if not noble or just. He glanced up at the building close by, that looming, frightening library. He took a big, exhilarated breath. Here we go. The warmth vanished, exhaled all in one breath, as if she'd manually drove her fist into his guts to leave him winded. Almost imperceptibly, his head craned downward, just a few degrees or so. The bandana against his face now felt cold, as if ice were collecting on it. The ghostly breaths of crushed enthusiasm. "Right, yeah." Made sense, yeah. It was why they...why he had put out the request in the first place. M'yr wasn't suited for much more than his occasional bursts of insight. He wasn't familiar with this line of work. M'yr ignored this, largely. Gross and lazy as the comment was, his job wasn't to police how people talked to Slake, or anyone else for that matter. M'yr wasn't responsible for them, could never be responsible for them. Instead, he focused on watching not just Jack, but Blackbush and Shalana who complied shortly before Jack responded to Slake approaching him. M'yr watched as Shalana produced a knife, and sort of scowled at Slake before speaking. M'yr reached for his belt, and felt for the pocket of clacking coins still there. He gave it a quick jostle, causing him to jingle as if he were wearing bells, instead of clutching a full purse. Behind his mask, M'yr gave her an invisible smile of gratitude. Shalana didn't really seem like she cared for any of them, but she was helpful and straightforward, and he appreciated that very much. She pulled a knife, and pricked her thumb. Then, her index finger, her middle and ring finger, then her little finger. Under her breath, she began to utter soft, unintelligible words. Yet, somehow, M'yr could hear every word, as clear as day. He didn't understand any of it, but heard it plainly, as if she were singing rather than whispering. There was a sort of...mysticism to her words, and in that moment, M'yr wondered if sirens were real. It wouldn't surprise him, but here and now, he kept himself grounded by reminding himself that he was likely mishearing. The bandana against his face was still cold and useless, and a cruel, cold wind battered his face. He watched as Shalana finished her incantation and rushed the fence, scaling it deftly, as if she were gripping invisible handholds. In no time at all, she scaled the fence and landed on the other end. Lady Blackbush, acted before Jack could too, and when she did, M'yr's attention was captured wholly. She reached for The Mask. The one he'd given to her, but in those moments it wasn't a mask, but rather his mask, and when she'd put it on, he gasped quietly, but not quietly enough to be unheard. Had she stolen that from him? It was back at his house wasn't it, and he'd given her a spare one, had he messed up? He watched as she stepped forward, and something beneath her clothes moved. Nearly paralyzed with fear, tentacles slithered out of her garments and wrapped around her body, like extra limbs. He looked closely. They didn't seem like any tentacles he'd ever seen; more like black, goopy limbs, like that of a starfish or anemone. They clung to her body tightly, and pulled her up over the fence with the rest of her limbs in no time at all, and before long she was on the other side of the fence. M'yr glanced past the gate. They'd approached from the angle closest to the left side, he supposed. Large tents blocked most of his view of the rest of the courtyard, but he could sort of see, where the road turned perpindicularly around the building, where the checkpoint was. It was a bit too far away for him to see anybody working there, but he assumed there was at least a few staff on the grounds right now. Right. Jack did his thing, then, and quietly lifted Slake across with an ominous pillar of smoke. M'yr hadn't been paying attention, so he didn't really know where it came from, but he found himself looking for meaning in the curling ash regardless. He imagined tendrils of wrath whipping out of it in all directions, dark and frustrated as they were confined to his will. However, he didn't see the Grey in it. When the smoke came back around, M'yr glanced at it, and then his grappling hook. One of these was clearly easier to use, and it wasn't the hook. With a sigh, he lowered his arms and let the smoke lift him over the gate. It was a weightless feeling, as if he was in free fall. The cloud seemingly didn't exert much effort to lift him, as it didn't really feel like anything was pulling or pushing at him. Instead, for a few crucial seconds, he was simply against gravity for a few moments. He alighted on the other end of the fence easily, and glanced around. The crew was still behind the tents, with the fence spanning on before hitting a corner to their right, and stretching onward until it met the library to their left, and M'yr still had his grappling hook. Without offering any further instructions, he made for the building slowly, staying close to the fence. Though the innards of the Bastion were apparently always lit, in one way or another, M'yr found just enough shadow along the edge of the fence to keep himself hidden. As he moved away from the relative safety of the tents, he could see the yard a bit more clearly, but only a bit. From here, he could see the path leading up to the front door of the library, and beyond the tents he could see what appeared to be a construction site of some sort. He couldn't really make it out, but he supposed that's where any renovation or construction supplies were being kept. All of this was dwarfed by the library itself. The first, most obvious aspect of the library was the obvious scale of the building. The front door alone was so large, and the steps leading up to it were broad enough to support a person several times M'yr size. The columns out front of it were thick enough to hold up the sea. M'yr glanced up futher, and noticed that the building itself was in danger of being