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Found 267 results

  1. Treason is not something that is birthed overnight. Like anything worth doing well, it demands time, patience and (above all else) discretion. The Blood of the Light began as little more than a cult of personality, centered around the High Mason, Ocelot Royce, and devoted to seeing his agenda established throughout all of Alterion. It was a subtle shift in power, with the elder Masons more entrenched in religious dogma relocated to outer territories. The militant figures within the Masonry already stood steadfast with Ocelot, many having served alongside him during the ork wars. Winning them to a cause that shone a deific light upon proved a simple task and with the faith militant at their back the Blood of the Light soon found themselves the Majority within the halls of the Cathedral. It was worth noting that the Masons had not been worth serving for several decades before Ocelot came along. Their devotion to religious dogma gave way to the greed and corruption typical of those so accustomed to power that they couldn't fathom losing it. His rise to power merely brought the corruption to light. It occurred without warning, absent the pomp and circumstance accustomed to most happenings within the Cathedral. At no particular hour of no particular day, the Crystal spoke and all of Riva’s children felt it in their bones. Word spread from within the house the Masons built as far as the remote Izrali hovels that a terrible creature of staggeringly impossible dimensions eclipsed the sun and darkened the sky for a full minute before disappearing into the Skar. In that brief span of time, nations rose and fell; those territories considering rebellion against the Masons either committed to the Church or made ready for a fight of biblical proportions. With the ‘end of days’ having come and gone, the Masons found their stranglehold over the Alterion populace, a far more precarious grip than anticipated. Viktus Gallin, heir apparent to Ocelot Royce and formerly a figure in open rebellion against the Masons was welcomed by the Blood of the Light as their messiah—for he, amongst all others, had been hand picked by Ocelot as his successor. The schism within the church was only further complicated by Viktus’ reappearance within the Cathedral —many of the clergy having called for his execution only a short time ago. At the very least Viktus’ rise to power was no less controversial than that of his foster father’s own. Now in a position to seize the throne,Viktus and his allies seek to oust the church of any traitors have begun to ‘purge the heretics’ from their ranks. The blood of traitors must feed the earth.
  2. Important Links Cult of Power (CoP) Group Page The Commander's Character Sheet The Cult's Public OOC PM to officially join and be added to the Club OOC Information This thread will act as the Cult of Power's official hub thread. I won't promise it'll last forever, but should last for a good long time. The start of this Hub Thread is after the Cult's adventures in Genesaris and Renovatio are momentarily over (after the obtainment of Asteria's Crown, the Cornerstones, etc). As any hub thread, your characters can come and go. Some cool things might develop in this thread and require a storyline, or it'll just roll with the punches. Who knows! There is no required post length or posting order. Location: Delcore, Terrenus. Delcore is a medium sized city a few miles east of Hell's Gate. The Cult has a Lunar Castle taken from another group they absorbed called the Fallen which is another few miles east in the Forbidding Hills. We might go there but this thread will start in Delcore. The city itself is controlled and regulated by Paragons, but it's down in a shadow mannerism where Lilith is not involved. Many of the ruling Paragons don't even know she's in the city. What Lilith is doing in Delcore is anyone's guess. It was a weird sort of feeling, being back in Terrenus after so many months in Genesaris and Renovatio. For so long she'd been focused on accumulating power. Clawing and climbing her way to the top of the world. To a place where no one could so much as reach to the top of her toes, metaphorically speaking of course. Now, however, she was there. More or less. It didn't matter what continent she was on her what foe stood in her way; she was the peak. In a way she always had been but now she absolutely was. The gauntlet of Zengi. The soul cornerstone. The crown of Asteria. The millions of Paragons bearing her mark. The raw, bottomless well of energy constantly stirring through her very being. She'd reached the goal. Now what? Get rid of my past lives? Perhaps. Easier said than done though, or at least one of the previous Lunar Daughters would have already done it. Instead it was almost like they feared the possibility that she'd break the link. As if they had never even considered doing it. Which was probably true. Lilith was a monster even among monsters. Leaning back she crossed one leg over the other and released a sigh, tapping her index finger on the rim of "her" beer mug. One of the men in the tavern had brought her a drink. If she understood correctly, he was hitting on her. It was almost funny, really. Put a whole new meaning on flirting with death. The large man had taken a seat next to her, not put off even a little by the red gleam of her eyes or the stink of death that stuck to her like bad karma. Probably that she was a vampire. Or some sort of undead. Maybe he even knew she was a necromancer and just didn't particularly care. He certainly didn't know who she was though. What she was and who she was, though intrinsically linked, tended to have much different impacts on people. Still... maybe this was what was next for her? Now that was a funny idea. Even the voices of her past lives chuckled in the depths of her mind. Yeah. Right. "So pretty lady," the man slurred, reaching out to sling a hand around her shoulder. "What can I do you for?" A question. A fucking question. Why did mortals ask so many questions? "You are either an absolute fucking moron," Lilith answer with such venom that the man blinked and nearly physically recoiled, "or your inebriation makes you an extremely horrible judge of character."
  3. Hello and greetings I’ve recently been accepted here and am in need of practicing for possible para rp. This will be my first time doing such a style.What I need is just a small amount of character info and a picture if you are able.Name:Age:Hight:Weight:Eyes:Race:Alliance:Force talents:The primary focus in the beginning will be to see to it that as certain someone gets off Kamino for each of our characters to survive. “Mayday.. mayday... A cloacked man rascally coughs up a little more blood and gasps. “mayday.. calling the Kamino system for.. for emergency medical..” he coughed a bit more. “support.. turning on auto pilot..." A bright red light flickers as he flips a few switches. Upon landing on the platform in the dark and stormy night blood from the wounded male rushes with the water and off the platform. Before passing out from wounds mixed with the damaged armor and the salty rain water he looks at Y/C and asks "and who.. are you?". The worrier collapses and is taken to emergency care by 2 clone troopers.I apologize if if this is really shallow I did come from a Facebook page.
