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Found 76 results

  1. Genesaris. He never thought he would be returning to the continent again. A wild and prosperous land full of beasts and magestorms, living was a daily challenge for the denizens who called Genesaris home. Soap MacTavish had called Shrine City his place of belonging once, a land shrouded in darkness from the lack of technology and geographic location, until the crowning of the Emperor brought in necessary resources and raised the era to one of enlightenment. Although proud of Shrine Cities progress, Soap would not be returning home anytime soon. Nah. Instead the Artificer headed toward the Carmine Dominion in search of work and somewhere to call home. A funny word, home. The definition in the dictionary describes the word as somewhere a person belonged, where they can relax and feel comfortable. He exhaled, transforming it into the rough shape of laughter while his hand raked through his orange hair. "Fucking unbelievable. A place to belong. I have never found such a place before in all my years of searching, and I doubt I will find it here."
  2. On the terrace of a rather posh cafe, Yineffe passed her gaze over the displays below. Mageside City was lively, people everywhere. Academy students mostly, fresh-faced youth hustling about, carrying tomes and hawk feathers, cracked spice and crystals. She took a deep breath, shifting herself carefully. The bazaar was below, loud, lining the alley with hooting stall-keepers. The drinks were a draw. The cafe served her favorite mint flavored tea, but she was really there to watch the local painter practice. He was a fascinating creature. She had been in the city for a time and she had seen him labor over his creations like the world beyond him did not exist. Wearing an navy smock, sat at his easel, his brow crinkled in concentration. He painted beautifully exotic tradesmen and street performers. His face was clean shaven and his light-colored hair was clipped. He was middle aged, Yineffe surmised, the sweeping brush stokes of his work suggesting seasoned confidence. Artisans were highly thought of in her clan, creativity a rare and desired gift... “Handsome, don’t you agree?” Yineffe whipped her head up, catching the eye of the older woman who stood near her table. “Sorry?” “My husband,” the woman pointed, pulling out the other chair. “The painter?” Yineffe felt her face twist in embarrassment. The newcomer was dress in a tight grey pant suit. She was a much older woman, plump, with dark eyes and thin wrinkled lips. On a short leash she ushered two dogs around. Both stood on stick-thin legs and had hair gathered at each joint in odd little puffs. Yineffe frowned, clearly a vanity breed. “I’ve seen you poking around the public portion of the academy library.” The other woman spoke, sitting elegantly across from Yineffe with a pleased sigh. “You’re trying to study magic, aren’t you?" Yineffe glared over the rim of her cup and arched a brow. “Who are you?” “Leanna Bontavia, dear.” She spoke her name like Yineffe should know it. “I’m an administrator for the academy. I have been for years...” With scarre few words, a waiter delivered a white cup and saucer to their table. Bontavia took the teacup in hand and flipped her greying hair with pride. “I can get you some free training with a professor or two. If you agree to aid me.” Yineffe nearly choked on her tea. “Aid you how?” Bontavia wet her lips, thinking. “My nephew and I had an arrangement,” she explained. “I front the money for his startup company, a distillery, and he sends me 60% of the profits.” Her eyes flashed in anger. “I was receiving the money right along, until a few weeks ago. He just vanished. No one can find him.” “I have a sneaky suspicion,” she continued, “that he didn’t start a business at all and that he was sending small portions of my own money back to me instead, and pocketing the rest!” She patted one of the hounds heads at her side. “I want someone to track him down and return my money.” Yineffe paused, looking down to the bottom of her cup through her clear tea. “I do not know you. Why ask me?” “I’ve asked several people thus far, you are the first stranger. I think my nephew is paying off my friends and family in exchange for their silence on the matter.” Eyes narrowed, Yineffe considered the offer. Finding a well connected man in this city could be complicated, more so if he had any magical skill. She knew the very basic layout of the city, enough to survive, but little beyond that. Seeming to sense her hesitation, Bontavia reassured, “it shouldn’t be very difficult to find him. He stands out. Just convince him to return the money and my academy resources are at your disposal.” “Alright...” Yineffe agreed, although hesitant. “Great!” The other woman grinned. She took a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled a few notes on it. “That is his name and addressed of his supposed business." She said, handing off the note. "I suggest you start there.” Somewhat bewildered, Yineffe stood, shuffling on her coat. Bontavia stood as well and offered her hand. Yineffe tentatively shook it. “Good luck, dear...”
  3. Character - Vito Summon - Floki Background Ambience (If you so choose) - Link Quest - The Ouread Cargo Raid The Ouread was a well known mountain range, it's crescent landscape scattered with caves and other yet to be discovered mysteries. The day was gloomy, the sky letting out a gentle rainfall. The sound of the rain echoed throughout the mountain range, complimenting the beautiful scenery. In between the two mountain ranges was a small lake, providing water to whatever life manages to survive the harsh landscape. A strong wind rippled it's surface and blew debris around, sending a shiver down his spine. He sat at one of the many peaks, waiting. Despite what surrounded Vito, he wasn't here for the scenery. A raid was about to take place. 'They should've already made their way through here an hour ago, typical lazy smugglers' He pat his mount of the back, even Floki was growing bored. The vessel was an airship that traveled through the mountain ranges, the course of which Vito had been monitoring for a while. The airship was used to transport cargo between Blairville and Norkotia, the contents of which are questionable. Vito had learned from members of the gypsies market that the contents included illegal narcotics, and potentially may also include smuggled criminals. While these maybe rumors, the suspicious flight path seemed to reinforce these accusations. No legitimate business practice would use such a dangerous method of transport, unless it had something to hide. The plan was simple. Board the ship, kill the crew, steal the ship and sell its contents. A simple mission which boasted the possession of a new vessel and potentially the acquiring of illegal goods, something that would sell well on the black market. "Where are you guys? I grow impatient, bring me the goods." The raider whispered to himself, clenching his fist in anticipation. Suddenly, a small vessel appeared around the corner. A wooden bow peering into sight. A small chant was just audible over the winds, three crew member stood on the top deck singing and drinking. A lovely sight to most, but an easy target for Vito. He brought his mount out of sight, ensuring the ship would not be able to see him. He lay waiting for the ship to come into sight, ready to pounce on his prey from above.
  4. 'Something happened in the mountains,' he said, voice echoing across the halls of dreams. Across from him, he watched the elf nod, her eyes dulled with sorrow and worry. Instinctively he reached forth, his eager hand crossing the space between them like a falling star streaking the heavens. Here he can't feel the lush curve of her cheek or the warmth of her soft skin, but his mind conjured the sensations, and it was the next best thing. 'I don't know what yet. They shouldn't be so ... active." She leaned into the welcoming palm, finding home within the callouses freckling his palm. Within these halls, they work the magic to help bring life to memories, like the warmth of his touch and curve of her cheek. They are real, yet they are not - it's a difficult thing to paint. For them, it did not matter, not when there is so much to be said in just a matter of hours. It is too easy to get caught up within the winding maze of their dreams and memories; the temptation to stay can be an alluring song most can't fight. 'They will figure it out, Harshal,' she said with conviction that made him think she was telling the truth. 'We have our mission; we can't abandon our post.' And when she turned her face, she placed a familiar kiss on the palm of his hand. It made his skin crawl, causing the song of dreams to beat louder and louder in his ears. The day they parted ways she had done the very same, and now it was replaying before him, causing him to suck in a deep breath that did nothing to quell his nerves. Elves of his homeland kissed their closest friends palm as a farewell to one another; a representation of companionship that would stretch for years to come as they are now bound together. And she had linked him to her, their friendship forever safely harbored in the palm of their united hands. He missed the smell of spices and smoke wafting through his room; he yearned for the voice of his mother's singing while she baked. The sweet familiarities of a mundane life made him eager to return to the tall mountains of his home, abandoning this mission. 'No, you don't.' 'No, I don't,' he replied, forgetting that it's easy to hear someone's thoughts if you're not too careful. 'Don't wait so long to speak with me, okay? I worry.' 'I promise.' That promise pushed him back into the world of the living, his brief moment of hesitance making the reunion of soul and body a rough one. Startled awake, the large knight rolled roughly to his hands and knees, the biting morning air causing him to shiver. He has visited the halls every night since he and Shanti departed, hoping that he would meet her there but time stretched into months, and he began to give up hope. They both are connected to the heart of their homeland, so it wasn't much of a surprise to see her there in the halls with the same feeling of dread as himself. The mountains of the Flame Court are alive for reasons unknown, creating a danger that is just as mysterious. Blinking away his dream, red eyes focused up to the sky, noting the mix of colors of early morning spread above them. The journey hadn't been a terrible one, almost pleasant if he's to be entirely honest. He turned his attention to Jal who slept close by (their bedrolls next to one another) and heaved a sigh of relief - he was the pleasantness. The knight had almost fallen to the temptation of staying inside his dream, and it was worrisome; seeing Jal made it clear that he had truly returned to the real world with only a slight touch of the halls tainting his mind. "Creator give me strength," he growled, hauling himself to his feet. Harshal began the morning routine quickly, wanting to feel the chill of the morning, smell the sweetness of the world around him. This has become a habit during their journey: Harshal began breakfast of eggs and bread, wait for Jal to wake up, eat, and talk around the fire before setting out. They've had their fair share of interruptions with beasts and bandits, escaping each moment with only minor blunders. The decision to go to Temple City was made after one particular little struggle that left them with only half of their supplies intact, and he knows he can handle a few more weeks with just the minimum, but he was not willing to push such struggles on his friend. After breakfast, he would don his armor, for now, he wears simple travelers wear that made it much more comfortable with sifting about their small camp. While separating the rest of their food in equal measure, he kept his eyes on their surroundings, noting the sandy hills and minor vegetation. It was quiet, and it raked his already raw nerves.
