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  1. Athentha's Bloodied Past Book VI, Ascending the Stars of the Shattered Symphony Chapter I: 17, August 1678AY Is it wrong to lock her up in that mirror? That crystalized hell that we didn't know would occur? Was I wrong to believe that we made a mistake because we were blind to the war spreading among Athentha? That the first war broke out because we allowed it? --Excerpt from Augustus's Journal, in Athentha's Bloodied Past, Book II, Page 37-- Kogal closed the book as he sighed. He had been sitting there for a while now, knowing Yral was calling for war. Absolon hadn't been the best as he allowed those creatures--monsters into his head. That demon Ra, those cloaked in the Red Blood Moon Organization cloaks, he couldn't get it out of his head. His thoughts. Times were only getting worse for the island. Augustus eyed his young pupil, the worry in Kogal's eyes were not that easily discarded. The wise shaman had been at Absolon's side since the expedition here. As he grew in power, Absolon tossed him aside as he took in a new apprentice, a man who had ties to both organizations, even created them. Kogal leaned back into his chair as he rubbed his temples with a sigh, Grant Lyon wouldn't just stand by and let Athentha push them around. "It's inevitable isn't it?" Kogal asked. "Absolon has pushed too far this time hasn't he? That Lyon will raise war. And that organization, where did it come from? Why now of all times? I don't understand." "Only if you give up hope that it becomes inevitable Kogal." Augustus said as he leaned his lanky form against the wall. "He possibly did, but we don't know yet. Lyon hasn't declared anything yet. We know where. That woman named Ra." Kogal looked at his mentor as he tilted his head. He had heard stories of the sunbird and her origins. Yet, he didn't think it was possible she'd come to Athentha and create a cult. Especially one Absolon would wholeheartedly support. It didn't make sense. Augustus shook his head once more at this, the young demon man still confused. "Well, there were two islands not included with Athentha's making. Garuda-Scarab, which remains silent still. And the other one that houses creatures like her, the Red Blood Mirror. So, that's figured out. Listen," Augustus paused as Kogal rubbed his temples even more, "Kogal, we will need to think of a plan. Sayndar and Vex won't be enough to combat that cult." Kogal groaned. He didn't like where this was going. Wendelin had stood there, against the southeast corner, silent. The Valentinas were always involved in high stakes affairs, usually ones that involved saving the world or some stupid thing. Rhaspody remained on her left, also silent. Crescendo hasn't shown yet.Wendelin said softly. Kogal and Augustus looked towards her, a bit in shock. She probably got in a tight spot during the spying mission. I sent her to spy on Ra and her cult. Hopefully, it didn't go south as it-- "How long have you been there?" Kogal asked as he caught the stare of Wendelin's smoky green eyes. "And why are you here? It's not like we need the help." You do actually. Rhaspody spoke up. Ra isn't a pushover. And from what I heard, she's leading the charge of the war towards Yral. With Absolon's blessing of course. Crescendo should be by soon. She'll have the plans we need. Wendelin hoped her sister was alright. It was Ra after all and she was a threat. Though it was late and Crescendo hadn't shown yet. Augustus eyed the worry as he stumbled back to his chambers through his hoards of scripture, parchments and books. Kogal remained seated. ---- Crescendo had remained under cover for a good week. She hadn't let on she was a Valentina yet she knew she wasn't out of danger. Crescendo had read the books every day that Ra gave her to read. And through her prowness, she became one of the sunbird's favorites. Meaning more eyes were upon the young elf. Crescendo still wasn't sure why Wendelin picked her for this mission. If Malachite was still about, he could have been picked. He was a better spy than her. But their brother was on another mission. And because this one was important, knowing why Absolon wanted war, she was picked. She was a small elf, 5'2 and 100lbs. She had black teal hair that was stopped against her mid-back and braided. Her eyes were blank golden irises. She wore black silk like robes that were a bit too big for her. As Crescendo read the books, she was starting to get immersed into the teachings. It had almost ensnared her once or twice. She had to keep reminding herself that she was on a mission to keep Athentha from being torn asunder. Reminding herself this cult was not good. That this cult would be the end of Athentha should it allow to flourish. Yet, it remained in the back of her head that this cult might be something better. It had a cool name after all. Crescendo sighed as she was late getting back to her sister to report the information she held. Yet, Ra seemed to be misunderstood and she wanted to know more about the sunbird. Which would be easy since she was the new favorite. The elf closed the book as she leaned back against the chair in her chambers. Something was wrong here yet Crescendo couldn't figure it out yet. The seeds sounded wonderful, such good upgrades at the cost of something no longer needed. She would consider it later. For now she scribbled down in her notepad in a code should she be comprised. I should be heading back soon… Wendelin starts to worry when I'm late... Crescendo thought as a knock came to her door. She hesitated to answer it.
  2. Fantastic Fuckery Afoot: So You Want to Be the God of War? [Location]Vast Gigante; Xaengri-la [Type] long term; action adventure; political intrigue; celestials and demons; ghosts and goblins; dark fantasy [combat] pve; scripted ”Heavy is the head that wears the crown? Then why not melt it down?” The scent of blood is in the air and it pleases him. The chaos of ensuing destruction, the fear of unknown calamity, the despair of souls being torn apart in vain...fuck, it makes him hard. The lesser spirits are in a frenzy of fear and in their madness tear themselves apart. He has not observed the entirety of the battle, but he watches as the few remaining demon warriors attempt to feast upon eachother, all of them striving for greater strength. In an atmosphere dense with the scent of putrid flesh and soiled bodies writhing in the a river of excrement, he lifts his nose heavenward and inhales deeply. It is a warm meal after a famine, it is the musky scent of sex that he can just barely taste on the tip of his tongue. Korbolo Dom happily inhabits a particular position amongst the denizens of the spirit realm, that of a First Hero. It is not so grand a title as it appears, at least not to his mind. It is a condescending way of saying ‘close but no cigar’. Something of a Demi-god, something of a ghost...this is the path he treads, the prison to which he is bound. Or so it once was. Soft lips part into a wicked grin. Something brews beyond the horizon, something *******, the current God of War, the Lord of Autumn, well knows. Korbolo Dom stands atop the lone spite of a ruined castle and reached down to adjust his sword belt. Eyes close and his crown lifts towards the heavens as he bathes in the ambience. Whilst ****** will seek to leverage the abundance of death in a vain attempt to retain his position, pragmatists such as Korbolo Dom will use this opportunity to upend the current deity’s position. Chaos is ever a king maker and Korbolo Dom is no longer content to stand anywhere but atop Autumn’s Battlements as its new lord. The Vaste Lord can feel the swelling energy as the lesser spirits beneath his feet cry out to be devoured. Saliva fills his mouth and escapes from the creases of his lips. Pale tresses shift as a rare breeze passes through. The final demon is left standing and in his triumph he will not know the danger that stalks him. Where once Korbolo Dom stood there is now a blank landscape and a crumbling spire. The demonic warrior turns his head to witness this sign of his ascension and feels only the pride of his accomplishment and the promise of good things to come. His existence is blinked out unceremoniously. He is dead before he can realize that he is not a predatory, but prey. Korbolo Dom clutches an oozing pulsating black valved heart between thumb and index finger, paying the pulp at his feet no further thought. He raises his prize, preparing to savor the fruits of the demons labor, when he gives pause. His head tilts and is now even with the plain of his shoulders. “You will reveal yourself, interloper.” It is not a question. A large figure steps out from behind a mound of bodies. He is a behemoth if a creature, standing over a head and a half taller than Korbolo Dom and twice as broad. The remnants of the fellow Vasto Lorde’s shattered bone mask cling to his face in a parody of tribal ornamentation. Korbolo Dom’s stern gaze turns into sneer of derision at the arrival of the other Hollow. “Urlung Puck...” Dom’s voice is both disgusted and amused at the other warriors arrival. “I’d thought you dead after that trouble with the Althane Warlord Prince. It seems your bootlicking cowardice has served you well.” Urlung Puck does not move, his barrel chest gives no inclination that he even draws breath. “Korbolo Dom,” he says with deference. “You are wise and cunning, First Hero. I am, however, tasked by the Lord of Autumn to bring him the prizes you lay claim to.” Korbolo Dom turns on his heel to address the larger figure. “If the Lord of Autumn wishes a prize, he should lay claim to it himself. Sending the whore who licks his arse, is far less impressive.” Korbolo’s voice is gnashing steel kneaded into stone. A mix of rage, shame and fear cross Urlung Puck’s broad flat features. Korbolo Dom’s harsh and angular visage sharpens with this grin. “You cannot challenge the Lord...,” The Vasto Lorde’s rumbling bass intones, but he grows silent at the sound of bone scraping bone. Korbolo Dom stares at Puck in impatience, a long bone claw extending from the fingertips of free hand’s index finger to tap at the bone plate covering Dom’s jaw. “That is exactly what I can do, Urlung Puck.” He moves slowly and each drawn out soft click of his finger against bone coincides with a step encroaching on Urlung Puck. “Do you think your Master will grant you the prize of First Hero, Urlong Puck?” The Hollow’s name is a slur spat from the First Hero’s lips. “As pathetic a reward as that is, Urlong Puck...” Korbolo Dom is within the larger Vasto Lorde’s reach, but the monolith is still. “It is not a boon given, like some whore’s trinket, Ur-long P-uck.” He comes to a halt beneath the shadow of Puck’s gargantuan form. His piercing accusatory eyes rip through the figure before him. Seized by fear, Urlung Puck’s power courses through him, his form shifts violently against the landscape in a display of light bending static energy to disguise the path of his retreat. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Urlong Puck peers down at Korbolo Dom’s arm buried deep into his chest. Dom’s grin of excitement fades to disgust. His other hand still dangles the demon’s heart from pristine fingertips and it is with a slow sensuality that he dangles the muscular organ over his own scowling face. Lips part and a long inhuman tongue slithers out and plucks the heart from his grasp. As he devours the heart, Korbolo Dom watches the light fade from Puck’s eyes. “True power,” the First Hero says, feeling the rush of demonic energy surge within “is taken.” The larger Vaste Lorde’s form fell prone as Korbolo Dom wrenched Puck’s heart free. Shaking ebon blood from his hand, Dom runs the appendage across his crown to slick his hair back. Walking over Puck’s body, Korbolo Dom strolls through the sea of corpses as he moves deeper into Vast Gigante. He’s playing a dangerous game declaring war on ******, but clean hands never settle in a throne for long and lessons written in blood are not soon forgotten.
