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Found 11 results

  1. D1E Location: The Golden Coast, Brummagen Bay Brief: Mission from Proteus and Hunter’s Association has hired Grenseal to find the missing Highwind as well as search for any clues regarding Gaereth Kain’s disappearance. Item: The Highwind The lance was built for a legendary warrior of the Proteus Merchant Guard, Gaereth Kain. Renowned for hunting dragons and other winged monstrosities, Gaereth disappeared on a mission, never to be seen again. The lance was designed to be ridden by the user whilst airborne to further increase it's devastating descent. Rumors of a schematic that added airborne missiles and bombs have hovered around Proetus Enterprises for years, but nothing has ever been found. Characters: Grenseal, [Open Slot], [Open Slot]
  2. Treason is not something that is birthed overnight. Like anything worth doing well, it demands time, patience and (above all else) discretion. The Blood of the Light began as little more than a cult of personality, centered around the High Mason, Ocelot Royce, and devoted to seeing his agenda established throughout all of Alterion. It was a subtle shift in power, with the elder Masons more entrenched in religious dogma relocated to outer territories. The militant figures within the Masonry already stood steadfast with Ocelot, many having served alongside him during the ork wars. Winning them to a cause that shone a deific light upon proved a simple task and with the faith militant at their back the Blood of the Light soon found themselves the Majority within the halls of the Cathedral. It was worth noting that the Masons had not been worth serving for several decades before Ocelot came along. Their devotion to religious dogma gave way to the greed and corruption typical of those so accustomed to power that they couldn't fathom losing it. His rise to power merely brought the corruption to light. It occurred without warning, absent the pomp and circumstance accustomed to most happenings within the Cathedral. At no particular hour of no particular day, the Crystal spoke and all of Riva’s children felt it in their bones. Word spread from within the house the Masons built as far as the remote Izrali hovels that a terrible creature of staggeringly impossible dimensions eclipsed the sun and darkened the sky for a full minute before disappearing into the Skar. In that brief span of time, nations rose and fell; those territories considering rebellion against the Masons either committed to the Church or made ready for a fight of biblical proportions. With the ‘end of days’ having come and gone, the Masons found their stranglehold over the Alterion populace, a far more precarious grip than anticipated. Viktus Gallin, heir apparent to Ocelot Royce and formerly a figure in open rebellion against the Masons was welcomed by the Blood of the Light as their messiah—for he, amongst all others, had been hand picked by Ocelot as his successor. The schism within the church was only further complicated by Viktus’ reappearance within the Cathedral —many of the clergy having called for his execution only a short time ago. At the very least Viktus’ rise to power was no less controversial than that of his foster father’s own. Now in a position to seize the throne,Viktus and his allies seek to oust the church of any traitors have begun to ‘purge the heretics’ from their ranks. The blood of traitors must feed the earth.
  3. "To those who loved this world once before... And spent time with its friends... Gather again and devote your time..." •The Fall of Cosanastre• act 1 scenario for bloodshed Previously in Alterion… When Ocelot Royce seized control of Alterion and declared himself High Mason, he maintained a relatively rocky relationship with his Provincial Regents. Some were outright replaced while others were permitted to keep their positions in exchange for increased tax rates. Several years passed and the Regents, while hostile behind closed doors, were openly unified in their support of Ocelot’s regime. During the King’s Feast an unknown faction executed a failed coup in an attempt on Ocelot’s life. As a result, Richter Grievous, Ocelot’s High Marshall and the First Sword of Alterion, was bewitched and later abducted after cutting his way through most of the Cathedrals security detail. His whereabouts remain unknown. Seeking insight, Ocelot entered his throne room to commune with the Crystal and has yet to return. In the months that followed, the Regents grew bold and began decreasing their tithes to the Masonry. Tensions mounted even further after a command was issued by Ocelot’s heir, Viktus Gallin , ordering the Regents to present themselves at the Capitol City. In response to this slight, and believing the Regents to be behind the attempted coup , Viktus has rallied an army to bring the Regents to justice and unite his home land. The Masons however are hesitant to dedicate themselves to an internal conflict and offer only neutrality in the war to come. .oO(This thread will serve as a running update. We will do our best to keep it current and list any note-worthy changes that occur plot-wise. We will attempt