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Jotnotes

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Jotnotes last won the day on January 2

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About Jotnotes

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  • Birthday 05/08/1997

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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. That is within the realm of possibility. The cult isn't too concerned with secrecy, nor do they regulate who can join, so your character would be able to join up quite easily. There is the matter of just how much they know, however. If they were in Arcturon when the bell rang, for instance, or saw any other miracles or oddities manifest, it might be difficult to turn their back in the cult. I will leave up to you to interpret that as you like, though.
  2. Certainly. How much awareness would you like them to have? It could be as simple as minor hearsay, understanding the Acolytes are a bit odd but mostly helpful. Alternatively, your character could be an active volunteer in the cult, either well aware of their motivation and intentions. Anything in between works as well.
  3. I would like to make it known that given the context of the thread, introducing your characters later might be harder than it is now. For one thing, the thread will move quickly to the library, and even quicker inside of it, which is not a place available to the public during the thread. Showing up late might not be feasible. Now, if either of you feels inclined, your character could have previous awareness of the cult, be an inside man or what have you. I really would like that discussed whenever possible, so keep that in mind please.
  4. Dreggz made herself comfortable quickly; barely giving their hostess a chance to invite them to make themselves at home before climbing up into a chair and grabbing something to eat. Without ceremony, she grabbed whatever was within reach and chewed mechanically, bits of shredded bread and ribbons of meat and sugary pulp vanishing behind her pointed teeth. Instead of reaching for anything available for them to drink on the table, the goblin reached into her purse and felt around before pulling free a flask, which she dumped into a nearby glass before swallowing the contents whole. Eventually, other folks joined her, entering the room as well. In particular, she gave the street performer a toothy grin when she spied him entering the building. Her grin was not diminished when she saw the 'guitarist' walk in either, though she imagined the malice behind her smile was plenty obvious. They joined her at the table, and once they were all inside and comfortable, their hostess. What was her name? Artamese? Something like that. Anyway, she started talking, and Dreggz paused for a moment to listen, gnawing on a tough biscuit. She quickly grew distracted by a constant, and present rattling noise behind the party. The goblin leaned to one side, and peered around the woman, and found the culprit. A chest bounced and wobbled, seemingly on its own. She peered closely at it, hoping to see a bit more. She largely ignored the rest of whatever was said, and hopped down to investigate the chest a bit closer. Tottering over, she found that it was a well-made thing, locked tight. She noticed that there didn't appear to be any strain on the lid that she could see, however. Maybe the chest itself was bouncing around? How full was it, anyway? Ignoring the discussion behind her, she attempted to board the chest, mostly out of curiousity. It bucked and bounced, so it took her a bit of time, but before long she was on top of the chest, sitting on her knees as it bounced and jumped beneath her, almost unhindered by her minor weight. She chuckled to herself, and attempted to stand, and was quickly knocked off of it, falling in a heap on the ground. In particular, she landed on her shoulder, and she heard, rather than felt, the audible crunch as something was destroyed. Dreggz groaned--not in pain, but annoyance. "Damn it, not my speaker!" She sat up and quickly gathered the pieces of her pauldron. It was firmly bashed to pieces. She would need a lot of glue, and even then it was likely not going to cover the damages. With a huff, she tossed the debris aside, and walked back to Artamese. "Okay, so if we take care of your wobbly trinkets, we get paid, right? That simple?" She clasped her hands together and glanced over at the other two. "Should be a snap. Between my ability to boss people around, and your ability to do things, we'll have this done in a snap."
  5. We seem to be missing quite a few first posts. @Zashiii @Sanonymous @Peach If you're still interested in participating, please try and get a post done within the next week or so, or at the very least give us a heads up, as to what's keeping you. After a week, I will be moving on, regardless of who has posted. It would be a shame to leave some of you behind.
  6. Six Meters is actually a good bit shorter than I was worried about, and between you and ticklefarte explaining things a bit more, my worries are assuaged. That said, I think your intentions work. You want Teshuk to stumble into the adventure later on? You're more than welcome to. No worries there. On to other matters, I will be keeping the preparation thread 'open' for another 3-5 days or so. @Zashiii @Vilhardt @Sanonymous @The Alexandrian, try to get a post up within the next little while, or at least let us know whether or not you still want to participate (Maybe you just don't feel like being a part of the prep thread, and that's fine, we can figure something else out). The preparation thread is meant to be short and straightforward, just a means of giving everybody a chance to announce their talents, and see how and what they can offer the party when the thread begins. A map is either being designed, or a reference is being found still, and will be posted when I next post in the prep thread. Thanks in advance, all.