  3. A brand new day welcomed the crew as they woke up after a good night sleep in the forest in the wilds of Fracture, west of Sidereal Lake. They had been here for a while, taking a break from the monsters and adventures, much to Shelly’s pleasure, and Dauner and Gozen's displeasure. Dauner was mostly using this as a chance to lay off most of the fighting while refining his iroki and training his sword skill. For the last couple of days, he would wake up, work out, hunt, have breakfast and then spend the rest of the day in deep meditation, bonding with his surroundings. Gozen too took advantage of the moment and refined his iroki and dragon skin coating technique. Shelly on the other hand, trained her sword wielding and multiple magic sword wielding speed and skill. On the eight day, the crew got ready to return to their adventuring. Seven days of inactivity had Dauner and Gozen itching for action. Shelly, on the other hand, would have preferred if they took a couple more weeks off the dangerous adventures. The crew then set out in the direction that seemed to call out most to them. In this case, east, the direction had the most restlessness about it. After a quarter day of walking, the group arrived at the bottom of a steep hill. The wall was pointed vertically upwards to about 3 meters in height, where it became a gentler slope uphill. Dauner felt something strange about the wall. He could hear the breathing it produced, but the breathing was uneven about a particular area. He walked up to the place and placed his hand on it. He then laid his ear against it and tried to listen more closely. “Is there a problem D?” Gozen asked looking confused. “Did you find something interesting?” Shelly asked excitedly. Dauner motioned for them to keep quiet which is what they did. After moving about the wall for a while, Dauner drew on of his swords and drew the shape of a door on the wall. “I can sense a pathway behind this spot” he said to the group. “Really? What do you want us to do then?” Gozen asked puzzled. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna smash it” Dauner said grinning. “Hold your horses. If there really is a door there, then someone must have put it there and we can’t just break in when this person might be at home” Shelly explained. “I suggest we use a more quite method of entering. Gozen, Can you silently melt the door Dauner drew out?”
  4. Peter

    Lyonesse

    Irryn arrived in Lyonesse through one of the gateways of the Tavern of Legend, as usual equiped with his dragon scale armour, wearing a backpack to which two tonfa blades were attached. He casually walked around the streets, moving his way through the crowd, occasionally even bumping into someone because he was distracted by looking at all the surrounding buildings. He didn't know what to expect from the island, but that's exactly why he was there. To explore.
  5. The thrum of a magitech engine buzzed in the background and the powerful Nehalen wind slapped against the mighty airship's windows. But, no matter hard it may try, mere wind could never break into the exterior of Clockwork Grind, one of the most powerful airships of Genesaris. Instead, as if a child's toy, the ocean's blades simply bounced off. Behind Clockwork Grind followed a myriad of other airships, some keeping pace and others struggling to do so against the Nehalen ocean winds. Black clouds rumbled in the distance and bright lines of lightning struck randomly. That was there destination: the isle of Nede. Or so Ankou had reported it was called. After landing in Nede, Ankou, Khaki, and Sera had fought and defeated what they called a Demon Lord. In return, Ankou had gained a throne of near absolute power within a domain. If what he said was true, perhaps Nehalen was what she'd been looking for. What she'd thought Nu Martyr had been. Lilith wasn't entirely sure what "it" was, but somehow that didn't stop her from searching. As they approached the start of the storm clouds, massive creatures broke through the clouds in an obvious rage. Cloaked in all elements under the sun, Dragons began to attack the army of airships approaching Nede. At the beginning, Lilith stayed where she was in the airships control center. Standing and watching through the large windows as her Paragons used the Cult's black fog magic to combat the beasts midair. Probably guardians of the floating island. A moment longer of watching and Lilith was certain the guardian creatures weren't simply dragons. "Elder dragons?" she muttered, unsure. Definitely more powerful than the average dragons- that she was positive of. It wasn't until she saw the occasional pitch black scale on some and the rotting scales on others that her eyes widened. "Ah. Demonic and Undead. No wonder." @danzilla3 @Zashiii @AngryCacti @The North Wind @Casanova @TheShadow @J. A. Horton @Veloci-Rapture (for those who have expressed interest) OOC: This thread is completely open. I'd prefer a PM first, but it's not needed. Just jump in!
  6. 7 September 1670AY Zephyr Archipelago-Val Libra Archipelago, Val Roux 10:00 A.M Lucinda stood there watching Esmil and Emilia practicing their sword fighting. Her honeyed hazel eyes going over each step the twins took, every technique, every move against the other. She knew that preparing for the capture of the elusive elf, Esben, wouldn't be easy at all. And they needed all the practice they could get. Ferghas had finally become knight commander of the Archipelago-Aries knights. A step up from his last position. He had worked tiredlessly to achieve this. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea that Ferghas Gilchrist, the man who once fought for justice--for the people, was twisted and a part of Morwen's influence. But he told no-one about that. Lucinda had noticed something off about Ferghas though she kept those suspicions to herself for now. "Something wrong Lucinda?" Ferghas asked as he caught those weird looks and glances from the elf. "Esmil and Emilia showing you up again bothering you? Or is it something more serious? You look concerned." "It's nothing." Lucinda replied as she shook her head. "Though, the twins are getting better at their techniques at least. So that's something. I do think you're running them a little more ragged these days. Care to tell me why Ferghas?" Ferghas said nothing as he shrugged. This made her suspicious even more. Why would he not answer her? It didn't make her feel any better as Esmil and Emilia came up to her, finished with their training. Tired and exhausted, they were proud of their productiveness.
  7. Black. Pitch black darkness. All that awaited Saint Reverie by using her first sense, her sense of sight, was an absolute nothingness. Such had been the cost of her life after she'd become plagued with a divine illness. For months her body had been racked with unbearable pain and she'd been in and out of consciousness for the majority of it. And, yet, though she had no idea what living creature had managed to save her from certain death, the Saint knew it had been by the power of the Creator. After waking from her coma in a cold sweat, locked in some deep part of Grad na Ang'eli, she'd heard a call. A sound. A cry for help from hundreds of thousands of tortured souls. Knowing those voices called to her, and likely only her as an opportunity granted to her by the Creator, she made her way toward them. Such a path was more difficult for her than before the illness, for though she could hear the cries and hopes of souls, she could no longer see. Brilliant golden iris' turned a dull silver, nearly gray in opacity. Covering them with with a metallic band known in Grad na Ang'eli as the Creator's Calling Crown, the angels had dropped Reverie in the aftermath of The Commander's war with Nu Martyr. Dead center of it, as the crying souls pleaded. Taking such pleas as the commands of her Creator, Reverie sent a message out using Nu Martyr's underground system to call for any and all good souls to help her make a way of hope throughout the desperate Province. If she could help so much as only one creature, it would all be worth it. Saint Reverie sat upright and comfortable in an old rocking chair just outside a destroyed church. It was not a church of the Creator, but nonetheless had deserved more respect than it'd had received. In her past Saint Reverie had caught glimpses of Primera, but had never taken the Grand Kommadant as one to commit a genocide against her gods. They were, after all, more than just creatures of power. They were symbols and the people believed in those symbols. Relied on them. Without faith and without hope, it was only a matter of time before the Province as a whole fell into a pit so deep it would never escape. She raised a hand to stroke against the metallic band clasped firmly around her head, conflicting emotions sparking with the contact. Valucre had too long forgotten the importance of deities. Of faith and of goodness. Law was not goodness and proof was not faith. Unity discarded for individual pride and success. Families discarded over mere divides of land. Equality all but destroyed, replaced by a greed so ugly that it had blinded many more than the deadly illness she'd been infected with. And thus she waited for those heroes who'd help her to make Nu Martyr, once again, a place where humanity could stand tall and proud. @Mickey Flash @Meraxa @ticklefarte @Sanonymous @Zashiii
  8. Nesy would be walking through the wilds of Fracture. He stepped on branches that cracked by his every step since they were on the ground. The sound of the forest engulfed him and it was peaceful; meaning it was quiet and there were no animals around. It may be because of Nesy's precense but maybe they're just more uncommon at his location. Nesy wore a black armor with a matching helmet along with a contraption which was an electromagnetic gun(Railgun) which was capable of firing projectiles at colossal speeds. Overhanging branches on top of the tall trees blocked most of the sun's rays from passing through. It was a dimm forest with many varriations of green plants and just as any other alien planet he had been in there was always something unique about them. How their composition was made up which made him very interested in what elements it could bear as it could prove to be useful in the future. He continued to venture through the strange forest. As any other life-planets he had been in, this planet proved to be one of his interesting findings. He thought about the extra-terrestrial war that went on the wilds of Terrenus or somewhere along that area. He had fought a terrorist apperently but he was mostly calm but very tired after his adventures with other people. He remembered the Preistress and Dauner who were his 2 new companions. Except, she probabaly got ate up by the dragon or kidnapped and Dauner went to chase after it to save her. These were some memories he had which made him smile. They were also funny but grusome as well, being almost destroyed by a dragon was a classic thing that happened to Nesy. Looks like Nesy had been here a lot of times. The thoughts spiraled in his head as he went through the woods of Fracture. His goal was to find more information about this particular planet, to boost his research in the process too. He had been to worse places like lava planets or even celestial bodies that were beyond the size of the largest star he had ever known in the multiverse. Technically, he has never landed on any of the stars because he would obviously be incinirated! The craziest place he had been in was presumingly planet: Aurora which had many aurora borialises scattered across the planet. That was sure a crazy memory. Ohh.. The memories were so satisfying. Nesy, a multiversal member of the Celvestian race. He came here to explore and adventure just like any other curious alien beings that step foot on this planet. Though, he's presumingly the first alien to come here unless if there were other aliens too because he does not know anything else that he was the only living Celvestian on this planet. What will happen now? What will he meet? It'll be the time to find out.
