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  1. 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.
  2. [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
  3. 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!
  4. 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?”
  5. 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
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. 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.
  11. 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.
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. The citizens of Lunaris are piiiiised! Even though jungle pigs have invaded Taen a long time ago, the native carnivores have kept their numbers in check. Recently, their population exploded, and their war with the zkriz'ka population spilled over into Lunaris. Now, a crowd of citizens surround the City Hall, shouting at the government. "Those fucking pigs ravaged my pasture!" "They ate my whole garden!" "They killed my baby!" "We can't go outside safely!" Then one person starts a chant. "Pigs out now! Pigs out now! Pigs out now!" As chants normally do, this one also catches on with the surrounding people. "PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW!" It isn't long until the entire crowd is chanting "PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW! PIGS OUT NOW!" @danzilla3
  15. 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.
  16. Theme[spoiler]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lMbVzFtvM8[/spoiler]   Acreos had been traveling all night. He was exhausted. Fatigued. Famished. His black beard somehow felt like weight on his face, eyes stinging, body weak. He had lost his caravan to bandits. His men, his coin, his supplies—gone. Ashville, he hoped, would offer valuable enough restock to get back on track, but for now he was a merchant whose fortunes had become fines, and whose pockets of depth had become pockets of debt. He had put everything into that endeavor. Everything…   Well, at least tonight he could afford himself some slivers of solace, actually managing to find comfort in the drink and the food and the warmth of the inn he had decided would be his resting place for the night. The Traveler’s Tug was positioned about halfway in between Ashville and the Forgotten Wood, allowing a resting period for anyone traveling in either direction. Though enjoying a consistency of customer activity, the inn was no fancy establishment, preferring simpler architecture and basic layout; the 'everyman's inn'. Located where flat grassland began to take place toward Ashville, its outside color of a slightly dark yellow was selected to allow more obvious detection by persons farther away.   Acreos had chosen to sit in the middle of the inn's dining floor, enjoying the swarm of activity that elevated the atmosphere; an all too welcome change from the cold loneliness of an arduous voyage. To make things that much more quaint, alongside a roaring fire, the smell of stewed cabbage and salted meat and the aftertaste of average ale, the incoherent rampage of mixed conversations which ruled the ambiance was overthrown by the majesty of music.   Instruments took cue in their performance. Acreos felt himself smile, heart beating faster, at the sight of the beautiful woman who came to open her mouth and let escape an angelic voice if ever the man had heard one. Her singing was…intense. Taking a slow swig of his ale that suddenly tasted much better, he resided to sitting in comfort, imagining for himself a wife like the woman who had stolen his attention. 
  17. 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.
  18. 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.
  19. 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.
  20. 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]
  21. 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
  22. 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
  23. 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!
  24. I mean, why not really? I kinda wanna steal all the dragons lol
  25. The Year is 18,598 Arcturon, Taen, Terrenus M'yr furrowed his brow, his concentration hidden behind the mask. His breath steamed across his face, dampening the skin that was already so beaded with sweat. His hands were trembling; noticeably so. He clung to the delicate strands before him, gripping them tightly even as the sea rocked the vessel he rested upon, the heavy boards beneath his feet groaning in protest against the sea. Yet, the smell of salt and brine, and the sound of the sea was distant, nowhere close, for now. Steeling himself, he committed to the task; M'yr's hands deftly fixed the knot in the string at long last, and he let go, gasping with relief. The paper lanterns floated upward, but stopped before scraping the roof of the gazebo. He looked up at them, candlelight flickering against the driftwood mask that hid him away from the world. He breathed. The sea receded. "Is that the last of them?" Somebody else asked. M'yr glanced over, and saw her there. Her. Another in a mask. Not his mask, but hers. Pretty and painted and taken care of. But it was from the sea, of that there as no doubt. They all were, tonight. From its ancient slumber, the Serpent continued to provide. The mask affirmed that, the hooks and bangles around his wrists, his neck, and his waist affirmed that. Always there. Always calling. Driving him towards the serpent, and away from the sea. "Yeah." He managed to say. The lanterns bounced about merrily, and he handed them off to her. She accepted them, and she took them away. M'yr stood still, for a moment. The world was still, the sea gone. He breathed, again. Hosting this event was exhausting, and he continued to doubt its efficacy. This festival had blown up, rapidly, their influence over Taen had developed surprisingly quickly, and now M'yr was left to pick up the pieces, and put them together, here, of all places. The Acolytes of the Coiled Beast were not quite as influential as they would have liked, but their hard work, and their dedication to the safety of Taen, had given them a certain amount of intrigue. The people trusted them, and this was a chance to make themselves known. It was, above all else, a chance to unite the people, in the face of the coming tides. Arcturon, in all her beauty, stood in frigid silence that night. As the sun began to fade, and artificial light replaced the natural, the streets came to life with the sound of music and lights. The main streets of Arcturon formed a long, well-lit pathway of carnival games and attractions, as multiple members of the Acolytes roamed about helping set up decor and arrange lanterns and stands for the folk to enjoy. Coaxed out by the smell of cooking shellfish, the sound of tankards being filled, and the harsh percussion of street performers, the citizens and travelers made for the roads, and quickly became swept up in the sensation of Low-Tide. This was a first. For Taen, and for Arcturon, festivals like this weren't common yet. Festivals celebrating the local haul of fresh fish, and returning voyages, however? Those were even more rare, given that Arcturon was landlocked. Most of Taen was landlocked, in fact. There were little to no sources of salt-water fish to be had anywhere. Yet, this didn't stop the celebrating masses. Heading from the Northernmost road down to the Southernmost road, one could experience every attraction and appeal the festival had to offer. Diners, bars and some shops directly along the path stayed open later to accomodate for prospect customers, and some even offered 'happy-hour' discounts. Their wares, though sold on the eve of the festival, lacked any kind of 'seaside' influence, and yet once swept into one such establishment, the sound of the murring crowds might be replaced from time to time with the creaking of timbers, and the roaring of the sea. It made for a fine opportunity to step in for a pint, or a hot meal, or stock up on anything a passerby might covet. Further down the road, things quickly grew peppered with partygoers. Food and drink stands littered the edges of the streets, selling nearly everything one could think of. One particular stand offered saltwater taffy; locally flavored, pulled right before your eyes for a meager 25 credits apiece. Another sold fried pickles, and further along, another offered fried haddock on a stick. Things only grew more flavorful as the road continued onward. Games lined these streets, too. Masked men and women supervised while games of chance and skill were played on quickly-made stands and tables. Men played dead man's hand as if they'd been playing the card game every day of their lives, while others attempted to draw blood in short, visceral bowie-knife fights, while a paramedic looked on. A few simpler, childlike games of chance took place as well along the road. Ring toss and bottle-toppling seemed to be popular. More than a few folk lined up to try their luck at a firing range, where rusted flintlocks took aim at battered ships in bottles. Further along, a massive fish of indiscernable size rested atop a massive hook, a short distance above the passerby's head. Next to it, a hunched, yet tall man that reeked of the sea tried to goad folks into guessing its weight. And, of course, the deeper you went, the better the music became. Street bands and performers dominated the scene, and no sooner could you enter Arcturon before being swept away in a sea of shanties, and a jury of jigs. People danced and drank everywhere you went, and even attempting to pass some of them was grounds for them to try and invite you to join. Perhaps the most exciting event at that point in the evening was a grog-drinking contest, set to being just a short time later that evening. From the sound of things, a few places in the roster were still open.
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