  5. You and a group of people are tasked to acquire an extremely powerful artifact from somewhere, but as to where you will be going is still unknown. During the beefing, you were told that this mission was tasked to you by your superiors as a test run of a new technology that has been created. This technology was from a project that had been going on for a few months in the dark. You and group members are the first people outside of the lab to know about this project. It was code name "Project Tempo" and its goal was to utilize a new found temporal space called "W". This space has a few proportions that the scientist have only started to harness. They said that small tests on mice have shown positive results, but prolong exposure in "W" can have adverse effects on the physical body. Following this was a short clip on how the terminological equipment works. In the video, there were 4 distinct electronica l devices in the shape of wrist bands. it almost looks as if it were made of cloth. The first one was strapped to a rat over its wast. Connected to the band was a wire with a button. what the button was pressed quickly the rat became a pail semi translucent blue. same for the 2nt band but rather them blue its red, and the 3rd with Silver and finaly the 4th with a soft Green. "As for what you will be capable of in said "Temporal Space" is what we will be testing" The director of the mission beefing mentioned, "Now any questions."
  6. Decadence in measure cannot oft be maintained; temptation, whilst adamantly resisted, is a cruel and cunning mistress whose lips whisper bittersweet truths. Who are you to deny this birthright? Vacant words tantalize the recesses of her thoughts and weigh the edges of a pale smile. The path she gleaned free of travelers allowed monsters to pervade the sanctity of her solitude. The voice so unceremoniously brash held no gender, though she heard it in both her father's and mother's colorful intonations; he ever the melancholy whisper and she the flicker of black rage. Raw emotion seeded in her heart and bore fruit, and the nectar therein coursed through her veins with each thrum of her pulse: uncontrollable rage tempered by icy calm. Her existence was an enigma-- to be born of both creation and destruction, of order and chaos. With the rustle of nearby foliage, her attention tore from those invasive thoughts and she was bequeathed a momentary reprieve. Who are you to squander this power that we have bestowed? The relief of absence was fleeting, for then returns the whispers carried by the warm breeze. Eyes of toxic green, wreathed in a halo of long, luxurious lashes, redirect their attention to the task at hand: she was looking for them-- both of them. Not long ago she felt a heaviness plague the land that has long since dissipated... but was still sensed. Soft fingertips caress the bulky leaves of a nearby plant, thumb taking care to gently caress the struggling bud shrouded by its fuller brothers and sisters; with an audible sigh, the foliage blossomed at her touch, stretching itself full and surpassing even the hardiest bloom. "So this is where you've escaped to Xintylin, Colvin... a land bereft of me." [Enter: Tziporah Arenios]
  7. (Hello, may I join the roleplay please?)
  8. “What do you suppose it means to be alive?” The words carry across the room with no destination in mind and drift past countless other people caught in their own conversations. Old wives’ tales would have him believe that conversing with himself is unhealthy, a practice whose practitioners are mentally unfit. He, of course, knows better. Anecdotally, he knows that conversing with himself helps him think and forces him to better weigh out the situation. Beyond that, though, he’s aware of the fact that in many fields people talk to inanimate objects in order to help them problem solve. People don’t need someone to listen to their problems, they need to hear their own problems… they need to admit that they have a problem. And so he sits in a café, conversing with no one between sips of coffee. “If all we feel are electrons repelling one another, and nothing truly touches, then my entire perception of touch is false. Likewise, my eyes only observe two-dimensions but my brain fabricates a three-dimensional image, I’m not actually seeing. So, what is real?” The cup is brought to his lips once more, only for him to realize it is empty. “That’s…. poetic.” He stares blankly at the empty husk, something barren and devoid of substance. A kindred item that parallels his feelings. Setting the cup on the table, he slouches down and then plops his head onto his forearm. Canting his head to the left aligns his face so that smalt irides encircle the ceramic flask that he longingly wishes to refill. “I’m unhappy.” Although in truth there is no difference between talking to no one and talking to a cup, it does make him feel a little less lonely. “Being alive, the fact that perception and reality are all fabricated. These are trivial things. Regardless of what the truth is, it changes nothing… and I know that. But it is a lot easier to worry about something that I can’t actually do anything about than to admit that I’m miserable. It’s easier to distract myself than deal with my problems.” “Problems like an empty cup?” Pulled from his musing, he glances up at the server, who looms… no she isn’t looming. Looming is ominous, she is anything but. Although there are hints of dark circles, partially concealed by makeup, beneath her eye, her eyes are bright and friendly. The upward pull of the corner of her lips and the arches of her eyebrow give the impression of a perfectly pleasant person. Although the pitch of her voice is elevated, it is within the range of what might be taken for friendly or maybe interest. His eyes slip from her face and back to the table. “Not interest, amusement.” “Pardon?” “Your eyes aren’t dilated and your cheeks don’t show any indication of flushing. You’re amused because I’m practically laying on the table. I suppose I do look a bit ridiculous right now.” “Well, just a little. Customers usually don’t lay on the table unless they’re drunk.” “I’m not.” “You’re not?” “I’m not drunk.” “Well Mister Not Drunk, can I get you anything else. Maybe a pillow and blanket?” “There is no situation to defuse, you don’t need to joke. I’m not embarrassed. Although, I could use another cup coffee, please and thank you.” She remains still, long enough for three or four blinks, before finally heading back toward the counter “What in the name of Gaia just happened?”
