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Csl last won the day on August 5

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About Csl

  • Rank
    Jar of Clay
  • Birthday July 3

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  • Gender
  • Location
    Pearl of the Orient Seas
  • Interests
    digital art, science and sci-fi, in-depth world-building, unconventional fantasy tropes, character-driven plots, lateral thinking puzzles, meta stuff
  • Occupation
    College student

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  1. It's been a great summer vacation and period of high Val activity for me, but I'm going full hiatus tomorrow. School calls.

    All the lore has been updated. All the profiles posted.

    I'll be back in a month or so. For now, I rest.


    1. Roen


      Ave atque vale.

  2. Elias Nevidri [ basics ] Aliases: Iskultor, Elon Nevid Race: Human Marital Status: Single Gender: Male Age: 29 Occupation: Freelance Flesh-Shaper [ physical ] Elias stands at six feet, three inches and has a lithe, wiry build. His complexion is sallow, with his hair a sooty black. His eyes are pale, though on closer inspection one would note that they carry a pinkish hue, and are luminescent in the dark. He wears a pair of glasses. Across his body are numerous wounds (both healed and unhealed) stretching across his back, shoulders, and neck. The thickest clusters of scars are above his spine. [ mental ] Temperament: Phlegmatic Demeanor: Indifferent, dismissive, condescending, cynical, facetious Likes: Knowledge, Art, Flesh-shaping, science (especially biology, zoology, and neurology) Dislikes: Close-mindedness, people with no appreciation for art Goals: Find a stable job Gain enough funding to pursue his personal Flesh-Shaping projects [ abilities ] FLESH-SHAPING Elias is a Flesh-Shaper, skilled in the raw, painful art of sculpting and molding creatures according to the designs of his clients. He was once one of the trailblazers in the field of Flesh-shaping in Genesaris, up until Whispernight, whereupon he left his home and began wandering the continent, taking on whatever jobs his skill afforded him. Elias can make simple, cosmetic changes in flesh quickly, such as healing wounds or reducing adipose tissue. However, he prefers working with the deeper, underlying structures of creatures, working from the inside out. This deeper Shaping takes more time, with “projects” taking anywhere from days to months to complete. Elias isn't limited to arcane knowledge alone; he often integrates magitech (or sometimes, simply technology) in his methods of Flesh-Shaping. He can manifest his power in organic matter, allowing him to create nodes of matter that can affect his subjects without his direct influence.
  3. Yau is a fifteen year-old magitech prodigy with a knack for problem-solving and inferential data-gathering. Orphaned at birth, Yau has lived in Tia most her life, using her tech to conduct heists while avoiding the authorities. She has recently been put in the care of Dr. Carina Gomez of Taen. Inventor Name Calabi Yau Maksur Kohler Gender Female Race Human Age 15 Height 5' Weight 105 lbs Build gangly Eyes violet Hair pale orange, curly Skin tan Roles ∟magitech prodigy Abilities ∟pericognition ∟magitech engineering History | Image gallery Attire —a black, sleeveless shirt — an oversized, worn leather jacket — jeans — greyish boots Equipment — a broken gauntlet of foreign, amorphous metal that can change its shape at will, transforming into different tools. — Midstep boots, a pair of grey boots that uses Nth and other materials to allow Yau to take steps in midair and change her orientation, anchoring herself to non-horizontal surfaces. Personality — Puzzle-solver - Yau loves solving puzzles and finding solutions to problems — Talkative and cheerful, Yau speaks her mind constantly, at all times, with little pause. — Free-spirited as she is, Yau has a habit of testing rules and boundaries. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, though her frequent absences make Carina worry.
  4. Announcement for this maybe? Just the title, tyvm.
  5. ii. One month later, at breakfast, she announced she would be taking a vacation. Pallas and Lenore stared. Morrigan looked up, silent, her expression edging on worried. “Here and there,” she replied, when her children asked where. “I'm not needed here anymore, not really. You two are more than capable of handling the empire. I think…” and she indeed, thought, “I want to spend some time travelling.” It was a simple desire. It was the second she’d had in millenia. “I’ll visit,” she assured them, and hugged them, and bid them farewell. Pallas had Taen to rule over, and Lenore would return to Ursa Madeum. Morrigan would remain under the tutelage of Caer Loerem’s seneschal. On the way out, Rozharon found a wide-brimmed hat on one of the hat stands in an endless hallway. She took it. Renovatio was nice this time of the year, wasn’t it?