  4. Through the Sigil’s Door Prelude Everything rattled. A man vomited into the corner of a dimly light metallic room. Seated everywhere against the walls were men and women of varying degrees of danger, most clocking in at around heavily armed and extremely dangerous. Criminals, mercenaries, people who fought for coin and lacked a sense of honor. The exact people that Miss Blonde the Crime Lord tended to surround herself with. The kind of people who would do anything to get this job done, even if it meant burning down entire towns and leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. These people were on a mission and they had been paid well. Considering the risks they had to be paid generously. If one were to look out the window they’d see the dark and heavy storm clouds that belted out lightning and screamed thunder. In an massive airships cargo hold, the ship pushed its way through the storm that surrounded a massive portal in the center of this planet. What used to be a chunk of land was swallowed into itself and had become a portal to the multiverse, it was her opportunity to get back home. ”Five minutes to drop!” A voice from the forward compartment yelled. Standing up Miss Blonde stood at the front of the drop gate. She was short in stature, just a hair short of five feet tall. Yet she carried herself with a deadly seriousness and raw power that radiated off of her body. Facing all those who had decided to join her in this endeavor to secure a package and return it, she would give an operational briefing. So with her gas mask on and her robotic laced voice, Blonde spoke to her temporary employees. ”Half of you will die or go MIA. That’s the best outcome of this mission.” She needed to tell the truth, this was not a moment to sugarcoat anything. ”We will be dropping into a portal that will hopefully send us to a place known as Sigil. It is a city that lays at the center of the multiverse, and when I say hopefully I do mean hopefully. I will be leading the jump and will be the first off the ship, so if you follow me, and you stay on my six, and a breeze or lightning bolt doesn’t take you off course. Then you will be ok. Otherwise you will be lost to the multiverse, and let me make this perfectly clear.” Blonde paused and looked over all their faces. ”Neither myself or anyone in my employ will come back for you. You are on your own and I expect that all of you would do the same for me. No matter what happens to me, you will complete the mission. Mission specifics will become unlocked in your data devices that you have been provided once we push through the portal. So make your peace with whatever god you subscribe to because this is it people.” Her briefing was short, unceremonious, and only slightly depressing. Yet it was what needed to be said. ”Four minutes!!” The forward voice shouted once again. As everyone readied themselves, they would be provided with an portable inflatable raft and a parachute should they get blown off course or decide to leave. It was really more of a formality and safety blanket. This was after all a giant portal in the middle of the ocean, so chances were they wouldn’t come in handy. If anyone were to look over to Blonde they’d see her forgo the emergency supplies and just take what was most important. A rather body shaped sub machine-gun and a bandolier of grenades and ammo strapped across her black jacket. She was ready. As for everyone else. They had about four minutes until they would jump into hell.
  5. NOTICE Hub in Use MTPD The Buffer MTPD Headquarters (Martial Town Police Department) Detective Parean Parean Music The Drain Detective It had taken a sloshing crater of a puddle to convince Parean to put his cigarette out beneath his umbrella. The latter had done enough to shield the flame but getting his shoe soaked had ruined his appetite to smoke. It was pouring out, the night cold, with the stars a hazy overhead amid the city’s smog and sure to remain that way these few hours past evening. Reaching the sidewalk after crossing the street, he checked his watch: just past nine o’clock. I’m on time. At least that’s something. On time, the first time, and the first night in Martial Town. It was every bit as vibrant and lethargic, dead and lively, as he had heard. A paradox. Just like me. The city’s suburbs had been quite a contrast to its central areas. All of Martial Town was walled on the outside, some parts in, while the outer wall was as much to protect the people inside as the people outside, though which one was more than the other Parean didn’t know. There was a lot to hear and a lot to say about this city, most of it not great. The settlement’s small handful of gates at the wall were guarded checkpoints. Tunnels in their own way, they posed a kind of duality between these access points into the city proper and the surrounding districts and neighborhoods that were clearly suffering the worst; neglected, abandoned, the residents left to ‘police’ themselves. As a visitor, Parean was still working out what to make of it all. Amid all of it, though, it was a night like tonight that the Neon City really shined. Lights of its nicknamesake were lit up everywhere, from the outer limits to the inner. A giant, flickering lightbulb. Those peripheral areas were simply and collectively referred to as the Peripherals. They led deeper into the city—a ring of blocks called the Buffer, an evident shorthand for “Buffer Zone”. It was a fitting name. This area was largely neutral, serving as a wedge between the Peripherals and the heart of Martial Town: the Core. The latter was its own walled district, militarized and policed by the city government’s own armed force. That left the majority policing of the Buffer to the Martial Town Police Department. There was much and more to learn about this city that never sleeps, but Parean only really needed to know that which pertained to his being here. Standing beneath the roof of the MTPD Headquarters, a complex of drenched buildings, he lowered his umbrella, content that the rest of his outfit, including his best friend of a brown trenchcoat, was hardly hit by a drop. Debating with himself whether to light up his cigarette then and there, Parean grumbled over his own refusal. A few hoodlums were looking his way as he pocketed the unlit cigarette between his lips, but they weren’t worth any effort either. On his way into town, he had learned that the crime rate of the Buffer rested somewhere in the middle between the high end of the Peripherals and the low end of the Core—it was certainly still there, a deal more so than in other settlements, but no idiot was going to start a fight outside of a police station. Of which I better waste no more time and head inside. Ambience Through the doors, Parean was greeted by the hustle and bustle of police hands just like one would be in any law enforcement station in a big city like Martial Town. Unintelligible conversations were strung together like split wires, phones were ringing like a symphony out of sync and keyboards were going tap-tap-tap amid the click-click-clack of unpolished shoes. If the lobby was this busy, the offices on all floors that exceeded ten were likely no different. “Hey, hey hey!” Parean’s brow perked at the voice of a man coming his way with rolled sleeves and a tie as loose as his own. “What’re you trying to do, drown the building!? Ezmo, get this guy a towel, will ya!?” Parean could only blink as a lobby hand, some twenty-year-old named Ezmo, chucked a towel at his face. He caught it before it hit his face but still felt confused. The speaker just stood there waiting, shaking his head, then nodding in the way that one wants to hurry someone else up. Finally, it all clicked. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that. Damn puddles.” With that, Parean went about drying off his left lower leg and the dress shoe at the base of it, though his sock would have to suffer. “Thanks. Here you go.” He chucked the wet towel back toward Ezmo. It hit his face. “SHIT! YA JERK!” Parean shrugged in apology. “All right, all right, knock it off!” The first man spoke, still standing there with his hands on his hips. Must be the bouncer around here. “Ezmo, go get those files I asked about twenty minutes ago! And make sure that pot is brewing, damn it!” He looked Parean’s way. “The hell you doing still standing there!? This is a police station. Either make a police case, or go station yourself back in the rain. I got work to do! Sheesh!” The man walked away and that was that. Parean just stood standing, his umbrella in one hand, his free hand slick with rainwater. Well, guess I better find the captain who decided that it was a smart idea to hire me as a private investigator. He had caught a job through his PI connections of a serial killer on the loose in the Buffer. It was a rainy season, and this particular animal liked to drown his victims, or so recent reports went. Parean would find out soon enough as he made his way throughout the lobby and headed toward the elevators, smelling coffee along the way. One cup. It won't hurt. No more than a wet sock.