  9. A small side story began by @ianthine and myself, Anyone is welcomed to pop in It had been atleast two nights since her fateful meeting with the priest. It was an uneasy feeling to the demi-gorgon having lingered so long in one place. She was used to constantly moving, --always escaping from imagined hunters she anticipated could be after her any day now. --but things were different now, --felt different now. Things had changed inside of her and thoughts of a deity that could watch over and protect her soothed her anxiousness. Still her wandering feet, scarred with miles of dirt road, had taken her to the outstretches of the farmland just at the base of the hill. Her mind and body were at odds, muscle memory compelling her down the long stretch of dirt road. --but she wasn't leaving... she just needed to stretch her legs, didn't she? It was a lie she was telling herself. A sore feeling panged in her chest. She was a coward-- Halting in her mindless walking, her grey eyes caught a speckling of blue in the lush green fields that flanked the road. She crouched near the edge, looking at the tiny cornflower colored buds. Five healthy green sepals held eye fetching blue petals aloft, --bright yellow nestled at the center of each flower like a precious jewel. Slender fingers outstretched to graze the soft foliage. It was simple things in nature that made her feel at home. The rural town she had been staying in was loud with life. People going about their days, hustling and bustling. Xildara felt out of place here, and not only for her startling appearance that overcame her at night. Daytime held some respite for the woman, luckily her features remained humanistic during the day, but there was still an odd animalistic air about her that seemed to draw attention. A soft chiming caught on the breeze drew her attention from the tiny flora. Xildara glanced down the road, intrigued by the soft tingle of metal upon metal. --what she saw made the woman blink in disbelief. Familiar bronzed features and long burgundy hair that fell in dark waves shivered memories to the forefront of Xildara's mind. "Teha...?" The name fell from her lips in a whisper. Down the road, coming towards her sauntered a figure she had seen once before in her life; when things had become their darkest. Golden eyes punctuated a stern yet stunningly beautiful face, which was supported by a strong and graceful frame. Her eyes held the same luster as the golden trinkets decorating the woman's wrists, neck, ears and bottom lip. The woman regarded Xildara with cold eyes and nodded her head in Xildara's direction politely but continued on without an ounce of recognition in her features. Xildara's eyes welled up, hurt at first, but she suddenly realized why Mateja had acted as a stranger. Mateja had never seen Xildara in her human form. --of course she wouldn't recognize her at first glance. Mateja seemed to be headed for the village of Coth, leaving Xildara with an uneasy decision. Staring back at the long lonely road and then towards Mateja's slowly shrinking form; Xildara decided this was a sign and turned to follow after the woman. She wasn't sure what she'd say to Mateja, or even if she should tell the nomadic woman the truth, but Xildara knew she had to meet her again, in some way--
  10. Modern Illusion: Unusual World
  11. The forest was quiet, the wind soft against the trees causing only the most subtle of stir and wave of branches. Sitting in a large clearing Rabbit let the cool air fill his lungs in one deep breath, the winter air was only just turning into spring and the harsh chill of frigid air still lingered heavy in the Moonwood alongside the blossoming of the forest's rebirth. Rabbit's ears rotated on top of his head in response to the soft sounds of his long time home, but in those sounds was also a painful silence - the Dryads were gone. They had already taken the gate to the spirit realm, choosing what the fairies before them had chosen; to abandon the mortal realm and all it's growing changes. Rabbit could not follow them and though he had struggled with it, he knew today was the last day he could delay; today would be the last day he remained in the Moonwood, the only place he had ever known. Standing up quickly Rabbit's garish attire stood out like a sore thumb in the subtle green and browns, the patterns and colors blending into a bizarre but fitting appearance for the unusual creature that Rabbit was. His 'name' told the story of what he was in many ways, standing five foot nine inches Rabbit was a bipedal white hare, his large pointed ears making his height appear even larger and adding to a sense of unease he exuded to those who weren't used to seeing him. In ways he felt wrong, but in others he was very inviting - to peer at Rabbit was like peering at nature itself, beautiful but also dreadful. Turning on his 'heels' Rabbit stalked toward a game path he knew lead beyond the borders of his home, his twin swords dangling at his side filling the forest with the soft jingle of loose metal in motion. As he went creatures big and small offered their goodbyes, the normally elusive denizens of the Moonwood saying a silent farewell to their constant protector - they too felt the melancholy of his departure and the loss of the Dryads, and while the animals lacked the means to truly express it they felt compelled to see Rabbit one last time. Deer stood beside wolf, hunger and territorial disputes left aside for the loss of their Knight. "The Moonwood won't fall without me, I am but one." Rabbit reminded them as he walked, his somber expression not hiding his regret for leaving them unguarded. A part of him, the largest, considered simply staying in his home and fighting to protect it as he always did; but he knew he could not. His mothers would never forgive him for remaining when told to leave, and he had a feeling the Moonwood would function fine without him as it always had before his birth. As quickly as the woodland creatures had arrived they also vanished, returning to their constant struggle against the Moonwood itself and each other in turn. With each soft step he grew closer to the edge of the Moonwood, his mind focusing with clarity in turn. The world was vast, and the Moonwood would be just one place he would remember fondly in his lifetime - a lesson his mothers hoped to pass to him, to experience what the world had to offer and decide for himself if it was a place he wanted to be. The trees cleared all at once, and Rabbit for the first time viewed the wide plains and sights of Terrenus and felt the weight of the journey on his shoulders. A whole new world lay just beyond, and the excitement had Rabbit's nose twitching with anticipation and excitement! Adventure awaited! Location: Western Edge, Moonwood, Terrenus Destination: ??? OOC: (This is an Open RP, feel free to take part and bring your own stories!)
  12. ~*~ Ten miles outside of the boundaries of Tia ~*~ Kyra looked worse for wear as she walked into her tent only to find several people sitting with in the tent waiting for her. It looked like the whole Nichole Family were sitting in chairs and watching. Each of them looked rather tired as if they have not slept in days, which was partially true. Kyra recounted how they took a stand outside the gates of their school. They opened up the school and took a stand against the darkness that was plaguing the city of Tia. However it was overwhelming and more powerful than Kyra could ever imagine. On top of that, a deadly virus/infection was weaponized which caused the deaths of countless Tian brethren. Perhaps it was the goddesses watching over Kyra, but she knew it was time to leave, and thus the school fled through the underground tunnels of the school. They accepted as many refugees as they could before they sealed the entrance doors. The group composed of students and refugees fled for what seemed like hours, running at a quick pace. Behind them they heard hard thuds and shifting of the earth. Not knowing what it was, the adrenaline kicked in and the fleeing party ran faster fearing death. Once they reached the open air, the refugees did not stop, for Eleria, Daughter of Selena sprouted her wings and flew forward, becoming a beacon in which the group could follow through the darkness. It wasn’t until another ten miles that they finally stopped in order to catch their breath. Ironically as the massive group of people traveled it seemed as more people who were fleeing the city began to intertwine with the traveling party and nearly doubling their size. Kyra set up several medical stations and began running magical tests in order to clear new applicants to their groups. Those who were infected where frozen by magic and reinforced by protective spells until they can find a cure. The problem however was no longer the virus, but the logistics of the situation. Kyra did not have a way to feed this many people. Sure they had supplies that several hundred people carried, but it could not feed tens of thousands of refugees. They needed help. Kyra had ordered several dozen of search parties to travel out into the night to hunt wildlife for food and forage as much as they can. The students began utilizing their magic and created homemade shelters for people to sleep in to provide some protection from the outside weather. However their magic was limited and soon they grew tired as well. Something had to be done. “Kyra. If we don’t decide our next course of action, many people will die. We cannot allow this to happen. If what the reports say are true, it is possible that we are the last of Tian culture as we speak.” Natalie did not make eye contact as she leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. Kyra could tell that Natalie, for a powerful as she was, clearly was spent. Her mana levels were extremely low and even her reserves were becoming scarce. “I understand that cousin. The people need to rest, and while they are doing so, we need to come to a decision. Where do we go? Who will take us in?” Kyra looked around and waited for some suggestions. “How about Last Chance? Sure it is a town of dangers but a town none the less.” Eleria said softly as her tired eyes focused on the task at hand. “We cannot go there.” A familiar voice spoke as a Drow entered the tent. Nim’Ruin was a mage of considerable talents, and was the only male to be recognized by the family. He however held an annoying personality but Selena found him to be as loyal as Drow can be. “The Black Witch is within Last Chance. With as tired as you all look, perhaps it isn’t the best thing to have to contend against her magick when we aren’t one hundred percent.” Nim’Ruin spoke in a rather direct tone. Eleria countered as she smiled at Nim’Ruin. “No one has seen the Black Witch in years. We cannot head to Hel’s Gate either for Shekinah is there hiding. Even if these women are family, I rather deal with the Black Witch over that Lich.” “Be respectful to your elders Eleria.” Nim’Ruin said softly as he waved his hand. A map of Terrenus laid upon the table. “Last Chance and Hell’s Gate are off the table. We cannot subject these people to the ways of Last Chance and we won’t be able to protect them against the powers lying dormant there. Yh’Mi is also off the table. The Matron is there as we speak, and there is some interference with her magic. She is weaker there, and thus the rest of us will be extremely weakened as well. I say we start looking to the west. There is Casper, Ignatz, Dougton, and Weland.” “All of those places are heavily guarded and we have no idea if they will even take our numbers? True, they are all Terrens but as we travel I am confident we will pick up more people. We need somewhere far from the center of politics and somewhere where it is safe. Perhaps Baizo Isle?” Kyra said curiously as she touched the top left portion of the map. “A town called Aspyn seems to be the further port from where Tia is.” Nim’Ruin nodded slightly. “Aspyn from what I heard is a newer city. That however is a long way to travel We will lose many people.” “We will lose many people with us standing idly by. We will announce our intent and those who wish to travel with us can stay. Those who wish to go to other cities are free to leave. I however think that people will opt to stay then to venture the wilderness alone. We can stop by Dougton on the way and rest, and then head to Weland and then proceed north. We can send emissaries ahead and inform them of the fate of Tia and ask for aid while we are passing through. Until then, Cam’Mia can travel to Biazo Isle with Nim’Ruin to inquire about if they will accept us.” Kyra turned around to look at everyone but it was Nim’Ruin who spoke up again. “Shall we offer them our school?” He said softly as he met eyes with Kyra. “If they will have all of us, then yes, we will offer to relocate our school and knowledge there. We cannot betray the trust of the people who are with us. We have to find them a home. Thousands of families depend on it.” Kyra said in finality as Nim’Ruin merely smiled. “I suppose our Matron was wise to leave you in charge Kyra. You are sometimes the best of us.” He said quickly as he bowed and stepped out of the tent with Cam’Mia following right behind him. “This is going to be dangerous and long.” Natalie said in passing as she stood up, stretching out. “We cannot leave these people to die.” Kyra said as she stared towards the tent’s exit. “No…No we can’t. Get some rest Kyra. You will need it tomorrow. I’ll head out to secure the perimeter. Hopefully the hunters come back soon. “Natalie breathed deeply as she left the tent, leaving Kyra behind to her own thoughts. Kyra, the woman in charge of the Nichole School of Magic sat by her cot and nearly placed her hands over her face. In all of her years alive, she had never felt so much burden upon her shoulders. She had been to wars upon wars but never was she in charge. She could help but wonder what will happen if she failed? What would happen to her students? Almost all of them held massive potential and if she led them to their deaths, it would be horrific. Kyra definitely needed help and soon. @amenities Summary of Past Events: The Nichole School of Magic fled Tia via underground tunnels after helping thousands of fleeing citizens. They are looking for a home.