crushed completely by a massive tentacle that had long since wrapped itself around the building and begun squeezing the life out of it. He stared a while longer, and the tentacle didn't so much as disappear, so much as it changed shape. After a few seconds, it became apparent he wasn't looking at a massive, writhing grey limb, but a very boring, but very well-designed building. He slumped his shoulders, in relief, and perhaps disappointment. No gods to be found here. Behind him, he supposed the others were doing their part to go through the yard and look for guards or watchmen. He guessed it wouldn't take them very long to deal with anybody on site, and wondered if he could start scaling the building right away. He glanced down. He was still holding the grappling hook. On a lark, and in the spirit of rebelliousness, he began spinning it slowly in his arm. The roof was much, much farther up than the blueprints had let on. Could he even get it up there? M'yr seized up, and dropped his hook. His hands lifted to the sides of his head and his pressed his fingers to his temples, as if trying to pop his skull. The agonizing, shrill sound of the reporter girl; why was it in his head now? Did he imagine her too? "I can't deal with this," He hissed to nobody in particular, but it was picked up by his headpiece. "First I start seeing things, and then I get attacked by things, and now I'm hearing squeaky cat voices!" He rubbed his temple harder, and the tip of his finger brushed against his headpiece. He froze. His what? M'yr reached up and removed the piece, and examined it, wholly confused. It wasn't his, that was for certain. Did...did she give him this, and he forgot it? M'yr fumbled with the unfamiliar object, before fitting it back to his ear. He frowned as he finally figured out what they were saying. It was a shame they weren't following them inside. Although M'yr didn't want to use guns, or magic, or weapons against the librarians or guards, there was a certain intimidation behind using them. Theoretically speaking, you didn't have to fight if you just showed up with a bigger gun. Alas, that wasn't M'yr's luck today. He rubbed his cheeks, stretching his eyelids a bit in the process. His palms scrapped against his cheeks, just close to his mouth and---hey! M'yr wasn't wearing his bandana, either! He glanced around at his feet, in case it had been knocked off recently, slowly panicking more and more as he realized it was gone. Without the mask, there would be no hiding his identity if things went wrong. More importantly, other people might be able to see his expression, and guess his intentions, see right into his soul. Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no. He sank to the ground at the foot of the building, next to his too-small grappling hook, with his earpiece-he-never-actually-received and without the mask-that-was-meant-to-keep-him-safe. He was an idiot to think this would go easily, that this could be done safely, or quietly or discreetly. They'd barely even made their way inside, and things were falling to pieces. His breathing was vapid and shallow; his arms itched, the scars popping to life as painful, but familiar thoughts surfaced. His knife was still close by. If he was so stressed out, maybe he could reach for it and just... His hand was hovering over it already. The dead air around them made it easy to hear the other noises in the Bastion. Far off people, and slow moving carts. The gentle sound of dripping water, far away. The sound of the sea, like a mourning lover keening over her loss. He took a breath. A deep one, and let his hand go slack, no longer pressed to his knife. Hurting himself now, of all times, wouldn't improve the situation. Instead, he needed to improvise, and make something happen. He got up, and glanced at the building again. The hook might not get him all the way to the top, but the second floor might be in reach, especially if one of their recruits could offer some help. He didn't bother dusting off his grass and dirt-soiled pants, and made his way back towards where everyone else had been for the time being. He'd ghost them, and let them do their thing. Once they got inside, he might be able to offer better support. Upon returning, he crept up to Slake, and have her arm a squeeze as he drew near. "If you have to punch somebody, you can punch them a second time too. For me." He suggested with an awkward, but hopefully charming smile.
  5. @squid peanut is up! I will follow up afterwards.
  6. Once each and every beam was punched through and set aside, Cindy had immediately set upon putting them all upright. Without concrete, or anything to help form a foundation, the minotaur's strength became pivotal again. Cindy grasped the next beam and hefted it over her shoulder again, then trotted back towards her building sight. Overhead, the sun beat down on her as it moved slowly across the sky. Sweat glistened in her thin, water-repellent fur; her chest heaved as she exerted herself. She checked the target once, then twice before with a grunt of exertion drove the beam deep into the soil, only to recoil with a shout immediately. "Aaaaaaagh!" Her bellows thundered over the din of the work around her, and more than a few heads turned. The minotaur's furious roar dimmed down quickly, and she, totally oblivious to the world surrounding her, pinched her palm. The heifer pouted, and looked unhappily at her palm, before saying, much more quietly: "I have a splinter." Her voice dripped with hushed sorrow, as if her life were over. She tried, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, to pull it out with her teeth, but failed to clench it. She sucked at it, plopping down on her rump as she attempted to reef it out, to no avail. Around her, everyone else appeared to get back to work, leaving her to tend to herself, and Cindy, oblivious to their reactions in the first place, remained dedicated to the splinter.