  6. Much had changed since Feurerkönig had ventured into the land known as Terrenus. Battles had been fought, with many of them resulting in the defeat of the tyrannical lord of cinders. After finally being taken in by the Gaianists of the Terran Empire, Feurerkönig had suffered great indignities at the hands of the mortals. Days of torturous experiments followed, his enemies hell bent on discovering the secrets of his powers, and how to counter them effectively. By the time they were finished, Feurerkönig felt stripped of his pride, his dignity, his very essence of what it means to be a warrior. Such was the beginning of a low point in his life. The worst of it all was that they had released him, allowing him to live in this shame inflicted upon him. Satisfied they could defeat whatever attempt the fiery king could throw at them, they unceremoniously dumped him back into Genesaris. Never before had he felt so weak, so powerless, so much lesser than everything else. Now that he was back in his homeland, he felt so very...empty inside. It was a long trek back to the Kriegsschmeide, one that he felt a sense of defeat at every step. Even as his warriors greeted him, he didn't feel like the warlord that desired the destruction of this world. Though they did not possess the will to rebel against him, he could feel the loss of respect emanating from their spirits. Their fearless leader, reduced to a cowering mess. "Bring me new armor." He commanded, watching as his slaves went to work forging his new armor. The Gaianists stole so much from him, even his own metal shell to examine the War Metal. Great clouds of black smoke were streaming from the Kriegsschmeide, as if showing its dissatisfaction at its own champion. "To hell with you." He said, pulling himself to his throne, looking out at the charred landscape of his domain. A king without his crown, a warrior without his pride, a conqueror wallowing in defeat. It was pathetic, but it was all he had for the moment. In defeat he would lick his wounds, rethink his next move, and Marshall his forces for a new campaign, one that would allow him the power he needed to bring fury down upon his enemies. "Perhaps it is time to go hunting..."
  7. NOTICE Music Image The Man in the Black Mantle Last Chance. A riot for the fans. In the darkness of the night, hands wear the black gloves of madness. Laughter in the slaughter after injuring the daughter. Blade to the tits, spade into bits. Kill the bitch. Scratch an itch and tickle the twitch. Stop squirming like a fish! Soak your nose in coke from my coat. So stoned, you come to know my joke. I am one sick bloke. Squeezing a throat, a pleasing choke. Cough!-Cough!-Cough! goes the ho. Hahahahahahaaa! Close your eyes and try and picture a modern day Jack the Ripper. Scouring the streets with an undone zipper. A half moon is tonight’s yin-yang in the sky, one bright side that illuminates an alley of escape for Blueberry as she runs, one dark side scoffing at the noise of her heels as they invite fun. Fun. Blueberry is running from fun. “Waaaahhhh!!!” Wah!-Wah!-Wah! This is a loud one. Why does she run from fun? Fun? Fun. One. One being. One entity. Me. I am Fun. Click-clack goes the composed footsteps of polished boots, black like the paws of a hellhound as it paces toward its prey. Arms are concealed within the dark depths of a mantle, though with limbs that just might shoot out to snatch a handful. As the figure walks and stalks, the flaps of its coat slightly spread to reveal red on the inside of the cloak. Top hat sits atop a head, the figure’s eyes like a ghoul’s gaze of dead butterflies; irises black, the night’s darkness swimming in them for a heart attack. Facial expression as pallid as the moon’s pale complexion. The woman calls out with a shout, limbs dangling in her girly jog through the fog, hopping like a frog to escape the hunt. Stupid cunt! “Waaaahhhh!!! No, sir! Don’t come any closer!” “Can you cry any slower?” I smile with glee. Yes, I admit it. My grin is pretty fucking twisted. Like my mind in this fine moment as I own it. Right hand is withdrawn from black cloth, brandishing the hilt of a gleaming khanjar beneath a twinkling red star. The Blueberry bitch with an itch turns her head of oceanic blue hair and snaps her head back for a frightened stare. She gasps at the sight of the blade that bears her name, and he licks the tip with a too-long tongue of be-tasting-you begging her for just a drip. The woman’s stalker need only walk to her, knowing she was heading nowhere besides a dead end with an absent prayer. The alley moaned and groaned with graveyard doom as it offered a shovel to this woman with her gloom, laughing like an old man in a rocking chair with a beer can. Here, so you can dig your own grave and twitch, you blue-eyed bitch! Doom. Now she was doomed. Tripping over one of her blue shoes, the woman tumbles forward, falling on her belly, nose busting on the concrete and turning into jelly. She screams. Against her tears, a cackle clasps the atmosphere; the musings of a malevolent mind with no time for mercy in this game of cutthroat controversy. Black boots walk the red rug of blood, knife held out, fingers coiled around hilt with no doubt. The creeper creeps closer, as graceful as a symphony's composer. Blueberry begins to crawl away, sobbing uncontrollably, hoping to live to the next day. Pleas of rescue going unheard in this dark and dank alleyway. Go on and squeak, little bird. Cry for your dad. There in the hell fair of La Ultima Opportunidad. In an instant, a hand seizes a fistful of blue hair, producing a shrill cry of pain in vain like a beaten mare. Soft, feminine hands clutch the man’s black hand. But he didn't want to dance. He straddlers her like a lover, knees dig into her ribs. She kicks and flails wildly, head craned up stylishly, hair pulled toward the sky that night. “Now, go ahead and scream, lovely. Scream like the whore you are. Scream for me.” The command was deific as the woman's tears stained her youthful visage. Kneeling just above this harlot’s swaying body, the man in the top hat just wasn't feeling that kind of naughty. He wasn't here to play cupid. He had no drive for white fluid. What he wanted was a little more red. He just wanted this squirming bitch dead. “P-Please, mister! D-Don’t kill me! Don’t…DON’T DO—“ Skluch. Razor sharp blade slit the bitch’s throat, blood spewing out like she were just some stuck pig or goat. Smiling, the Man in the Mantle keeps his victim’s head held up against her upchuck of blood. The knife falls to the ground with a clinging sound. His fingers grasp his top hat and remove it. There in the moonlit air there is no hair at all. This man was bald. A black cat creeps forward, green eyes like emeralds as they serve as haunting heralds. As a feline tongue laps at the puddle of blood, the Man in the Mantle accepts this cat’s invitation like he was on vacation. In a flash of thirst, he jerks his opened mouth to the dying woman’s neck, his former friend. The cat watches, it blinks, and the man drinks. The end.
