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Found 27 results

  1. The apartment wasn’t as big as it had looked in the picture. Sure, four stories was pretty high, but the width of the building was just disappointing. Still, she had gotten this place for a very decent price which was getting harder to find in Blairville. Clothed exaggeratedly, she and Grant looked as if they were ready to survive a winter snowstorm as they made their way up to the front steps. In reality, they were trying to survive the eyes of the media. Their intention was to keep a low profile. Nobody needed to know that the Hyperion Prince was taking up residence outside of his city, far away from any of his bodyguards or the watchful eye of his mother. When they had reached the front porch, she tried out the key that would open up the fence door. It slid open with a soft click. The grass in the yard bloomed lusciously. Reyna was careful to stay away from it so as not to cause it to wilt. As they paced up the short stretch of stone pathway, hands clasped together tightly, she turned to Grant, an excited grin spreading across her face. “I’ve waited all my life for this,” she beamed proudly as she slid her key into the door. “Are you ready?” The lock popped open with a soft “click” and slid open to let out the warm smell of their new Blairville home. @danzilla3
  2. ~Harlow.

    Strange Occurrences

    [Blairville Outskirts] Trees. Lots and lots of trees. The ship soared over stretches of the Terren land that fell between Hell’s Gate and Blairville, passing over the shining Sidereal Lake, greeted by the wide open arms of the Ouread, and found themselves settling into the warm sands of the desert at the mountain range’s feet. It sat as a crown to the city, peaks reaching to the stars, all the way from the flat desert land of their shared valley. Soon, the gamut of green gave way to dirt and mud, soon then to waves of buff, blustery sands. A smattering of small settlements beyond the city walls decorated its distance with an abundance of small homes, markets, and trading caravans. Harlow’s good eye scanned the landscape as they approached their target, watching silently over the shoulder of her pilot. “Don’t go too fast, we don’t want to blow them away with that lead foot of yours.” An artificial voice quipped back, “That saying doesn’t apply to airships, Captain.” “Funny. But with all sincerity, Mama Gita is - Gaia bless her - old. She will literally blow away if we approach too quickly. Take us down easy.” The Cloudstrider coasted low in the sky above the city outskirts, soothing the roar of its engines as it eased into a landing. Tires bounced against the sand as the engines slowed and stopped, the surrounding population of Mahrjan turning their heads and ceasing activity to observe the visiting ship. The small, sapphire-maned woman at the helm raised her arms with elation, a device fastened to her right ear and forehead blinking in time with each syllable, “Touchdown, Captain!” “Good work, Abi,” Harlow nodded, tapping a nearby button on the control panel. It dimmed in activation as she leaned down to a nearby microphone, clearing her throat, “Goooood morning, people, - “ her words echoed throughout the halls and chambers of the ship, “- and welcome to Blairville. We’re here for a day or so. Our friends outside are a local Mahrjan clan. They’re friendly, but avoid mishandling water around them. Happy to explain if needed; otherwise, just trust me on that. Tom - prepare for a full house plus for dinner. We’ll be having a few guests aboard later.” She smiled at Abi seated in a tangle of her own legs in the pilot’s chair. “Wanna come with me to get my new eye?” “YES. I mean.. Of course, Captain. When do we leave?!” Harlow mulled over her answer, tapping her chin as she spun to face the exit of the bridge, “We have to set up at the Inn de Clairmont by midday. We should head over to the shop first now, if we want to make it in time to meet our prospects. Are you ready to go?” “AM I EVER!” Abi leapt from her chair, “I’ve been waiting for so long for you to get that eye!” “Tell me about it. I’m over the eyepatch.” The pair moseyed from the bridge and into the common area of the ship, briefly scanning the several couches and chairs for any signs of early morning life. Harlow could hear the clanging of stainless steel from the kitchen just beyond it, a clear sign that their cook was well into his task for the day. She paused at the top step for a moment, a satisfied smile finding her, before she descended into the cargo bay below. Bright beams of light parted the darkness of the bay as the rear ramp opened to the outside, playing Harlow and Abigail’s silhouettes across its expanse as they approached. A small group gathered at the opening entrance, centered by that of an older woman donned in many layers of colorful, ornate robes and wrappings. Bangles danced along her thin wrists as she clasped her hands together, shaking a bit from a natural unsteadiness. Three individuals appeared to surround her as escorts, observing her movements and paying careful attention to her needs. One held her elbow to provide stability where she stood. “Mama Gita. It’s been a while.” Harlow greeted her with a small bow before the woman reached to take one of her hands. “It’s so good to see you, young one. Although I wish it were under better circumstances.” Gita slowly raised a shaking hand to the captain’s face, bangles chiming, “Your eye.” “Don’t worry about it. Getting it taken care of today, actually. Thanks for letting us stay here, it’s really appreciated. Tom is working on a feast for us all later. We’re looking forward to hosting you this evening.” “Oh yes, we’re thrilled to have you all. Did I hear correctly that you’ve a crew now?” “Not yet. That’s the other thing we’re taking care of today. Hopefully. Abigail here,” Harlow motioned to her comrade, “Is my engineer, has been for a while. Everyone else you’ll have the pleasure of meeting later tonight - if they show up, anyway. Although, you may get a sneak preview if you run yourself into the slumbering princess we have aboard. You’ll know him by the hat. His name is Stello. ” The warm smile on Mama Gita’s wrinkly face colored her tone, “I’m looking forward to meeting all of them.” “Heh, me too.”
  3. Aleksei

    Wandering Roads

    “Listen, I just wanted to know the price on this scarf and nothing else!” Like talking over a storm, he thought while wearing an exasperated lopsided smirk. The woman didn't like him, and that's perfectly okay in his book, he didn't harbor any love for her either, but damn it! All he wanted to know was the price; it's not like he insulted her ancestors or anything. The likelihood of him buying it was extremely high; was the right color of red, fit just like a glove, and he could justify the purchase. Her ranting and raving at him were only knocking the item down in price, and he was becoming extremely irritated by her attitude. She said something that made him look down at his appearance - come again? He'll have her know that his armor was the best and just because he chose to wear it fashionably doesn't make him some haphazard knight. There are generations and generations built into the black armor, he’s not going to let some wrinkled old hag insult him because he may not fit in with the rest of the crowd. What gave her the gal? The man stood six-feet and at least - at least! - five inches and she was standing up against him like he was just a breeze to her mountainous impersonation. “Listen! I will give you what you want for it, just stop yelling at me!” Harshal said a prayer for the old woman’s family, because if she was his granny … “Wait, what?!” Just as he fished the coin out of its pouch, she slapped him with a preposterous number. He looked at her like she had three heads (matching the current two already protruding from her short frame). “Who has that kind of money?! It's a scarf, a scarf! Did the All-Creator wipe her ass with it?!” By this point, a small crowd of onlookers gathered around the stall to put their noses in not their business. Entertained by the sight of this giant man arguing with an old woman, some felt the need to stick around and see who was going to win this tug-o-war. Harshal is not going to bend knee for this hustler in wrinkles; he is also not leaving without the scarf. Now just a matter of principle, she was wasting his time throwing numbers she’s probably pulled out of her ear, but he’s no fool. He could care less if she’s a lady probably older than dirt itself, she started this whole thing by being snooty with him, and he’s not going to back down. @ourlachesism
  4. The purpose of this thread, like Social Temperatures, is to allow the winners of the various Zones in the Tower to make posts concerning their Zones that they can edit and update at their leisure.    I had to post it in TRP so as not to fluff the word limit.
  5. Anyone sensitive to the eddies of magic, and new to the abundance of it in Blairville, would find themselves in a state of sensory overload remedied either by continued exposure or skill at throttling the pipeline of one's own perception. Blairville's face was one now marred by the digressive effects of gang violence, as guildhalls expressed their ideological differences at one another through the means of lethal magic. The common man had little to fear in terms of direct assault by one of these gangs, but one also quickly learned that lightning bolts and petrification rays did not discriminate on the basis of worldview. You could go to sleep a man and wake up ash, and that was just the way of things now. Blairville's skyline did not scrape the vault of heaven near as much as the one at Hell's Gate, but chief among its towers was the TOWER, the one written about in capital letters, always, and whose utterance was one brought into a lower register in casual conversation, like it was the only bold word used in speech. The inside was enormous, but not in a manner incongruent with the TOWER's stature. To one side a staircase which led only downwards, and in front of it were stationed guards in military garb. To another side a staircase which led only upwards, and no obstructions to speak of. Finding oneself in the Library Zone proper, the sheer number of rows escaped the limits of sight even at the highest vantage climbing the shelves could offer, and one was left with the distinct impression that to see more would only serve to boggle the mind. There was no map, and there could be no map with the layout in constant flux. No catalog or system to the arrangement of the books. No rhyme. No reason. Only the zone. Only the TOWER. OOC
  6. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Book (B|E Quest)