  7. Eryel squeezed her hand. Bitter tears of frustration still blinded her vision, accompanied by a few stinging tears from the pain of pricking her hand. She wrung her wrist, and felt, rather than saw, the few blood droplets dribbling onto the grass beneath her. Absentmindedly, she reached for her knife, releasing her wounded hand for a moment in order to cut away a strip of her clothes--near the bottom of the garment. She used the scant bit of cloth to wrap around the bleeding, and apply pressure to the pricks in her hand, while her companions chimed in, eager for blood. Well, no, not for blood. That was Eryel's mind again, racing forwards towards violence, rather than taking it easy. She sucked in a few shallow, shaky breaths as she attempted to calm down a bit. Eryel, angry as she was, quite liked that option. The idea of breaking in, snatching the ledger and maybe beating that pretty elf in the face for lying to her sounded like a fine deal. After all, her father was on the line here, far away and likely cold as the grave without her. She had to be quick about this, before any harm came to him! Before she could give them a nod of approval, though, The fairy that had wriggled out of her grasp when she'd cut herself on her thorns interjected again. She continued to breathe, trying to calm down while the fairy flitted about, Eryel glowered at the fairy...then felt bad about it shortly afterwards. Her temper was waning--she really did need to calm down, and take this easy. Rushing headlong into a violent act wasn't going to generate any results, after all. Or rather, it would, but Eryel needed to stay in town afterward, in order to care for her father, a thing she couldn't do while being hunted by the guards for untoward violence. She took another breath, and exhaled noisily, still frustrated. "Listen, I don't care who does it, or how we do it." She was still very testy, but was speaking slower, and no longer crying. She still applied pressure to her wounds as she continued. "But the fairy is right. If word gets out that we're smashing through shops looking for my fortune, it's going to be difficult to explain my motives to the cops. We have to take this easy, and safely. So..." She sucked in another slow breath, and made eye contact with Andraste. "You're going to go in there, and give him a little scare. Threaten him, terrorize him, whatever you want. But," She held up finger. It was smeared with blood, which was drying quickly. "No hurting him--badly, that is--and no damaging the store." That finger she held up flicked towards the other volunteer. "And you," She said. "Are going to get in behind the counter, take the ledger, and anything else that might be important while he's distracted. I'd prefer it if he didn't see you, but if he does, your friend on the other side of the counter will lean on him." She dropped the bloodied bit of cloth, which was drenched by now, and held her hand towards the fairy. "We do this quickly, and easily, and then we can figure out which warehouse my fortune is hiding in. You all get paid, my father gets his medicine, and I can look into buying property in town here quickly."
  8. Posting after work today! I'll sic y'all on that dastardly caravaneer!
  9. We have a fistful of posts up already! Good work all! I believe we are only waiting on a few folks now. @Darth Lager and @The Alexandrian, I think are the last two to go. Everybody else has already put out their posts, so if you feel like piggybacking off other people's work to act this time around, do that! M'yr, on his turn, will likely follow Shalana's lead, and we will continue from there.