  13. Important Links Cult of Power (CoP) Group Page The Commander's Character Sheet The Cult's Public OOC PM to officially join and be added to the Club OOC Information This thread will act as the Cult of Power's official hub thread. I won't promise it'll last forever, but should last for a good long time. The start of this Hub Thread is after the Cult's adventures in Genesaris and Renovatio are momentarily over (after the obtainment of Asteria's Crown, the Cornerstones, etc). As any hub thread, your characters can come and go. Some cool things might develop in this thread and require a storyline, or it'll just roll with the punches. Who knows! There is no required post length or posting order. Location: Delcore, Terrenus. Delcore is a medium sized city a few miles east of Hell's Gate. The Cult has a Lunar Castle taken from another group they absorbed called the Fallen which is another few miles east in the Forbidding Hills. We might go there but this thread will start in Delcore. The city itself is controlled and regulated by Paragons, but it's down in a shadow mannerism where Lilith is not involved. Many of the ruling Paragons don't even know she's in the city. What Lilith is doing in Delcore is anyone's guess. It was a weird sort of feeling, being back in Terrenus after so many months in Genesaris and Renovatio. For so long she'd been focused on accumulating power. Clawing and climbing her way to the top of the world. To a place where no one could so much as reach to the top of her toes, metaphorically speaking of course. Now, however, she was there. More or less. It didn't matter what continent she was on her what foe stood in her way; she was the peak. In a way she always had been but now she absolutely was. The gauntlet of Zengi. The soul cornerstone. The crown of Asteria. The millions of Paragons bearing her mark. The raw, bottomless well of energy constantly stirring through her very being. She'd reached the goal. Now what? Get rid of my past lives? Perhaps. Easier said than done though, or at least one of the previous Lunar Daughters would have already done it. Instead it was almost like they feared the possibility that she'd break the link. As if they had never even considered doing it. Which was probably true. Lilith was a monster even among monsters. Leaning back she crossed one leg over the other and released a sigh, tapping her index finger on the rim of "her" beer mug. One of the men in the tavern had brought her a drink. If she understood correctly, he was hitting on her. It was almost funny, really. Put a whole new meaning on flirting with death. The large man had taken a seat next to her, not put off even a little by the red gleam of her eyes or the stink of death that stuck to her like bad karma. Probably that she was a vampire. Or some sort of undead. Maybe he even knew she was a necromancer and just didn't particularly care. He certainly didn't know who she was though. What she was and who she was, though intrinsically linked, tended to have much different impacts on people. Still... maybe this was what was next for her? Now that was a funny idea. Even the voices of her past lives chuckled in the depths of her mind. Yeah. Right. "So pretty lady," the man slurred, reaching out to sling a hand around her shoulder. "What can I do you for?" A question. A fucking question. Why did mortals ask so many questions? "You are either an absolute fucking moron," Lilith answer with such venom that the man blinked and nearly physically recoiled, "or your inebriation makes you an extremely horrible judge of character."
  14. Through the Sigil’s Door Prelude Everything rattled. A man vomited into the corner of a dimly light metallic room. Seated everywhere against the walls were men and women of varying degrees of danger, most clocking in at around heavily armed and extremely dangerous. Criminals, mercenaries, people who fought for coin and lacked a sense of honor. The exact people that Miss Blonde the Crime Lord tended to surround herself with. The kind of people who would do anything to get this job done, even if it meant burning down entire towns and leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. These people were on a mission and they had been paid well. Considering the risks they had to be paid generously. If one were to look out the window they’d see the dark and heavy storm clouds that belted out lightning and screamed thunder. In an massive airships cargo hold, the ship pushed its way through the storm that surrounded a massive portal in the center of this planet. What used to be a chunk of land was swallowed into itself and had become a portal to the multiverse, it was her opportunity to get back home. ”Five minutes to drop!” A voice from the forward compartment yelled. Standing up Miss Blonde stood at the front of the drop gate. She was short in stature, just a hair short of five feet tall. Yet she carried herself with a deadly seriousness and raw power that radiated off of her body. Facing all those who had decided to join her in this endeavor to secure a package and return it, she would give an operational briefing. So with her gas mask on and her robotic laced voice, Blonde spoke to her temporary employees. ”Half of you will die or go MIA. That’s the best outcome of this mission.” She needed to tell the truth, this was not a moment to sugarcoat anything. ”We will be dropping into a portal that will hopefully send us to a place known as Sigil. It is a city that lays at the center of the multiverse, and when I say hopefully I do mean hopefully. I will be leading the jump and will be the first off the ship, so if you follow me, and you stay on my six, and a breeze or lightning bolt doesn’t take you off course. Then you will be ok. Otherwise you will be lost to the multiverse, and let me make this perfectly clear.” Blonde paused and looked over all their faces. ”Neither myself or anyone in my employ will come back for you. You are on your own and I expect that all of you would do the same for me. No matter what happens to me, you will complete the mission. Mission specifics will become unlocked in your data devices that you have been provided once we push through the portal. So make your peace with whatever god you subscribe to because this is it people.” Her briefing was short, unceremonious, and only slightly depressing. Yet it was what needed to be said. ”Four minutes!!” The forward voice shouted once again. As everyone readied themselves, they would be provided with an portable inflatable raft and a parachute should they get blown off course or decide to leave. It was really more of a formality and safety blanket. This was after all a giant portal in the middle of the ocean, so chances were they wouldn’t come in handy. If anyone were to look over to Blonde they’d see her forgo the emergency supplies and just take what was most important. A rather body shaped sub machine-gun and a bandolier of grenades and ammo strapped across her black jacket. She was ready. As for everyone else. They had about four minutes until they would jump into hell.