    By Ash and by Moon, I Invoke thee. By Fang and by Claw, I Form thee. By Blood and by Spirit, I Bind thee. ---The Black Book, Thomas Herrington Out of respect for the dead, no rallies were organized and no politically motivated violence occurred on the day of Thomas Herrington’s funeral services. All was quiet atop the sloping hill that the enchanter’s district claimed, spare the chanting hymns of the Gaian clergy flanking the funeral procession and the single toll of a bell when Herrington’s body met hallowed ground. In the heavens above, grey clouds crept across the atmosphere at a glacial pace. A fine mist swept the promise of rain over the several hundred people gathered together in the cemetery. “On the earth do we toil,” intoned a priest before throwing a handful of soil into Herrington’s final resting place. On the earth do we toil, echoed the throngs of mourners and spectators. Around the open grave stood a collection of scholars, summoners, and one vaguely distracted half-brother named Albert. They followed the priest’s motion, adding their own portions of soil to the ground. Blessed water and lily petals followed. “In the earth do we rest.” In the earth do we rest. Hours later, the sky tore open with torrents of rain and hell broke loose upon Blairville’s Underworld. The Underworld of Blairville (or, at least, one of the Underworlds contained within the sprawling megacity) was chiefly confined to an insular district that had been constructed in the lower valley beneath Enchanter’s Hill. Down and down and down the streets spiralled, as the Underworld was built on a steep depression in the ground caused by a geomage duel centuries ago. Low rent apartment buildings sprung up like artificial cliffs against the sea of eclectically constructed dive bars and restaurants, of nondescript warehouses with blacked out windows, of boarded up shops coated in layers of graffiti, of flashing neon lights advertising anything from late night fried noodles to anonymous intimacy to substances that claim to make everything beautiful and nothing hurt. At the bottom of the depression grew a massive elderoak. It stood as high as the mage towers jutting out across Blairville, shading the Underworld with its expansive canopy. A vast marketplace settled at its roots. Rain was grudgingly accepted by the sellers at the Underworld’s marketplace. Those with open air booths immediately began to pack up their wares and cram themselves besides those with tents that were willing to share. The fortunate merchants and hawkers with permanent structures carved within the tree roots controlled their smirks as crowds escaping the deluge flooded into their shops. Some offered hot tea, others a sample of their latest happiness guaranteed potions or a glance at their caged exotic chimeras. Sharpened blades sliced through octopus tentacles freshly caught from the nearby river and the air filled with the scent of spices and seafood mingling with the metallic tang of the storm. With the vibrant noise and the ever present custom of Underworld dwellers to carefully ignore what happens in the shadows, there was little reaction to the first scream. At the second, the undertone of anxiety began to buzz across the market. Lightning streaked across the sky and illuminated the wreckage of a tent. Tomes with shredded pages lay discarded and brutally butchered in the mud. Parchment scrolls and the tent’s garishly embroidered yellow fabric absorbed crimson. A left hand in the process of contorting itself into a gesture for protection had been ripped away from its former mistress and now marked the entryway. The magic dealer, a Banjaro woman named Vadoma, had not been the only victim. Thomas Herrington’s black hound tore through the marketplace with feral fury, stopping its path of destruction the moment it encountered a man dressed in a dark suit. Swords passed straight through the black hound. No quickly flung spells managed to slow it down. Amare Woolf, caught in the maw of nightmare, disappeared from sight. All that remained were droplets of blood and a solitary cufflink in the shape of a ram’s head. Three days passed. They each brought a swirl of rumors regarding Amare Woolf and his connection to Thomas Herrington. While their relationship never appeared to expand beyond the nature of casual acquaintances, they both studied in the same field of magic. Woolf was younger by more than a decade, yet demonstrated a knack for efficiently bringing forth fickle spirits and binding them under his command. The strength of his will had attracted attention from the Summoner’s Guild, with Herrington included, yet none of the prominent members could explain why Woolf had been targeted so shortly after Herrington met an untimely demise. Theories that someone else was capable of summoning the Black Hound was met with derision from the elder magicians. Only Herrington had the knowledge to bind the creature, they insisted. Yet how was the hound running loose if its master lie under six feet of sacred soil? It was a question Ioreth Rhavon pondered as she waited for the other contracted employees to meet her at the elderoak plaza, one of the rare green spaces contained within this area of Blairville. As tradition seemed to dictate with quests across Valucre, a tavern had been selected for their rendezvous point. The bastard child of a Weland teahouse and a sketchy lounge, the Lithium Hour rested snugly between two juvenile elderoaks. In order to make up for the highly uneven foundation, the floors of the LH were split into different segments via platforms. From the claustrophobic foyer guarded by a glowering woman with indigo skin and a set of horns one needed to hop up onto the central area, where one then could clamber onto a dining area in the east or a hookah room on the west. Music trickled in from high above, a hypnotic pulsating beat that drifted through the thick smoke and swirled in the overly sweet liqueur served at the bar. Ioreth settled herself deeper into the velvet sofa cushions with a sigh. For a moment, time slowed to a steady rhythm in her private alcove. Over her head, sconces on the deep violet walls cast a soft glow across the small room. A full set of Weland style tea sat on the low coffee table, complete with an assortment of delicate finger foods and pastries. Paperwork, organized into three different stacks, perched at the edge of the spread. Amare Woolf’s cufflink danced between Ioreth’s fingers. Nimble and elongated, they were adorned with silver rings and runic etchings. The clothing she choose for the night was simple: she was swathed in black with a soft tunic and leggings, her stormcloud colored hair woven into a braid, her bare feet wrapped save for her heels and toes. Upon entering, the Book|Ends associates would be greeted with a smile and gesture towards the still untouched tea set. As her new hires were informed of the tome she wished to obtain, the magic users among the group were granted temporary licenses to protect them from reporting to the authorities controlling Blairville's Safeguard measures before they entered the city along with the location of Lithium Hour and a pass needed to present to Ibeyi, the bouncer with the horns, that would allow them to enter the stairs at the back that led to their meeting room. It was here that they could discuss what their mission entailed.
  7. Grubbistch

    [MT2:2] Torgal vs Sera

    [OOC thread Tor'Gal versus Sera] One chance, he had one chance to redeem himself in the virtual arena, to right the wrong he committed in losing his first match. Standing at the outskirts of Blairville, the half orc paladin who called himself Tor'Gal waited for his opponent to enter the field to engage him in combat. It would be here in this fantasy realm that he showed all of Terrenus what he was truly made of. With his claymore resting upon his shoulder, the warrior priest thought on the day he was asked to return to this strange tournament of fictional battle. His believed failure could finally be rectified, the stain of his dishonor could finally be erased, and he had one more shot now to help his fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Now all he needed to do was win, to be victorious in battle, to defeat all challengers, so that he may take home that prize money. Much was riding on this victory, even more now than before his first battle, for his pride was doubly on the line. "Soon, the battle will commence." @Zashiii
  8. If Issac had known just how much administration and administrator was required to do; he probably would have thought about the offer to head up the Hera division of the Prometheus Initiative a bit longer than he had. He wasn't stupid of course; he had known that such a job would entail much more bureaucracy and paperwork than he was used to, but he'd never dreamed it would be like ninety percent of his job! The last week since he had taken the job had been filled with staff meetings, requisition forms, and SO. MANY. SIGNATURES. Issac almost felt like a celebrity with how many times a day he was signing his name on things. Over the weekend he had wised up, and had just made a stamp with his signature on it to spare himself carpel tunnel syndrome. Karilius had promised him throughout the whole thing that all the tedious paper pushing was just to get things rolling, and that soon he would be aloud to create and pursue his own goals for Hera. The alchemist had replied that he had better not be lying, or he might blow up his own office just to alleviate the boredom. The young man had laughed until Issac had shown him the bomb. But come Monday morning, the young man had kept his word; and after one last signature Karilius had turned him loose to start thinking how best spread magic based medicine to all of Terrenus. Freed from his bureaucratic shackles, he had thought long and hard about what his first project would be; and after falling asleep and rolling off the couch in his office, he knew what he wanted to do. Clinics! It made so much sense to him! After all, they already had the resources to help those in need on the continent, so they would be achieving their objective of helping people. Plus, as they developed new medical technology, it would give them a staging point to distribute it! Unfortunately, he knew he couldn't directly manage such clinics and still have time to do his actual job; and thus he had hit upon the idea of hiring people to do that for him! That was why he was now walking into a conference room where the applicants awaited his arrival. He stood at the head of the table and began to speak. "Hello! My name is Issac Graham, Administrator of the Hera division of the Prometheus Initiative. Let's go around the table and have everybody introduce themselves before we begin the interviews?" @Ayden @evil @Scout22 @PurplePanda @carrionjackal @BiggieSmalls
  9. It was midday as it seemed, and the rock paved streets were paved with citizens engaging in conversations, be it bargaining for an antique, conversing with a friend or casual banter as they walked. Cheerfully children would slip through the cracks of the flow of human traffic as they chased each other in a game of tag. Mixed with a variety of humans, goblins, mages and average folk with the occasional bard playing music at a street corner for money, it was an average day for the citizens of Blairville. If only they knew that a 1 million dollar bounty was among them the streets would be a whole other story. This precious young lady shrouded herself in a cloak, what she thought was clever, in reality making he stick out like a soar thumb especially with what kind of robe it was. Silk velvet red, which shined in the sun, almost an eyesore to look at in the midst of middle class citizens. Guards on patrol immediately took noticed the behavior, more curious as to why someone in high class society was wandering a place like this. Such a young lady shouldn't be here alone. Of course, one approached her to ask if she was lost. It was an innocent question. But the young woman panicked. they were onto her. She couldn't go back. So immediately after the man tapped her shoulder, she ran. Pushing through the crowd, she could hear the man in the distance calling out to her, but of course she wouldn't turn back. Running into a series of alleyways, she would find herself even deeper down the rabbit hole. It was sketchier here, darker, dirtier, and filled with suspicious characters.. as she cautiously passed, she could feel the eyes on her. It was as if they could sense her wealth (though it was probably the cloak that gave it away). One would speak to her as they grab hold of the silk tail of the cloak, "Hey that's a pretty looking robe you got there sweety" Croaked one of the many sketchy men. She flinched as she attempted to yank it from his grasp with little results. Don't you dare touch me you creep!". "Aww don't be like that babe, I just want to play." Afraid, she pulls out her mace and goes to town on the man's eyes. Shrieking in pain he lets go of the the robe and runs again, only this time the man chases after her. She panicked. She’s never been chased like this before. She could die. But she would rather this kind of living than be a prisoner. So she kept running, banging on doors for help, but no one responded. Some she could even hear their doors actively lock at her approach. She turned another corner. This door was open. She nearly leaped into the entrance as if it were gods embrace, and immediately shut the door. Sounds of running approached…then faded. She let out a sigh as she unveiled her cloak. A light skinned girl with curly auburn hair in pigtail puffs. She looked around where she was, and it was surprisingly crowded with dusty antiques and stacks of books, far beyond her reach. “H-hello?” She would call out with a shaky voice. She began walking deeper into the room, delicately avoiding knocking things over.
  10. BiggieSmalls

