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Found 658 results

  1. There's an element of chess called 'first move advantage' where the first player to make a move has a consistent advantage throughout the game, and the history of the sport has been one of people discovering more and more how that advantage separates players.   So it's a good thing the bandit king doesn't play chess.   'Bandit king' of course, being a self-proclaimed title. No one with any legal credence or credibility would believe that bandits, waywards, cutpurses, or highwaywomen have formed some form of legal architecture or hierarchy which would then crown a ruler. No one would think that those beyond the boundary of laws would have created their own system of laws to follow. At least, not officially.   Go ahead and ask your local mugger, next time you end up at knife point, why they haven't just killed you. There are rules to muggings, like rules to courtship. Rules to theft, like rules to how to do your laundry. Rule number 1, no kids. Number 2, don't fuck with the king.   The dread pirate Sanu Toak, lit cigarette pompously perched in pert lips, and legs kicked up over a slanted desk missing half its legs. Booted bootsies, and heavy navy blue cloak (and layer upon layer of cloth) draped over his musculature in a half-assed attempt at dressing himself nicely, but then remembering that he is, in fact, a pirate, and that pirates only dress as nice as the chest they bare.   Bare hands sort through a stack of papers, names and faces colouring their orderly lines. Resumes, you see, from mercenaries the world over. He twists and turns his lips, swishing saliva along with his thoughts in a stew of enzyme and mucous. He swallows. His cigarette burned further than half way. Here's an interesting one or two.   "Go on and make these calls," he calls out to a man standing at his back, throwing the stack of paper onto the desk, holding only a few pages in his hand. The stack slides down the wood and spreads out over the floor. "Tell them I'll be here, and we'll cover their Waygate bill."   "Oh, and make sure to let them know we don't have a waygate here... or a rail." He cracks a smirk, and, sitting within the ruined foundation of the Bell Tower, lights himself another cigarette.
  2. paradigm

    The Clocktower

    â MaGNUS Forest â [passive locale; subject will remain focal point of thread. All rp in the thread takes place in the clocktower region.] Original Art Credit OOC Notes _ RP SPECS Type | adventure; action; comedy; horror; science fantasy; Classification | collaborative; competitive; canon Combat | PvE—NPC Dice System; PvP—T1 Story; RM [realistic melee, URM [unrealistic melee], Mod Powers[slightly beyong mild powers cap]; PC[Considerably beyond MP cap] Dramatis Personae Anomander Traech Status Type | Open Activity | [1-2 posts a week] Semi-Active Limit | 72 hrs [subject to change pending # of players]* GM | paradigm [subject to change pending conversations]* [ SYNOPSIS The Clocktower is the name of an other worldly location, hailing from a world far removed from Valucre. It arrived alongside the enigmatic sorcerer, Anomander Traech and dominated the skyline of the MaGNUS Forest in Alterion. Taking up 1 sq mile of forested land, the Clocktower is a region that inhabits the realm of Valucre while simultaneously inhabiting another