  7. Hello friendos! I hope the holidays treated you all very well! It is the Year of the Rat, and that means we need to keep the Skaven train rolling, which means I intend to finish this thread quickly and open up more soon enough. To this end, I am labelling February as the end of this thread. By then, we should have ended our work in Kinsmeet, sent the supplies back, and paid everyone one. End of thread after that. Following that, you are free to decide to join up in future threads, or simply cut ties with the plot line if you want. Odds are, Thril will be leaving with Vito, while the others continue their campaign of raiding for supplies and food. We are at a good place, however, and can probably stop anyway. What do you two think? @Rabbit @Die Shize
  8. Happy to hear you and the missus are happily caught up with the younguns @Vetanoob We've written you a nice escape for now, so you should be able to rejoin when you're comfortable, without worrying too much about keeping us waiting. @Venus Sprite let me know if you can work with what I have written. If not, I can elaborate, and have Priscilla do more than talk in the dark. Maybe I'll have her move around or something.
  9. Torie's voice was clear and distinct, even in the dark although it was likely because she was shouting. Priscilla jammed her pinkie in one ear and twisted it back and forth, gritting her teeth as she attempted to rub the grating on her eardrums. "I'm fine, I think!" She called back, glancing down at the body she couldn't see. "I think I lost..." She glanced around in the dark, and groaned in frustration. "I lost my knife, I think. I can't see it here, anywhere." Her voice still bounced down the walls. There was no kind of light to speak of. She may as well have been dead. However, Torie seemed to be okay. That counted for something, right? She remembered that her friend was injured before they fell down. "Are you okay? What about the kobolds? Are they...." She paused, and stopped speaking. They were thrown all over the place when the wave came crashing through. They were hurt before. It was best not to ask. "What about Aaric? Have you seen 'em?" She tossed a stone forward. It clacked against the stones again, bouncing down the cave. She shuffled forward. "I think I'll be able to reach you if I keep going this way," She called, hopefully. "Just stay put, and I'll find my way towards you. Stay safe!" She added, under her breath. "...and don't leave me here alone, please."
  10. I am curious actually, as to how big your character is. This thread largely takes place within a confined space, in an underground city. I am concerned there may not be room for them.
  11. Bigger and better post has been made. Furthermore, I have removed the bit where M'yr presents the map, as I do not have a map available yet.
  12. Just a heads up for those who aren't aware, I have been made aware that given the nature of this thread, it has been bumped up to an 'S' Tier Thread. What's that mean? I'unno. But this means that the thread has to be at least 6 pages in duration, and we'll have occasional interference from the folks behind the Library and Taen. So, if this for whatever reason changes your desire to play along, that's quite alright and understandable. As iterated before, I can run this thread with as few as two writers (or even just one!) On that note, I am also rewriting the first post a bit to be a bit more coherent, and more in-line with what I originally intend. So give it a reread if you like!
  13. If there's another angle you want to consider, by all means bring it up. It's important to have variety from time to time.
  14. Thread is up, and can be found here. Feel free to head over there at your earliest convenience to get started. @Meraxa @ticklefarteand @Vilhardt, if you three are still interested in presenting some kind of opposition now is the time to do so. If one of you likes, you are free to put together a brief thread in which Vilhardt's character is briefed on their double agent stuff, while you also prepare any reaponses/defenses the heist may involve. I will say that the depth of these responses should be up to your own discretion. M'yr and his friends are hardly dangerous criminals currently, and it might be difficult to know exactly what they're doing at any time. Just some angles to consider.