    Devising a Pantheon - Hades

    Karilius Oelin considered himself to be a fortunate member of the High Towers' mage guild. He felt blessed to have the many resources available to him, his motions and his movements backed by a well-crafted, slowly-changing group of similarly-interested mages, many of whom had come from other mage guilds in order to empower the Prometheus Initiative. People who sought to immediately and potently use their abilities in order to help others and solve everyday problems... People who were like him. The white-haired young man, with sun-glare eyes, couldn't help but let his pale face pull into a grin at the thought of all of those people, working closely in tandem with him, all of them reaching for the same sun, chasing after it with their knowledge. To make the world truly better would require that they all join and band together, to innovate and change the way the world saw magic. He himself saw it as a simple tool, like any other. A spell could be wielded just as efficiently, if not more so, as a shovel or a pitchfork. A spell was merely an extension of a toolset, a skill to be used. It was nothing particularly special, nothing that likely could not be accomplished via other means, in time. But with the deaths of many under the violence on both sides of the Safeguard Act, this tool had to be rebranded from one of terrorism to one of peace, that the common folk could rally around. It was with the general people who kept the economy running that Karilius himself could enact the change he sought to place in the world. The change that had been inspired, not so long ago, from a simple, leather-bound booklet. Within his room, the white-haired boy, scarred on one face, was alone. A large double bed, and a mahogany desk were pushed towards the far side of the room, with stacks upon stacks of books obscuring the dark wood from the vision of any passersby. A mixture of ledgers, rosters, and records all pieced together in order to keep up-to-date information regarding the entirety of his organization, but more importantly, his plans and their eventual stations, to be placed within. The rug itself held the same magical charm as the rug within his bank, a simple set of runes that would clean the boots and clothes of those who stepped in. Alarm glyphs, hidden from view, and alerting only himself when triggered, lined his windows and doors. His bookshelves, all three of them, were home-kempt journals depicting the different businesses of the city who used his bank, information he could gather along with techniques that he had obtained through the discussions on whether or not he should invest in them. Within a single mage's room was enough economic information to break about twenty-percent of the common businesses of Blairville, ranging from magical shops to mundane ones, each bookshelf broken down into one of four categories: Individuals who had borrowed money from the bank; Individuals who sought security details from the bank; and Individuals who used the bank as a place to protect their income. And in the margins of each page were extensive details regarding their business, from names, to loved ones, to obsessive details regarding their abilities. More importantly, a list of spell-like abilities that would benefit the businesses with a name on each page. The Knights of Goldwyn. Athena. Introduce magical tethers that allow the bodyguards to detect the state that their charge is in, so that they can better comprehend their immediate priorities. Scrying sensors would be of the utmost use. The Fenwyn Adventurer's Guild. Poseidon. Introduce refreshment beads, liquid beads, and other general survival tools. Conspire to decrease the amount of space and weight necessary for necessities, so maximal material can be brought back with each dangerous trek. Fell Dark Mercenary Company. Hades. Weaponization of negative energies in order to inflict lasting wounds, in order to force injured parties to submit quicker. Decrease overall lethality, focus instead on the impeding of natural healing and resting processes. Page upon page of information, sensitive and projected, were all listed on these bookshelves. The meticulous detailing of a young man bordering on the obsessed, through all but the machinations of a single brown book. But as the young man picked up this brown booklet, he tucked it into his robes, and stalled aside, coming to a spot on his bed. He knew what he'd done by inviting someone in here. His usually chipper face reflected a deeply serious concern, as those deep golden eyes flicked over his bookshelf. A glyph clicked away, as if warning him when the encroaching time would arrive. The young man couldn't help but let the clicking of the glyph-clock on his wall remind him of a deeply frustrating sentiment. The one that, despite all of his goodwill towards his fellow man, his blind-eyed idealism, and his visceral desire to do good unto others, that if he were killed, all of his goals would die with him, and that the next person to inherit his business might not be as cool-minded or peacefully-inclined as himself. And with his plans for the future, he imagined that a great many groups... The Terran Government and the Terrorists against the Safeguard act especially, would both find their ire drawn towards him. His fingertips drummed patiently at his desk, and he couldn't help but take in deep, slow breaths, as he tried his best to not let it bother him. He needed... Soldiers. Unfortunately, he had need of guards. But if they were just personal guards for him, it wouldn't justify the expense. The compromise was Hades. The organization that would work as bounty hunters representing the interests of the Prometheus Initiative, while simultaneously working with law enforcement to prevent dangerous individuals from continuing to press the public, and function as guards for the personnel of the Initiative's many subsidiaries. Though he played it off as assistance to law enforcement, a line in the sand had to be drawn. This was the formation of a private military company, in order to keep the interests and members of the Prometheus Initiative alive, by working with government contracts, business contracts, and other such groups, as a high-power force to put the Initiative itself on the map as something. Something that shouldn't be targeted, for fear of the repercussions. @carrionjackal
  11. Karilius Oelin considered himself to be a fortunate member of the High Towers' mage guild. He felt blessed to have the many resources available to him, his motions and his movements backed by a well-crafted, slowly-changing group of similarly-interested mages, many of whom had come from other mage guilds in order to empower the Prometheus Initiative. People who sought to immediately and potently use their abilities in order to help others and solve everyday problems... People who were like him. The white-haired young man, with sun-glare eyes, couldn't help but let his pale face pull into a grin at the thought of all of those people, working closely in tandem with him, all of them reaching for the same sun, chasing after it with their knowledge. To make the world truly better would require that they all join and band together, to innovate and change the way the world saw magic. He himself saw it as a simple tool, like any other. A spell could be wielded just as efficiently, if not more so, as a shovel or a pitchfork. A spell was merely an extension of a toolset, a skill to be used. It was nothing particularly special, nothing that likely could not be accomplished via other means, in time. But with the deaths of many under the violence on both sides of the Safeguard Act, this tool had to be rebranded from one of terrorism to one of peace, that the common folk could rally around. It was with the general people who kept the economy running that Karilius himself could enact the change he sought to place in the world. The change that had been inspired, not so long ago, from a simple, leather-bound booklet. Within his room, the white-haired boy, scarred on one face, was alone. A large double bed, and a mahogany desk were pushed towards the far side of the room, with stacks upon stacks of books obscuring the dark wood from the vision of any passersby. A mixture of ledgers, rosters, and records all pieced together in order to keep up-to-date information regarding the entirety of his organization, but more importantly, his plans and their eventual stations, to be placed within. The rug itself held the same magical charm as the rug within his bank, a simple set of runes that would clean the boots and clothes of those who stepped in. Alarm glyphs, hidden from view, and alerting only himself when triggered, lined his windows and doors. His bookshelves, all three of them, were home-kempt journals depicting the different businesses of the city who used his bank, information he could gather along with techniques that he had obtained through the discussions on whether or not he should invest in them. Within a single mage's room was enough economic information to break about twenty-percent of the common businesses of Blairville, ranging from magical shops to mundane ones, each bookshelf broken down into one of four categories: Individuals who had borrowed money from the bank; Individuals who sought security details from the bank; and Individuals who used the bank as a place to protect their income. And in the margins of each page were extensive details regarding their business, from names, to loved ones, to obsessive details regarding their abilities. More importantly, a list of spell-like abilities that would benefit the businesses with a name on each page. Orgal Crone. The Seeds of Wrath. Zeus. Use the combative potential to allow expansion of farming into more dangerous territory, effectively growing border protectors for frontier villages. Grace Foln, Private Detecctive. Harpocrates. Create image-capturing magical items to allow her to improve her prosecution on clients through better evidence. Diolise Monstrous Kiddie Rance. Demeter. Use the baby monstrosities for breeding projects in order to help improve the capabilities of beasts in terms of output of meat and other byproducts. Page upon page of information, sensitive and projected, were all listed on these bookshelves. The meticulous detailing of a young man bordering on the obsessed, through all but the machinations of a single brown book. But as the young man picked up this brown booklet, he tucked it into his robes, and stalled aside, coming to a spot on his bed. He knew what he'd done by inviting someone in here. His usually chipper face reflected a deeply serious concern, as those deep golden eyes flicked over his bookshelf. A glyph clicked away, as if warning him when the encroaching time would arrive. This meeting in particular was one that he would find a great amount of frustration with. He'd grown up on a farm prior to his arrival in Blairville, and the young man knew that animals wouldn't be treated the most humanely, despite his wants and needs. Karilius Oelin had the softest spot in his heart for black kittens, and just the idea of turning them into more powerful variations, as if they were weapons, was offputting to him. He tried to stymie his distaste for the necessity by instead thinking of them as house protectors, kittens who would save children when intruders popped into their homes, and it managed to ease his distaste, albeit only a bit. He hoped to whatever gods there were that this new interviewee would arrive already, so that this distasteful debacle could be finished already! @PurplePanda
  12. Karilius Oelin considered himself to be a fortunate member of the High Towers' mage guild. He felt blessed to have the many resources available to him, his motions and his movements backed by a well-crafted, slowly-changing group of similarly-interested mages, many of whom had come from other mage guilds in order to empower the Prometheus Initiative. People who sought to immediately and potently use their abilities in order to help others and solve everyday problems... People who were like him. The white-haired young man, with sun-glare eyes, couldn't help but let his pale face pull into a grin at the thought of all of those people, working closely in tandem with him, all of them reaching for the same sun, chasing after it with their knowledge. To make the world truly better would require that they all join and band together, to innovate and change the way the world saw magic. He himself saw it as a simple tool, like any other. A spell could be wielded just as efficiently, if not more so, as a shovel or a pitchfork. A spell was merely an extension of a toolset, a skill to be used. It was nothing particularly special, nothing that likely could not be accomplished via other means, in time. But with the deaths of many under the violence on both sides of the Safeguard Act, this tool had to be rebranded from one of terrorism to one of peace, that the common folk could rally around. It was with the general people who kept the economy running that Karilius himself could enact the change he sought to place in the world. The change that had been inspired, not so long ago, from a simple, leather-bound booklet. Within his room, the white-haired boy, scarred on one face, was alone. A large double bed, and a mahogany desk were pushed towards the far side of the room, with stacks upon stacks of books obscuring the dark wood from the vision of any passersby. A mixture of ledgers, rosters, and records all pieced together in order to keep up-to-date information regarding the entirety of his organization, but more importantly, his plans and their eventual stations, to be placed within. The rug itself held the same magical charm as the rug within his bank, a simple set of runes that would clean the boots and clothes of those who stepped in. Alarm glyphs, hidden from view, and alerting only himself when triggered, lined his windows and doors. His bookshelves, all three of them, were home-kempt journals depicting the different businesses of the city who used his bank, information he could gather along with techniques that he had obtained through the discussions on whether or not he should invest in them. Within a single mage's room was enough economic information to break about twenty-percent of the common businesses of Blairville, ranging from magical shops to mundane ones, each bookshelf broken down into one of four categories: Individuals who had borrowed money from the bank; Individuals who sought security details from the bank; and Individuals who used the bank as a place to protect their income. And in the margins of each page were extensive details regarding their business, from names, to loved ones, to obsessive details regarding their abilities. More importantly, a list of spell-like abilities that would benefit the businesses with a name on each page. Vandarl Fenn. The Blades of Vengeance. Hades. Develop techniques for tracking targets. Big Heart Logan's Medicinal Practice. Hera. Introduce diagnosis magic here, to break down on cost efficiency between skilled healers and non-skilled healers. The Silver Arrow. Hephaestus. Magically enchant arrows and Mending on leather materials and arrows. Page upon page of information, sensitive and projected, were all listed on these bookshelves. The meticulous detailing of a young man bordering on the obsessed, through all but the machinations of a single brown book. But as the young man picked up this brown booklet, he tucked it into his robes, and stalled aside, coming to a spot on his bed. He knew what he'd done by inviting someone in here. His usually chipper face reflected a deeply serious concern, as those deep golden eyes flicked over his bookshelf. A glyph clicked away, as if warning him when the encroaching time would arrive. This would be the first of many. And hopefully, this first of many would bring with him the help, the change, that he needed for the stages of his plan to grow into what it was meant to become. @danzilla3
  13. BiggieSmalls