to keep an up-to-date Dramatis Personae and Newsfeed. Should you see your character or something missing, message Me (Paradigm) and let me know. I may not have seen the character/occurrence or may have forgotten about it.) [The Fall of Cosanastre] Reise, Reise [Pt 1] The Raid of Heider’s Tower: Stone Cold Stuntin’ [Pt 2] —— [Pt 3] —— —Setroth Province, Cosanastre static locale; the entirety of the thread will take place within the locale Setroth Province OOC Notes RP SPECS Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy; space fantasy Classification | collaborative; canon Combat | PvE--NPC Dice System(suggestion); PvP--T1 Story Dramatis Personae Viktus Gallin Proteus Rauz ‘The Bull’ (aka Dom) Status Type | Open Activity | Semi-Active; 1-2 posts a week Limit | 72 hrs; subject to change pending # of players GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS Now... In the wake of the Kings Feast and the attack on the partygoers, High Marshall Richter Grievous disappeared and Ocelot went into his throne room and never returned. He remains cloistered in there and is non responsive to all the Masons. Thus, Viktus, his current heir has petitioned the Masons to call the Regents in to swear fealty but none have responded. In response to this sleight and to unify his homeland, Viktus Gallin raises an army and moves to march on the provinces. Setting his sights on Setroth, Viktus prepares to contend with the powerful Tyndall family in a bid for control over the province. layout credit | paradigm
  4. Cosanastre faced certain destruction. Well, not entirely, but Arch Mason Baert considered the great empire to be on the rain slick precipice of destruction, which was equally alarming. Whilst the Champions of the King’s Feast struggled with the necrotic beast, a coup was in the works. How many times had Baert warned the High Mason not to trust that half-breed. Regardless of his history, Richter Grievous still bore Renovatian blood. And allies or no, Renovatians (or any foreigner for that matter) could never truly feel the Crystal’s light within them. It was only a matter of time before Grievous betrayed them—the filthy mercenary. Many within the faith questioned the High Mason's decision in placing an outsider in such a favored position.Then again, Ocelot Royce was not a typical High Mason, hence his survival of the attempted coup. Baert was not present to witness Grievous’ attempt on the High Masons life, but it reports indicated that the First Sword cut his way through entire contingent of Poor Sons, a team of Justicar Inquisitors and a RioT First Class operative just to reach his target. How the High Mason and his guests managed to survive eluded him, but rumor held that Ocelot himself rammed a blade into Grievous' chest and that the Heretic vanished in a cloud of smoke. With his whereabouts unknown, Richter Grievous became a severe liability for all of Cosanastre. The Order of the Valiant Sky still served them under the direction of their Vice-Commander and the Minister of War, Vortian Cross. Could they be trusted? After his run in with Grievous, the High Mason locked himself in his throne room to commune with the Crystal and never returned. Baert himself tried lifting the alchemic sigils that barred entry, but it proved a fool's errand. There was no reason to believe the High Mason dead, given that the barriers held firm Ocelot was likely alive. The Masons, however, were bereft of a High Mason and the Daius Syndicate was absent its High King. Protocol dictated that Ocelot's heir take control in the event of his death, but the High Mason was in perfect health and within the Cathedral...the Masons...Baert...none of them possessed the legal authority to supplant Ocelot's position without risking excommunication. The entire debacle turned the Arch Mason's stomach. So it was that Baert stared down Viktus Gallin. Several long moments passed before Baert finally spoke, feeling his own gaze waver beneath the youth's intense glare. "As I said earlier, Lord Gallin, The Church cannot support your actions, but we will not condemn them." The youth said nothing, prompting Baert to continue after a pregnant pause. "The failure of the Regents to respond to your summons is not considered actionable by the clergy." "The High Mason would have their heads on spikes for failing to rally when called." Baert bit back the desire to remind young Gallin that he was not the High Mason and continued. "I do not disagree, but We have no legal authority to revoke Regencies. Even upon failure to pay their tax, a Regent cannot be removed without the High Mason's express consent." "You speak for the Church in Lot's absence, yes?" Viktus asked with some vehemence. "I do." The arch mason said, giving a nod of his head. "I can only command the Military in matters of public and national safety. In this case, control of the Military reverts to the High Marshall--the Heretic Grievous, and in his absence the Minister of War, Vortian Cross--who cannot be reached at this moment. Thus, we cannot authorize the Poor Sons or the Justicar to assist you. Perhaps the Daius Syndicate..." Viktus cut this suggestion short with a scoff. "Daius is no