  10. Crack! If Cinderella hadn't struck a heavy blow into each and every beam she'd picked up so far, one might mistake the noise for a gunshot, or a bolt of lightning, yet it was too easily lost in the din of hard work and earnest discussion to be either of those. The minotaur hefted her hammer to one shoulder, and inspected her work carefully. The thick, heavy bore she'd struck into the beam was deep enough that the hilt, the round extrusion of metal that guarded the leather handle, was firmly indented into the soft wood again. There was a neat little pile of dirt on the other end of the beam, too, from the weight of the blow. The beam itself was intact, though, which was a win! Cinderella noted with great enthusiasm that she'd done nothing but win so far. She set the hammer down, and the hulking cow-beast pressed one heavy hoof against the wood, while the other braced against the earth. She wrapped one hand around the grip on the bore, and pulled with all her might. Slowly at first, then rapidly, the bore came free, and where it used to be was a round, deep hole in the soft wood. All the wood that had been there prior was forced to the sides, packed into the rest of the wood. She examined the bore, checking for any damage. The bore was approximately ten centimeters long, nearly three centimeters wide, and was made of sturdy, but crude iron. About three quarters along the edge of the bullet-shaped prong of iron, was a small guard, and shortly after that was a leather handle, and another guard on the end of that. Cinderella checked that guard next; it was scratched up and scuffed, but totally intact so far. The Cinderella didn't really have enough large nails to build anything so this bore was meant to leave space for small, round wooden pegs that would hold her structures together, along with the help of some adhesive. She picked the beam up nigh effortlessly and moved it aside, before dumping it in a pile with the rest. Cinderella originally hadn't come to Hyperion with the intention of settling there. In fact, the minotaur wasn't actually sure if she planned on staying. Originally, she'd come this way to see if Ifrit had come through there again. Her friend, her best pal, her favoritest person in the whole world, Ifrit, had unexpectedly vanished one day, without giving her any clue where to look for him. This had come off of their prior visit to Hyperion, where Ifrit had done... She frowned, and tried to recall exactly what they'd done. It was strange, but she didn't actually remember what Ifrit had told her they were doing at the parade. During the ensuing chaos, her job had been to wrangle guards, and bat away would-be defenders, but she didn't actually know why they went there. Hot dogs? Something about a spider rabbit, definitely. She put those thoughts on the back burner for now, and focused on striking another killing blow into another beam. Crack! Pick it up, and shove it aside. By now, Cinderella wasn't really a 'valued' member of Hyperion, so much as she was an 'accepted' member of Hyperion, which she was quite pleased about. When she'd gone looking for Ifrit, people had quickly, and correctly, identfied her as one of the fugitives responsible for....whatever Ifrit had done, again. Originally confused, Cindy had fought back, and in the ensuing clash with guards, managed to knock them around like playthings. Even wounded, even harried, the minotaur was difficult to injure, and for good reason! She had to find Ifrit! Find him, and take him back to their home, where they could hang out again! She paused, and reflected on that again. Did Ifrit leave her because she wasn't a good enough friend? Had she done something wrong? She waited, still as stone. Around her, people continued to mill and mull around. The world kept moving, and in a town full of small campfires and torches, she couldn't smell smoke, or charcoal just then. She lived in a world without fire, if only for a moment. Crack! The beam split asunder as if she'd swung an axe at it. The bore was dug so deep into the wood that it had split the plank in two, right down the middle. The minotaur, still clutching her hammer, noticed just barely at her knuckles were white and her hands were trembling, with an unspoken, quiet grief. She remained still for a moment longer, than stood back up, and pulled the bore out again. She examined it, and noticed it was still intact. That was good, because it meant she didn't have to go look for a fourth replacement, just yet. She went for another beam.
  11. Of course! Get a post in whenever..
  12. With the post up, just about anybody can step in, though I believe a few of us are current AFV. I think, currently @squid peanut and @Zashiii might be around yet.
  13. Eryel waited for the elf to go through her information, and filled out the necessary paperwork provided. She didn't mind the bureaucracy at all, in fact, while her father was still running the family business she ended up doing a lot of the papers for him. Filing most of their expenses under her name, rather than his, meant that he could dodge unsavory taxes and finances on things like property, and trade. Given that she didn't pay for these services herself, she was largely exempt when it came to these taxes when her father did his work. Her handwriting was elegant and clean by now, and bespoke of professionalism. That didn't help. He took her information in, and flipped through the ledgers quickly, but Eryel was watching. He flipped right past a series of familiar dates, and familiar names. She said nothing, instead. He flipped through the book quickly, and flipped back. When he glanced up at her with that fake, apologetic smile, she was already looking away. "I'm sorry, but I'm not seeing anything coming out of Ashville from us;" He lied. "It might have been handled by one of our competitors," He laughed softly. "I'm a little hurt, honestly. You're going to put us out of business." She didn't know what this feeling in her hands was, but when she glanced down, noticed that her knuckles were white, and her fingernails, clean and shapely, were digging into the palms of her hands. She exhaled quickly, all at once. Her breath was hot, and her temper was suddenly, unexpectedly, rising. "Yes! Well, then I suppose I'll go and check with them, then." He gave her a false laugh earlier; she gave him a false smile. It barely concealed her sudden, unexplainable fury. "Thank you very much for your time." She pushed through the door quickly, before he got a word in edgewise. Outside, her companions were still waiting. She stormed up to them quickly, and grabbed the nearest of them. She couldn't even remember their name right now. "He has what I need," She hissed. It became apparently that she wasn't just angry. Tears of frustration stained her eyes, from the slightest inconvenience. "He has what I need, and I want it back." It took her some time to calm down, and when she did, she explained what she was talking about. "My family name, and my home, are in that ledger he has," She told them. "He didn't show it to me, and said it wasn't there. He's lying to me about my family coming to his company, and I want to know why. You want to get paid; get in there and take it from him."
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