    Extending a Hand

    "You have got to be kidding me." The voice that spoke was shocked, in a mixture of frustration and disbelief, as it addressed its fellow speaker. A golden-eyed young man leaned over a balcony, the High Towers' Mage Guild presiding over a particularly small segment of one of many entertainment sectors within Blairville. The golden-eyed man's snowy hair seemed out of place in the building heat, as if it should have long melted from his head. But no. It remained slicked comfortably back, pressed down against the top of the young man's head. Pale, folded hands rested on the warm metal railing of the balcony, each one wringing the other in slow, deliberate motions. Finally, the pale young man flashed his redheaded companion a smile. A knowing one. The kind of gentle, inviting smile that seemed to be plastered on his face whenever he finished his learnings at the tower. "No. No no no." The redhead shook his head vigorously, irritation spreading across his freckled features. "No way. The headmasters ignored your little business, since you've maintained your studies, but this? This is downright insane, Kar!" Slightly tanned hands reached out and grabbed at the snowy-haired young man, squeezing his shoulders and shaking the poor kid back and forth, toussling his entire body as if it were made of paper. An awkward laugh resounded from the white-haired man, whose smile never faded despite his rough treatment. Though he did grunt in frustration when his head began lolling back and forth with each shake. "Alek, c'mon! It's a good idea!" The snowy-haired young man, Kar, grasped at his redheaded companion's wrists, prying them from his shoulders. That ginger-sweet smile that spread across his features seemed altogether too kind. Unbelievably so. As if there were some kind of mischievous energy beneath it, blossoming like a flower inside of him. Alek could feel it. His already pale hands were white-knuckled with worry and nerves, and energy that made each slim finger like a snake, coiled around him. "I can do it." That smooth, tenor voice. It sounded as if he were speaking to family, not to a mere friend. "I can make this change happen." His fingers loosened around Alek's wrists, freeing the now-reddened skin for the redhead's grasp to fall at his sides. The slightly taller Alek cautiously eyed his friend up and down. He went to speak, only for Kar to cut him off. "And if I don't, I can't just wait for someone else to. It's not right to the people struggling while they wait for me." There was a somber timbre to his voice now. Something old and quiet, hushed like waves lapping across a wreckage. In that moment, it was as if Kar could see every act of suffering, and vocalized the miseries it wrought about within the tangling blood vessels around his heart, the crushing grasp of his sorrows and uncertainties made clear as day. The quiet, hushed moment seemed to extend between the two of them. Alek had no words for Kar. Kar couldn't bring himself yet again to speak. Both young men were aware of the strains. Of the suffering of the people below. The terroristic actions against a controlling government resulting in casualties that were yet to be bound to either side. Uncertain folks barely clinging to life as both government agents and spell-wielding vigilantes took those futures into their hands, unprompted. Until now, Karilius had been content to watch, hoping things would work out. A child in an uncaring world, naively believing that things would change while he remained concerned with his own comforts. But now... Now he couldn't do that any longer. It had taken weeks. Perhaps a much shorter time than most would have thought, to come up with this plan. Aleksandre seemed shocked at the mere idea that Karilius had come up with this massive-scoped plan, and a means of accomplishing it, in a matter of weeks. But Kar had the motivation of violence behind him. Violence against the innocents who had done nothing wrong. Against people who had been doing naught but their jobs. "You sure?" The redhead spoke in a calm, quiet whisper, shattering the glass box of thought that isolated them from the outside world. The white-haired mage nodded, slowly, to assure his friend. This was the beginning of it all. The beginning of change. "Fine. But you get to face the Guild Council on this one. I'm not touching it." Kar gave a loud, hopeful laugh, his green-eyed friend watching him with a less-than-amused look, as the white-haired young man turned towards the balcony opening. "Well. Here goes nothing, then." Karilius, took his robe from the chair next to him, hefting it up, and flourishing it, an arcane, ghastly hand appearing to help him slide the robe around his figure. Navy blues and golden trim complimented his snowy skin, and his golden eyes seemed content to wander towards his feet, black shoes clattering against the floor as he approached the guildmasters' hall. Better late than never. Less than a week later, that same white-haired mage was putting up flyers, sticking adhesive flyers to walls, having paid his redheaded friend comfortably to craft them. A large white sun, with an outstretched hand reaching towards it. The papers themselves were labeled "The Prometheus Initiative" on top. Below the sun and hand was a simple line. "Foundation for the Accessibility of Magic and Economization of Spell Abilities seeks Mages to Join in Business and Social Pursuits. If Interested in Assisting in the Initiative, Come to the Promethean Banking and Security Building, on 12th and Sigilcrest." Despite his skinny frame and lack of muscle, the young man seemed to have been working hard as he jumped through the ethnically diverse districts, finally making his way to a larger market district, as he stuck the adhesive paper to another wall. His permit folded up and placed within a medallion around his neck, able to be popped open and revealed at the slightest provocation. Of which he'd had twelve today alone. Karilius didn't mind. He'd found a few mages here and there who were interested in the ideas he'd had to offer. Who listened to him over their own guildmasters. People who were giving him a legitimate chance. People who asked questions, who would listen to his concerns when he let them spill forth. Sure, juggling this advertisement of the foundation itself with his day job at his banking and security firm and his studies(his uncle's requirement for the guild's cooperation with his "selfish" goal) left him with little more than four or five hours of sleep everyday. But it was worth it to enact the change Blairville needed. He hoped. He looked up at the sun, to that outstretched hand reaching towards it. The bags under his eyes made his tender gaze towards his self-designed banner seem that much more tempered and uncertain, as he reached out, placing his fingertips along the sun, and flattening it up against the wall. Maybe the design was a little bit off. The hand should've been holding a piece of the sun, to offer it to the people. But it was too late for that. He was, fortunately, knocked out of his brooding as a passing cart nudged into his back, and flattened him up against the wall, his chest flattened up against the wall as he was squashed. He couldn't help but grunt in discomfort from it, as his robe hooked onto a wheel spoke. Noting it before any damage occurred, Karilius flicked his wrist, and an arcane hand formed, lifting his robe from the wheel spoke before it pulled him off in whatever direction. A few of the common folk, merchants and passersby, gave him a strange look. As if expecting more. Expecting him to zap the wheel spoke. Indeed, with the scar running down the side of his face, his snowy white hair, and his golden, sickly eyes and dark robe, he seemed more the part of a villainous mage than a simple one. His slicked back hair only added to that feel, too! But instead of allowing himself to run amock with magic, he instead turned back, placing another flyer up against the wall, pinning it in place, and smiling, the travelers, merchants, and customers all ignoring him upon realizing he was just letting the cart that'd hit him leave. His smile spread open again, thin lips parting to reveal pearly teeth, as he stuck another flyer up against the wall, this time of a small spellbook-vellum shop. No. This symbol would be fine. It was of all of the people, reaching for the sun together, trying to touch the future that they truly, deeply hoped for. It would more than make due. It was perfect for him.
  14. ARYELA: Aryela was on the third floor balcony, reclining in one of the flashy lounge chairs. She wore a tiny black dress and her hair in a sleek ponytail. Her grey and green eyes were hidden behind expensive shades, but they were forever alert for any unusual events. She had barely done her makeup, only adding a bit of blush to to liven up her eternal dead look. Her pale complexion, especially in her legs, contrasted too sharply against everything else around, much to onlookers interests, but Aryela just ignored they're ignorant stares. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the hint of blood that the kind - too kind, actually - waiter had given her, along with a seductive look. She pitied him; she had no time for men, or any relationship at all. She preferred her solicitude and freedom rather love with ties. She did find it in her heart to leave him a rather large tip though. Aryela stood up and put on her crimson lace kimono and black beret, then swaggered over to the elevator, chin held high. She leaned her shoulder against the wall and watched the opposite wall unenthusiastically, waiting to reach the ground floor. That's when her sixth sense told her that something was wrong. She sniffed the air, maybe there was bloodshed from a fellow vampire? No...Aryela stood with her eyebrows furrowed as the doors opened and she stepped out before realizing what was going on. "Anna Claire de Marcón, you are under arrest for the deaths of the Wicth-Flynner family and several other murders. You have the right to remain silent..." Guards gave her electric shocks that made her immobile and they grabbed her body as she flopped on the floor. The only thing she was thinking about was what was wrong and how undignified she looked at the moment. She shuddered while they lay her body in the back of a police van and drove away. She heard the sounds of crowds and reporters around her but she was in too much pain to care. Then someone stuck a needle in her arm and everything blacked out. Sometime later, it felt like days, Aryela found herself in a jail cell. Her body aches all over but she was thinking clearly enough to feel that her weapons, all of them including the secret ones, had been taken. Luckily they hadn't undressed her, but this wasn't prison. But Aryela felt like that road wasn't too far away. She sat up in the bunk she was in and cringe from the bright light, hissing loudly. They had added some anti-vampire substance in the bars of the jail cell to keep her at bay. She tried to use her senses to get a hold of herself but one senses, her sense of smell, was being overwhelmed with the most beautiful and delicious aroma known to vampire-kind: human flesh and blood. Aryela bolted up, cracking some of her tight joints which sounded like knuckle cracking. She scanned around the room savagely, her neck cocked to the side in thought. Then she spotted her jail mate. She couldn't help but grimace. "What are you in here for?" she growled. IYANNA: Iyanna was lying in the grass in a ball, wild flowers surrounding her body. She fingered the stems, feeling their smooth texture, touching the petals cool surface. She nibbled on a daisy curiously. What animals tasted these beautiful plants everyday, relishing their splendid taste? Well, they weren't splendid to her. Iyanna hastily spit out the daisy and gagged as she tried to rid her mouth of the awful taste. "GET YOUR ARSE UP, SLAVE." Iyanna scrambled up and snapped her head around gazing into the furious eyes of the baker's wife, who held a tray of burnt pastries. She shoved the hot pan in front of the elf's face, smirking at her feeble cry of fright. Then she dumped the tray on Iyanna's naked feet. It was all she could for to not scream, and she quickly sent a wave of cold to her sizzling feet. Once the mean old woman had gone back inside, Iyanna scrapped up the cleanest of pastries, shoved a dirty loaf of bread into her mouth, and headed inside the small wooded area behind the bakery. She walked until she reached the pond and she crouched down, letting her white hair touching the water. She gazed down at her reflection, studying her dirty face, mangled hair, and chapped lips. Iyanna felt a wave of sorry go through her and let a stray tear run down her face before throwing pieces of the pastries into the pond and grass around her for the animals. She did this until it began to get dark and when she heard the cowbell ring. She scampered back towards the bakery, her dull brown dress, full of patches and stray strings, fly behind her. She tired to dust off her clothing as best as she could with her hands before she entered the kitchen. Just as she stepped inside though the woman grabbed her by the ear. "Listen, I need you to run to the marketplace, you here? My husband wants some of that Silver Wine, the one that only Old Jimmy sells, you know." She placed some money in Iyanna's hand pinched her along. "If you're not back in a hour, don't bother coming back, you lazy-" Iyanna was out of the bakery before the woman could finish, fresh tears streaming down her face. She let the coins jiggle in the pocket of her apron, trying to quiet her sobs. It was getting quieter and more ominous as the darkness crept in. She needed to hurry. The bakery was her only source of food and the night merchants only stayed afterhours for only a few minutes. She began to jog her way. When she finally got to the square she realized that it was deserted, and it always was on Tuesdays. She bit her lip. Was she tricked so she would be late on purpose? Iyanna forced herself not to cry. Instead she frowned hard and was about to turn around when she heard a noise in the quiet. "...hello?" She called out.
  15. LightningBolt