more prepared for Lot's absence than you people are. Nobody is willing to initiate proceedings as long as the possibility remains that he is alive." "He is alive, my prince." Baert insisted. "I know," Viktus snapped. "However, in his absence I should be named Regent of Cosanastre, at least in the interim. Once Lot returns from prayer I'll return to my post at Kageroth Academy, but this is mine by right. Ocelot named me his heir, he charged me with protecting Cosanastre in his absence...I believe Ocelot knew something like this was going to happen." Baert sniffed and sighed. This was going nowhere, but perhaps there existed a happy middle ground that solved two problems at once. Perhaps not quite killing two birds with one stone, but certainly taking them out of the sky for a while. "Your Grace, why not utilize the Order of the Valiant Sky. They are contracted to the Imperial Family, not through the Church or the Daius." Viktus pondered this for a moment. "They'd have the equipment I need, if nothing else." The broad youth steepled his fingers beneath the bridge of his brow and sighed. "Very well, if the Church will not sanction this endeavor then I must undertake it of my own accord."
  5. Cosanastre, the Holy City--Riva's pride and joy. It has stood for a thousand years, seen the rise and fall of Kings. Today it just may see something remarkable. The streets had been cleared, notices had been posted, every creature on the Alterian continent had been collected, and the Daius R&D lab raided for some new ones. At long last the time arrived to start the Feast. Gamblers, seekers of fortune, Regents and nobility alike, took refuge in the Cathedral overlooking the massive sector. The Lessers and those souls not fortunate enough to compete in the hunt or the games watched from crystal screens across the nation. The streets of sector 0 were empty, as were the rooftops. The hunters were afforded full scope of the city in their battle against the beasts. Each Hunter was individually greeted by a representative of the High Mason and afforded a prayer, blessing and any last requests they may have before the bloodshed began. As dawn began to fall over the city, streetlamps and spotlights flared to life—birthing a city of lights that shined brighter in the dawn of the morning than the stars against the midnight sky. Members of the legendary Hunters association stalked the city prepared to keep the peace, if necessary, while the Poor Sons and Justices guarded the elite and more fiscally minded individuals. A bare speck on the vast backdrop of the blood red sky moved atop the cathedral. The High Mason, garbed in ceremonial robes of ebon and crimson raised his arms towards the heavens and the Crystal’s light filled the city, projecting not only his voice—but an image of its chosen vessel above the city for all of Cosanastre to see. “My children,” Ocelot’s voice intoned. “It is a most auspicious day, for today we celebrate the King’s Feast! That fateful day when our Savior Riva rose up and liberated Alterion from the clutches of a tyrannical despot. Today we Feast and today we hunt in honor, not only of her bravery and sacrifice, but those of her followers and most especially of those innocent viciously murdered by the mad Winter King. This is a day where we remember the dead. We wish them well in the afterlife, for we know they are safeguarded by the light of the Crystal—that eternal beacon in the vast darkness of Xaengri-La. This is a day where we give thanks. We acknowledge the blessings poured upon by the Crystal and we Feast to remember the first supper celebrated by the Masonress and her burgeoning church. This is a day where we celebrate joy. The joy of living, the thrill of the hunt. The promise of gifts, prizes and the merriment of food, drink and togetherness. This is a historic day, my children. Today you may die, and the Crystal will guard you through that bleak night. Today you will struggle, you will toil against beast, monster, Demon and machine. But, above all else, today you will meet your destiny. You will face the darkness and know that the light of the Crystal shines upon you. May the light of the Crystal always find you...and let the King’s Feast begin.” On cue, carriages and cages opened across the city, flooding the streets with a variety of aberrations and monstrosities. The various waiting areas where the hunters had been corralled opened up, providing them access to the now wild Sector. The King’s Feast has officially begun. Original Art Credit OOC Notes RP SPECS Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy Classification | collaborative; canon event Combat | PvE—NPC Dice System; PvP—Disallowed Dramatis Personae Status Type | Open Activity | Semi-Active; 1-2 posts a weekminimum Limit | 72 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS The King's Feast has officially begun. This thread represents the Southern section of Sector 0. Remember that the Sector's of Cosanastre are so massive that they are Mega-Cities unto themselves and walled off from one another. Posting may now begin. Happy Hunting. ...there's blood on the horizon. layout credit | paradigm
  6. dvsn

    • Zero.