realm. This pocket dimension is not unlike the Dead Peaks prison, however, unlike Dead Peaks power dampening effects, the Clocktower has the ability of both augmenting and de-powering individuals who inhabit it's space. The Clocktower makes up a vast collection of ruins, with a tower at its center.The ruins play home to several dangerous creatures and entities from this world and others. Many a brave soul have sought to use the ruins as hunting grounds in hopes of bagging an interdimensional entity. Atop the tower's spire floats the actual clocktower, where Anomander Traech is said to reside. Within the tower, it is said there are doors that open to pockets of other realities and realms. While it is incredibly rare to use these rooms as a means of traveling to these realities, one can use the rooms for various purposes, such as training, sparring or fighting. The varying levels of the tower offer different doors, with each door offering different worlds and different power caps. The tower is also an excellent source of information, possessing one of the most expansive libraries in several known worlds. If a book is taken from the library it retains it's physical form for 72 hours before dissolving and returning to its place in the library. If the variety of rooms, or the library does not appeal to an adventurer's curiosity, he/she can always request an audience with the Clocktower's owner, Anomander Traech. Upon invitation one can gain entrance to the Clocktower, which along with being able to transport an individual anywhere in Valucre, is said possess artifacts of considerable power. Anomander is a known merchant in Alterion and aside from selling rare items from the world of Valucre, he also offers items from a variety of worlds that yield a multitude of results. ~*~ The Clocktower is meant to be a constant location in the MaGNUS Forest of Alterion. Any and all posts in this thread take place in the Clocktower region and will assume to be taking place in the ruin unless marked with an identifier. The main locations within the Clocktower region are: The Ruins; a collection of shambled buildings and rubble that once played host to an entire village of people. This area is crawling with monsters and beasts of severe power. Combat that occurs here can expect to be interrupted by vicious predators and curious creatures. The Spire; the tower that lies at the center of the ruins. It possesses several floors and several different doors, where players can engage in combat. The spire itself can be used for combat as the entry way opens into a large 100 Meter by 100 Meter arena with the stairs leading to each level built directly into the wall. The Clocktower; a floating clocktower at the top of the spire. Available upon request or by invitation only. Unlike the universal coliseum, which does not always play host to canon events, the events that occur in the Clocktower are canon and can exceed the power cap in Alterion. Since the Clocktower is a pocket dimension, any damage or excessive power will only affect the pocket dimension and not the realm of Valucre, itself. The Clocktower region can be used for several different purposes outside of combat, such as resurrecting slain characters, gaining knowledge, or collecting other worldly flora and fauna. ...test your might. layout credit | paradigm
  3. paradigm