  9. Cold.. bitter cold.. it always reminded him of that night. Space invaded in a heinous portrayal of discrimination against mankind. Gaia’s devotees slaughtered by Unnaturals. It was the definition of ironic. There was naught but bloodshed that night. The winds blew through the Wastelands with a burglary of one’s own heat; the only thing more outright bone-chilling was the sophistication the monstrosities took in eradicating the entire clan’s caravan. There was not much more testing than the destruction of everything one knew in life. It either forged something devastating, or it broke one beyond measure. Who was to say one did not lead to the other — No one could. The cold nights reminded him often of that fate-filled night. Walk like them until they walk like you.. it was something the old wives spoke of when telling stories of heroes and how one might aspire to be more like them in character. That night, Yshmael moved in the way of the Three, as a devout Triaditionalist of the Dead Peaks would hope to. Creation of a world where such tragedies might happen less, The Preservation of his people and their way of life, and the Destruction of those who would do wrong in Gaia’s demesne. His strength and will to survive deemed him worthy of their eye and forever cast his path into the defense of all Natural kind. The Triad had endowed him with an unwavering will and a knack for sniffing out dangers in the world, especially Unnaturals, and he had done nothing but hone these things into something that men and monsters alike paled in comparison of Will and sheer Might when the warrior-priest applied himself and his Faith. His loss had indeed broken him, and in return for giving himself to the Will of Gaia, so too was he given an Indomitable Will. In that time of mantling the Triad, he became a vessel to them as they served mutual purpose in his actions. Nothing could have prepared him in even three lifetimes for that night.. And it was that night that propelled his life into the path he now walked. Leaving the sands he and his people had spent generations on was no small task, subjectively or objectively. The Wasteland was vast and the cold encroached ever so far… so much farther than it had in his time as a child. But that was then, and this was the Now. One must not dwell on things they cannot change; another old wife’s advice for letting go. By the Will of Gaia, Yshmael survived and effectively destroyed all of the transgressors in the vicinity. He was among less than a handful of survivors; those who were unfortunately tasked with sending their dead on to the next chapter in one’s life. Once done, he made sure to deliver them to safety. Neighboring tribes in the region and those among frequented spaces gathered to give condolences in the form of words and material offerings. Someone had even spotted his horse in the near on dunes, but ultimately they had been unable to catch it. This left Him with few things left to do but pursue a state of mind and subsequently satisfy the urges set on him by his Faith. “West..” he said to himself. Directly West from the subtle temple nestled into the Dead Peaks he had been born in, and where his family had begun many lives. It had been decided by those higher than him that he head west in order to snuff out as much corruption within Gaia’s realm ashe could. The sands harbored no love, no warmth anymore; neither would he. Mercy was a liability in most worldly professions, and he had no intentions of offering such things to those that would cross him. With purpose and survival driving him, the man had managed to not only head west, but by some divine grace, his trek was made swifter by his horse finding /Him/! It was one of those little things that one ought to appreciate and take to heart. The horse had been scouted for him on his coming of age, which meant to go be among the sands for what felt like a whole year.. maybe it was longer.. shorter? The sands did not keep track of time outside of bottles, sadly. Nevertheless, his horse was home - with him - and had survived what looked to be a handful of abrasions and run ins with either wire or claw. The wounds were healed and tended to by the good work of the Nomad. His hands had been tasked with much as one of the more mature men within the caravan. With horse - and what seemed like a hefty load for a single man to have been moving across the desert with - they were off! They kept a good pace all the way through the Wasteland’s grueling biomes and into the mountain ranges south of the sands. Little activity found their way by means of Unnaturals or those who would give ill intent.. maybe they knew to stay away? No matter, he was across the sands anyways. His hand for reading common was strengthened by years of trade in the outskirts regions near the border and within the desert; a gracious moment he reminisced about when coming across signs after breaking through the border and slipping through generally without hindrance. Blairville The nearest major settlement. Yshmael had finally arrived in the skirts, much to his delight. “Food and a bit of a rest, old friend..” he uttered, rubbing the neck and mane of the decorated horse as he stood from a position of a kneeling bow against the earth. The companion whinnied in response and dug a hoof into the dirt before traversing a downward path through the foothills and mountains leading to the town. He had elected to keep to the ranges rather than main roads out of comfort’s sake until the walls of the city were upon them. Time had lapsed perfectly to deliver the man to the Market in the early morning, having set upon a main road around dawn. Already, the smells of the market hit his nose. Incense and herbs and the burning of wood. The savory foods and beverages hit his nose with mouth-watering flavors and scents. It had been some time since he walked such a large and diverse market. It was here in the market that the man dismounted and walked with a horse that generally did not bother to stretch the reins thin with distance from the Nomad. Yshmael and the horse seemed bonded.. a touching sentiment and also a helpful one. Where the man did not pay attention, the horse surely would bolster detection and security by means of constant vigilance. On and on, they walked as a pair, hardly a full (Roman) pace apart at any point. They roamed the market to gather what was needed, making small talk and even receiving condolences from merchants hailing from the sands. With Provisions gathered for the journey, as well as knowledge of which he learned upon deeper questioning of merchants regarding the settlements to the west and the procuring of a map, he began to fixate on the now. Water, a bit of food and grain split between the two, and a gear check were all addressed. His robes, bound in silks and leather and plate in various areas about his form. Yshmael’s weapon hung from the hip, with a blade tucked into the breast of his robing. Hunter’s Steel, with blessings and family names etched all over. He kept it close at all times. A sentiment and personal defense that brought him security. A scarf adorned his head to keep the wind off his neck, and it draped from his form a bit and covered a light pelt that wrapped over the back of his form from the shoulder down. Riding boots were knocked against the heel of one another to relieve them of crusted sand and mud. The armaments of his father, passed on through generations, even the very robes he wore, were in his possession. He bound them to the horse and kept a spear with it - also his father’s. The nomad’s fingers were decorated with rings of all the members he could identify and recover, however few. Necklaces and bangles dressed his body, bearing talismans and words of power, or so they had been spoken of. Heirlooms and the surviving pieces of many who fell were all he could hold onto aside from memories. Empowered by his faith and compassion for mankind, the trinkets and accessories he bore served to draw in the energies that Gaia and the earth offered to him. It was all that seemed to warm his heart outside of his horse. The nomad smiled at the graceful steed to his left, taking in a deep breath as he reminisced and relaxed for a moment within the market. It was brief, though. He needed to keep moving. Thoughts and images plagued his mind if he was not remaining aware of his surroundings. Dreams had been invaded by ruins and plagued of monsters and sickness alike. Blight on the land struck fear and motivation into his steely resolve. It was his obligation to see it destroyed and prevented from further corruption. Gypsy Market - West End Two Hours to Mid Day With all he needed wrapped up, Yshmael made way toward the western end of the city, taking a decent stride as he led the horse on rather than ride him. Unless stopped or confronted, he would be on his way out of the market and city itself. Map in tow, he moved along.
  10. 16, April 1678AY Archipelago, Garuda-Scarab Thursday, 12:00P.M The word had not reached the newly found island yet that a force of evil was coming. That the people would not be prepared and though they would not be, they had something on their side, a Valentina. But they would still be outmatched. Salsa stood outside the city of Archipelago, as she wondered how things were doing for Jack. He had lost his form to a shard, had the legendary sword and shield that was corroding him. Yet, she was wary as to not letting him trick her. Inside the town hall, elder Ridley Vira Nebulous-Ashlyn had been forming a plan. His maps laid out as his grey eyes stared at it still. The thing was that the demons of old resided here at one point. They changed the subjects--people into creatures, or even demons. The oldest elf family of October remained untouched but for how long? "Ser?" The young elf knight, Vanilla June Zenith October asked as she looked at the elder with pink-white eyes. "Still can't figure out a plan?" "Unfortunately not. Even if the Valentina attacked, and even with the other Valentina helping us--we're still outnumbered." Ridley spoke as he looked up. "Gallus, any ideas to figure something out?" "Well, we do have those soldiers trained from Athentha, plus the Valentina and October houses. We have a fair shot at this, as long as we don't lose the mages." Gallus replied. Ridley sighed. It was a long shot indeed.