    espite Novi-cide's diffident ways their calculated chronology of operations reflected in the past, considered in the present, and wholly significant for the future meant that working together was essential. The process of distributing the assignments fairly among the company's elite was a serendipitous one. Once Omni-cide came to understand their strengths that simultaneously overlapped their preexisting weaknesses it was simply a matter of execution. Accessing limitless clouds of information gunmetal eyes queued access to caches of what would otherwise be forbidden knowledge, using his access governed by Ilos to break any shackles meant to keep prodding eyes at bay. For hours this had continued, spreadsheets, coding menu's of various languages, real-time plug-ins meant to covertly monitor and protect Babel Corporation, and a question that lingered at the back of his mind. Their field experience was unrivaled, any who bore the name PHOBIA strove to match their excellence, but this was their first time operating in Alterion since the disappearance of Exus Prime and their mysterious relocation. Since then, Novicide, one of the youngest but most respected of -Cide, had changed. Why? The hue of her psychomatic as per the persona analysis generator hadn't changed. A test they were required to conduct annually, a test that changed as per rank and demand. It was before their critical meeting that he then came to realize something important. “Why?” Rize stared in contempt. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Some days had past. The truth is that everyone in Babel Corporation moved to their own beat: as long as they each accomplished their objectives at the proper subsequent times then coordination was never an issue. The subtle mental connection between each of them via ULTIMA Cells made sure they were aware of each other's actions; and for those who bothered, antiquated logs of their movements and actions were documented and stored in the nexus of Ilos' limitless information cloud. This meant without notice, that Rize had already departed and made for Cosanastre before Novi-cide was approached just after their meeting. In his mind there were questions, questions he intended to unravel as they completed their objectives, but Babel was the worst place to ask her. Not only did he calculate that he wouldn't receive an answer where the limitless eyes hidden behind every wall documented their every move (outside of their own private residences), but their particular purpose one of the hardest of all those assigned individually. Residing in Lessertown (particularly an inn called the Rusty Nail) meant Rize had to step out of character. Already for the three days he had scoped Sector Eight he'd come to realize that they were facing a worrisome quandary. If their infiltration was to be half as smooth as Rize had predicted, he had to avoid the local gangs and slum lords until they were gathered and made for the more important Sectors beyond. So far that had proved to be a chore. Already he'd killed fourty-eight, and of the twelve bodies that remained on the streets only two weren't dismembered and strewn all over the place. Some would surmise that a beast was the only explanation, but no one cared enough to actually investigate the matter. Lessertown was a world where the weak died and the strong ruled the sweaty backstreets of rusted iron and blood-covered stone. Somewhere along the outskirts he found himself relaxing on the very same chair he usually sat in back in his own laboratory. He had Jakov to thank for that. After traveling with him to Cosanastre he had disappeared to await on standby until it was time to act: and suffice to say he was likely engaging his intellect in one of the many famous libraries in Alterion. Dusk approached. Rize peered out of the boxed metal window, small but enough to see the sky somewhere above. “This inn sucks. I might have to leave them a gift on the way out...” Omni-cide grimaced, his nefarious grin an odd response to his distaste of the run down establishment. A tingling tickled the back of his neck, behind his skin, somewhere near his cerebral cortex. “She's close...”