  8. In the town of Spalding, not far from Tia... The wind was blowing. Swishing and whooshing like a wolf trying to blow down a brick house built by pigs, swooshing and swirling like a merry-go-round spinning underwater (okay a merry-go-around probably wouldn't work properly while submerged but this is a simile so screw the rules), blowing and blowing and blowing like a particularly enthusiastic gay man going to town on his boyfriend. It was, one could say... a windy day. But little did anyone know, that this wind, in all its windy windiness, was carrying: DEATH!!!! *** The outskirts of Spalding. Two mustachioed gentlemen sat together on a log, gazing at the sky. The pair were birdwatchers, you see, and it had become a favorite pastime of theirs to stroll out of town on occasion to take a gander at the local avian fauna, which they would identify and catalogue for their own entertainment. Today was no exception: their eyes were glued to their binoculars, which in turn scanned back and forth in the hopes of catching a stray pair of wings for the two men to gawk at in tandem. "I say!" one said at last, "Jerome! Have a look at this fine specimen!" Jerome swiveled his binoculars in the direction indicated. His eyes widened behind the glass lenses at he caught sight of a... a... goodness, what the devil was that? "Ah... yes... a fine specimen indeed..." "A thick-billed budgerigar, perhaps?" Jerome laughed. "Oh, so one might think! But budgerigars only have two eyes, do they not? Whereas this fellow here has three! As such, it can only be a Triclopean Goshawk." "Aren't goshawks bigger than that?" "Well, yes, but... it could be a juvenile." The other man frowned, and squinted again. "What's with those purple clouds coming off it, then?" "Perhaps a bad case of flatulence?" The two men chuckled merrily as the strange bird flew over them. They chuckled merrily as they wiped their brows with handkerchiefs, and turned their eyes back to the open skies. They chuckled merrily as they ignored the tiny purplish particles trailing down in the mutant bird's wake and settling around them, seeping in through their mouths and nostrils and infecting their respective bloodstreams. They chuckled merrily, as they tore each other to shreds in the throes of bloodthirsty rage. *** The mutant bird flew on, and Maleficence spooled down in its wake, dispersed onto the winds with every flap of its twisted wings. All throughout the town of Spalding, people began to twitch, their eyes going bloodshot as something vile and vicious began to seep into their veins. First came the shouts, and then came the screams... ...and then came the shriek of an old woman, who roused amidst the tumult and fumbled for the wooden staff that leaned against the wall by her bedside. "Doggone it, not again!"
  9. A Night To Remember A woman of pale skin and deep red hair danced. Choreographed and in sync with the booming music of a loud party that smelled of affluence and greed. She danced. She danced for Money. She danced for attention. She danced because she had to. She danced to survive. A cityscape of lights, buildings, and a patchwork of lives and stories were the backdrop to a party taking place on a hillside manor that hung tightly to the cliff it was built upon. It’s rich and artful design reeked of money gained from less than admirable revenues. Yet that didn’t bother her. Miss Blonde watched the young woman from the sidelines. With a stiff drink in her hand, the Crime Lord took a hard swig before turning to the right and moving away from the cliffside deck that overlooked the vast cityscape of Hellsgate. It was all too familiar to her. The chatting around the pool, the lights, the fake laughter, the hedonism. She had grown up in a world like this, and she had grown tired of it. She had grown tired of the parties and the people who gussied themselves up for a night of vanity self indulgence. A night of whose who and whose wearing what label. It was all so very superficial. Yet, she was here. She was here for a reason. One that was beyond the vanity and glitz of the evening. Solomon the PlanesWalker, a man who could navigate dimensions from what she was told. A man who could help her achieve the goal that had eluded her for these last few months. A man who she intended to either hire or force into her service. Though Miss Blonde wasn’t alone in this task, she was with someone who had given her hope. She was with Jack, a man who she loved and had become quickly enamored with as she spent more and more time in this realm. So much so that she didn’t want to return home. Spotting him at the bar in the living room of this manor, she stepped past the random pairings of people finding love for the evening. She pushed past the haze of smoke and illicit drugs that were being smoked and injected. She walked steadily to find Jack at the bar and stand next to him. Her dark metallic mask stared up at him and he’d be able to tell that she was concerned. The guest of honor had yet to arrive and despite all her planning, it all came down to whether or not some drunken debauched wizard decided to come to a party. ”Keep your eyes open. I imagine there’s a lot of people here who are dealing with their own business tonight.”!Her robotic laced voice said to Jack before downing her drink and ordering another from the barkeep. Tonight was going to go south. She could feel it in her bones. @danzilla3
  10. For the first time... ever... Thurgood and Aveline Singlance took a rigid aerostat to the very well illuminated commercial city. It cost significantly more to do so, but Aveline brought her F-350 along with a thirty-foot gooseneck flatbed trailer that was enclosed until a hydra neck flattened it. The only reason it's servicable now is because of a lot of wood and bolts. The tires don't even have air: they're filled with dried grasses that more or less serve the same function. But Port Sun is a large city, and would be slow to travel on foot. Besides, how would they get the cargo back to Lunaris from Casper? Unfortunately, all the airships departing from anywhere on Ursa Madeum were completely crammed for months. What brought them here though, is their rapidly dwindling supply of soda syrup Thurgood brought back on his last (most likely ever) trip to Gaia Prime. So they need to find a source on Valucre. In the process, they hope to perhaps make some business connections, so once their industrial projects in Ursa Madeum start producing, they may find buyers. First order of business though, is to convert their Terran precious metallic coin into Renovatian gemstone coin. So once again, the diesel engine growls as it powers the truck, trailer, and siblings through the underground tunnels into the city proper. @Thotification @SteamWarden