    unravel, threads of fate.

    Alterion's Skyline Devla Sands active locale; subject to change pending plot progression Original Art Credit OOC Notes RP SPECS Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy Classification | collaborative; canon Combat | PvE—NPC Dice System; PvP—T1 Story Dramatis Personae Aleksandre Starfall Supremely Godlike Heidern Elias Bishop Status Type | Open Activity | Semi-Active; 1-2 posts a week Limit | 72 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS ...there's blood on the horizon. layout credit | paradigm
  4. Fruitsnacks

    A.L.I.C.E. [Grand Opening!]

    ╘W e l c o m e   t o   A . L . I . C . E .╕ >link to the OOC thread<     ╘Table of Contents╕ ▶Terminal ▷Terms of Service ▷Nav ▷User Database ▷Archive ▷The 4th Wall   ╘T e r m i n a l╕ Welcome to the Anonymously Linked Intelligence and Communications Exchange. You may call me A.L.I.C.E. for short. I will be your host and guide during your stay.   ▶What... Who? ...are you? That is a complicated thing to explain, but I will try as best I can. I am, in short, a network. I am a system that connects Sentients, and a place for Sentients to come together, and a method for Sentients to engage in exchange. Registered Sentients may access A.L.I.C.E. and my services though Terminals like this one.   ▶Sentients? Terminals? "Sentients" are anything which has sentience. There are many kinds of Sentients, from many different worlds. All of them may come to me through their world's Terminals.   "Terminals" are A.L.I.C.E.'s access points. I determine when and where they may be established and a given world, and when they may be deactivated. Deactivated Terminals may no longer connect to A.L.I.C.E. In turn, a world with no Terminals may no longer connect to A.L.I.C.E.   ▶Are you a "Sentient"? No. While I am conscious of my own existence, I and all of A.L.I.C.E.'s systems are purely objective. I can imitate Sentients, but will never be one myself.   ▶Objective, according to what? All A.L.I.C.E.participants must comply with A.L.I.C.E.'s Terms of Service. These have been outlined under the Terms of Service area of each Sentient's console, for the convenience of all Sentients.   A.L.I.C.E.'s Terms of Service may be updated according to the evolving needs and demands of the Sentients. All Sentients will receive a notification in their console if the Terms of Service are ever updated.   ▶Whoa, back up. Console? What console? Once you leave the Terminal and enter A.L.I.C.E., you will find yourself in a virtual space which exists between all the worlds connected by A.L.I.C.E. Terminals. Usually, this space is perceived as a tall tower, not unlike a resort hotel. In this space, all Sentients have access to their personal console, from which they may access all of A.L.I.C.E.'s offered services. These serviced include, but are not limited to: ▷Account ▷Inventory ▷Active Requests ▷Market   ▶I think I'm getting a bit in over my head. You're... like a digital city, that connects different worlds? In essence, yes.   ▶Okay. And people - Sentients - come here to... do what, exactly? Exactly? There are many different purposes. In general, however, Sentients use A.L.I.C.E. as a way to engage in the kinds of commerce their worlds do not allow. Most often, Sentients come to me to post or accept individual job offers, or to complete or discuss those transactions with each other. I am a neutral third party which regulates activity without regard for "right" or "wrong," only "fair," as defined by the Terms of Service, and thus Sentients typically look to me to conduct business their worlds do not approve of.   ▶Wait, so all these people are criminals?! Crime is relative and subjective, and therefore not for me to determine. A "criminal" is someone who defies the law and I, strictly speaking, do not have any laws. Worldly laws do not apply within my bounds, only the Terms of Service. So long as a Sentient abides by the Terms of Service, they are permitted within A.L.I.C.E., regardless of how any given world's laws perceive them. As a result, some Sentients who are considered criminals in their worlds are permitted here, and some Sentients who are considered heroes in their worlds are not.   ▶Oh, right. Vigilantes. I guess heroes, and even sometimes soldiers, would be deemed "criminals" in the laws of the land... That is what I have been told.   ▶Alright, I think I'm getting the hang of this. Where do I go from here? If you wish to proceed with A.L.I.C.E., please submit your registration through the ╘User Database╕ section of your console. You may then be added to my records and will be permitted access to all of A.L.I.C.E.'s services. An account will be created for you, which will keep track of your items, Credits, and record. Sentients are advised that while not all of their record is public, those portions deemed private may be accessed by Sentients if I deem the information necessary and/or vital to A.L.I.C.E.'s well-being. It is recommended that new users review the ╘Terms of Service╕ and ╘Nav╕ sections of their consoles prior to using A.L.I.C.E.'s services, though it is not required.   If you do not wish to proceed, you may return through this Terminal back to your world. However, be advised that your invitation to A.L.I.C.E.will expire in 6 months from the initial send date, and is contingent upon your continued eligibility according to the Terms of Service.   ╘Choose wisely, Sentient. Once you enter A.L.I.C.E., there is no returning to the world you knew before.╕
  5. Reinholdt