  7. 'Soap's got jokes you know? Something that will indefinitely make me either die? Or if I am successful I will perish some how.. On the bright side.. New toys woohoo' So do I squeeze it or hold on to it? @-Lilium- From random biting rains to the city of Cosanatre; Halvar was not one who was up for cloudy ass nights that led to boring ass mornings in the land of Alterion. Apart of him missed getting his back side handed to himself by Soap on the cliff edge. Halvar was here for two things and the first were the toys he wanted to obtain in order to get stronger and add to his own arsenal. What would be given to him he didn't know, after all the Child Soldier life was one of unfamiliar waters and lots of blood shed. Checking his PDA he looked over the name that had popped up on the water proof screen. Lilium Concordia the Head of Scientific Research and Production. Her location would be the Daius Industries no doubt, one of the few places in which the woman should in fact be working. The confidential data about her assignment made his finger tips tingle with nostalgia. The feeling of cold metal against his skin made his heart stir with ambition. "I wonder if she is a nice woman..? Perhaps this will be enough?" Raising a brow the young lad had several cards laying in his pocket stocked to the max with funds. Slipping the cards through the fingers of his left hand, Halvar wrinkled his nose as he inhaled the damp air. The sound of rain pattered across the gun steel pavement. His combat boots gently scratched the ground with their steel bound fashion. Looking left and right the lad was smart enough to keep his Aegis armor suit on stand by beneath his clothing. Keeping the layers compressed into a single body strip of hexagons. Curling his toes lightly the lad sauntered through the drizzling rain slowly pattered off of the black hoodie that he wore. Instead of shorts he wore cargo pants this time, allowing him some protection from the elements. There were no weapons on his person luckily, he would not bother going in armed at all. Looking up at the large tower he had no doubt it went super far below ground as well. Stepping up to the doors the Poor Sons gazed at the child with a bit skeptical appeal. A plain expression remained on Halvar's face as crimson eyes gazed at the door and blue luminescent light bulbs. Shoving the door open he quickly tapped the bell at the counter. "Excuse me.. I would like to speak with Lilium Concordia..?" His only request set the man aback lightly; yet he slowly called the number down slowly. "Dr. Concordia you have a guest.. Please come up.."
  8. Cosanastre, the Holy City--Riva's pride and joy. It has stood for a thousand years, seen the rise and fall of Kings. Today it just may see something remarkable. The streets had been cleared, notices had been posted, every creature on the Alterian continent had been collected, and the Daius R&D lab raided for some new ones. At long last the time arrived to start the Feast. Gamblers, seekers of fortune, Regents and nobility alike, took refuge in the Cathedral overlooking the massive sector. The Lessers and those souls not fortunate enough to compete in the hunt or the games watched from crystal screens across the nation. The streets of sector 0 were empty, as were the rooftops. The hunters were afforded full scope of the city in their battle against the beasts. Each Hunter was individually greeted by a representative of the High Mason and afforded a prayer, blessing and any last requests they may have before the bloodshed began. As dawn began to fall over the city, streetlamps and spotlights flared to life—birthing a city of lights that shined brighter in the dawn of the morning than the stars against the midnight sky. Members of the legendary Hunters association stalked the city prepared to keep the peace, if necessary, while the Poor Sons and Justices guarded the elite and more fiscally minded individuals. A bare speck on the vast backdrop of the blood red sky moved atop the cathedral. The High Mason, garbed in ceremonial robes of ebon and crimson raised his arms towards the heavens and the Crystal’s light filled the city, projecting not only his voice—but an image of its chosen vessel above the city for all of Cosanastre to see. “My children,” Ocelot’s voice intoned. “It is a most auspicious day, for today we celebrate the King’s Feast! That fateful day when our Savior Riva rose up and liberated Alterion from the clutches of a tyrannical despot. Today we Feast and today we hunt in honor, not only of her bravery and sacrifice, but those of her followers and most especially of those innocent viciously murdered by the mad Winter King. This is a day where we remember the dead. We wish them well in the afterlife, for we know they are safeguarded by the light of the Crystal—that eternal beacon in the vast darkness of Xaengri-La. This is a day where we give thanks. We acknowledge the blessings poured upon by the Crystal and we Feast to remember the first supper celebrated by the Masonress and her burgeoning church. This is a day where we celebrate joy. The joy of living, the thrill of the hunt. The promise of gifts, prizes and the merriment of food, drink and togetherness. This is a historic day, my children. Today you may die, and the Crystal will guard you through that bleak night. Today you will struggle, you will toil against beast, monster, Demon and machine. But, above all else, today you