  11. The Deus Ex Machina <-These grounds are within my own mind. Long gone are the trap doors for my pride to constrict me to. I have been time displaced, micro managed by hands that are not my own. I feel that each interpretation of myself has attempted to stop me from realizing my full potential. Whatever secret they know about my actions, I want to experience them as well and see for myself. It's ignorant to continue to stay a slave to what I've been told. A puppet on strings...no longer. No longer will I allow my peace to be stifled by regret and wonder. I have to release this blade, wield it with my own hands, take control, and pull the wool from over everyones' eyes. Once I do this, all the mercy I've shown will be undone. I am reversing a choice I am meant to live with. I am asking for both Eternals to go to war on this planet... The good news is...the pockets of space time distortion all about this world will open gates that restore a portion of the power I used to seal the worlds. These thresholds can grant me access to so much more. I cannot just taste true power and leave it buried. If I collect from the time distortions....I can become whole again...it'll be at the expense of peace on this planet. Well, I dont owe this planet anymore labor, anymore nursing, anymore passes! This is about me now and I want my glory back! This planet has taken everything from me and I can't prosper from it? I cant have the spotlight? No, my power is my own. I will take it back. This feeling has me trembling with excitement. I have never been so power hungry, but now.... after struggling to kill a single succubus...I want this....I fucking NEED this. Before I am spent...I believe it's time to bring The Deus Ex Machina back to reality..-> -Time distortions appear throughout the world as the sword is removed from the stone. Treasures, Ruins, strange creatures, mythical beings, and infinite amounts of possibilities pour out. Overtime lands were changing, some from peril, some from fortune. A day goes by before the conjoined worlds' curiosities became an attraction. -
  12. Deep within the land amongst the hustle and bussle of a market towns in the remote floating isles. A hidden gem amongst those who kept their noses burried in their research only dream of, a black market for all of those not so easy to find articles that most shops wouldnt dare sell. Emmeline, made her way through the crowded market of the hidden city. She was in search of a black herb known of coal ivy said to grow where those of unatural life have been spawned. This toxic little plant made a kick to her explosive potions so that the undead would slowly fall apart after being hit with the potion of her perfected recipie. Though this was only one of the many rare finds she has on her shoping list. The chime of her potion bottle rang as she walked her cloak over her brightly purple hair. Her pale blue iris scanning over the stslls as she passed nothing struck yer fancy... yet.
  13. Lyonesse - 50 years ago from current time... A BLACK SPEAR CARTEL STORY This was a tale from fifty years ago, back when the Blackspear cartel was still alive. This was a time when the (WIP)
  14. It was supposed to be simple. Get in, learn what the group of thugs in Last Chance were up to, report back and collect an easy paycheck. Instead Viola found herself half collapsed from exhaustion in a back alley with a trail of blood in her wake. As roaches crisscrossed at her feet the young woman brushed hair out of her face with a quivering right hand. It wasn’t the violence that had bothered her, no, it was the fear of what the authorities would do or what the merchant guild that had contracted her would report. As the sweat began to collect around her brow and descend down her cheeks the blade-for-hire arose from her huddled crouch and used her left arm to brace herself. As she regained her balance she tried to recall what had just happened. A guild of merchants loosely associated with Argus Incorporated had asked her to look into a group of thugs that had been eyeing their contraband. The group was believed to have been tied to various wings of the black market and possibly to a larger criminal organization. The merchants had feared that the ruffians were sizing their operation up, possibly to shake them down for “protection money” or to dissuade them from ever being fully immersed into Argus’ larger organization. Of course the merchants had no interest in splitting profits with Argus nor with a criminal element and thus hiring someone who seemed as capable as Viola made a lot of sense. A portly alchemist with a long braided gray beard had informed her, ”go to the Prosperity Inn & Casino. That’s their hideout, they’ll be easy to find. Once you connect with them find out why they keep sending brutes to our district and report back. Four-hundred coins if you can get us anything useful. Double that if you can convince them to stay away.” It sounded simple enough, however… it turns out that a few bourbons and losing one, two, or six hands of poker are a bad combination. When a group of three of the vandals took her out to the back of Prosperity to collect she was already in a foul mood. Instead of learning anything about their organization or intimidating the shady customers she instead used violence to avoid paying for her losses at the aforementioned poker table. “Ok missy, you can pay what you owe or we can beat it out of ya,” one of the bruisers firmly stated. Viola looked at him enraged, though she had lost fairly she wasn’t about to part with the coin she earned. Especially since she was certain that her luck was just about to turn! Had they given her just a few more hands she would’ve been up. “Hold on,” Viola replied, “let me grab your pay for you.” A flash of steel, a glint in her eye, and suddenly there was just one bouncer standing where before there had been three. As the young woman slashed her katana towards the remaining criminal he backed away, causing her to barely slice a part of his forearm. With terror in his eyes the last of her foes cried for help whilst retreating back into the grime of Prosperity’s Inn. The reckless youth did not wait around for reinforcements. Running and zigzagging through alleyways until she was certain no one had followed her. Now arisen to her feet with one arm holding to the walls of the establishment on her left and the other arm adjusting her sheath she let out a sigh. Her face was dirty, she was hungry, and it was likely she had just blown her one chance to infiltrate and dissuade this gang from carrying out whatever their sinister goal had been. “There goes my paycheck,” the hapless mercenary exclaimed, “though, perhaps I can convince someone else to go in my stead.” Viola continued to fumble around the alleyway as she contemplated her next move.