    An Impending Doom

    She didn't like what she was feeling as she walked down the dirth path. She placed a hand over her pulsing heart, a troubled expression on her face. Her staff was glowing brighter than normal, and it definitely wasn't because of her. There was the feeling of impending doom clawing at her, making goosebumps rise on her skin. "What was happening?" She mumbled to herself. Her staff should only respond to her magic, but her energy isn't as its highest peak nor is she feeling particularly strong. She continued to venture down the road, cautiously glancing around the woods that surrounded her. She reached into her small pouch and took out a small gem; a Selenite. Tossing it up into the air, she mumbled a few words as the flower on her staff bloomed and shot a beam of light towards the crystal. As it exploded it she raised her arm to protect herself from the debris and frowned at the dark matter that released. That crystal was meant to absorb the energy in the surrounding area and from what she's seen, everything was polluted. "What is this? What's going on?" She mumbled under her breath, now having doubts about her travels. She had meant to visit Blairville, meaning to do some exploration in the unfamiliar area. Though with the negative energy that seemed to be radiating from the town the nearer she got. She sighed softy, shaking her head. There was no point in turning back now. She was exhausted and needed a place to stay for the night. With that, she continued on her travels. ~ She glanced around the area, pulling her hat a bit lower on her head. She felt out of place and that made her a bit conscious--considering the fact that she seemed to have gained some attention. She walked over to the bar, hesitantly placing her hat down on the counter and her staff against the edge. "Excuse me." She called out to the male beside her, glancing over. "Where's the bartender?" She then suddenly took notice of his unnaturally colored eyes. One was green while the other was pure black, taking her by surprise. @Ichi
  16. Note: I am not participating in this thread, merely structuring it and offering it up on a first come, first serve basis. The thread will accept no more players after 5 join or after 10 posts, whichever comes first Event name Safe riots and kidnapping OOC thread Reward 1x forged magic license 1x flash mask (hide face from electronic and visual surveillance) 1x Object class starmetal (multiplies impact force) Requirements 1 page for 1 player; 2+ pages for 1-3 players; 3+ pages for 4-5 players Content As a consequence of the civil war, riots in Blairville over the Safeguard Act continue to escalate in violence and scope. Pro-magic and pro-safety guilds are in constant battle for dominance, and both parties find themselves in conflict with the Constabulary, Blairville's local police force. Two sizable guilds, the Crimson Ledgers and the Bronze Crescent, have recently disbanded their Blairville chapters due to the loss of life and the depletion of magical items in their most recent skirmish. In the disorganized confusion that followed, Bruga, a goblin gypsy artificer which worked for both guilds as a contractor, has been kidnapped by parties unknown. Goals Rescue Bruga from whoever kidnapped her Once rescued Bruga will reveal she was working on plans for a negabjurium amplifier. To complete her work she needs the lungs of a gargoyle. She has information on such a creature rampaging in the Unterholm On returning with the gargoyle lung, protect Bruga while she prepares her item – basically defend her against one meaningful attack, however you define this in the thread
  17. Slatheok

    Journey of the Three

    @Trevor Wisegem @Rolynight It had been a long and difficult ride but finally she and her companions finally reached Blairville. Aside a few bandits on the road she found the road not that hard to travel. She stopped Icera on the top of a hill that looked over the village and signed towards the other 2 to also stop. ''Well this is Blairville, our destination. If I am correct..''' Slatheok looked very careful to the area around the city and saw the oak tree where she met the mages. She saw their supplies where still there meaning they either were still here or werent to far away. Judging from the amount of provisions they had she said: ''Well there is the tree where I met the mages and where I first woke up with them standing over me before the innkeeper found me. For some reason they were very interesed in me as if I was something or giving off something they never saw before. Anyway seeing the supplies are still here they cant have gone to far into the area surrounding Blairville.'' With that she signaled the others to follow and spurred Icera on towards the village. People were looking at her with her strange companions but she didnt pay any attention towards them. With that she stopped Icera before the inn and signed for Rachel to also stop her horse. ''Our mounts can rest here and I will make the arragements for the rooms. Until then I suggest to take a look around town. I will stow Icera and your horse away in the stables. Meet me then at the inn around dinner time. There are plenty of things to do in town. So both of you enjoy the village and please cause no trouble. I already had to prove hard that I meant no harm. They dont really trust strangers so be cautious.''
  18. Last Magician