will meet your destiny. You will face the darkness and know that the light of the Crystal shines upon you. May the light of the Crystal always find you...and let the King’s Feast begin.” On cue, carriages and cages opened across the city, flooding the streets with a variety of aberrations and monstrosities. The various waiting areas where the hunters had been corralled opened up, providing them access to the now wild Sector. The King’s Feast has officially begun. Original Art Credit OOC Notes RP SPECS Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy Classification | collaborative; canon event Combat | PvE—NPC Dice System; PvP—Disallowed Dramatis Personae Status Type | Open Activity | Active; 1 post a day minimum Limit | 24 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS The King's Feast has officially begun. This thread represents the Northern section of Sector 0. Remember that the Sector's of Cosanastre are so massive that they are Mega-Cities unto themselves and walled off from one another. Posting may now begin. Happy Hunting. ...there's blood on the horizon. layout credit | paradigm
  9. paradigm

    a raucous RioT

    Daius Tower; Cosanastre Dynamic Locale; subject to change pending plot progression. OOC Notes RP SPECS Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy Classification | collaborative; canon Combat | PvE—NPC Dice System; T1-Story Collab PvP—Dice System; T1 Story Collab Dramatis Personae Aleksandre Starfall Status Type | Open Activity | Active; 1 posts every 3 days Limit | 72 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations Many people look to Cosanastre and find the seat of power within the Cathedral. While the idea is not entirely far fetched, it is erroneous—nonetheless. What the ignorant majority do not know, simply because they choose not to look, is that the real power broker in Cosanastre resides in the tallest building in Alterion. Daius HQ towers over the surrounding skyscrapers, a parent stood up against their toddler. Even the grandest of these structures, the Cathedral included barely reaches a third of the Daius’ height—so massive is this monolith. The CEO and majority shareholder, Ocelot Royce rarely visited anymore, but his office is kept immaculate at all times waiting for him or one of his many doppelgängers to inhabit. The Daius Syndicate committed many atrocities in order to achieve this success, none of which could have been possible without their greatest creation—the RioT Program. In many ways, RioT is simultaneously the pinnacle of Daius achievement and it’s most disgraceful failure. The elite branch of super soldiers that now served at Ocelot Royce’s pleasure grew with every passing day but so too did the body count of those poor souls whose physiques were not compatible with the infusion process. The Crystal infusion process is the key to their strength, but it—much like the job itself, is not for everyone. The very fortunate, those of sound body but were mentally squeamish, merely suffered debilitating migraines that were said to fade within a few years. Those poor unfortunate souls defunct of both body and mental acuity were often left as twisted monstrous creatures. Starfall, not for the first time, thanks Riva that he had the hutzpah to enter the ranks of RioT. Of the hundreds of thousands that poured in hoping to join RioT, only a few hundred will ever join its ranks and of that only a handful will ever earn the First Class designation that Starfall bears. No, ‘earn’ isn’t the right word. You earned entry into RioT, but you took that ‘First Class’ designation. It can only be attained by reaching and grasping with your own two hands, and even then it will prove a fruitless struggle for most. Starfall is not being immodest when he thinks on his fame, of the children in Alterion who utter his name in loud hopeful tones. Who pretend to stand alongside him in his conquests. No, there is a modesty behind his amber stained eyes. He often hears people refer to the Firsts as the cream rising to the top, but it is more akin to those sea creatures that feast upon their siblings in the womb. You have to stay hungry to survive. He stands atop the ruins of an abandoned kingdom, and yet he resides within Daius Syndicate walls. The state of the art training facility bends time and space to allow the best of the best, flex as they will—or rather it does it’s best. For no matter how realistic the scenery, the sights and sounds, it cannot mimic the scent of the surrounding forest overrunning the ruins. It cannot truly mimic the warmth of the sun...and it can never truly remove that pungent aroma of chemical cleaner. Starfall places a gloved hand to the bridge of his nose and sighs. He does not desire to test his metal against a simulation today, since that occurrence he only seeks to grow in strength not to remain stagnant. Whatever that strange grinning man did, altered Iskander. He still possessed the alteria, he can still commune with its spirit, but now it feels much the same as the other Zodiak spirits he has seen. Like the ghost of a long dead hero, not the man himself. Starfall grows quiet in his musings. If there is no power lost then there is nothing to fret, yet he is still troubled. The Divine Machine, unique amongst the Zodiaks for its independence and true sentience now felt much the same as the others. “Fitting,” he muses aloud, studying the digitally generated flora. “Wounded pride.”