  6. i. So, this was what sanity felt like. Rozharon took a moment to filter her perception-- this new mind could only handle so much. Sensations. The light, filtering pink through her closed eyelids. Her hands clutching her shoulders, the cold of the stone beneath her skin, the cacophony of her own thoughts. Rozharon exhaled, relishing the minute motions that took place in that one gesture - the contraction of her diaphragm, the air rushing through her throat, out her nose. Fascinating. Absurd. She laughed, leafed through her mind, and found her memories of this life intact. She stretched her arms high over her head, stretched her wings, and relished the movement of muscle, tendon, and ligament. Outwards, she extended her Grasp, and sliced a cube out of the stone wall. She wrapped her power around her skin, traced a finger against the floor, and carved two lines into the stone. And then, within - a closer look at this body, a few tweaks here and there for efficiency, a self-sustaining equilibrium. I’m not dead. She drew a wound in her skin, winding from cheek to ankle, and watched the flesh close, the blood seep backwards. She walked to the wall, pressed a hidden latch, and withdrew a handgun. A shot to the head. Her power was slower to react, and fragments of skull made it to the wall before she caught them. It took one hour to repair the damage. Enough time for her to ascertain how much of her strength she had lost. And yet, she had gained far more. She thought of her sons, touched a finger to her cheek, and felt tears. So, this was bittersweet, this was anxiety, this was relief. These tastes were new, and were delightful, and were rich in their novelty. Humanity was such a narrow word to describe the experience of mortals and their empathy. Even now, she wasn't truly human, The door slammed open. Pallas and Lenore rushed inside, faces distraught. “I’m fine,” she said, before they could speak. She wrapped her arms around them, holding them tighter than she ever had before. Wordlessly, she showed them what she had done. “Everything’s fine,” she repeated. And, for the most part, it was.
  7. unheeded, The castle always had a room for her, despite the fact that she never slept. As all rooms, it changed to fit her needs. Today, it was empty - seamless stone walls, windowless, and not a single piece of furniture within. The door closed the door, leaving not a single seam in the wall. Rozharon shed her clothes, then sat herself at the center of the room. Shut the door. Leave light through the keyhole, enough light to see.
  8. in their horror There was an old story Rozharon could recall. A mother held her son by his heel, submerged him in a river of the underworld, and earned him immortality. In the same underworld ran another river, one that washed away the memories of all who touched its waters. It was a fitting allegory for what she would do. She would be Thetis, sitting not by the Styx, but by the Lethe. She was a mother who would do anything for her sons, yet she would not give them invulnerability, but give herself vulnerability. She would be drowning not her Achilles, but herself. Thus, the conundrum she faced: how would she submerge herself in forgetfulness, yet keep herself from drowning? How to retain the slightest, ephemeral filament of her true self coiled around the mask she would become? Too mortal, and she would lose herself. Too removed from humanity, and she would never empathize with her sons. She would lose so, so much of herself. CAIR LOEREN, TAEN Melissa Ardom, seneschal of Caer Loerem, was a woman of order and tenacity. Order, for her sharp mind was well-suited to managing the ever-changing rooms of Caer Loerem and the ever-changing needs of the guests within. Tenacity, for she had survived Tia's destruction, helped organize the safe passage of numerable refugees to Taen, and built a life for herself as a landlady in Lunaris. A week later she’d found the empress on her doorstep, offering her a job. Now, the living castle was under her management. So was the imperial staff - treasurers, architects, engineers, medicians, generals, masters of commerce, and consultants, the faceless many who kept the empire running under the ever-watchful eyes of Rozharon. Melissa knew the fearful rumors spoken of the imperials, but saw little evidence that support them. The empress was distant, but showed a degree of empathy that didn’t seem likely for a monster of the abyss. The Empress walked among her people, often visiting Taen’s cities. She spoke to Caer Loerem’s staff with the casualness of one talking to a friend. Perhaps the only thing Melissa found unnatural - the Empress had a hand in many, many things, yet never seemed to sleep. She was strange, but not dangerous. And as distant as she was, the Empress loved her sons, and took care of her people. So it was to her surprise that the Empress approached her one day, and told her there was a chance she would soon die. Melissa did not bow or curtsy - the Empress had long discouraged unnecessary acts of respect, instead championing respect shown through the work done for the Empire. Still, she dipped her head, keeping the shock from her features. “What do you mean you might die, Empress?” “Exactly what the words say,” the Empress replied with a touch of amusement. She handed over an envelope - a simple thing of glue and paper. “If I die, give this to my sons.” This time, Melissa let her worry show. The Empire was safe, stable- a haven for hundreds of thousands If the Empress disappeared, the princes would surely take over. They were mysteries, those two boys. Doubtlessly, they would do excellently in ruling. And yet, Melissa. Perhaps, she realized, it was because she would miss the Empress’ presence - strange and inhuman and she was, there was comfort in knowing someone -- something -- so powerful and feared had chosen her to manage their household. The Empress was waiting for a response. Wordlessly, Melissa nodded.