    The Persistance of Memory

    He watched the crowds move about him, not taking any special note of him. Even as he crouched beside the cobble to sift a gloved hand through the dirt, watching it fall through his fingers. Under the brim of the wide straw hat, he regarded it carefully, as though his azure eyes were looking for something in it. Something that could be missed if not carefully regarded. Still, he wandered on, the frayed ends of his blue robe dragging across the ground as he walked, clearing away his steps. There had once been a rumor that the Saint could hear the footsteps of every man, woman, child, or beast that walked the ground in his lands. Would he remember the sound of his? Or can a person's footfalls, tracing through time, change. The Magician doubted it- no more the footfalls than the paths we all walked- the ones that were set firmly beneath our feet. Just as his path had led him back to here. He bought some catnip at the market, along with some fresh damiana and black poppy. The mortar and pestle were a little costly, but he would always pay more for quality. The hashish was a different currency- he had to cure the man's daughter of a pox- practically expecting some errant Peacekeeper to come and tear the roof off their hovel and drag him before a magistrate. But no- as much as the sky always watched, it paid little regard against the background of the most magical town in Terrenus. The key to his apartment still worked- never found out by anyone it seemed. Then again, the lock that held it was good at that. The landlord had seemed to forgotten that this room even existed- which was the point. Of course, as soon as everything was situated, he stepped down to a corner cafe, just carefully watching the crowd for that horrifying look of recognition, one that gladly never came. Paying for his lunch, he took a seat overlooking the fountain, watching gypsies draw their water from the municipal. He watched a town guard shoo them away. He could only shake his head. Waiting for his tea and chocolate coronet, he set his mortar about, along with his ingredients, before drawing a simple long-stemmed pipe he had crafted. A healing poultice of lead and pomegranate got uncorked with his teeth and went in first, before a sprinkle of the black poppy. "What a lovely day," his melodic alto singing out, smiling beneath the wide brim of his straw hat.
  19. The room smelled sour. Part of this was due to the people. One might think a public conference on the future of magic would call for a more cerebral audience. Scholars and the like. Instead the room was comfortably packed with the head and shoulders of Blairville's proletariat. Here, of all places, the arcane was not some far-removed field of academic interest. It was the means and life-blood of the people. This smell was the smell of their sweat, the proof of their labor. Also it was hot – there was little natural ventilation in the underground conference room beneath the Inn de Clairmont, one of the few venues which could accommodate a gathering of their size at next to no cost. Blairville was not in such a state that dissent reaped punitive action, and so the people gathered without fear of reprisal from the government. Gatherings like this one numbered into the dozens, advertised on posters and public access channels, organized by special interest groups from either side of the dividing line. That in mind, if one did not have to fear government intervention, the dissonance between local guilds and unions was another matter entirely. Near the main entrance was a folding table, on which rested a spread of edible, lukewarm, somewhat tempting appetizers. Next to the dishes were pots of coffee, bowls of punch, and clay jugs of water. Beyond the snack table and deeper into the room were rows of cheap, uncomfortable, but inarguably functional chairs. Past that was the raised stage, on it was a podium, and behind the podium was a man. "Okay so tell me this. When is enough, going to be enough!" A hybrid offspring between a Shawnee human ad a Kharn elf, the man's coloration evoked a semblance of concrete. He slammed his hand onto the podium, punctuating his sentence with all the strength his stony skin suggested. "I'll give it to you. Maybe they're just too fat and happy to see that the only people a law affects are the law-abiding citizens, that all they're doing is making it harder for good, honest people to defend themselves. But I don't feel comfortable letting some bigwig's short-sightedness cost me my life! How about you?!" The uproar of support drowned him out, even despite the presence of overhead speakers. When the cheers ebbed away the man was already partway through the next leg of his speech. " – every would-be criminal mage on a spree targets places like schools? Markets? Dance clubs? Why don't they ever target libraries? Guildhalls? Places where everyone and their mother and aunty know the people inside of it will blast you to Gaia and back? Huh?! You tell me!" The man had more to say, but he was wary. He knew that if he started talking about what the government could be planning with the database of registered magic users, or the compulsory certification of all its law enforcement officials, that he might turn the audience as sour as this room. He would have to tread that water slowly and carefully, lest he undo all the zeal he'd manage to gather for his cause. OOC thread I had a much longer post written out but decided it was a better move to split it up so characters could be introduced earlier on in the scene. Your character is in the audience – how and why is up to you. In your introductory post please touch on your character's needs and desires, with everything else unveiled in as little or much detail as you like whenever you like. I just want to establish a reference point as the thread develops.
  20. See Blairville article for up to date social temperature. The below can be used as reference for ideas. Under Katamus, Blairville remained among the most serene mega-cities in Terrenus. Inclinations towards the enigmas, puzzles, and tricks of magic resulted in a high incidence of non-violent crime, such as theft and confidence tricks, but cultural aversions to general misconduct, physical violence, and social impropriety placed these firmly in the misdemeanor category and violent crime has historically been on the decrease. Things are changing. Just before he left office Katamus introduced Safeguard, a controversial piece of legislation which requires certification to practice magic, adds all certified users to a database, and exacerbates punishment for criminal activity which includes magic. Elleren Pendercast, inheriting the good and the bad of the decisions made before her time, also strongly supports Safeguard. A growing body of magicians feel that Safeguard is an infringement on their basic rights, an insult to those families who practice magic as part of their cultural identity for longer than the current administration has even existed, and, some speculate, a means of the government to catalog and control those with ability and means. This conflict of values between the people and the government has led to: Increase in felony use of magic across all categories of crime Creation of organized, violent conflict between Guildhalls, associations, and local unions Increase in collateral damage Conflict opportunities (examples) Assassination attempts Physical sabotage of buildings (no explosions) Social sabotage of groups Espionage, including document theft, destruction, and information brokering Kidnapping Blackmail and extortion Black market activity for wands, spell components and foci, and magical tomes Dueling for titles, notoriety, and wealth
  21. Linked to [QUEST] Bloody Rumors and Requisitions It was only a couple of days into their rest and relaxation on the Peace Keeper's coin, but the twin souls knew the moment they heard the knock, it was going to be him and another request for help. Not that they really could complain, three hot meals a day and the stay at a fine out of the way inn? This was actually quite the upgrade from their usual haunts. Aku stretched languidly in the just above body temperature hot water bath that had been drawn up for her. Well, actually it had been cold water from the tap, but she'd used her magic fire and her finger to get the temperature to just above perfect, that way it could cool some over time without dropping to a frigid to her skin temp. She grumbled as she heard the knock on the door, but, frankly, she'd been relaxing for quite some time now. Getting out of the tub, she didn't bother with trying to dry off, as rubbing her skinless flesh with anything required a very delicate touch and she was in a hurry. With a grunt, Galen took over, shaking the water now soaking his fur off as best he could inside the bathroom before he made his way to the door. With a heavy thump, the oaken door was pulled open, revealing, surprise surprise, Menton Wirth, the local Peacekeeper. “Aw, I see I caught you while you were relaxing, I can come back...” “Naw, don't bother, Keeper, we were just done,” Galen said even as he took a couple steps back and a little to the side to allow the man in before slowing the door behind him. The anthro wolf hadn't bothered with his cowl and cloak, since he wasn't going out, so he was able to catch Wirth openly staring at the lupine skull that was his head. “I'd ask what the occasion was that brought you here, but I'm sure it has to do with the fog fiasco,” he said as he poured a second glass of iced water for the officer, who took it and immediately took a long pull of the crisp water inside the glass. “Right you are, sir,” Menton said as he settled in a chair across from the bed where Galen settled his furred rump on the foot of. “But, the local constables and I are divided as to whether what I want you to investigate is directly related or not.” He paused there, taking a deep swig of the glass again, then leaned forward, elbows on knees and hand clasped around the glass as he looked down into the water's reflection inside.