  11. Nak’mbu. Valley of the lost. Oasis in the jungle. The location formerly known as: Biazo Swallowtail Geoball Stadium, sponsored by: Sanzang Electronics, home of the Twenty-Second Geoball Reigning Champions, the Biazo Batters. All of these descriptors not quite accurate, each not quite capturing the full extent to which history has left a mark upon the place now called Nak’mbu. Once the widest enclosed space imaginable, formerly torn asunder and exposed to the sun, now encroached upon by vine and undergrowth; concrete once white, formerly blasted black, now colored by damp and darkrot. Once, tens of thousands of cheering mouths. Formerly, the silence of none. Now? A village of some sixty inhabitants, but quiet, still so quiet. The hypothetical visitor finds Nak’mbu only with great difficulty, from the exterior hardly distinguished from the remainder of the jungle. From the east stands of the stadium it is impossible to sight any sign of residence; only on an approach from the north (for the south has long collapsed into a canyon pit) might the first signs of residence resolve to the eye. Leaf-thatched roofs emerge between the trees. Hard-fought clearings grow elephantine yams and cassava. The signs of fire percolate through the foliage. The footpath – note the singular – leads one house to another, all in a chain, for it is easier to tread old roads than to hack new ones from the earth. At the near end of the footpath is the beat-wood clinic of one Isabel Payne. At the far end past the last homes and up the stands is the announcers’ box of the stadium, now one of a handful of vantages from which one may see the sweeping canopy of the jungle and, on lonely nights, glimpse lights flickering from the tops of other towers scattered across the dead city. And one may dream of one day meeting one another across a green-vined eternity of distance. There are other points of note. In the middle of the old freeway to the North has erupted a grand old palm, entirely alone up to an altitude of a hundred feet, on the ground poisoning everything that grows within a hundred yards. Water collects in its roots’ asphalt eaves, attracting the local wildlife and the villagers alike. The animals and villagers do not yet realize it, but palm water is an exceptional abortive, which is why the waters are ever-clear and free of mosquitoes. If our hypothetical visitor should look west, they will see the heart of Bi’le’ah, an emerald glow like some radiant fallout from a weapon long ago. The glow ripples, on dark nights, upwards as a spear thrust from the heart of the world. To the south, a long gash exposes caves from which half-men and unnaturals look upwards, and into which the above-ground visitor may look down. The two worlds are exposed to one another but are not incident, not here, and not now. This hypothetical visitor remains entirely hypothetical. There are, after all, no roads leading into Nak’mbu. It is a lost place, entirely forgotten. Those who find it are just as like to have forgotten what they really came here for, no? Because when they arrive, they will find that they have found exactly that which they remember: Nothing at all.
  12. They had travelled the deep road. Yes, there was the highway. The road that stretched across the land to link their two cities. But the lord Téshuk had insisted against. It was not the way, he had told them, meaning both the literal form of passage, but also the means in which their task was to be done. Their task one that was quite suddenly arranged, at the Governor of Totenborough had realised that 'the time' was upon them, but that his subjects knew nothing of it, nor that they should prepare. But with only weeks to go, they had managed it. Though with all their load to take through the tunnel that led up to the Hydra Scar, and then from there travel westward unto the breach of Lunaris, that was itself another few days of travel. Téshuk had led all the way throughout, clearing by his will any path that could not so easily take the carriages and carts. There was however, a realisation that this was itself part of the tradition - that he and he alone must lead the way. Even when they stopped to rest at nights, measured only by the clock than by sunlight, Téshuk still held himself at the forefront, nor did he slumber; vigilant in his duties as he was able to be. But yes, they had travelled the deep road, and from it emerged, a long caravan that itself stretched for many hundreds of metres, loaded with many goods and decorations. When they arrived at the treetop city, its homes cut from and built into the woodland that surrounded and ran throughout it, there was only one moment of pause, taken by Teshuk to process it all. How the world truly was different and changed from as it had been, however long ago it was that he stood among the living. Still, he willed his entourage on, and they made their way through the streets. The sheer physical stature of Téshuk, along with his presence, and the length of the caravan behind him, drew curious and expectant eyes from all around. Many, sat high within their homes, were content to look down upon and distantly observe the passing, able to follow it for miles with but slight turns of the head. For others, the only way to follow the procession was to do so physically, trailing along behind it. This then only made the crowd grow ever greater, as it became something of novelty and curiosity for those whose days who had become accustomed to outside intrusion representing malice and threat, rather than mystery and fun. They wondered where this giant had come from, and where he was going with all this bounty. The former could answered through whispers that fluttered through the crowd: This was Téshuk, Governor of Totenborough, the esteemed and mysterious Titan himself! But as for the reason of his presence, that remained utterly unknown, and his servants would not share it. That too, was apparently part of the tradition. The procession, caravan and crowd both, swept through the city, heading north west. Téshuk ran his fingers along the vines that raced towards their summit, coating the ancient walls of Cair Loeren. Through them, he made a summons. An act that might have seemed impudent, but it was meant to be bold; in truth as well, he saw little distinction in rank between him and the one he summoned. But as such messages are scarcely hidden in Lunaris, it whipped the crowd into a frenzy. How could he? How DARE he?! Did he not know to whom he spoke?! Yet still, they followed, and Téshuk went. They stopped all at once before withered steps, and before the one who espoused to be lord and master of all the realm. One who had been wounded, yet lived as Téshuk did not. A small being, yet perhaps the only one here who might stand larger than the Titan. The Titan who snapped his fingers, and so beckoned two of his followers to bring up a long chest; from their fingers it lifted, being made of stone, and by Téshuk's will, came to rest at the Regent's feet. The stone that sealed it shut slid away, and revealed within, along a bed of silk, two rings - one of ruby laid in silver, and another of sapphire in gold. Let us be as one. Was the sentiment that came from Téshuk; his will without spoken word. It may have a taken to process, but then, his will clarified that he meant the cities, not him and the Regent as individuals. It would be in the union of cities that they would mark the year anew; the start of new opportunities, and the start of new - or renewed - love. As was tradition. With its confirmation, so would Téshuk's caravan begin their adornment of the city. Shades and filters for the wickblooms that turned their natural light into many colours and shapes. Gifts to the children of the city, a foundation on which they might build new directions and new interests to follow for the year, and perhaps keep with them the rest of their lives. Craftsmen of all arts would share their works, and the skills with which they made them, with the people of the city, gifting these to all - that chose to afford them - rather than just the children. Once each week, for four weeks, as the necessary supplies arrived, there would be a great feast held at the heart of the city, sharing what delicacies and tastes the people of Totenborough had kept from the old world, and what they had discovered in the new. As the people ate then, they would expected to take their loves in hand - whether desired or already held - and dance, promising to each other the prosperity of a new year. Some might have labelled it a festival, but Téshuk did not seem to understand the concept so. Rather to him, this was what this time of year was for. New Beginnings, New Love, and Renewal. Built on the bond of the land, as was tradition. This was, as he spoke audibly but once, with voice like stone grinding upon stone, Wosatnos.