  15. NOTICE Hub in Use MTPD The Buffer MTPD Headquarters (Martial Town Police Department) Detective Parean Parean Music The Drain Detective It had taken a sloshing crater of a puddle to convince Parean to put his cigarette out beneath his umbrella. The latter had done enough to shield the flame but getting his shoe soaked had ruined his appetite to smoke. It was pouring out, the night cold, with the stars a hazy overhead amid the city’s smog and sure to remain that way these few hours past evening. Reaching the sidewalk after crossing the street, he checked his watch: just past nine o’clock. I’m on time. At least that’s something. On time, the first time, and the first night in Martial Town. It was every bit as vibrant and lethargic, dead and lively, as he had heard. A paradox. Just like me. The city’s suburbs had been quite a contrast to its central areas. All of Martial Town was walled on the outside, some parts in, while the outer wall was as much to protect the people inside as the people outside, though which one was more than the other Parean didn’t know. There was a lot to hear and a lot to say about this city, most of it not great. The settlement’s small handful of gates at the wall were guarded checkpoints. Tunnels in their own way, they posed a kind of duality between these access points into the city proper and the surrounding districts and neighborhoods that were clearly suffering the worst; neglected, abandoned, the residents left to ‘police’ themselves. As a visitor, Parean was still working out what to make of it all. Amid all of it, though, it was a night like tonight that the Neon City really shined. Lights of its nicknamesake were lit up everywhere, from the outer limits to the inner. A giant, flickering lightbulb. Those peripheral areas were simply and collectively referred to as the Peripherals. They led deeper into the city—a ring of blocks called the Buffer, an evident shorthand for “Buffer Zone”. It was a fitting name. This area was largely neutral, serving as a wedge between the Peripherals and the heart of Martial Town: the Core. The latter was its own walled district, militarized and policed by the city government’s own armed force. That left the majority policing of the Buffer to the Martial Town Police Department. There was much and more to learn about this city that never sleeps, but Parean only really needed to know that which pertained to his being here. Standing beneath the roof of the MTPD Headquarters, a complex of drenched buildings, he lowered his umbrella, content that the rest of his outfit, including his best friend of a brown trenchcoat, was hardly hit by a drop. Debating with himself whether to light up his cigarette then and there, Parean grumbled over his own refusal. A few hoodlums were looking his way as he pocketed the unlit cigarette between his lips, but they weren’t worth any effort either. On his way into town, he had learned that the crime rate of the Buffer rested somewhere in the middle between the high end of the Peripherals and the low end of the Core—it was certainly still there, a deal more so than in other settlements, but no idiot was going to start a fight outside of a police station. Of which I better waste no more time and head inside. Ambience Through the doors, Parean was greeted by the hustle and bustle of police hands just like one would be in any law enforcement station in a big city like Martial Town. Unintelligible conversations were strung together like split wires, phones were ringing like a symphony out of sync and keyboards were going tap-tap-tap amid the click-click-clack of unpolished shoes. If the lobby was this busy, the offices on all floors that exceeded ten were likely no different. “Hey, hey hey!” Parean’s brow perked at the voice of a man coming his way with rolled sleeves and a tie as loose as his own. “What’re you trying to do, drown the building!? Ezmo, get this guy a towel, will ya!?” Parean could only blink as a lobby hand, some twenty-year-old named Ezmo, chucked a towel at his face. He caught it before it hit his face but still felt confused. The speaker just stood there waiting, shaking his head, then nodding in the way that one wants to hurry someone else up. Finally, it all clicked. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that. Damn puddles.” With that, Parean went about drying off his left lower leg and the dress shoe at the base of it, though his sock would have to suffer. “Thanks. Here you go.” He chucked the wet towel back toward Ezmo. It hit his face. “SHIT! YA JERK!” Parean shrugged in apology. “All right, all right, knock it off!” The first man spoke, still standing there with his hands on his hips. Must be the bouncer around here. “Ezmo, go get those files I asked about twenty minutes ago! And make sure that pot is brewing, damn it!” He looked Parean’s way. “The hell you doing still standing there!? This is a police station. Either make a police case, or go station yourself back in the rain. I got work to do! Sheesh!” The man walked away and that was that. Parean just stood standing, his umbrella in one hand, his free hand slick with rainwater. Well, guess I better find the captain who decided that it was a smart idea to hire me as a private investigator. He had caught a job through his PI connections of a serial killer on the loose in the Buffer. It was a rainy season, and this particular animal liked to drown his victims, or so recent reports went. Parean would find out soon enough as he made his way throughout the lobby and headed toward the elevators, smelling coffee along the way. One cup. It won't hurt. No more than a wet sock.
  16. Much had changed since Feurerkönig had ventured into the land known as Terrenus. Battles had been fought, with many of them resulting in the defeat of the tyrannical lord of cinders. After finally being taken in by the Gaianists of the Terran Empire, Feurerkönig had suffered great indignities at the hands of the mortals. Days of torturous experiments followed, his enemies hell bent on discovering the secrets of his powers, and how to counter them effectively. By the time they were finished, Feurerkönig felt stripped of his pride, his dignity, his very essence of what it means to be a warrior. Such was the beginning of a low point in his life. The worst of it all was that they had released him, allowing him to live in this shame inflicted upon him. Satisfied they could defeat whatever attempt the fiery king could throw at them, they unceremoniously dumped him back into Genesaris. Never before had he felt so weak, so powerless, so much lesser than everything else. Now that he was back in his homeland, he felt so very...empty inside. It was a long trek back to the Kriegsschmeide, one that he felt a sense of defeat at every step. Even as his warriors greeted him, he didn't feel like the warlord that desired the destruction of this world. Though they did not possess the will to rebel against him, he could feel the loss of respect emanating from their spirits. Their fearless leader, reduced to a cowering mess. "Bring me new armor." He commanded, watching as his slaves went to work forging his new armor. The Gaianists stole so much from him, even his own metal shell to examine the War Metal. Great clouds of black smoke were streaming from the Kriegsschmeide, as if showing its dissatisfaction at its own champion. "To hell with you." He said, pulling himself to his throne, looking out at the charred landscape of his domain. A king without his crown, a warrior without his pride, a conqueror wallowing in defeat. It was pathetic, but it was all he had for the moment. In defeat he would lick his wounds, rethink his next move, and Marshall his forces for a new campaign, one that would allow him the power he needed to bring fury down upon his enemies. "Perhaps it is time to go hunting..."
  17. WELCOME TO THE REVERIE BALL! On the night of December 25th the castle of Andelusia opens its doors to all citizens of Valucre, far and wide, to come mingle and dance! The floor of the castle and the courtyard outside are all available for public usage. In all rooms there is music playing, each room playing a different song. Perhaps even a different type of music. Spectacular food is served in every room, though the Dining Room is where the most magnificent food rests. From snacks to full meals, everything someone would want lays upon the table. Despite the main food on the table is from Ursa Madeum and Taen, the side food comes from throughout Valucre. Those who participated in the ANT conferences would recognize the castle. However, this time, every room was decked in blue and green decorations. At least one unlit cauldron had been put in each room, some surrounded by wrapped presents without labels. The same day an announcement was sent out to the public and to those allied with Taen Empire. It stated that starting from the 25th of December, the Taen Empire would no longer be referred to as the Taen Empire. As of now, the Empire is switching to the name Veluriyam Empire. Although not known to the public, those with connections in Veluriyam Empire might discover the Veluriyam is a Mork'Outh word for Open Sky. Within the hour of opening the castle filled. Emperor Titus stands in the Sun Room, a glass of wine in his hands as he leans against the wall while he speaks to some Renovation dignitaries. The Ballroom is where Princess Teresa finds herself, dancing with one of her guards but keeping an eye out for someone not on her father's payroll. Someone not lame. Green means open; red means closed. @Tyler @Eternity @supernal @KittyvonCupcake @notmuch_23 @vielle @LikelyMissFortune @danzilla3 @Sleepy Seal @Grubbistch @Alexei @Witches Brew @Praetorian
  18. - Deep in the Terrenus Wilderness - - Moi's Clearing, Great Pine Barrens - The sweet songs of wildlife filled the forest in celebration. At peace without the stench of Human to draw their noses. The Sun rose high above the trees over a clearing revealing a black fox and a red raven dancing around a shadowy orb.