  22. The screams could be heard for a block as the first of the mist started rolling through the streets. Not just any fog that the morning might bring from off the rivers. For one, this started in a part of the town that was not close to any of the waterways. Secondly, it was a blood red in color, as if someone had taken a great host of bodies and had boiled their blood to float down the street. Most saw the mist coming and ran for it, but those stepping out of shops or that weren't capable of out running the mist were quickly lost to sight. While they did emerge from the dense miasma some time later, they were not unscathed, many of them coughing and wheezing, complaining of scratchy throats and a coppery taste in their mouths. These were quickly sent to the closest hospital, while the constabulary quickly set up a cordon, blocking off access to the area afflicted by the fog. This, unfortunately, did not help anyone in any of the shops in the affected area. People continued to stumble out of the blood red mist, in steadily worsening conditions than those that had stumbled out of the fog initially, something initially assumed to be just because of the amount of time that had lapsed. After the initial scramble, more properly equipped medical personnel, wearing magic- and bio-hazard suits arrived to go wading into the mist in search of those that might have problems escaping the dense mire, while still others in lighter protective gear began ferrying those that did make it out on their own to the Hospital. By now, the Hospital was beginning to get the idea that this was a more serious problem than originally specified. That the people being brought in might be contagious to others hadn't originally been thought of, but additional precautions were taken, all of the afflicted were moved to the basement contagion ward, and all those personnel, including the police officers and civilians that had brought them initially, that had any contact at all were brought to this ward as well. Additional guards were brought in to keep anyone from getting in, or escaping, and any further people brought were directed to enter through the side door that bypassed the main hospital. What was initially missed, though, was that all those that were directly contaminated by the mist were coughing the same amount and their breathing was equally as labored. Somehow, once infected, the disease or whatever it was progressed at the exact same pace regardless of how long a person might have been exposed to the mist.
  23. Having a body was still taking some time to get used to. Count Von Rosenberg's estate was beautiful, yet ridiculously hard to traverse when one had been inhabiting a human host for less than a week. Two legs, two arms, two eyes. Ridiculously symmetrical Perigos thought, making her way down the hill. She had somewhat gained some knowledge on this body's anatomy, which had helped in coordinating the thousands of body processes simultaneously taking place in the meat sack. The sky was an even, dull grey, as if it had a hard time making up its mind whether or not it had the willpower to turn into a thunderstorm. The air was cold. A sudden wind blew through Perigos' hair, chilling her skin. Her new body was covered only by a simple white dress, and a pair of black gloves, which had previously been a raven. Shivering, Perigos pulled off her gloves, holding them in one hand. A flick of her wrist and a twist of her mind, and she was holding a fine-looking black cloak. The demon put it on, wrapping it around her shoulders. She continued making her way down the hill. It was a beautiful day. Finally, the girl stood outside the gates of the Von Rosenberg estate, a newly-acquired hand clutching a gatepost behind her as gazed at the city. Blairville The sprawling jungle of buildings stretched as far as her limited human sight could see. The air was permeated with magic and saturated with the presence of the hundreds of minds that roamed the streets. The girl glanced to her left. For a moment there was a distortion in the air, a folding of space and time into a a kaleidoscopic four-dimensional gateway into another dimension, giving a glimpse into an ocean of galaxies burning in the darkness of another universe. The moment passed. The tesseract to the Qantalam vanished, leaving behind a bare patch of sky. I need to anchor its entrance somewhere at some point, she mentally noted. Her sentient box, Julian, served well as a portable gateway to the Qantalam, but it would be better to anchor it to a physical location. Oh well. That would be a matter for another time. Hesitantly, the girl took a step forward. Then another. Her hand left the gatepost, and she was standing before a Valucrian city for the first time, in physical form. She inhaled, savoring the thousands of stimuli that assaulted her new human senses - the scent of food, the softness of the cloak against her skin, the murmur of the crowd, a barking dog, the musty scent of a horse, and oh, so much more. The childlike expression of sheer delight on the teenage girl's face would not be one that would be expected from a millennia-old demon of creation. Perigos entered the streets of Blairville. *** It took less than a minute for a thief to attempt robbing her. Perigos was staring blankly at a blue-furred deer, trying to organize what little knowledge she had gained about Valucre, when she felt the static of a telekinetic force inside her cloak. Mildly amused, she turned around and gave the pickpocket (who was standing ten feet away) a wide grin. "Hello!" she said cheerfully. "You're a robber, aren't you?" He turned and ran. She reached out with her mind, temporarily disabled his nervous system from waist-down, and watched as he face-planted. People turned to stare, and Perigos froze. Oh dear. It would be terrible if they found out she was a demon. What would be the most human thing to do in this situation? Perigos jabbed a finger in the weeping thief's direction. "He tried to rob me!" she announced to the handful of onlookers. Marching to the man, she glanced down at him. "Where's the peacekeeper at? They... they call them peacekeepers, correct? Two minutes later, she was sitting at what seemed to be the front desk of Blairville's city prison, mildly concerned at having put a man in jail in her first few minutes of Valucre exploration Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. The Golden Coalition's Safeguard database was interesting, though. After peppering the guard with approximately twenty questions, she had been offered a quest (most likely because the guard thought it was the best way to get rid of the nosy eighteen year-old who had managed to capture a thief) : find the criminals who were finding a way around Safeguard Twenty minutes later, a highly excited demon in the body of an eighteen year-old sat on a park bench, contemplating the events which had transpired in the last twenty minutes. A box of mind-bending geometry materialized besides her. "Do you think we should hunt them down, Julian?" Perigos asked, rubbing her chin. The box gave no reply. ((OOC: I plan to do complete this quest as a writing exercise on my own, but if you're interested in joining, feel free to PM me ^_^))
  24. Note: This thread is part of an ongoing continent wide event. See our Interest Check/OOC if you'd like to join us! _ Mira sat on the bench that lined the bay window, her breath fogging the glass as she stared intently out at the quickly shifting weather. "It's getting closer, Nolan." Her soft, pretty voice had a bit of a nervous edge. Nolan grunted absently, intent on the manuscript he was copying out at the table. Mira glanced at it in irritation. She appreciated the fact that her boyfriend took his studies seriously and was such a good scholar, but there were times when she would have liked nothing better than to set the parchment on fire under his fingers. "No-lan!" she cajoled, tilting her head far to one side. He sighed and carefully laid down his quill. "Sorry Mimi, what?" She waved her hand towards the scene outside. "I said, that mist is really weird. And it's coming closer." Nolan opened his mouth to protest at such a frivolous reason for pulling him from his work, but then closed it again. This was, after all, the City of Wonders. Mist wasn't always just mist, any more than a tree was always just a tree. "What do you mean, weird?" "Come look." She didn't sound afraid, exactly, but the usual laughter was absent from her tone. With a glance down at the papers before him and another quiet sigh, Nolan rose. As usual, his hands disappeared into the large, warm pockets of his brown student's robes as he walked over to her and peered out the window. He saw immediately what Mira had meant. The fog banks rolling over the town were thick and sharply defined, sending out questing tendrils that moved contrary to the prevailing wind, and seemed impervious to the effects of the lingering daylight. "See there, on the corner of Howling Street?" Mira pointed. From their vantage point near the top of Heathe Tower, the surrounding streets looked small, almost like looking at them on a map. A map that was slowly being erased, as the fog ate up the town. Nolan frowned and looked down at the street Mira had pointed out. "It's not taking that one." The petite nineteen-year-old nodded. "There's a convergence of ley lines there. Professor Walsh made me map out all the ley lines within a square mile of here. For Sight practice. See how it's curling away, there?" "It's probably nothing." Nolan sounded more confident than he felt. "Just a bit of cooked-up weather. You know