  13. A group of bards local to the village of Modalis are terrorizing the populace. The bards formed a cult called the "Death's Bards", recently trying to spread their ideology violently to the plebians and nobles alike. The attacks have gotten more and more gruesome; however the straw that broke the camel's back was when the bards kidnapped the mayor's daughter and made a public display of using their bardic magic to hang make her hang herself while they danced and sang. The Mayor has put a bounty on their heads with the reward being any piece of land they want in Modalis. Months have passed and nobody who has gone after the cult has come back alive. In fact their bodies were all dropped of at the edge of town with music boxes lodged in their chest cavities, as well as a large smile carved into their faces. The people live in fear of the cult and traders have been avoiding the village more and more as the rumors of the cult spreads. Finally this is where Vivi comes in she heard of these rumors by word of mouth, so in response headed for the town. It took her a week to get their by foot from where she was and by the time she arrived the town was still like all life had been sucked out of it. She couldn't care less about the suffering that these people had gone through, The Mad Bard simply wanted to kill the fuckers responsible for sending people to the afterlife with cheap shitty music. Only she had the right to kill people with music as her music gave people a graceful and beautiful death, but these bards are just sloppy animals... no pests that needed to be eradicated. Although before she could eliminate the pests she had to get a clue as to where they were hiding; therefore, she entered a tavern to question people about what they knew about the whereabouts of the cult. The tavern was just as quiet as it was outside, a depressing town even in the tavern. She sat next to a burly man who seemed to be in his mid 30's and asked him "hello sir, I just arrived in town you see because I heard about this... problem that has been plaguing you people. However I've run into a bit of a problem, I don't even know where to start looking for these bastards." The man looked at her and whispered in a low growl. "Just north of here is where the cult resides, they don't even try to hide. That's how cocky they are." The man then turns away and returns to drowning his sorrows. "I guess I'm going north" OOC
  14. I mean, why not really? I kinda wanna steal all the dragons lol
  15. Emergency broadcast KX-end-of-the-world scenario in progress Valucrean containment foundation This message will now be repeated. . . This is OS-01 of the Valucrean Containment Foundation. We... I, have unleashed pandora's box. I hope one day, whatever gods are out there, may show mercy to my soul. The navy has lost nearly half of it's fleet, the air force fell today. There is no hope of stopping this threat. I only can give a way out for those wanting to escape. I arrived from the vortex at the center of this world. If I arrived from that vortex, there may be a chance that we can escape the same way. We have made 3 arks, to carry anyone and anything. It's our last chance at an exodus. Head to the northern tip of alterion within 78 hours, I'm not sure how long we can hold out anymore. Time is of the essence, this is our last hope of survival. Hurry, plea-... . . . This message will now be repeated. . . "-s Doctor Brett, is anyone there? This is Doctor Brett. I am a researcher from the VCF, god someone please be out there. [Large footsteps in the distance] It's already clear, we already lost, but it may not be the end of all hope. I know it's insane, but we have to get to the place where this all started. Site-800, where we opened pandora's box. There is a way to prevent this from happening, to prevent ALL of this from happening. I have this with me, CS-0078, in site-909. This entire site was to protect the existence of this disk, because this object alone may prove pivotal in changing timelines. I propose we use it now. [Large footsteps in the distance] It can't send us back. As far as I'm concerned, I and whoever is hearing this message is as good as dead, but we can prevent this timeline, this present, from ever existing. If we capture pandora's box, we can send it back in time with a warning. This is our last shot. We will cease to exist, but our past selves won't have to die in this hell. We will have a future. I only have 5 men from Beta-04, it's not enough. Site-800 is 100 kilometres away, we have to- [Large footsteps in the distance] If you hear this, I'm in Last Chance. The site 909 entrance is in the black market, pyre's stall for pyrotechnics. Find the trapdoor leading down, the code to the lock is 2309. Hide under the shade and in the walls. There is 1 titan in the town centre, 16 meters tall. You can't outrun it, so be as quiet as you can. If it sees you, pray your death will be quick. I'll have this message repeat, hurry." [Radio static]
  16. Prelude ”You want to do what’s right, don’t you Norman?” A cold and dark voice pierced the still air of a dusty and darkened room. Sitting at a lone wooden table in said dark room with one dull and dimly light lightbulb hanging overhead was a man of some years. Greying features accompanied by a stern but tired face showed the wear and tear of someone who had held a hard career filled with strife and pain. Upon his person he wore the olive green dress uniform of a guard or military personnel, much like the man it too was faded with the passage of time and hardship that came with it. Changing slowly but noticeably the stern look of a hardened professional shifted to a shape of slight fear and anxiety. He looked down at the wooden table for but a moment, and for the first time in his life, an honest man had blinked. It was all the serpent needed to sink its fangs in. ”You see. Your post, it’s simply overrun with villainy and crimes of unspeakable volumes. Murder, arson, assault, and every day it gets worse. You don’t want it to get worse do you Norman?” Words dripped laced with the false concern of one born of evil and hatred. Someone who only said the words necessary to get what they needed. ”N-No... I don’t want it to get worse...” The man known as Norman said with a shaky voice. ”No no no, of course you don’t want that Norman. You want to bring about a change. But you can’t do that by yourself can you?” The fangs sunk deeper into the man’s resolve as it began to crumble beneath their pressure. ”I want to change it... but the crime lords they have too much pow-“ A swift yet gentle coated in black iron and red inlay jutted out from the darkness and slowly placed the backside of it against Norman’s cheek. ”Shhhhh. You let me take care of them and I promise you a good change will come your way. One of great heft and depth.” Slowly the hand retreated back into the darkness and returned to drop a bulbous cloth sack onto the table. Hitting it with a hard clink of loose metal items, the bag spilled open to reveal golden coins that lay on the table and glimmered in Norman’s eyes. It was all but over now, the man had lost. ”And the best part Norman. You don’t even need to do anything. Just secure the gates after curfew, and don’t let your men have anyone go in or out. There’s a chest-load more of that for you and your men as well. Can you do that, Norman? Can you do that for me?” There was a silence after the voice spoke from the shadows. Norman looked at the gold. Thought of his honor, his duty, his post and charge. He then thought about the years of his life being abused, having his job mocked and spat upon by those he was meant to be above. He thought of his wife and his retirement. The house on the coast. College paid off for his grandkids. Something to leave his family besides a mediocre retirement fund upon his death. He thought of all this, and his decision was made. Taking the bag of gold he clutched it to his chest and spoke five words. ”Yes. I can do that.” An honest man died. Wicker Town Blues Wicker Town Entrance 2100 Hours Rain fell from the sky as horse whinnied and came to a stop. With a carriage in tow we got to see within its confines. Luxurious silk lined seats and golden tassels that hung from plush throw pillows. The entire carriage reeked of money and wealth, of people who had built that on acts of cruelty and violence. People that Dredge tended to enjoy, but had to be dealt with all the same. Sitting at the far left seat of the bench was a man known as Salvador “Money” Felix. One of the crime lords who happened to run a network of gangs here in Wicker Town. With him was his wife of fifteen years and their only son. They had been out celebrating Salvador’s won appeal about a parole violation. Not that it really mattered, but the family seemed to be in good spirits with smiles stretched across their bright and beautiful faces. ”I can’t believe they thought William would rat you out.” The woman laughed as she clutched to her husband’s side. ”Nah, William is solid. Couldn’t crack that guy with a hammer. Just like my little man over here.” The crime lord soon picked up his young son and cradled him up onto his lap. The boy smiled and laughed at his father’s grasp and held tight to him in return. ”I couldn’t go back to Reyer City and leave this tough guy right here.” Salvador chuckled as everything started to go somewhat quiet. ”Why are we stopped? That old git Norman knows I don’t like to be held up.” With frustration in her voice her husband opened the carriage door and looked out to where Norman was. Wicker Town was surrounded by walls and barbed wire fences, and the main entrance had a two part gate where people would be let in, searched, then advanced through the second gate. Salvador found himself and his family within the holding area between gates. Looking around he spotted Captain Norman in his uniform and rain coat looking towards him with cold and hollow eyes. The eyes of someone who knew what was about to happen but could do nothing. Ignoring those eyes, Salvador stepped out and seethed with anger. ”Norman you stupid idiot! I told you I don’t need to be held up! How about some of my boys go and visit your kids at their jobs again, huh! Would you like that you son of a bitch!” Salvador yelled at the Captain to no avail with his stone wall of a face. There was simply a pause between them. ”You’re right. Goodbye Mister Felix.” Norman gave the crime lord a gentle nod of the head before retreating into the shadow of the guardhouse. ”Everything okay, dear?!” His wife yelled from the carriage as she poked her head out into the rain. Salvador turned his body slightly to look back at her. ”Yeah babe, everything is fin-“ A gunshot interrupted the man. Pulling his hands up now covered in his own blood, he looked up from it to see standing there five people. One that stood near seven feet tall and shrouded with dark robes, and on either side of him plain clothed men and women with bandanas over their faces carrying automatic magitech rifles. His wife screamed and clutched their son close to her. ”What is it that they say in your profession? It’s not personal.” And with that the order was given. Brief shrieks of horror were quickly snuffed out by the sound of gunfire and thunder as rain poured down heavier upon Wicker Town. After a few extra double tap shots were fired for good measure, the men who had committed this act of violence had removed themselves from the scene and left only a bullet riddled carriage, a dead horse, and a slaughtered family to bleed onto the wet ground. ”Bravo One this is Overlord Actual, Target Blackbird neutralized. Proceed to targets Hippogriff, Bone Devil, and Drider.” Going out on a secure comms line, the operation had begun. Throughout Wicker Town various teams of plainclothes Legion commandos moved through the mud and rain of Wicker Town. Rows upon rows of slum and poverty stricken buildings lined the roads and alleyways of this town. Three targets remained had been designated to be taken care of, codenames Hippogriff, Bone Devil, and Drider. Leaders of the more powerful gangs here in this forsaken place. Once they were removed and a message sent, Dredge would have control of this town and it’s people. A beacon away from the Cold Mountains to conduct his affairs and see to it that the work needing to be done was handled. Where the man found himself now was on the outer layers of the town, in a place where only the worst of the worst were sent. The barbed wire fields. Chained to posts surrounded on all sides by the jagged pieces of twisted metal were the dammed. Those who had broke the rules of this place and were made example of. Walking up to one of the downtrodden, a Orc whose breathes were shallow and eyes weak. Dredge looked to the man from beneath his hood and spoke. ”Do you wish to be free?” The snake bared it’s fangs once again. The operation had begun, and Legion was ready to make their move to expand here in Genesaris. OOC
  17. Burning Bright There was never really any hope of escaping it. The beast that lurks in the animal brain we are all brought into this world with. Some of us are just better at keeping it in check while others simply embrace and relish in its simplicity. Everything becomes easy and straightforward. Hungry? Eat. Tired? Sleep. A group of warrior monks are harassing and killing some of the people you are meant to protect? The answer was simple. Kill them all along with the innocents that they too love and protect. The Gordoian Knot that was Genesaris’ political scene of different empires and kingdoms was something that Dredge’s animal brain cared very little for, and the best solution when faced with said knot was always the simplest. Cut it in half. Which was exactly what Dredge was doing to the village that lay beneath the steps of the Hoaxin Monastery. Acrid and noxious smoke blinded the eyes and blackened the lungs of those who dare breath it in. Screams of the innocent wailed and lamented deafening the ears that listened. The scent of blood slicked iron and fire could be smelt for over a mile. Death had come to this place. The small village known simply was Hoaxin Village had took its name after the ancient monastery that hover above within the mountains, and soon it wouldn’t be known as anything but as a pile of ash and charred corpses where life once thrived. They had first appeared from the eastern path that lead to the small community. Men dressed in barbaric mismatched armor and covered in the furs of slain beasts. Men with the crazed look and want of bloodlust within their eyes, driven mad by the desire to destroy and burn everything that lay in their path. They came without warning and without any sense or understanding of the words mercy and morality. With the sun beginning to set they descended upon the village with their torches and blades and began to do what they craved so badly. So here we are now. A village beginning to burn from an assault that had begun only but ten minutes ago. Families run through the streets attempting to seek shelter or flee from the attacking horde. Some successfully and others cut down by the jagged blades of wicked men. Yet if one were perceptive enough, they could see something within all the chaos. A seasoned eye for combat would notice that these bandits and barbarians did not move with the mindless rabble that they often did when attacking a settlement. No, it seemed that they moved with the skill and precision of trained soldiers. Teams surgically moved through the streets to corral civilians into a kill zone while others went from house to house clearing them before methodically setting them ablaze. None of it looked like it should, and if they were extra perceptive they could see something deep within the darkness of the mountain’s shadow. Cloaked in dark robes and shrouded in an obstructing ethereal mist, a massive figure standing near seven feet tall in its darkened cloth watched the carnage with deep red eyes that pierced the veil of its abyss like hood. Suppressing his magical energy and hiding his distinctive look, Dredge looked on at the carnage that he had set forth. By his side an elite group of pact-wraiths watched with their emotionless bleak and dead eyes. Shining brightly through his hood, Dredge sported a massive Cheshire grin. There were villains out there with more nuance than Dredge, those who killed and committed evil for the sake of the greater good or some righteous cause. But not Dredge, he could put forth some call to arms about his oppressed people, but when it came down to it he was a monster who enjoyed the death and violence. It created a story, a narrative of good vs evil and life and death! The things that we all come here to see and partake in! It was all so much fun! And if you don’t have fun, then what’s the point? ”Inform the men to leave no survivors and to place their heads and bodies on pikes. I want those monks to see what they have brought on themselves before I end them. When the village is ash I will deal with them myself.” His dark eminence spoke not only with a sense of joy in his voice, but with the matter of fact tone that these Monks and people were already dead and were just walking corpses doomed to meet their end at his hand. ”Let it burn. Let it all burn...” Dredge then just watched the carnage from the shadows and waited patiently for this village to end by his orders.