  19. ...well that happened Word spread surprisingly fast in Izral, especially considering the disparity of power between the classes and a lack of any true governmental organization at play. That news could even traverse the expanse of the region was miraculous enough, never mind the veracity of the claims. They, being the talkers that ‘They’ were, claimed the slave market of Izral was in ruins. The life blood of several powerful merchant princes was being spilt and the grossly wealthy addressed the issue as only they could...by throwing money at it. With the slave trade on its last legs many merchant Princes were forced to protect their own interests: a mercenary’s wet dream. The call for bounty hunters had never been so loud as it was now. Velleh Ah’bjyd was far from the wealthiest merchant prince, but he was certainly the most vain. Unfortunately, for Ah’bjyd his obsessive need for the finer things in life left him practically destitute. Aside from his lavish estate, the Merchant Prince was virtually penniless and with the slave trade dwindling, necessity saw him parting with some of his more exotic artifacts just to maintain his luxurious lifestyle. Mercenaries and bounty hunters alike flocked to the various merchant princes to offer their services. Whether to fill the ranks of the Prince's personal guard, or to hunt down any fleeing servants who thought to make off with pricey trinkets amidst the turmoil. So it was that Garland found himself welcomed with open arms (so to speak) at the Ah’bjyd estate. In truth, his reasons for being there had little to do with the acquisition of coin and everything to do with sweet, sweet revenge. It took every ounce of Garland's self control to even look at the Ah'bjyd estate without vomiting. Every step he made felt weighed down by the shackles no longer fastened about his limbs. Peering down at scarred wrists, the youth ran an absent minded hand over the white patches of flesh that marred his otherwise tan complexion. It truly was a miraculous happenstance, this thorn in slavery’s side. No one thought the tall broad youth anything more than another sell sword. The heavyset man stationed at the guard house, waved Garland in and gestured for him to stand out of the doorway. "It's protocol..." the large man said, running thick fingers through his patchwork beard. "We get so many of you folks...er...I mean workers...not Izrali...I'm half-Izrali myself, on my mother's side...um...." Garland quirked a brow, uncertain exactly how one addressed a harmless faux pas. Truthfully, there were a great many social cues, the broad youth was rather clueless about. "Is Lord Ah'bjyd at the estate?" Garland asked, struggling to keep an even tone. The guard nodded. "Doesn't leave...um...er...Oh, I need your name...and uh...oh yeah, are you applying for a guard posting or were you um...here for something else." Garland pointed at the man, "The first one...the Guard posting. Yep. I'm a...expert at...keeping people alive," The heavyset man nodded his head and flipped through various forms on the table. "Great! Great! We...ah...we've been a little short staffed as of late...um...what with the um...difficulties with the unpaid laborers departing." Unpaid laborers? Garland had never heard slaves referred to as such, but he supposed it wasn't technically wrong. The heavyset guard rose from his chair and handed Garland a slip of parchment and a pen. "Fill this out and we'll contact you within 48 hours..." Garland did not take the pen. "I was hoping to start immediately." The guard paused and shook his head. "Captain Rothschild will want to do a small background check on you, it's not strenuous...just a cursory thing..." Garland peered down at the pen. It was going to be difficult to fill that form out when he couldn't even read. Already things seemed to be derailing in a monumental fashion. "Ah...I can't really read." Garland explained. "Just never really picked it up." It wasn't unheard of, some children from the Izrali slums never attended a day of school...so long as they assumed Garland to be an Izrali peasant and not an escaped slave... "Oh...um...what did you say your name was again?" The guard asked, turning back towards his desk, a large pudgy hand reaching for his radio." Garland moved without thinking and slammed his hand into the guard's back, using a rush of air to slam the large man against the desk with enough force to drive the wind out of him and send a stream of spittle against safety glass in front of him. "So much for that plan..." Garland muttered to himself, reaching down to snap the guard's neck with practiced ease. The sound and scent of loosening bowels filled the guardhouse, prompting Garland to sigh heavily. "Well...I don't think your pants would have fit me anyway..."
  20. In Dougton, there was once an orphanage. It was capable of housing 24 children - quite the feat for a single headmistress. It was a gorgeous home with an inviting layout. Though it's headmistress had long ago disappeared, and various schemes had been planned behind it's walls, it had finally been given hope once more. Rebirth through the war, an opportunity to help. Those children displaced by the current civil war are most welcomed, with open (though slightly green) arms. The orphanage runs off of self-sustainability, a small farmyard behind the house, and lanterns to light their way. Children who come to this place are taught all the basic skills, as well as how to defend themselves to some minor degree. This is to hope that they will never become victims to tyranny, or will choose to stand against what they know is wrong. A strong sense of moral Justice is offered to those willing to learn it. For the moment, the orphanage only houses several children. While scared and distrustful, they have come to think of the orphanage as a second home where they will be protected and safe. Dhizzandra watches over them with pleased determination. The Dryad is simply happy to have a place to belong in this world - and she is pleased to help others, as well. Children 5 Adults 18 Completion of necessary buildings 50% Important threads/children acquisition: Home of the Brave. Children currently available for adoption: Blairville children: Peter – Age 12 – Blonde and amber eyed. He is a cautious, but brave young man who dislikes bullying. Lucy – Age 8 – Shy and slow to trust, a little bit bossy, as well. Lucy is definitely a kid who requires patience. Ruby – Age 6. Sweet and all too trusting, she’s got a sweet tooth like no other, however. Adopted by Rabbit. Izral Children: Susan – Age 14 – An older, jaded girl who was rescued by Jericho from a brothel in Izral. She doesn’t have much hope for the world, but she’s learning that not everyone is bad. Adopted by Danzilla3 Brinley – Age 8 – Young and cheerful, she takes joy in simple things. Jessica – Age 6 – Another young and cheerful child. She likes butterflies and flowers, but we aren’t into the flavor red this week. William – age 4. – This young boy loves to run in mud puddles and play with worms, as young boys tend to do. Caitlyn – 6 months – Often influenced by William regarding bugs and mud. She particularly dislikes nap-time. Derrick – Age 10 – Idolizes Peter and wants to protect the others from ever being treated poorly again. He’s often defensive on first meetings. Jonathan – Age 1 – Babbles with attitude. Hates diapers. Andromeda – Age 6 months – Sleeps a lot, when not screaming. Daniella – Age 10 – Sullen and moody, prone to dramatics. Kendra – Age 12 – Preteen. No more need be said. Adopted by Rabbit.
  21. The outside appears to be minimal and modern with slabs of marble and stacked stone in a grey palette. The inside is warm with distressed wood paneled walls, a romantic, whimsical canopy of trees overhead, and the soft twinkling of lights as an open fire glows in the stone fireplace. Small, curtained windows framed by wooden shutters let some light filter through, and small, intimate tables are arranged for the flow of impeccable service. It is clear is meant to be an oasis of intimacy and romance. An impressive stretch of marble slab makes up the main counter top, a clear path indicating a newcomer may start there. The floors are equally distressed but maintained, the air clean from the artfully placed trees inside. The menu was rumored to be small but flavorful, based solely on the wines provided at the time. A portion of the counter was lined with baskets filled with fresh snacking goods from nuts to bread and spiced oils, some which came as suggestions to pair with a favorite wine. A path leads around to a second room, which also boasts a counter, flanked by an impressive array of local and imported wines. On display are various retired swords, tools, and artifacts—their ethereal abilities long spent and merely for decor. After lunch in the late afternoon, the Enoteca would open its doors for a few hours, allowing the locale and tourists trailing in from Port Kyros to make their reservations and dine for the wine or see their wares inspected, repaired, or built to order. The cellar would open as the orders for the best of the best wines make their way in. Meals are prepared light and are not meant to satisfy those who are voraciously hungry. Built for refinement, elegance and courtesy—drunken debauchery is heavily frowned upon and security is never far. -- Welcome to the Enoteca: the chic, romantic sister-bar to The Sadira Amar. With the Port City’s arboretum taking off and growing a variety of fruits, it became clear to Raveena that capitalizing on the wine industry would bolster tourism significantly. While the Sadira Amar is open and inviting, the Enoteca is an establishment designed for intimacy and privacy. Like its sister-bar in Hyperion, the Enoteca doubles as a workshop where Genesarian artifacts and weapons can be repaired or built to order. Shopping patrons are escorted to the adjacent room where a workshop beneath the floors going into the cellar has been fleshed out. An up-and-coming Artificer and Scrivener in the service of the Queen resides here and can give anyone a quick lesson on their artifacts, its history and its use for a fair fee. Stop by to sample the local flavor, delve into the mystery of Port Kyros and it's potent source of magic. There's rumors of ghosts of fallen soldiers that haunt the memorial, of secret societies and vanishing cities. From the magical to the mysterious, the Enoteca welcomes you in.