  15. ((Hey everyone, this is my warm-up to getting back into writing. It's set during Lynch's arrival to Silver Harbor, after which we'll jump ahead a year and start the actual story. Feel free to chime in if your character wishes to get involved early on. Will be running some storylines here later on, just laying groundwork for now)) No one on the ship knew who he was. That was good. The vessel shuddered as the mooring lines drew taut, anchoring the lumbering ship into position at the city docks. Passengers still seated grabbed onto their belongings to prevent them from falling, and those impatient enough to have already stood were jolted about as the ship gently collided with the wooden ramp. A chorus of complaints muttered out from the array of citizens as they gathered their items, pulling bags from beneath chairs and the racks above their heads. From his seat near the back of the ship, Avarice Lynch took a sip of watery tea, contentedly staying in his seat as the rest of the ship's passengers burst into shuffling movement. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his well-trimmed black hair, and casting a gaze through the dirty porthole to his left. The sun was just beginning to rise over the houses and shacks of Silver Harbor, casting the city in a pale yellow light and turning the harbor waters to shining glass. Another clean slate. Another “fresh start”. A touch at his shoulder made him look up. His gnoll companion's mottled grey snout stuck out from the hood of its cloak, and a pair of yellowed hyena eyes peered out from the shadow of the garment. The beast held the handles of both suitcases in one hand, and jerked its head towards the exit with a grunt. "Yes. I suppose it is time again." He rose to his feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in his long coat as he did. He strode towards the front of the ship, through the now-empty aisle, his posture straightening and becoming more regal with each step. It was a mask he had worn for years, but one that had faltered often in the past year. It would take time to become practiced in it again. A dockhand and a bored city guardsman stood at the bottom of the disembark ramp, patiently waiting for the last of the passengers to leave. Lynch set his most disarming smile in place and handed the guardsman his papers, complete with an elegantly forged seal, which had come at no small cost. The guardsman scanned the document with one eye, and looked up at Lynch, as if sizing him up. Only years of deception kept the wave of anxiety from reaching Lynch's face, and the smile held through the agonizingly long moment before the guard stuck his hand out, offering the paper back. They didn't know who he was. They didn't know why he had come to their little harbor in the Southern Swell. If they had, they would have thrown him in the ocean without a second thought. * * * * "It reeks down here." The gnoll huffed for the fourth time as they made their way up the creaking wooden stairs from the docks and up towards the small city of Silver Harbor. His name was Roht, and besides carrying all his and Lynch's belongings in both hands, he made it his mission to voice his displeasure at every turn. Lynch waved a hand dismissively as they climbed the steps. "That's opportunity you smell." "Yeah? Opportunity smells like salt water and dead fish." The gnoll snorted hard, as if to expel the sensation of Silver Harbor from his nostrils. "And not like silver at all." "It's not called Silver Harbor for its wealth, Roht." Lynch stopped halfway up the steps, and turned towards the sea, forcing Roht to lumber to a slow stop next to him. Lynch raised a hand to point to the southwest, where a pair of bluffs bracketed the long harbor near its mouth. "The setting sun crosses between the bluffs, and the light echoes from the limestone cliffs. The harbor gleams like a sheet of silver every evening. It's a beautiful thing." Roht grunted with disinterest. "It's beautiful, Roht." Lynch repeated, giving his guardian a sideways look. The sun was still high, and it would be some hours before the Silver Hour, as it was known. Lynch wished he could stay and witness it, but his mind was already accelerating through the steps ahead. "The things we build. All we accomplish." He allowed himself one last smile towards the sea. "It all begins here."
  16. "Famine, a scourge that always had threaten the stability of a diet, it caused by hunger of the people would always be present,but today the scourge shall meet its first fallings"-King Lewis Tis was a normal arid day in the kingdom of Lexdord. The skyies with clouds streaking across like missle trails or jet trails, as they leave their exhaust. But today yet again begin the threats of riot caused by this hunger. Dispite the influencers powers it could no longer hold them back. It was alone, against almost a million minds and now it became overwhelmed. "This stupid thing! Always gafailing at the worst times!, who ever wanted this ancient device clearly never saw its limits!" Said a technician who was looking at it inside and out. "Yes a bit outdated but it survived, plus we can. Always upgrade it to updated standards" said Rotwell But lets not pay attention to that -----elsewhere in Lexdord city In one of five generic (boring) schools at a science fair were a child namex Rachel Oli had "Water as you might already tell can retain and contain information the same way memory chips do except better much better, Now I was thinking that by using radiation we could do stuff like transport goods from one place on the world to another insta-" At this point the judges had begun walking away (rude ikr) but it was due to fact that well there were already meny other ways and they just plain didnt like the idea. "..........well then dont worry I have.....ummm a second project that is...well REALLY IMPORTAINT...LOTA MONEY INVOLVED" that part was sorta. True,to create the mechine she had to over a course of a year buy parts the altogether costs around 789,652 common diamonds (or 1,124,665 U.S dollars) which is buy itself alot of money. Origanly it was built for the purpose of getting herself into her scientist career or perhaps even starting her own company, like meny others at her school who all wanted to become similar things "Let me tell you about something revolutionary and exciting, something also including water"
  17. Welcome to Forgotten Lore, a modern-time fantasy play-by-post roleplay. Strong and starting roleplayers alike are welcome to join our little community and adventure with us. All types of fantasy are welcome here as are all players. Be respectful and follow the standard rules as well as the few other rules of the establishment and enjoy the ride. The following front pages will contain more information about the roleplay and what is and is not acceptable here. Feel free to read and ask questions if you have any. No need to ask for permission to join, if you like what you see simply post to join in.