  15. Approximately 4 months after the Low-Tide Festival in Arcturon. The streets are slick with rain. Perhaps, if you're willing to ask the right questions, you might find that the streets have always been that way. Perhaps not. Arcturon in the past six months has been the epicenter of events both supernatural and unknown. With the advent of the Acolytes of the Coiled Beast, and their entry into the spotlight four months ago, Arcturon has gone from a city blind to the grim truth, to a city slowly waking to the nightmare only a private few are privy to. Those present at the Low-Tide Festival, those that heard the ancient bell ring, count themselves among those in the know. And those that are in the know, are all congregated in one place tonight. Those familiar with the Acolytes knew about it well in advance. Word spreads quickly in hidden circles, and like the coils of the Serpent, there are many, many secret circles. Most of them, the authorities are unaware of. This information explicitly traveled in those that they were aware of, however. The Acolytes had congregated, all as once, in a brightly lit conference hall, rented out for cheap. Even now, late into the evening of Arcturon, when most folks had gone indoors to evade the bitter rain and biting wind, infrequent pilgrims made passage to the warm hearth of the conference hall. Inside, the promise of warmth, free food, and perhaps conversation on the uncertain future of Arcturon's lowest and most hard-working. According to official reports, every Acolyte of the Coiled Beast had congregated there. That thought, and that thought alone, was the only thing to calm M'yr's paranoia. M'yr was not alone in his house. More so than usual, at least. Where once the ghosts of misdeeds once lurked, other phantoms invaded his bedroom now, some familiar and others not. While he carefully went over their borrowed supplies, their available intelligence and perhaps most pressing, their available funds, behind him Slake shifted, obviously restless. He heard it repeatedly, and eventually found a rhythm to her motions. While he went over the papers, she would slosh her flask as she went for a drink, shuffle somewhat, touch her helmet, resting on the desk and sigh loudly, in annoyance. All the while, her weapon sang, sitting uneasily on her hip and aching for action. Behind her, things he dared not look at directly stirred and shifted. Unlike his own sickly manifestations, these were tangible, real and waiting, equally as impatient as their Captain. He couldn't dismiss them, or deny their existence, dread as they were. It was, in his opinion, best to ignore them outright. To confront them, was to acknowledge the fractured elements of his psyche, and he needed to believe, at least for now, that he was mostly, nearly, partially all there that night. He took a break from looking at his work, and made for the window. It was an ugly, grimy thing, stained green from rising saltwater and cracked from numerous, futile attempts to punch his way through it. Outside, in the cold rain, folk still walked by from time to time. He knew all of them, but recognized none of them tonight, their heads low and grim, their breaths clinging to the air like a dead man's last wish. Beyond the meager light of his bedroom, there was scarce other light outside. He stared hard, out across the street. The people who had been watching him yesterday weren't there tonight. They must have been instructed to visit the town hall, he guessed, a bit more hopeful than normal. He turned away from the window, and a crack of thunder split the sky. He didn't need to look behind him to know that somewhere, beyond the clouds, the Serpent's Eyes were upon him. He moved back to the table, suddenly aware that he was dripping wet and shivvering. He huddled close to the supplies again, and tried to recall Slake's rhythmic fidgeting. Swig. Shuffle. Touch. Sigh. On and on, again. Those from outside of Taen, or even simply from outside of Arcturon, played witness to several oddities that night, on their way to the rendezvous. It was a clear, cool night, the moon hanging high in the sky and with limited cloud cover, and so the lights were dim, opting for the natural moonlight to brighten these strange streets. Yet, for these witnesses, things seemed very wrong. The people, while friendly, were often soaking wet, or carrying soggy umbrellas. Their breath condensed before their faces as they breathed. Many of them walked, hunched and tired, as if stricken with despair, weighed down by unknown unknowns. The streets, while dry, seemed cursed. People swerved broadly to avoid stepping in certain areas, as if going around thick, heavy puddles. The homes were closed and cold, save for one. M'yr Boldbarrow, the signature at the bottom of the request, had put out a notice for any assistance that could be mustered in what he claimed to be 'a series of regrettable, but necessary acts'. He offered noplace to write back to, nor did he posts any specifics on the job. Instead, he merely posted an address, an 'Inquire Within' sort of affair. Despite its sagging exterior, it was the only house on the block with lights on. If there were any doubts as to where the small band of mercenaries were meant to be, that single, bravely flickering in the dark, damp night dispelled them outright. M'yr's abode did not speak of confidence, or opulence. It spoke of dark deeds, and secretive meetings, of long, lonely nights spent wailing curses into the cold. A simple knock at the door is all it took to have it opened. A tall, fridge-built man opened, the true barrier from entry to the abode. Towering and muscular, with a rotund belly, his features were overshadowed by his face, the first truly unmistakably unreal thing the party might see that night. The man's face was missing, replaced by a long, drooping pale slug. It still moved, twitching left and right as it attempted to struggle against gravity, anchored to the man's neck in place of his head. Even as it flailed, its black, beady eyes swiveled to face each newcomer, before backing off to allow them to enter, passing through the threshold and into the bedroom, directly to the left of the doorway. As they stepped inside, the sound of rain striking the door and window became obvious. Outside, thunder rumbled, low in the sky, furious at their newfound awareness. M'yr's home was a grim reflection of the man that lived there. Immediately one could note the bubbling, broken wallpaper that scarred