  22. [Recap] In these past events, the Kingdom of Taurus and it's Ruler has seen much change. Seeking answers in regard to his origins and his fathers legacy, Proteus Rauz found himself exiled to the Celestial Realm---Where the Absolute Authority, confines and contains the remaining progenitors of his race. Time stood still there... he was subjected to their test, trials and tribulations and experimentation, meanwhile the kingdom and home he knew would be devoid of his presence for over 1,000 years. Proteus' liberation came at the expense of the captives lives. Destroying the last remnants of his bloodline, retaking prized possessions destined for his ownership and flinging himself back across the planes of existence and back home where he emerged anew. Proteus Rauz had emerged Anew. Changed. Different. Not only was he far older, hardened even, his powers had grown exponentially as did his control over them. His views and outlooks on his path and those of his people had also been altered. Having established a relationship with the powers that be in the lands of Alterion, Proteus, under his own power had moved the entirety of his kingdom from the Lands of Genesaris, to the Spirit Realm of Xaengri-La. Where he would be free from mortal observation. Where his prominence could have neither positive or negative effects on the lands surrounding his kingdom, so that no balances could be tipped or disturbed and that no other governing body could benefit nor suffer. However, even as he established his kingdom, and their outer realm territories, Proteus Rauz' ideals and goals have widened and expanded. He had become somewhat of a Nihilist, embracing what he had discovered what his original intent and reason for being was. TO BRING ABOUT DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, TO ALL. His re-emergence , and return to the throne under this new ideology has put many of his closest ally's and family at an unease, Even the Queen, Priscilla---His birth mother, and the one who worked the hardest to bury the secrets of Bulls origins and true nature, has found herself at her absolute wits end as to how to guide or manager her son, and after his re-emergence, far to under-powered to force anything upon him. So silently she has watched, ever so diligently as Proteus sets about procuring the knowledge needed to accomplish his goal. His one true ideal, his one true intention----TO BECOME DEATH ITSELF. [And now....] His throne room used to bathe light. Every square inch of it, illuminated from the free flowing light from yonder. That has drastically changed. Large metal shutters existed where windows once were. They kept this place devoid of light. It was insulated, sounds were equally scarce save for that of the constant HUM of raw unbridled power flowing through 4 massive umbilical cords that ran beneath the ground up behind his throne and into a custom fitment that affixed into hard points on his back. The ONLY light present within this rume was from the Rune Brands aglow along his body in a blood red hue. It was there that he sat. His body constantly absorbing and harmonizing the seemingly limitless ebb and flow of spatio-temporal-anima present in the limitless expanse of this spiritual realm. Disconnected from his people. Departed from a society that he helped to sculpt and once coveted, but nowadays, feared him as they never have before. The Council had long been killed and disbanded by his own hand save for one who squandered away still within the confines of their prison. In truth there was only one thing that could keep Proteus situated as he was now. He had no intent on moving, nor a desire to do so because simply put he was waiting on something. That something was coveted. Desired and favored above anything at this time and it was the only thing that eluded him these days. It was pure. It was valued by anything and everyone be they Man, King or God. There was nothing exempt from it's benefit and there in it lied no TRUE face value for it, but there was also no limit to what would be expended for it. Knowledge. Plain and simple. He needed the means and understanding as to how to go about achieving his goal---which for the most part was thought to be inconceivable and impossible, however, when the Absolute authority. The Omnipotent one. "The Creator" himself, assures you that such is NOT beyond the realm of a being such as himself----You take that notion for what it's worth. There was one individual who had such knowledge, or at least could point him in the direction. This being, is and always will be favored. His most beloved. One to whom he trusted the most. Covets the most. Priscilla...The Queen, and his mother. Despite who she was to him she has also coincidentally been the greatest source of obscurity and deception. The understanding of these facts and the dynamics of them all has left Proteus shifted in stance. Wavered, somewhat unsure. As a child he clung to her every word. She molded his beliefs, directed his ideals and aspirations, All for what?? To lie? To keep the truth away from him? For what purpose? Some selfish ideal of goal of her own? It was to much for him to understand. To much for him to process, and whenever his mother was around the King was nothing short of contrived. However....she held the keys, she knew the ways, and his current goals and aspirations although no favored by her, were goals she could help him achieve. So he sat....and waited. For her.. @Lacernella Rubra
  23. Current Status Read Before Posting Tavern of Legend OOC Thread When you're ready to leave the TOL and explore Valucre, check out these transition suggestions. Note these are suggestions and you are not limited to the options detailed there. The Tavern of Legend is a jumping off point for new members, a sort of sandbox where new members can play with other new members while getting used to the site. This is especially useful for those new to online role-playing in general. Only members registered on the site for 90 days or less can post in the ToL unless otherwise approved (such as select events or mentors). We strongly encourage participating in Tavern quests and activities as a starting point, but this isn't required and a member can leave the ToL at any time. The new member guide can assist you as you go forward. The water cooler is a good place to check out when you're ready. You don't have to read the whole thread. Given the amount of new members that get funneled into the ToL on a regular basis, members aren't expected to read dozens or hundreds of pages. You read this post to get an understanding of the tavern, the last few posts to get a handle on what other members are doing, then you're free to introduce your character in whatever fashion you deem fit. The Tavern of Legend is an RP forum that is quasi-canon; nothing here is canonized as 'world of Valucre' lore, but its internal canon is consistent. Note that the tavern also "heals itself", so things like holes in the wall and accidental fires won't affect the overall aesthetic. What you do in the ToL can be referenced later on in other RP threads within the world of Valucre. Any quests you complete for the Tavern that take place in canon lands can be canonized as well. The Tavern They say the road to the tavern was once a nondescript journey, traveling through nothingness until you happened upon a quiet little hamlet out in the middle of nowhere. Farmers would wave, children following a short distance behind, curious as to your origins and intent. Only, things have changed now. You travel through lands scarred by fires and death, through an atmosphere of despair laden with only the slightest traces of hope. Burned down buildings are as common a sight as are the rats and vultures still searching for morsels. At this time, people still bury their dead- and there is many, while others hurry to get back within the cover of what remains of their home. Eventually, your journey leads you down a dimly lit path, finding that night has come upon you faster than you first expected. You come to a location said to be the corner of all existence, the point between the world of Valucre and all other possibilities. There sits a quaint structure, small and unassuming. It is only one story, hardly more than a shack, and certainly nothing like what was promised by those claiming to have once stayed within its walls. The paint is peeling, the sign is careworn and faded. Perhaps you feel cheated, having come all this way just to find some hole in the wall that gives only a welcome home to drunks too far into their cups to notice the difference. Still, there is an inviting smell coming from inside, a welcome change from the smell of death you left behind. Perhaps you should enter then, and stay for a drink or two. Even if this tavern is not what was promised, a drink and a hot meal would do you some good. And there you find that the Tavern is all that was promised you - and more. It reaches high, higher than you could have even imagined, the ceiling reaching hundreds of feet above. Layers upon layers of rafters fill in the gaps, where some patrons sit, served by a young man who traverses them with ease. Down below, the sprawling layout reveals a tavern with more than a dozen corners (each with its own table), despite the improbability. At the center of establishment is a large stage, where bands of bards play and leave- their lineup and styles as random as anything could be. Along what could be called the back, a long bar stretches out, ending at a doorway leading to the kitchens. Also in the back are stairs leading up to an upstairs that cannot be seen from here, and a door that leads down to the storage basement. Weapons can be checked at the door or brought to the weapons counter, where the character will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it Staff The staff is varied. Some are transient, coming and going within a few days, and others are permanent fixtures of the tavern's setting. Some are from the world of Valucre, and others are wanderers from further off. The only constants in this ever-shifting tapestry are the core staff members who manage the tavern itself, each serving their own special function. Attractions Recurring Wait Staff Young Attractive Barmaid: Early 20’s, Green eyes and chestnut hair, with a noticeably large bust. Her name is Gwen. Young exhausted Barmaid: Just out of her teens, always looks worn out and haggard. Smaller frame on top, but generous hips below. Her name is Beatrice. Young scrawny barmaid: New on the job, looks nervous and eager to please. Often speaks in a rehearsed manner, quite rapidly. Tiny, but looks healthy otherwise. Average looking. Her name is Clair. Young man with dark skin and bare feet: The Rafters server, as nimble and acrobatic as an ape in the jungles, he was hired for his abilities to assist those patrons with difficult logistical seating placements. His name is Tova. Man in his mid-twenties, blond, frequently scruffy. Rather friendly, a bit boisterous at times. He gets along well with anyone, and is known for flirting with the prettier customers who don’t come in with obvious attachment. His name is Fjorn (pronounced Fee-orn). Woman in her late forties, wavy, short grey hair and blue eyes. She has no patience for the workers she thinks are lazy and will be quick to click her tongue and chastise slackers. She is stocky but short, with old battle scars she says she earned from "Fighting in the pits, earning her freedom with blood." She's willing to tell a tale or two about her past fights. Her name is Wentree. [Hired recently] Younger man in his mid twenties, about 5'10 but huge build and a bald head, with nearly black skin. He speaks with a mild accent, but he is happy to repeat himself when required--but you have to make sure he knows you missed it, because he has a tendency to miss those signs, among other things. He seems to zone out a lot, and will trip over objects too. His name is Fendrel. He does not flirt, as his Husband wouldn't like it. [Hired Recently] Young man with long, red braids and grey eyes. He is perhaps 18, and quite talkative. He has his left eyebrow pierced three times and both ears filled with hoops and cuffs on his cartilage. He sometimes gets distracted by the bard, or pretty women. Wentree frequently gets on him about staying about his work. His name is Mism. [Hired Recently] Toilet Scrubber Not all the dragons fell during battle. One so-called "Tom" managed to fall inside the range of Ghallen's protective magic, sparing his life when the Dragon Cultist General decided to hit friends and foes with a blast of necrotic magic designed to drain life from others. Ghallen later found him playing "dead" as he was told to, and could see that the dragon-kin really did feel bad about the whole ordeal--those cultists, they sure can be convincing! So, Ghallen got him patched up, but not all is amended yet. The Tavern expects people to earn their keep, and that those who wish to reform their way should do so through hard labor. Vaddock set the dragon-kin to work as the official toilet-scrubber, keeping the privies clean. So far, he's been doing a pretty good job. His name is Zezzicryt, but most just call him "Z." He is 7' tall, and rather intimidating at first glance, especially for those who fought them. The veterans of the battle eye him suspiciously, but Vaddock feels like he might really mean to turn over a new leaf. Nevertheless, he still has Hand keep a close eye on him.