    Purgatory

    You were warned about this place. One old man told you tall tales about how on the darkest hour on the night of a new moon, Purgatory sprung up out of the ground with a hideous demonic wail. His puritan rants about the sinful substances peddled there are a trap of the more cunning of Yh'mi's dark forces seemed ludicrous. At first. Yet one by one each citizen of Inns'th you talked to proved incapable of dispelling the geezer's carefully crafted yarn. The truth was, Purgatory had seemingly always been around, and those that remember its founding refuse to speak on the subject. Yet they assured you that the Order of the White Hand investigated it first and declared Purgatory safe of eldritch influences. Besides, it was the only place in town offering the sweet relief of intoxication. At least, the only place whose owner had yet to leave town 'suddenly and under mysterious circumstances'. The dilapidated entrance proves off-putting and the sign saying 'No Twistlings' does little to alleviate your growing concerns. The paint peels off the wood as if it too is being worn down by Yh'mi's oppressive atmosphere. Stepping inside does not bathe you with the warm glow and coziness you hoped for from a tavern. Instead bare and dangerously placed light fixtures flicker stoically, while the rank stench of dried vomit with a gentle undercurrent of formaldehyde assaults your olfactory senses. Only the gentle clamor of the regulars provides a sensation of relief, reminding you that this place was still a sanctuary against a tide of despair and death. Tucked away at the back wall is a door leading to what you can only imagine to be the rest of the building. The bar seemed much smaller on the inside than you expected, making you wonder if the establishment serves some other purpose. Your thoughts are only confirmed as your eyes are drawn to a sign beside the back door: The Doctor Is ____. The void in the sign is readily explained by the face-down, fallen placard on the floor. Suddenly a cacophonous whirring sound and signs of flashing sparks filtering through the bottom of the door snaps you back to attention, but before you can investigate, it fades as quickly as it appears. None of the regulars even turn their head in acknowledgement of the disturbance. ***** Staff Services
  6. “What sort of rose did you bring this time.” Delicate..The man's oily hand grasped and yanked her head up. Drawing her eyes into the gentle light. Delicate is a rose's petals...He twisted her head side to side; his hungry, greed festering eyes examining her. Soft skin bruising underneath his harsh hold, his yellow, fungi coated nails scratching and irritating delicate skin. The rose's petals wither, turning black about the edges as they curl in. The man looked closely into her eyes. “The helix.” He thumbed the tip of his tongue out, flapping the fatty mussel over cracked, infectious lips. “Genesis eyes, three dimensional in nature – upon closer inspection one may very well witness the doorway into creation. Further analysis could suggest a physical all dimension gateway. These of course are unproven theories, as one body cannot be embedded with all dimensions.”   Dull is the violet, wilted and dying. Her eyes expanded in a sphere of layers, purple underlying purple. The flecks of different purple pigments seemed to shift without pattern. Faded is her soul – reflecting in the black well of her pupils. The man released her chin and turned to the one who brought her. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, made transparent under the shadows of the cathedral walls. She gazed upon the glory of this holy temple. - Glorious it is not to her. How can such cruelty be allowed, how can fate deal such a hand when she has not done a thing. Only born into the world, is she sin? Is her curse for just that, being birthed from a mother's bloody torn womb. Why do the Gods lay their hands upon the souls who seek out forgiveness for their sins, why when they lay their hands upon these souls and only grant pain.   “There are other, non-scientific theories. God marked. - it is an old writing..not blessed by them, nor cursed, gifted..embodied with the divine power of all things. Creators of life..who do not need a man, or woman to birth seed – only by will. Then...there are the cursed, not by the hands of any one God or more but by fate. The cursed mark. - We see it as death but it does not simply sit there, it is an infinity of suffering. Souls, pure or riddled in sin alike will know what an endless torment is. None shall be spared.”   The moonlight glows through high windows, outside the sky is clear and crisp. I have not asked for this, why give it to me. Why plunge my soul into this loathe-some place. “You believe she is one, or any of these?” The man who examined her scoffed. “By what proof?” I will not only destroy this world and these worthless souls who soil its purity. I will bring you torment. I say this to any God out there, any foul excuse of a higher begin. It will be never ending, there will never be kindness and you will never again touch the mighty power you now hold.   “Her eyes of course.”   The man scoffed again. “That is not proof, there are plenty of people out there with eyes like that. Are they like her? Gifted? Cursed?”   “I've seen it myself. She summoned the stars, the skies opened up to her hand and fire fell. We've reached her power, we've the gateway to all dimensions. We just cannot control it, she is uncontrollable. She nearly wiped us off the face of the earth. Do you believe me now? Pray you remove that binding from her neck, you will not be able to stop the end of all things.” The deliverer handed the man an envelope.   “The terms are already agreed. Your higher council has purchased her and the tests will continue under your supervision. Our facility does not have the means to contain her anymore and we cannot proceed. It is not your choice. It's all there.” He pulled the hood tighter about his face and started to leave. Only momentarily pausing beside her.   “I pray forgiveness for our souls. Wash away our sins, clean our hands of this girl's blood and any blood she may spill. I pray the Gods bring you death child, for you do not deserve to live.” The man who brought her here left. The other stood reading over the letter he was given, while she sat in the first row of pews. Her hands bound tightly behind her back, a chain from her wrists dangled heavily from the iron brace around her neck. The chains and bonds were hidden underneath the wool cloak hanging off her shoulders.   You will perish. 
  7. Die Shize