  18. It was a brisk morning, the sun had just began to come up. Rays of sunlight were slowly peaking up from the horizon to bring life unto the city. There was a light gust that brought in a fairly cold wind, winter would be on it's way soon enough. Some flocks of birds could be seen already making their trip to warmer pastures. Few townsfolk were lining the streets, getting ready for a busy weekend. Just on the edge of town, a merchant vessel, loaded down with building supplies, was pulling into the stables. A large hairy ox was pulling the cart, all by its lonesome. At the reigns was a merchant, Lexicus Thoren to be precise, with his short blonde hair beginning to shine as the sun had struck him. It was the day of progress for him. Flyers had been distributed to the local recruiting hubs and job postings for an armed escort job with business opportunities from a start up company that supposedly was a big business. It was time to meet up with whomever was going to show for the position. Considering how the first job posting had started, there wasn't high hopes. It took some time to remove the harness and unhitch the large ox creature from it spot on the cart, grab a satchel of trade bars and a bag full of documents, pay for the spot in the stables, and pay a bit extra trade bars to add security to the cart's contents, not really that it was needed but it kept questions from arising. Lexicus, donning his regular light plate, was starting to shine some as the sun was reflecting off his armor. The walk to the recruiting site was not going to take too long but he wanted to make sure he beat the rush of folk flocking to the streets. That and being punctual was his preferred style. Lexicus had informed the recruiting hubs to direct anyone that was interested to a local tavern so that way the merchant could get to know the folk he would be working with more intimately and in an open and very informal setting. After all, Lexicus was looking for potential long term employees as well as bodyguards and mercs to work with. All anyone had to go on was his name and a brief description of what he looked like. After a good short 'hike' around the town, Lexicus had came to the tavern, had ordered a large table for business meeting, paid up for the inconvenience of having to set up such a table, and had paid for the tavern's time for hosting an event. It would be a little expense that would be paid back after he would finally get set up in his location for the site. For now, Lexicus ordered a light drink of non-alcoholic house special, in this case being a cold mug of some kind of pint, smooth enough, but not very strong in alcohol. It was close enough. The blonde haired merchant took the time to sit back, take a breather, and compose his sales pitch to anyone that was coming to the business opportunity. It was his hope that he'd get a few bites and could have enough people to not have to call in off world talent to get started. Though, he'd already called for a meeting with his other talents, just in case things went sideways at this meeting. It was still fairly early in the morning to really make a call. Lexicus put a lot of hope into this job, he was hoping it would pay off, for now he waited for anyone to answer the posting he set.
  19. The evening sun's ever reaching light laid upon the span of the Moonwood giving it a beautiful view of it's lush wilds, and it's great people: the Fae, or for better lack of knowledge Fairies. However within the lush wilds remains a roaring river, filled with sharp rocks and dangerous currents that lead out to the ocean. The river itself is big, maybe not the size to add to the map but just big enough to be avoided by careful travelers and merchants should they stray from main roads. The rivers wicked push is followed by many twists and turns, however, a divide created another smaller stream, still as fast as ever. This divide if not the main river lead to many deaths as treasure hunters and explorers trying to reach an all but forgotten place of old. No one knew it's true name, no one knew if any inhabitants still lived there, but tales spanned of an old kingdom hidden beyond the river that once held great power. Whatever happened to it left it but a fairytale amongst children, who's parents grew up with the same tale. Many searched for it and for many years the old kingdom remained a mystery. Only one map was found in an old ruins of Terrenus and the bidder sold it for a high price, skeptical if the fools who bought it would disappear. No one's ever made through that river. And even if they did there was said to be a demon lurking within the kingdom, but archeologists, explorers, and cartographers of all kinds searched for it despite the warnings. And where were they now? The divided river traveled to a large lake, hidden by tall trees and thick brush and at it's end were a cave. Within it, a massive cavern housed a huddled bunch of houses, all leading to a large temple. Above, tree branches covered an open top of the cage, but sunlight still shone through allowing the area illumination. Many birds chirps above, this place perfect for their homes as predators can't catch them. The old kingdom did in fact exist, but much of it was either drowned or crumbled to rubble. The old streets were but cracked stone with much of the flora covered, old buildings either falling apart or barely intact were invaded by vines and weeds. Beyond this sorry state was a large temple, a hundred stairs crawling to it's entrance, and inside through the dark halls is a room. Skeletons of humans and unknown creatures littered it's entirety, a smooth black granite sarcophagus in the center. A purple hue, much like a slow fog, surrounded the sarcophagus as runes at the bottom glowed brilliantly. But they faded in color before disappearing entirely leaving a simple carving. The entire object moved, vibrating just lightly before shaking, slowly the lid cracked and then exploded outward. From it quickly raised a large body of black, the dust and fading purple hue helping its obscurity. A beast of a roar escaped the dust as it cleared up, revealing a tall humanoid wolf. Followed by it's roar, it weild two silver longswords, and followed by it's roar it leapt from the sarcophagus. The beast looked about, it's rage as it looked more around the he entire room. It breathed heavily, and dropping the swords it began to step forward inspecting the surroundings. Confusion began to take root, there was no battle, no one around to hear it's war cry, nothing that would spark a fight. It walked out of the room and into the long dark halls, and as it walked it stepped into a large puddle. It knelt down above it, looking at its own features. Rain Dark was a prophet of the Old Ones, old gods they worshipped and even fought alongside. Prophets weren't meant for combat though, they were shepard's that lead others into their religion, that were much like rulers in a way but still followed orders under the one sovereign. Rain Dark however was different, as he was built more as a warrior than anything. As much of a prophet he was, he led many to war and every time they won. Almost every time. In his own reflection of the puddle, Rain Dark saw the grievous wounds from combat were gone, while he didn't feel it, he was certainly healed to a bare extent. Scars spanned his torso, neck, and arms, no doubt leading up his shoulders and across his back. Bit blocking parts of his chest were rusted chains, heavy and tight, he remembered the reason why they were on but kept them instead of tossing them away, an old tale for another day. The wolf looked lower, remembering the brass plated leather leggings he wore but beared no footwear. He didn't need any boots, too uncomfortable. The prophet then looked into his own eyes, pitch black the orbs were but his irises were a glowing blue. The prophet then continued his way until outside the temple, shocked to see his home, the very thing he fought for ruined and shambled. The realization struck him hard, he wasn't simply pushed into that tomb to knock off his balance, purposefully he was put under some spell. And if correct that the town below was nothing but ruins, skeletons of the once proud people present, even the armor and weapons rusted and missing chunks of their once glorious blades missing. Rain Dark knew he'd been put to rest, had he not, he would have ended like the others. A fluster of emotions swelled, anger, sorrow, grief, and confusion all clouded his mind. How long was the once proud prophet asleep for? We're the humans, orcs, and dwarves gone as well? Rain Dark collapsed to one knee and slammed a fist into the stone beneath, a solid crunch gave way as the ground cracked under the force. Tears began to build as Rain Dark knew the lives that were in his grasp were all gone. Whoever did this were long gone, and whoever did this couldn't pay which only angered him even more but nothing could be done about it. The damage was done, long ago it seems. He stood, wiping away tears looking at everything from above in the cavern. He could still see a time when everyone was walking these streets, where the water was once were massive bridges and a city below. Lupus Sanctauii. A dominant city in its day that rivaled the dwarves advanced smithing and architecture, their might rivaled the orcs, and their numbers silently threatened the oh-so-weak humans. However the day came when an old enemy since the beginning. The Liminias Empire. When Lycarias were brought to the world there came Lycanthropy, which affected the race itself as well, much like rabies. But another race came to be, when Liminias arrived they felt threatened that Lycarias were successful in the world, whereas their violent acts inflicted to their banishment underground by the Old Ones. Since then, they loathed the Lycarias and promised a day when Liminias would wipe out Lycarias. And they held it up well. Rain Dark breathed slowly, trying to get his composure before he could do anything else. After minutes of standing, he walked back into the temple and traveled down a fleet of stairs. The more he looked the more decrepit and ruined the place was. It must have been a hundred years at least, but that never explained the lake in the cave. There are many explanations that could solve that problem, the old bridges that led out were either destroyed or submerged in the lake, and beyond that there was a dim light of a hole. He could only assume that was the entrance to the cave, all the way across the lake. Sighing, Rain Dark reached a circular door at the end of a hall. The door was a solid silver and rusted brown, rust however ruled it's once smooth surface and in its center a shape of a wolf's skull, no bigger than a hand. He was glad the vault was still closed, only he had the key to it around the neck. If anyone was here and they stole whatever was inside Rain Dark would have hunted them down. Eventually. He made his way back up to the main rooms and began to wonder about, investigating the entire temple in its ruin.