  24. This is the Mil Dot Lunaris: a firearm store that the kind of items that Americans could only dream of, and ammunition types most people don't even think are possible. Outside, there is a switchback staircase in the front leading up to the front covered porch, which continues to the left and right sides beyond the trees. Wooden tables and chairs provide places for people to sit and eat. The front wall is mostly wood-framed windows, surrounded by profiled trim and cedar shakes. Suspended rope walkways also connect to the porch at different places.The windows themselves are triple-pane ballistic polycarbonate, three inches combined, with argon pockets. There is a ramp to a freight elevator on the loading dock for people who can't or won't ascend the stairs, as well as deliveries. A large sign stands on the front roof, with the Mil Dot logo (and name) laid in very white oak with dark ebony. The inside has two areas; the public area, and the private area. The public area takes up 70% of the volume and reaches through the supports all the way up to the underside of the roof decking. The back roof has the same windows as the front wall, and the same density. During most days, the only light needed is in the cases. All of the walls have cedar paneling, all of the lights are warm white LEDs connected to a direct current system, and rock maple covers the floor of the store portion. The eatery is separated only by the line where the maple flooring meets the yellow cedar. The same wooden furniture sits in this area that sits outside, and a wall from floor to ceiling separates the public and private sections. The freight elevator opens up from the "private" area on this wall in a way that does not allow the public free access. Restrooms flank the elevator shaft. The cases that line the back and left sides are heavy, with teak-covered metal frames holding heavy ballistic polycarbonate panes. Rifle racks and heavy cabinets sit behind them, with register terminals between banks of cases. Sharp-eyed observers may even notice the ample tinted camera domes, the Browning M2 and Mark 19 emplacements and firing slots up on the walls and roof sections. The private area is just for people who work here, which includes the kitchen, storage areas, office, utility spaces, and where Thurgood and Aveline live. The only coatings applied to any of the wooden surfaces, inside or out, are clear varnishes and resins, all designed to show the wood's natural beauty. Overall the structure is actually stronger than the trees supporting it. Inside the non-window walls is not just insulation and wiring, but heavy ballistic fiberglass and polycarbonate panels that combined can stop a .50 BMG full-metal jacket round. There is a full inside-outside water deluge system and chemical foam nozzles for fire supression (as well as flame-retardant varnishes and resins), large-scale greensand and DE filters and UV disenfection for water with two cisterns in the "private" area of the roof underside. A 10,000-gallon septic system with integrated grease trap remove waste from drainwater before returning it to the jungle. 80 individual 100-watt solar panels stick above the canopy to charge forklift cells in the utility area (that has ventilation to prevent hydrogen buildup). The forklift cells then power everything else either directly, or through a three-phase pure sine inverter. The Mil Dot accepts lots of different currencies, but the most prominent is this metal exchange: 1 oz of Tin = .25 USD 1 oz of Copper = 2 USD 1 oz of Silver = 10 USD 1 oz of Gold = 50 USD 1 oz of Platinum = 100 USD 1 oz of Rhodium = 500 USD. These do not reflect prices in the real OOC world. Now with Out Of Cartridges (OOC) thread!
  25. There was a forgotten time within Bairville, where a beautiful performance was once held. A time when a desert flower opened her heart through music and dance, blossoming pedals of joyous freedom and mythical talent. Gold streamed from the hypnotic bends of her caramel fingers, rhythm surreally rolled from a body possessed by the ocean. Her rolling hips were waves, slithering and gliding with marvelous grandeur, and the bending arch of her back cascaded her tresses like falls of great water. In this forgotten moment where mystical dreams manifested into reality before a mesmerized audience, this nameless flower was permeated in ecstasy. She crossed the ties of the mundane and extraordinary. broke the barriers between heaven and earth. And as the melody embraced and made love to her soul, she felt the true purity of freedom through dance. But as with the fate of all purity, wickedness cast its chains and shattered the music. It ensnared her dance and purloined her freedom. The flower was shut away, into darkness. With time, the precious existence was forgotten. The sun of the Velhatein Desert settled behind ascending mounds of drought laden earth. Its licentious fingers extended across the sky and made the clouds blush. Beyond and below the vaporous display, there was naught but shadows thickening into black. The ebony shrouded the shapes of the landscape, cursing the daylight colors into ambiguous contours that broke the horizon like broken backs of fallen soldiers. Truly they were broken skeletons of prehistoric creatures. Within this aphotic landscape, the twinkle of a lone campfire dared to take a stand. Sitting within its rebellious orbs of amber, was the forgotten desert flower. Reflection of the embers licked up her endless raven streaks, shimmering off the silk textures whilst teasing her desert toned skin with whimsical light. Rusted chains rattled from her bound minuscule wrists, slithering to the rims of her ankles. Her face was down, forehead nestled into the curve of her folded knees, and through that curtain of locks, piercing blue eyes stared aimlessly. Her nude lips were agape and breathed soundlessly, her breasts heaved and compressed into the cushion of her thighs, and beneath its cavity, a heart pumped. Yet her eyes, the lack of luster and vibrancy, revealed nothing but death. Three men heavily clothed in Saharan attire also rested around the flames, their dirty hands breaking off pieces of stale bread and shoving it into their mouths. They were quiet, most of their faces covered in scarves with slits of food and sight. Their eyes were cold and irritated, burdened by lights wrinkles suggesting their middle age and chaffed from desert winds. “This is the last of our provisions, we will not be able to stay in the mountain for long,” said one of them as he finished his bread his voice as gruff and scratched as his fingers. “We are also low on gold, how much longer before our contact returns with word of the rebellion?” “It was supposed to be three days ago, something must have happened.” A silence fell over the men again, the diminutive rattling of chains suggesting the imprisoned woman had moved. “The king only has another week before we punish his lack of compliance. It's been two weeks now, and we’ve had her for a month now." “He’s being a stubborn old fool, he will respond. We just have to wait.” “We have to find a way to make a coin if we are to survive another week. If we steal too much, it will draw unnecessary attention from law enforcers.” “Perhaps there is another way,” one of the men turned slowly towards the woman, eyeing her for a long moment. “The people of Genesaris are unlikely to recognize her. Perhaps we can use her to our advantage…” The chains rattled again, the forgotten woman lifted her head. Deep hues shifted to gaze at the men through descending bangs, a spark of life twinkling distantly within her once dead sea. When dawn broke over the world the following morning, flyers floated around the Yum Janus tavern near the outskirts of Joran City. They found their ways into people’s things, under their bags and pillows, and even tucked within their pockets. Upon the parchment were words of golden ink, cursive with living streams of light within the letters. Come witness the spectacle of a woman enchanted by a grace and beauty you have never seen. Witness the rare advent of people from the Velhaltein Desert. Her mesmerizing movements will seduce your dreams to reality. She will purloin the tribulations that haunt your mind for a single night. Come, and be blessed at midnight, by The Dance of the Desert Flower. The word spread rapidly. Mere mystery of how the parchment found its way into the most protected of spots allured people to the tavern. It was in the rear of the edifice, a circle of torches scattered through the empty plain. Their glows shed delicate light upon what appeared to be an unremarkable platform of an reflective ebony mineral. The full moon was out, its virgin glows eerily shimmering in streaks across the silvery sheen, intermingling with the flashing quips of the reflected flames.
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