even the plants react to the ley lines. Doesn't mean they're magical themselves," he pointed out. Mira shook her head. "It doesn't feel right. I'm going to try looking at it." Nolan raised an eyebrow. "With the Sight? Are you sure?" The ability to look directly at the metaphysical dimension could be immensely useful to mages, but there were certain....risks. In answer, she fished his hand out of his pocket and squeezed it. Her fingers were cool in his large hand. Then she closed her dark, slanted eyes, breathed out slowly through her nose, and focused. When she opened her eyes again a moment later, they were glassy, and white as milk. Shifting uncomfortably, but not letting go of her hand, Nolan looked away, back outside. "Well? What does it look like?" "...Black," she said slowly. Nolan's frown deepened, worry lines appearing around his eyes and on his rough forehead. "What, like tar?" She shook her head. "No... like, like nothing. Like absence. Like the someone made a night sky with nothing in it." She shivered, her fingers tightening on his hand. "Gaia, Nolan, it must have covered a quarter of the city by now! I hate to think what would happen if they- oh! Look over there!" She pointed with her other hand to the crossing of Windwyrd Street and Calliope Avenue. "It just looks like more mist to me, Mimi." "No, it's... it's different there. It's swelling. And there's blood," she whispered, shrinking back from the window and pressing up against the comforting warmth of her boyfriend. "It's going to explode! Can't you see? Quick, put up a ward!" "A...ward? Against what?" Nolan asked dubiously, squinting at the sector in question. "Everything! Just do it, Nolan!" Deeply unsettled by her reaction to whatever it was she was seeing out there, Nolan willingly brought up several wards around the two of them. Against necromancy. Against the seven forbidden curses. Against poison. Against blood magic. Against psychic energy. Against glamour. Against wild magic. Against- "What was that last one? Looks like snow crystals." Mira reached out and traced a pattern in the air in front of them. "Wild magic." "Mmm. Makes sense. Order against entropy and all that." Mira couldn't see much through the wards Nolan had cast around them, so she let go of the Sight, her eyes returning to their usual dark colouring. She hopped off the bench and stood beside Nolan, and they both stared out the window. Though it was early in the afternoon, darkness was gathering. The mist reached the grounds of Heathe Tower, but parted and swirled around it, rebuffed by the more powerful wards that Grandmaster Heathe maintained. For once, Nolan was glad of the old man's paranoia. Still, he didn't drop his own wards, and his gaze focused on the swirling mists that Mimi had described as bloody. There was a definite irregularity there, as though there was a mage tower beneath the sea of fog. Only there wasn't any mage tower at Calliope's Cross. As they watched, it rose higher and higher above the surrounding city, until finally the bubble collapsed, leaving behind a solid black spire that continued to rise until it bisected the skyline for hundreds of metres above the murky horizon. As it appeared, Nolan felt the tell-tale drain of one of his wards being tested. He scowled and focused on it. Psychic energy? From this far away? There must have been three leagues, easy, between Heathe Tower and Calliope's Cross. "A spell gone horribly wrong?" he wondered aloud. Mimi shook her head. "I don't think so. This feels...different. Larger. I'm worried about the people living down...there." She nodded towards the section of the city now completely swallowed by the sea of fog. "Me too. Especially since that spire's sending out some kind of psychic energy. It's not strong, but it's... persistent. And unfriendly." Just then, the door to their study room slammed open. Mimi flinched, and they both turned around. A tall mage with short, grey hair stood in the doorway. His robes were black, as was customary for professors, and the embroidery over them was silver. He looked from one student to the other in silence for a moment, then nodded. "You have your wards up. Good. You'll need them." His tone was as mellow as ever; if the encircling storm troubled him, he gave no signs of it. "Professor Hastaff, what is going on out there?" Nolan asked. "We don't know." That answer hung in the air for a moment. The faculty of Heathe included some of the most knowledgeable mages in all of Terrenus. If they didn't know what was going on, then... "You two can head on down to Raven's Chalice and find out." He made shooing motions at them with his fingers. "But keep your wards up. And bring some memory charms from the box in the Blue Room. That mist has addlepating properties. That is, it it makes you, ah, forget yourself." The Raven's Chalice was the large restaurant and lounge that served as an unofficial centre of communications for many of the groups of wizards and mages residing this side of the river. It made sense. There were probably many other mages heading there right now, eager to find out what was going on, and have arguments about what, if anything, they ought to do about it. Nolan sighed again. "Of course, Professor." * * * The streets were eerily silent as the two young mages hurried down to Raven's. Most folk had, sensibly, locked up their shops for the day. They passed a few poor souls who had been caught out of doors by the changing weather and were now wandering around aimlessly, but they didn't dare stop to try to help them. If they couldn't figure out a way to deal with the source, they would quickly have much bigger problems on their hands. The Raven's Chalice was the only establishment on its street still open for business; its lanterns blazed through the mist in cheerful defiance, and its doors stood open, spilling golden light onto the grey street. With as many (or more) wards than a proper mage tower, it had little to fear from such a storm. Already, a steady trickle of mages were entering the large main room - though some others, old greybeards that had come for a cuppa and some peace, were leaving in a dreadful huff, grumbling about worrymongers and whippersnappers. To be fair, things were rather chaotic inside. Heated debates were ongoing at nearly a dozen different tables and in three or four different languages, with staffs, wands, and robes flapping about to the tuneless dance of their owners' gesticulations. Mira and Nolan chose a quieter table off to the side, and watched and listened, trying to piece together some kind of coherent story from the general hubbub.
  25. Blairville's Tower. This tower was not just any tower. No, this was the tower, The Tower. This Tower was The Tower not just because it was the tallest or the biggest or the flashiest, although it was probably all of those too. No, The Tower was more than that. The floors of this colossal structure did not simply contain rooms and hallways and elevators and stairs, nothing so mundane as that. Here the various floors represented entire pocket dimensions which played by their own rules, separate from both each other and the wider world of Valucre, with this building being the only known point of access. Only the first three levels, less than half the total, had even been mapped: The first level was miles and miles of lush forests, the second a library of infinite proportions which contained an unfathomable store of knowledge, and the third was a sprawling structure that appeared to somehow be floating in the middle of deep space. Inside of a tower on the surface of the planet. Yea, that zone was probably the weirdest one so far. It had taken Renin a good while for some of the eggheads back at base to explain this concept of a "space station" in a way that made any sort of sense to him. Today, he was going to explore the next level up, the fourth "zone." There was no telling what would be up there..... or down there, it wasn't like cardinal meant much of anything inside The Tower, it could feel as though they were moving in any direction once they were inside, or no direction at all. Or all of them at once. Truth be told Renin wasn't sure what it would be like, he had never stepped foot into the otherworldly monolith himself. That was why command had approved the assistance of contractors for this particular mission, to get some extra hands on deck to back up his scouting efforts, since this was such a total unknown quantity that lay ahead. There could be wonders beyond mortal comprehension waiting ahead..... or horrors of equal proportion. It was the job of Renin and his team to find out. Secondary objective: Try not to die, go insane, or be maimed. Objective number two was pretty essential to objective number one in this case because comms obviously weren't going to work in there, not comms to the outside at least, so if everyone died there would be no way to actually convey any of the information they found back to the brass. Renin paced a bit as he waited for his allies to arrive. In addition to the hired help, he'd been told that there was at least one more military operative assigned to this mission, which was good. The corporal wasn't what one might expect in a soldier, although it was obvious to see why he had chosen Recon as his division. He was exceptionally tall, with an unnaturally slender and a certain grace to his silent movements. If one were to look under the long hood which covered his head, they would be able to see that he was, indeed, an elf. Renin wore a dark green cloak with a longbow nearly as tall as he across his back. He had no other visible gear, but his dark and somewhat weathered face suggested that this would not be a problem for him. Emerald eyes looked out over the city of Blairville around him, scanning for the first arrival.
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