  9. Where they roll She had been fully mortal, once. Severed from her true vastness. Her consciousness crippled, trapped in a skull. That had been eighteen years ago. KUIPERAL, TAEN "Any news?" Rozharon asked, and the rangers shook their heads, as they had every single time. There was still no sign of Teresa. The earth wrote no trails. The wind spoke no whispers. The sea was silent, refusing to unearth the secrets in the deep. Rozharon returned to Cair Loeren. Her feet carried her to the side wing of the castle. The tree had grown well. Rozharon gazed upon it for a minute. As she always did, she searched the depths of her memory for… what, exactly? Her time with Titus? She remembered little. She had been with him, borne him a daughter, had been called away by her makers. She remembered the ghost of desire, perhaps even love. But it was all too long ago, not with how time stretched and bent across the cosmos. The woman who had loved Titus was gone. To fully separate her mortal form from her being was lobotomy; the branch, severed from the tree, would die. There was nothing there for her, not in the past. But here, now, Rozharon knew one desire. She wanted her sons to be happy. It was such a simple desire. It was the first one she'd had in millennia.
  10. without aim Though the more likely explanation was her sons. Her offspring were fragments of her. She saw through their eyes, felt their delight and grief and rage as if it were her own. She felt their unease when the curtain pulled back and they caught glimpses of her. They were intelligent. They knew, deep inside, that the affection she showed them wasn't real. It would've been easy to mend the cracks in the illusion, present them a perfect image of a loving mother: one that mourned and laughed and hated. That this image would be a lie didn't matter to her. But it mattered to them. No more illusions. It would entail vulnerability. It would entail truthfulness. To make the dream eternal, she would damn herself to human error and irrationality. To be human-- no, mortal, would mean losing all but a fraction of her awareness. If she made the slightest mistake, severed every connection between mind and body, she would be mere puppeteer and puppet, and no strings to hold. ARMORY, CAER LOEREN “You’re set on staying in Ursa Madeum?” Pallas asked. Lenore twirled a dagger between his fingers. “Yeah.” There was a note of regret in his voice. “Yeah, I am.” Pallas was silent for a moment. He traced an etching on a nearby shield. “I thought we were going to rule Taen together.” Lenore nodded. "So did I. That... changed.” Pallas smiled, a trace of bitterness in the expression. “We changed.” “What’s outside, what’s happening in the rest of the continent, the world-- it’s what has my eyes now. I look outward--” “--I look inward. To Taen. To where all this began.” Pallas sighed-- not at peace, but resigned. “So it is.” “So it is,” Lenore echoed. There was no need for arguing, reasoning, or pleading, not between them. “It’s better, anyway--” “--one to build the foundations--” Pallas muttered. “--one to strengthen the connections--” Lenore agreed. “I’ll stay at the islands, do some experiments on the loci’s effect outside Taen.” “I’ll keep my eyes on Taen itself, our cities. I’ll reach the borders of the land, defend and protect. Deepen the understanding of and harness the forces from this world and beyond.” Pallas picked up a sword, testing its weight. Lenore moved to a spear, carefully prodding its point. They knew their roles, but the idea of parting was bittersweet. The brothers looked at each other. “You’ll visit every weekend,” said Pallas. “And you’ll swing by the islands whenever you need a break,” Lenore agreed. The twins smiled.
  11. planets roll She wove dreams, after all: dreams for herself, for those lethargic mortal minds. The deepest dreams were most difficult to wake from. The finests masks hid one's eyes (so-called soul windows) and thus, blinded. Perhaps this was why she was beginning to ignore the commands. Perhaps this dream had robbed the Thaumelin of lucidity. Perhaps this was why she was planning the death of this self. She wove dreams, after all: dreams for herself, for those lethargic mortal minds. The deepest dreams were most difficult to wake from. The finests masks hid one's eyes (so-called soul windows) and thus, blinded. Perhaps this was why she was beginning to ignore the commands. Perhaps this dream had robbed the Thaumelin of lucidity. Perhaps this was why she was planning the death of this self. MORRIGAN. That was to be her daughter's name. Rozharon hid the lock of hair in a chest, then gave it to the castle to keep. Morrigan slept; though her eyes were closed, Rozharon knew they would be dark as hers. There was no need to teach her as she'd taught the twins. Pallas and Lenore were sons in the true sense-- new eyes and minds. Her daughter would be different. If Rozharon ceased to be, Morrigan would replace her, would embody Thaumelin. Indeed, this would not be her first time to die. That is not dead which can eternal lie <>
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