  18. Everything is so dark.... Where am I? A girl around the age of 21 laid on the ground of a room with padded walls restrained with a straight jacket, dark grape colored bruises covered her neck. Her eyes had the darkest dark circles anyone could have, along with the sense of death coming from her eyes. Veronica. Her name was Veronica, she had long black hair that flowed down her shoulders and high cheek bones that could be kill a man. Everything was blurry, just big blurry shapes. The only thing she really could make out was the door in front of her with bars going down the open window. What did she do to end up here? She thought to herself as she sat up slowly falling back almost but managed. "Hello?" she called out her voice soft and raspy. Nothing, just the sounds of groans from other what you could call cells. Along with frantic mumbling and laughing from down the hallway. Veronica took her time standing up going to the door before she fell back as a man with rounded glasses and slicked back blonde hair looked through the small window. He wrote down a few notes on a cracked clipboard, "Veronica Wisely....Mentally unstable....shock therapy seemed effective.... " he mumbled as he wrote down his notes before noticing her trying to figure out who he was. A small smirk came to his face, "Morning sunshine....you feeling the need to slit your wrists again?" he asked as Veronica started to remember everything. It all came back before a sharp shock of pain busted through her head. "AGH!" she groaned loudly as the male chuckled. "Fucking insane whore." With that Another memory came to Veronica. This male was Dr. Thomas D Smith. The lead doctor of the insane asylum she was put in. "Have fun dear...the nurses will take you down when social hour is near." he said banging on the door walking away. Veronica panted then screamed trying to get out of the straight jacket. "YOUR INSANE! I'M NOT INSANE!" she screamed as tears streamed down her face. "I'M NOT INSANE I'M NOT INSANE!" Hours later Veronica was taken to a room where other people rocked in chairs or sat in corners holding blankets and stuffed animals, a radio played with old swing music playing. She groaned as she now had a muzzle on from trying to bite a nurse along with the same straight jacket she was in. She was put in a chair near the radio, her eyebrows furrowed as she scanned the small room scoffing at everyone she saw. "I'm clearly more stable then half the idiots in this place." she growled. (Hey there! Just a heads up later on I will be posting character descriptions on my own account if you want to know background info or you can leave that up to the roleplay to reveal! I will be roleplaying Veronica and Dr. Thomas D Smith as well! Have fun! Please write at least four to five sentences before submitting so it makes it easier to reply! Thanks! -Noah ? )
  19. WELCOME TO THE REVERIE BALL! On the night of December 25th the castle of Andelusia opens its doors to all citizens of Valucre, far and wide, to come mingle and dance! The floor of the castle and the courtyard outside are all available for public usage. In all rooms there is music playing, each room playing a different song. Perhaps even a different type of music. Spectacular food is served in every room, though the Dining Room is where the most magnificent food rests. From snacks to full meals, everything someone would want lays upon the table. Despite the main food on the table is from Ursa Madeum and Taen, the side food comes from throughout Valucre. Those who participated in the ANT conferences would recognize the castle. However, this time, every room was decked in blue and green decorations. At least one unlit cauldron had been put in each room, some surrounded by wrapped presents without labels. The same day an announcement was sent out to the public and to those allied with Taen Empire. It stated that starting from the 25th of December, the Taen Empire would no longer be referred to as the Taen Empire. As of now, the Empire is switching to the name Veluriyam Empire. Although not known to the public, those with connections in Veluriyam Empire might discover the Veluriyam is a Mork'Outh word for Open Sky. Within the hour of opening the castle filled. Emperor Titus stands in the Sun Room, a glass of wine in his hands as he leans against the wall while he speaks to some Renovation dignitaries. The Ballroom is where Princess Teresa finds herself, dancing with one of her guards but keeping an eye out for someone not on her father's payroll. Someone not lame. Green means open; red means closed. @Tyler @Eternity @supernal @KittyvonCupcake @notmuch_23 @vielle @LikelyMissFortune @danzilla3 @Sleepy Seal @Grubbistch @Alexei @Witches Brew @Praetorian
  20. Van's index runs through the holodisplay, causing the article to rapidly scroll. The actual content is irrelevant, there is nothing that the Daily Weekly could report on that he cared about it. Any information they might have, he already had and in greater detail. Anything that they had that he doesn't, well that was purely baseless speculation. No, what he is interested in are the pictures. "To think, Last Chance of all places." The Peacekeeper murmurs to himself, while glancing through the stills. "Do you think it's because they assumed that Last Chance would be poorly defended? An easy first target?" There is no response, which surprises him. Clearly his crack team are too busy with running the office to humor his inane questions. "Stoooooooop ignoring me... please?" Van, we're busy right now. Unless it is official business, stop bugging us. You're the one who wanted to go on holiday in Last Chance of all places. So go enjoy your vacation. "I'm not on vacation, I'm working, this is official business. Mostly." He pauses, picks up a mug and sips from it, before finally shrugging. "You know what, you're right. Byyyyyyyyyyyyye." The mentally audible static of the coms link vanishes as the connection breaks. For the moment, he's alone with his thoughts. Leaning back into the wrought iron chair, coffee in hand, Van looks off into the early morning sky. The people of Last Chance, the more honest people, are just starting to venture from their homes to conduct business, while the nightly scum scurry away hide. Well, that probably isn't a fair assessment. There are probably equal numbers of scumbags present during the day and night, some just happened to be nocturnal. Finishing the last sip of coffee, and setting the mug on the table, Van returns to the display. A swiping motion discards the DW article, and a jab opens a text box. Good Morning Michael, it's Van. I'm in Last Chance today, visiting mostly. I heard about the beach battle you took part in. I was wondering if you had some time to discuss it in person. I'm thinking a very loud very public statement needs to be made. The brash are getting brasher, and criminals shouldn't be so bold. If you're interested, meet me at Delrona's Cafe on 6th and Main. @amenities With the message sent, Van closes out the display, causing a grid of lights to flicker from existence. "I wonder if I should have mentioned that I'm me Van and not some other Van...." The idea hadn't occurred to him before because by all accounts, in Hell's Gate anyway, he is a minor celebrity. But here, in Last Chance.... well, he's a no one. "Kinda nice not being recognized."
  21. In a world rife with suffering, there are very few things that Ashton finds beautiful. At least, very few man made things. It isn't that he feels disdain for humanity, let alone its creations. No, the vast majority of people were good or at the very least didn't want to go out of their way to fuck other people over. The vast majority of people were moderately considerate, and made a conscious decision to not take advantage of or hurt others directly or indirectly. No, it really was a small minority of the population that caused trouble and an even smaller minority that caused significant problems. Yet, they were vocal, and worse yet garnered attention. This unfortunately has the profound impact of negatively influencing his perception and leaving him jaded against the general population. And yet, even knowing all of this, Ashton can no longer find the beauty in people or their creations. What he does find beauty in, is nature. And while the Hills of Noddendoddy lack many characteristics that might be considered aesthetically pleasing, Ashton can't help but see the majesty in them. They are simple, unchanging, they endlessly persevere, even as the world collapses around them. The grass is a gorgeous green, and the endless sea of cresting and rolling hills pulls the mind away and lets it drift aimless. It is for this reason, of course, that Ashton decided to have a picnic atop the highest crest, overlooking the lowest valley, and the great divide within sight. Admittedly, the scar on the land, lifeless and barren, is a strong contrast to the rest of the hills. By all account, it is ugly. But even this lifeless expanse has its own charm and beauty. Perhaps in the same way that an extremely ugly dog is cute. Sitting cross legged in the grass, while taking a bite from a sandwich, Ashton contemplates this contradiction. His head tilts to the side, sending flaming locks swaying, as his smoldering gaze follows the event horizon that marks the abrupt shift from paradise to damnation. "I wonder what would happen if you transplanted soil from one side to the other?" A question asked to no one, or perhaps the loci, or maybe to himself.