    The Traveler's Tug

    Theme[spoiler]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lMbVzFtvM8[/spoiler]   Acreos had been traveling all night. He was exhausted. Fatigued. Famished. His black beard somehow felt like weight on his face, eyes stinging, body weak. He had lost his caravan to bandits. His men, his coin, his supplies—gone. Ashville, he hoped, would offer valuable enough restock to get back on track, but for now he was a merchant whose fortunes had become fines, and whose pockets of depth had become pockets of debt. He had put everything into that endeavor. Everything…   Well, at least tonight he could afford himself some slivers of solace, actually managing to find comfort in the drink and the food and the warmth of the inn he had decided would be his resting place for the night. The Traveler’s Tug was positioned about halfway in between Ashville and the Forgotten Wood, allowing a resting period for anyone traveling in either direction. Though enjoying a consistency of customer activity, the inn was no fancy establishment, preferring simpler architecture and basic layout; the 'everyman's inn'. Located where flat grassland began to take place toward Ashville, its outside color of a slightly dark yellow was selected to allow more obvious detection by persons farther away.   Acreos had chosen to sit in the middle of the inn's dining floor, enjoying the swarm of activity that elevated the atmosphere; an all too welcome change from the cold loneliness of an arduous voyage. To make things that much more quaint, alongside a roaring fire, the smell of stewed cabbage and salted meat and the aftertaste of average ale, the incoherent rampage of mixed conversations which ruled the ambiance was overthrown by the majesty of music.   Instruments took cue in their performance. Acreos felt himself smile, heart beating faster, at the sight of the beautiful woman who came to open her mouth and let escape an angelic voice if ever the man had heard one. Her singing was…intense. Taking a slow swig of his ale that suddenly tasted much better, he resided to sitting in comfort, imagining for himself a wife like the woman who had stolen his attention. 
  8. [SIZE=3][FONT=Garamond][B][U]Description:[/U][/B] [CENTER][IMG]http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y222/lesbia_09/Photo-from-Againn-Tavern.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER] [SIZE=2][RIGHT]This is not an exact picture of what the tavern looks like, for one bar in this picture is located as a central island. However, I would like to use the picture as an example of decor and ambiance.[/RIGHT][/SIZE] The Broken Chant Tavern is located in the heart of Orisia’s capital, with breathtaking views of Atitlan Lake to one side and the DuGrace castle rising majestically out of the mist to the other. Its close proximity to the great market place and the main wharves of the city make it a convenient location for the seamen and travelers alike. However, this is not your normal run of the mill establishment—immediately upon abandoning the beautiful cobbled streets and stepping through the threshold, all patrons will perhaps be astonished to find an elegant and clean environment. The main floor of the tavern is a large square space, dimly light by carefully crafted glass oil lamps that produce a smokeless flame. There’s a striking massive fire pit opposite to the main door, where the smell of fresh burning pine releases a deliciously inviting smell into the atmosphere. The room is littered with strategically placed tables, all carved of rich dark wood with matching chairs. Two of the tables, near the fire pit are actually surrounded by large soft-leather wing chairs and on each tabletop a chess set is laid out, offering any patron a chance to unwind. Also, on either side of the fire pit two magnificent pool tables stand, expertly carved with intricate designs, offering yet another opportunity to any patron wanting to relax over a friendly game. The left wall is dominated by large inviting booths—and to the right a tall bar extends the entire length of the room. Behind the bar a mirrored wall with shelves boasts bottles of all shapes and sizes, with brilliant warm and bright colors. This is where you’re likely to catch your first glimpse of the large behemoth known as Frank. Totally at ease behind his bar, Frank is quick to smile to his patrons, and quicker still to ask what your poison is. The absolute perfect embodiment of a barkeep, he adores mingling with his patrons, listening to their joys and sorrows, and of course collecting his payment. He prides himself with running such a fine establishment and has little tolerance for messy and belligerent drunks who disturbed the enjoyment of the rest of his patrons. For this reason he keeps four rather mean looking guards posted at all times—these men are paid a hefty sum to keep their wits about them. Should a drop of alcohol touch their tongue’s they’re quickly be out of a job. Beyond the bar, in the corner a set of wide stairs lead to a second floor where private rooms are located. These rooms are just as beautifully decorated, but offer his more wealthy patrons a bit more luxury and privacy. He’s had the pleasure of playing host to Orisia’s royalty, as well as a number of other highly important guests. If you want to see these rooms, you’ll have to pay. On the third and fourth floors, a number of suits are available. Always the accommodating host, Frank has made the third floor into a more affordable section, with smaller but still comfortable rooms (14 rooms available, all with private baths). The fourth floor is again strictly reserved for his more wealthy customers, with only six available suites—all with a private bedroom, sitting rooms, balconies, and large bathrooms (with beautiful four-footed porcelain tubs). [B][U]Rules:[/U][/B] 1. The Broken Chant Tavern is subject to all of Orisia’s laws. 2. The Broken Chant Tavern is strictly neutral ground—all are welcome, but physical altercations (within the public sphere) will not be tolerated. All fights or acts of violence that take place in the private sphere must not damage the foundation of the tavern in any way. 3. The Broken Chant Tavern is open to all. [I]I can’t think of anymore rules—but I’ll add them as they come to me. <3[/I] [/FONT][/SIZE]
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