the walls all around them, threadbare walls with no decorations to speak of. The floor showed signs of excessive wear, ancient and unbuffed, the wooden floorboards were pockmarked and covered in scratches. Heavy, deep gouges lead towards the bedroom from the kitchen. Stepping into the bedroom, it was revealed the scratches came from the dinner table, moved into the other little room for the express purpose of planning and congregation. Filling the room were two different figures, one somewhat tall, adorned in bulky, ancient armor, and the other short, draped in dark, ragged robes and a warped mask. Eyeholes were carved into it, likely with a crude knife, each a different size, but beyond that the mask was featureless. Yet, somehow it appeared unhappy, remorseful, mirroring the figure's posture. In fact, their posture mirrored much of the home. There was no question who owned the house, then, but they didn't greet any of the mercenaries as they stepped in. Aside from the table and the bare walls, there was little furniture to speak of. In one corner, a thin, brittle bed that sagged from the weight of the blankets and pillows heaped on the bed and close by a short, ugly dresser. On top of it were several random items, stored with no consequence. Of note, a wooden ruler, sharped into a stake. Several razor blades were screwed to the end of it, turning the narrow points of the ruler into a sharp, if impromptu blade. The untreated wooden dresser was stained in a number of places with thick droplets of blood, too old to be removed. Aside from that, other bits of driftwood, shells, bits of metal and broken items rested haphazardly. A curious collection of items, salvaged from a nonexistant sea. Eventually the entirety of the crew was assembled, all of the mercenaries who agreed to work with the Acolytes, at which point the sea-slug bouncer closed the door and locked it securely. He moved to the doorway, blocking the way out and listening in. Outside, the tapping of branches on the walls and roof could still be heard amid the wind as it picked up. Rain hammered the walls, threatening to break M'yr's fragile home into pieces. M'yr did his best to ignore the weather outside, and looked at the group of volunteers, one after another. They were a motley crew, certainly, but he expected that. His ad hadn't been aimed at professionals, or experts, just the curious observer the ad managed to ensnare. He looked past them, and the bartender nodded at him. He glanced down and away. The door was locked, and as far as he could tell no one was listening in. It was time for the work to begin. He looked upright, and leaned against the table, but his words didn't come, caught by the mask of driftwood in his way. With trembling hands, he reached up and took it off. He set the mask down on the table, and blinked at the crew. M'yr was ghostly pale, with dark, heavy circles under his eyes that betrayed his lack of sleep, and perhaps more uncomfortably his general neglect of himself. His dark, soft-looking hair managed to get in his face no matter what he did with it, and his eyes, sad and broken as they were, seemed endless, like tidepools deeper than any sea. He sized them up again, before finally introducing himself. "Hello, my name is M'yr Boldbarrow." M'yr. M'yr M'yr Boldbarrow, he says? Nothing Bold about him. Coward. Thief. Snivelling Pup. He stiffened, and gripped the edge of the table. Rarely, if ever did his hallucinations taunt him in that way. It made him wonder if they were hallucinations at all. He stared hard at the table, and glanced up, glanced up at several more M'yr's, all staring intently at him. His ghostly, pale features bored holes into his confidence from across the table as they stood, clustered at the other end of the room. He swallowed his nerves, and continued. "I am M'yr, and you are here because you saw the ad, I'm guessing. Which, is good because I'm going to need help. It's going to be difficult work, but I've worked hard to get some money together for everyone that helps." He paused, and added, a bit thoughtfully. "Our target is also pretty interesting, as well. You might walk out with a door prize, if you want to think of it like that." On the table next to him, sat several things, from the supplies he'd scrabbled together in a desperate attempt to be prepared, as well as the heavy sack of money meant for the mercenaries. Furthest from him was the map, rolled up and tucked away, for now. He gnawed on his lip, and decided to wait on those. He'd come back to them, in a short while. "The job we're looking at is the Totenborough Library," He told them, coming back to the present for a moment. The cluster of M'yr's were gone; now the expectant mercenaries looked back at him. Did they pity him? Mistrust him? He couldn't tell. He wanted to put the mask back on, and hide from them again, but he didn't. "Specifically, we're looking at an ancient study site; a sort of 'infinite library' they call it," He explained to them. "I don't actually know if it's infinite or not, but it's older than just about every city in Taen, except maybe Totenborough itself. Me and my associates believe that the...God..." It made him want to vomit, using the word out loud in this context. "Might be referenced somewhere in the books there. We can't say for sure, and there's no official record of what they've found in there. It's all written in ancient script, so it's anyone's guess what's actually inside." "So, I would like your help getting inside," He tried to summarize the job. "We'll get in quickly and easily, hopefully, and we can hopefully find what we're looking for. If we find it, we pull out all the books we can on the subject and we bail. We get home, you all get paid and--I'm sorry, could you move away from the window?" He paused to try and clear them away from the window. Outside, a sudden wave surged through the street, slamming into the window. It cracked from the blow, but held firm. A few moments afterward, the cracks dissapated entirely. M'yr exhaled, visibly relieved. "Okay, nevermind. Anyway, we get in, we get our books, and once we're out, you all get paid. That simple." He waited for a beat, before following up. "A-anyway! I realize I haven't given you a chance to introduce yourselves. Please, give a fake name if you want, but tell me what you're bringing to the table. I don't really...do this sort of thing, so if you have ideas...I'm game, I guess."
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