  22. - Deep in the Terrenus Wilderness - - The Forgotten Wood - The sweet songs of wildlife filled the forest in celebration. At peace without the stench of Human to draw their noses. The Sun rose high above the trees over a clearing revealing a black fox and a red raven dancing around a shadowy orb.
  23. Athentha a place of magic, shadows yet it is also a place where species had been brought to live together. Yet if there was the one thing that concerned Lexdord's people it would be the suddenn rise of demon presence in the area and vampiric rule. Yet they said not a thing about it as they felt above war dispite preparing for one just incase Although when this story starts is just the retrival of the Blackheart mirror from within the depths of the ruins. However upon searching Cali had found an excellent way of getting his hands on it, yet this involed making an exact replica which had an identical magical discharge to the mirror. Then there was the problem of transporting it, how was he going to carry a cursed Mirror without being cursed himself? The dilemmas were making this all the less profitable. At least while they were still inside the ruins. By now they were almost back at the town and Cali came up with a plan, he did call pirates and pretended to be as naive but he also called his shipwhich during or after the inital pirate attack would set an extraction point. Then they should be off the island with a few less pirates to deal with and a cursed mirror to use. It was a good plan but it had yet to be perfected as there were meny flaws that he should have considered but chose not to.
  24. Study this house, Roen said in his silent voice. Study its doors, its rooms, its patterns. The castle will perish as will the tower I built in far-off Terrenus, but this house will last to serve its purpose. He went down the stairs, and walked around the house slowly, in and around, laying a hand upon its doorframes and its brass knobs and musing at the paintings in the dining room and the lovely plaster ornament that everywhere decorated its ceilings, while cradling his young son. Yes, a beautiful house, the Outsider thought. He went out into the gardens. He perceived what had been done - what he had done [/i] - a great octagon of a lawn, with an octagon carved in the stone posts that ended the limestone balustrades. And everywhere flagstones at angles, so that one was beset in the moonlight with lines and designs and patterns. “Look at the roses in the iron,” said Roen to his son. By this he meant the cast-iron railings. And Philippe looked with his bright green eyes, lines at the angles, echoing the angles of the flags, as well as the roses. They moved on together, father and son. The polyglot house, the beautiful villa with its cast-rion lace and Corinthian columns and Doric and Ionic columns, and the keyhole doorways. An immense swimming pool had been built to the rear of the lawn, and a cabana was built to the south side of the pool so that guests could shower and dress without going into the house. He walked passed the curved Italianate windows on the north side beneath fifteen-foot ceilings, a great trap for light and cool breezes, a citadel against the heat of Orisian summers. Remember these things, Roen thought to his son. For this house will last. It was not only for Philippe’s benefit that the Outsider wandered this home, their home, but for his own, too. Remember this place if you would linger or come back; remember its patterns. In the dim world beyond they will shine in your eyes, they will guide you home. This is a house for centuries to come. This is a house worthy of the spirits of the dead; this is a house in which you may safely remain. War or revolution or fire, or the river’s current, will not trouble you. He paused, tilting his head, his dark eyes roaming. “I was held once.. by two patterns. Two simple patterns. A circle, and stones in the form of a cross. Two patterns..,” he trailed off, his eyes distant, his memory far away. Philippe fidgeted, and Roen was drawn away from his reverie. The house, the house; the villa Roen had purchased and refurbished, spending a fortune on new paint, plaster, draperies, and delicate expensive furniture in the art deco style. The double parlor was crowded with potted palms, giving off an clean, earthy scent. A Bozendorfer grand piano had been acquired, though its lineage - and importance - was known only to the Outsider. He had done all that he could to make it a comfortable place to live, not only escape to. In many ways, it reminded him of his villa in the Black City, now long since gone. It was refuge and home in a place he spent more time being, bar none. Taking Philippe to his crib, Roen laid the boy down and breathed out a contented sigh, leaning against the edge. It was a strong house, a sturdy one, built in the southern districts of the capital near the waterfront. A modest estate nearly an acre in size, it was private enough to ensure some semblance of quiet, but had neighbors on either side of it that reminded all involved it was not nearly a remote locale. And Roen loved it, suffice to say. Most important, he loved it. Though pride and assertion said the castle was his home, though many would say the Black City and the Lore-Spire were his haunts, this place, this manor and these gardens, they were his to own and his to cherish, and so he did. This would be his home, his and Philippe’s, and Irene, too. The family home. Tucking Philippe in with one of his favorite toys - a stuffed animal, a blue elephant - Roen leaned away and turned, looking around, breathing in the cleanliness of his home, the freshness. He had shown it to Gabriela, of course. When it was empty, before he had refurbished it. But it was now, only recently, that it was fit for living. Leaving instructions at the castle that she could find him at his - their - private residence, after spending untold hours waiting for her return, Roen found himself wandering the tidy hallways of the manor, and eventually found his way to the kitchen, with its center marble island loaded with fruits. He sat on it and leaned back, and relaxed on his haunches as the cool, autumn breeze filtered in through the windows, bringing with it the scent of jasmine in from the gardens. A quiet night, a simple one, and one which he indulged in fully. He should have been working, the devil. He should have been preparing things for the Black City, for the Summer Isles, or even his interests beyond. But he wasn’t, at least not yet. He was content to sit, and wait for Irene to return, so that they could plan together, or at least plan with a semblance of her input.
  25. The island of Amalia, isolated from the rest of time for so meny years life forms thought to have gone extinct during the early days of civilisation live and some still thrive to this very day. The fact that this island had an existing hive mind or semi-hive was of great intrest to Lexdord. Although one might find it strange that Lexdord wasnt interested in the others that had been discovered like in taen. The answer to that would be simple...you see these were one of the less hostile hive minds that have gone around, not to mention they were quite underdeveloped in terms of economical efficiency their technology however was quite equivalent to most civilisations heading straight foward into the information age. ----On the Airship "This place is perfect for beginging our corporation!" Segi had screamed excitedly. The rest of the crew nodded as the airship began to land lightly on the beach of Amalia, upon looking he saw quiet untamed mountain like wilderness yet behind it he saw the life of a settlement. "Look there it is, now begin setting up advertisements....we'll need all we can get"
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