  20. After a humiliating defeat in Valinde, Shanna determines that it is best to avoid the Banshee laden city for some time – instead turning her sights upon rumors of a mysterious plant that prospers within the deep center of Vintel. As with any of these forgotten treasures, however, the risk is equal the reward. Shanna is familiar with the risks, and yet that does not stop her from beginning the trek forward into the jungle depths that may or may not harbor her success or her death. Shanna considers her options as she drops onto a pile of vines, leaving the rope ladder of her airship down. After considerable time, she tugs on it twice – allowing it to roll back up into the depths of the ship. Leaving it to hover, Shanna produces a small journal, as notes are of equal importance to success. Moving through the foilage, she finds herself considering what to do with the berries that give life. Surely a few would be sent to Raphael – in the hopes that the King would find himself never bereft of those he loved again. As the mage pauses, her hands quickly tie her hair into a thick plait so that it may not tangle amongst the brush and winding vines. There were whispers that the forest folk did not invite visitors, and Shanna had no desire to incur their wrath, or give them weapon against her. Pen in hand, she continued, pausing every so often to peer at plants and the like, quickly jotting notes and sketching their likeness in the journal. Those poisonous are easily found, for their permeate a foul scent from their dark red pistils. The flower itself is a beautiful, rich gold, stark in contrast to the poisonous sticky goo that drips form their petals. Carefully, Shanna pulls from her pack a jar, and with calculated movements, removes a flower from it's stem and places it within. Sealing the container, it is put back within the pack, which rattles slightly. Hoisting it upon her back, Shanna continues forward with purpose. "Sure is quiet here." A gentle murmur to no one but herself. After a moment, she pauses once more to bow her head and take in the lack of sound that comes from this place. Not even animals dare venture here. There is nary even a birds cry as she listens. Clasping her hands together, Shanna bows her head to pray briefly. "O' God of Blood, To you I pray for safety in this place. O' God of mine, Should I fall - grant me serenity." Shanna lets her hands fall to her sides as a sigh escapes her lips. "And onward we go."
  21. For all its splendor the Masonic temple was hidden on an island off the Golden Coast. In truth, the Temple was the island, considering the monolithic citadel was built into the surrounding landscape and took up a majority of the landmass. If fairy tales and legends were to be believed, the Masons built this temple after putting down the cult of some sea deity. The story went that some of Riva’s earliest followers destroyed the cult’s entire civilization and built this temple as a reminder of the Masons devotion to their messiah and the cost of denying her. Regardless of its beginnings, the location currently operated as something of a black site for any and all illicit religious dealings that required the sanctity of the Crystal’s light absent its judgement. One such fell bargain played out before Oz’s very eyes. Though late to the ceremony proper, Ozymandias was by no means the last person trailing in. With its base built into the surrounding island, the epicenter of the temple housed a large body of water that fed numerous streams in all directions. Stone bridges and walkways served as a testament to the founding Mason’s ingenuity and determination to celebrate the Island’s ecosystem whilst also conquering it. The waterways were wide enough for several boats to pass through and ferried the ships to the epicenter where the large body of water served as a raised dais, allowing the ships to sail around the large pool or navigate into one of any number of manmade docks that were then sealed and permitted to enter the dais by flooding the chamber with water. Gargantuan stained glass windows stretched upwards to the vaulted ceilings. Their depiction of the Masonic triumph over the fish man cult, culminated in a mural unfolding across the ceiling, a mirror of the cult’s temple descending into the depths. Illuminated by a vast number of alchemy lamps, the interior of the expansive temple emanated a bright radiant glow; its wonder only magnified by the fact that its splendor was a man-made fabrication. Garbed in a finery that belied the remoteness of the location and bathed in the faux sunlight, the temple’s guests continued to trail in via walk and waterway. Some stood along the stone pathways peering up at the elevated pool, but far more sailed in on small skiffs, perfect for maneuvering the narrow and rapid currents. Whether by walkway or waterway, the people all gathered around the pool and the figures standing upon a small barge that operated as a floating dais. Three figures stood upon the dais, two men and a woman. Thin, with a fading salt and pepper hairline and a decidedly pinched face the first man wore the raiment of a Masonic priest. His watery eyes passed over the crowd in silent judgement before returning to the man and woman before him. Bearing the white and blue of a traditional Masonic wedding dress, the woman was a picture of perfection. Pristine golden hair was pulled back and braided, save for a few strands strategically placed to frame her soft angelic face. Radiant blue eyes peered at the man kneeling before her. The groom was young, but tall for his age, even on his knees his head brushed the bottom of his brides breasts, but there was a decided lack of fullness to his features that marked him even younger than he appeared. He wore a fine suit, but it’s disheveled state suggested that he did not dress himself and the shackles upon his wrist and binding about his mouth made it abundantly the youth was here under duress. Oz blinked rapidly, giving the silent commas for his bionic ocular implant to zoom in. Comparing the young man to the image of the boy in his heads up display, Ozymandias grunted. No mistaking it, that was Wells Harrison XI, but he was at least a decade older than his six years of age. Oz closed his left, right and left eyelid again in quick succession altering the eyes vision. Judging from the strange aura surrounding the groom, it stood to reason that something had been done to increase the youth’s age, if only in appearance. The sporadic pulse of the aura seemed to indicate that the transformation was most likely temporary. Long enough to wed and bed, Oz thought. He wondered if the bride knew her groom’s true age or if the priest and her family were keeping her in the dark in order to speed the nuptials along. Not for the first time, Oz scanned the citadel. There were plenty of hired guns, mostly black fire raiders judging from the black flame emblazoned on their gear; a few Poor Sons, no doubt making money on the side ( and work for a Masonic priest was part of their day job, right?); and the odd wandering Mercenary scattered about. Ozymandias moved atop the citadel’s upper ramparts. At one point these sections were for spectators unworthy or unable to attend the services below, but given that the Masons had all but abandoned this site, it was uncommon for this citadel to have more than whatever gathering the Masonic Priest using he black site demanded. Judging from the looks of things, this particular priest had called in half the nobles from the Zompac region to witness the illegal wedding. Far more witnesses than Oz liked, but that couldn’t be helped. The Harrison family was a decent name in the Setroth province and that meant they could pay...a hell of a lot. Oz moved into position directly over the dais and waited. A team member was expected to cause a distraction, allowing Oz to swoop in, grab the kid and get out before blood had to be shed. {In position.} He said, over the private comms.
  22. After the colosal war that happened in a isolated forest in Terrenus, Nesy was simply wandering around the wilds of Terrenus in a forest somewhere. He simply walked along a path entierly tired. His railgun on his back was seen bumping around on his back. Appearently he was armed with a suit along with a visor helmet. Appearently Nesy sighed as he walked along the path and his armour was dirty. That's what happens when a war is engaged. This tired alien soilder wandered aimlessly along the dirt path. "Aggh..." Nesy would fall to his knees and roll onto the dirt ground and into the sky. He would be crawling his way to a big rock to the left and he simply sat in a upright position. Well, Nesy was simply very tired and he was exauhsted. "Man.. Oh man.." The Alien soilder rested on a very big rock that was appearently very mossy. He was breathing a little heavy altough he looked like he walked through a desert. His armor was covered in moss and metal splinters. "....Man.." He said to himself as he cracked his back and he seemed to be rather exauhsted after the war and the 2.5KM walk away from the warzone.
  23. A waver, some called it. The beautiful woman whipped upon one between larger vessels, throttling brakes and boosts along her canal like a Mario Kart character through Toad's Turnpike. Water sprayed from the centrifugal force of her scooteresque board over the decks of passenger vehicles who abided by Shrine City's traffic laws, splashing civilians in nice clothes with champagne glasses who expected the typical serene journey down Shrine's winding byways. Where was she headed? Why, none other than the least diviest dive bar near Lion's Square Garden. The beautiful woman walked into a bar and sat at the three-quarters-packed bar in the late afternoon. She got service real fast. "Pour me a double," she said huskily to the 30-some year old behind the counter gilded with taps. "Right away ma'am," he blushed, grabbing her drink. "Make it two," she said before he'd finished pouring the first. "Alright! Comin' right up!" exclaimed the young'un, catching the whiff that the lady could hold her own. Double-fisting and then downing both at the pace of about a gulp each, the beautiful woman's golden eyes flashed something between alcoholism and arousal. The bartender had other customers to tend to, but he would be back soon. Starting this kind of thing at a bar was fun, thought the beautiful woman.
  24. Welcome to King Milorian’s coronation masquerade ball! OOC: Things to Note: A Council of Dryads from the Free Marches are holding a meeting in the garden to discuss the current state of nature of Ursa Madeum. They are open to inquiries and are partial to acorns. The Lounge has been occupied by a group of dwarves who are far into their cups for the night. They are holding an arm-wrestling competition; the winner gets a prize. Participants: Open How-to: Dice Rolling Thread - Look at the result for the D2. If a 1 is rolled, you won! If a 2 is rolled, then you lose that round. There will be 3 rounds per-participant. You need a 2/3 win to get the prize. A mourning fairy has taken advantage of the famous festivities. Its victims experience sudden feelings of grief, and if the fairy is not caught, the grief can turn one mad. Catch the fairy and receive a reward. A witch is dropping elemental rune stones around the castle! These stones can be used to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself; only two stones per participant, please. Stones: wind, water, fire, earth Layout: Red is off limits; Green is open Milorian felt extremely uncomfortable; Milorian looked extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what his attitude should be towards the gathered individuals, and it left him feeling adrift among the large crowd. To his right was Primera all dazzling in her glamour and dress; to his left was an emptiness he felt right down to his very core. Birdy was not there to accompany him during this rather momentous - strange - moment in their lives. When he was made King, she was made his Queen; he hates to think what her absence will cause. On the other hand, he was pleased that she was hidden somewhere, safe and comfortable. He was not going to burden her with superficial gestures that could risk her comfort and health. Comfortably married for a short time, the two had maintained a sense of privacy from the moment they took vows in silence. It worried him that there may be a demand they marry in front of the entirety of Ursa Madeum, just to ensure that neither were manipulating their position and power by lying to their fellow citizens. The elf prayed they'd leave Birdy alone. At least he can speak of his wife; there had been a few compliments towards his attire. Birdy, Primera, and Odelia had ambushed him with options of different suits that would fit his newly acquired position, though he doesn't know why. Whatever opinion he had about the attire was quickly swept aside by one of the women. It took them four days to decide on a simple black suit void of any embellishments - four. days. When it was time for the masquerade, they threw a cape over his right shoulder that carried the Mythal wolf and pinned the fabric with a variety of golden chains that now hung from his shoulder. He hated it, but he had no opinion. Primera was rude enough to point out he was blind, so it didn't matter what he thought since he can't see. "You're a rather quiet host, my King." Primera dragged the sour-faced elf to the dance floor that was overly crowded with excitable company. He had to right himself when she manipulated him to hold her irresponsibly close, but the lack of space on the dance floor made it impossible to be appropriate. Without much choice, he was forced into a quickstep that shook a few laughs from his dry lungs and drew a smile across his usually tight features. "There you are! Such a handsome King should smile, it'll make the ladies weak." Milo rolled his sapphire eyes, not sure if he should feel complimented or not. He didn't care if the people should find him handsome or not, what mattered was what they thought of his behavior and his actions. Though he understood the small spread of truth behind her evaluation; a kind and thoughtful individual on the throne could sway the uneasiest of hearts, as first impressions do matter. Being an elf sitting on a somewhat changeable throne, a smile and some kindness could do him some good. "I suppose I can smile every now and then," he said begrudgingly. The two made it out alive and took refuge on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Unable to hide it, there were flecks of pride in his blind gaze as he "watched" the elves of his land mingle with the rest of the crowd. The normality of the sight was endearing, he never really expected such a thing to happen yet always yearned for it. Such an amazing view was exemplified by the laughter, the teasing, and the general conversation coming from differing individuals. Even if it's just for now, even if it's just for show, he can take these small triumphs and covet them when needed. Primera looked up at the elf who was clearly lost in the moment. Teasingly, she elbowed the gentleman, knocking him down back to earth. "You are a regal sort, you know. Seeing you as you are, in all your kingly glory, it's a marvel." "You keep feeding me these compliments, and I'll become fat on pride." "Oh? Is that why your belt is cinched extra tight?" The Grand Kommadant reached down and pulled at his elaborate belt all shiny in gold and jewels. Aghast, the elf slapped her hand away - a handsy woman! "I beg your pardon, my lady, but it's not very ... lady-like to just grab at a man's belt." "I beg your pardon my King, but that all depends on the gentleman." They were in a public place with eyes already drawn to their playfulness, the last thing he needs is this pompous woman speaking far too candidly for her own good. Damn her! He could see a few individuals hiding their smiles behind sips of wine and the flush of fans; they were going to talk, and it's all her fault. He certainly did not help the situation by laughing behind his gloved hand, the terrible attempt only exasperated the crude comment. The masquerade was to introduce him to the rest of society and open the doors for conversation. He did not want to talk politics, he barely wanted to acknowledge his newly acquired title, but he understood that parties as these are opportunities to get your foot in the door. With the party currently gliding towards its peak, Milorian has spoken to many people who have all welcomed him and nothing more. He was grateful that, at least for a moment, his people can enjoy a single night of celebration without any underhandedness. "I hate you," he finally said. He couldn't see it, but he certainly could tell that she was beaming. Which she was, from ear to ear, her smile reached; opal hues glittered and glowed with amusement behind the elaborate mask she wore.
  25. --(May contain language)-- 12:00 PM -- Date: ????/??/?? -- Operation: #SaveValucre Meanwhile, somewhere in an isolated location in Terrenus..................................................... After the threat that was sent out in the tavern Nesy had been using his spaceship in kilometers upon kilometers before he landed in an isolated forest, running for his life to confront the Retruvians and the war will shortly start. The war will be so loud that it will shake Terrenus's nature appart by a bit.. Nature can be destroyed. But it is for this planet's best. Nesy couldn't let the retruvians take away all the bautiful world that it present. As Nesy went through the forest of Terrenus and his suddenly armor began bleeping a red alarm and a hologram displayed with a red text that almost scared the heck out of Nesy. They have found him. Nesy had to act quickly after this but there is no needed for a war in this situation. But the Retruvians that were currently hunting for Nesy gave him no damn choice. His railgun was bouncing on his back as he went through the forest with his armor LED alarming Nesy. "....Hmph.." He breathed out and he'd open the transmission. A sudden female robotic automated voice began blurting out of the transmission. "WARNING! WARNING!" "INCOMING ENEMY TRANSMISSION, Retruvia-X91 INBOUND!" A very loud laughter spat out of the Nesy's transmission as he listened through the horrible static and now communications were clear... The demonic voice from the Tavern he had heard had just gotten even fucking scarier.. Following a psychotic laughter and the wind blowing on his back a little. His enemy spoke in the hologram. "Nesy Celvius, you are a fool to come here!" "I will give you a proper fucking funeral!" It said to Nesy with an other laughter. Nesy would have enough of this trickstery from this Retruvian son of a gun. Nesy's arm was by his sides and his legs on the soft darkened ground. "..." He didn't respond but he decided to listen further. "Oh, I'll make your suffering slow and painful! I shall send my small little platoon on you. See how it feels to be shot by 1000 railguns up your nifty little Celvestian bumhole." Nesy somehow burst out laughing to his remark. "You want a mini-war homie? Then I'll give you one! Come at me then scumba-" Nesy was interupted with a bang in the distance. There were 200 siege tanks,400 infantry and 400 spacecrafts incoming to his postion and they were coming in a bit quicker he expected. So Nesy began running for cover. "...Oh! Better send my reinforcements before I get my bumhole wooped!" Nesy navigated swiftly on the hologram and he began transmiting to Celvestia. "Hey guys! I'm bout to get my goose cooked. Better send some help here!" Nesy transmitted to his home planet. A response was quickly set out by one man.. "Nesy Celvius, I have been expecting you. What's botherin ya?" The Celvestian man began to type out some cordinates and he gave a nodd towards Nesy while his face was displayed on the hologram. "Our forces will be positioned there. Run there ASAP!" The hologram transmission cut off.. So Nesy had to make a run of his damn life. There was rappid fire and screams behind Nesy and railguns being shot. These were warcries from his own enemy approaching and the forest was going to get cooked very soon. But in Nesy's suprise there was a platoon of Celvestians stationed close to Nesy as his radar began showing ally reinforcements. "You guys came!" Nesy yelled and the Celvestians gave a cheer towards Nesy. They somehow arrived here before he did. Lucky him! "Attention our Celvestian soilders! My little brother's being attacked by Retruvian forces! We need to make a move and wipe them out!" Nesy's brother? That is a huge suprise. Has he been spying on him since he had came to this planet? Very facinating job honestly. The Celvestians did their quick planning as the Retruvian forces were approaching them by 1KM by every 10 second. They were just 3KM away. "Alright, go defensive! Attack when needed!" "Also! Even saving this planet from Terrorist assholes! This is not about Nesy! This is about the planet as a whole! LET'S DO THIS!" The Celvestians had 300 Infantry, 300 tanks,300 siege tanks and along with 400 very heavily armed big robot units that can morph into a plane and to a space-craft.. Very good units! The Retruvians wont know what's ahead of them.. Suddenly Celvestians took cover and waited for the Retruvians to approach. Nesy would be also fighting along with his brother.. "I die with you in battle, big bro! Nesy said. "I die with you too, brother." Suddenly charges came from the front and the tanks began firing at the Retruvians! The war has started definently.. The Celvestians began firing defensivly at the Retruvians.. Their deflectorsheilds clashed against the bullets and all the lasers coming towards them like a defensive energy shield barrier.. This fight may take a while. There were loud banging in the area around Terrenus's wilds. There were a lot of loud explosions. Rappid fire and bombs being dropped onto the Retruvians as Celvestian anti-spacecraft units shot the Retruvians from the sky and to be bombed... The sky was filled with explosions,fire n fury! There were lasers being fired over all directions and they were in many different colours.. Laser guns,railguns and laser blasters all over the place and there were a lot of Alien technologies being used during this fight.. There were smaller explosions in the area and the trees fell down and succumbed to their fate and there was a lot of smoke.. What will everyone react to this? It'll time to find out.
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