  10. There were no lights on in the bedroom of the modest second story apartment, the only illumination provided by what light filtered in through the half drawn curtains facing the street. If one did not know what was currently happening in the room would assume that it was a scene of tranquility, a woman slumbering peacefully in her bed. But if one looked further they would see evidence of the truth in the bottles of pills on the nightstand, and the cane used to support the beds occupant. Another figure sat in a chair close to the woman's bedside without moving, looking on in silence as it watched the woman sleep. The uneasy stasis of the room when the door to the bedroom opened and a man walked in and turned on the light on the ceiling. The mans eyes moved first to the woman, and then widened when they moved to the figure in the chair. "Mal?" In the newly illuminated room the figure in the chair was revealed to be a child, to old to be called a boy, but not yet a man. He wore a faded pair of jeans and a t shirt a size too big. The child had his legs pulled up to his chest in the chair he sat in, a mop of brown hair not quite concealing a pair of tired brown eyes. When his father spoke his name it took him a few seconds to drag his gaze from the woman in bed to look at him. "What are you doing home? You have tutoring today don't you?" Mal shrugged, "Didn't go. Grades are fine. Don't need em." The father sighed, "Damn it Mal, we've talked about this. Your grades are find now, but your going to start high school in the fall, and you'll have to start college prep not long after that." "College," Mal spat the word in a sharp exhalation of air. The fathers expression changed to one of anger dulled by repetition; the kind that comes from having the same argument so often that he could predict what would be said before the words were ever spoken. How many times now had he insisted to his son that his lifestyle was not one to emulate, that he had only managed to survive this long through luck? And every time the boy would shoot back that for all its dangers they lived well, and that college didn't interest him anyway. It was maddening, watching his child make the mistakes that he wished he could take back. But this time the argument died before it could begin as the woman in the bed stirred, and she awoke to see her son and husband. A small weak smile crossed her face and she made herself sit up in bed to better look at them. The woman's hair was the same color as her sons, but was now thin and beginning to grey. Though she currently looked frail, there were still reminders of the beautiful woman she was before her illness. As soon as she had sat up her son had sprung from his seat to kneel at her side, gently taking her hand in both of his. Her husband followed suit and sat on the edge of the other side of the bed before leaning in and gently kissing her forehead. "How are you feeling?" he asked. The woman smiled up at him, "Better today. I managed to keep some food down earlier." She looked over to her son with a quizzical expression, "Mal honey, aren't you supposed to be at tutoring?" The boy looked at the floor, "You shouldn't be alone all the time." A pang of guilt echoed in the fathers chest at his sons words; knowing what the boy refused to say. When his wife had fallen ill he had taken a normal job at a tech company as a salesman; a natural fit for a man skilled at talking people out of their money. The job had come with health insurance, but it also required him to be out of the house more, and with Mal attending school, it often left his wife alone. It hadn't been a problem until Mal had come home one afternoon to find her barely breathing. From that point on they she had worn a monitoring device that would alert an agency if something happened, but the damage was done. He knew every time his son left the house he feared that he would come home to find his mother dead. Since that day he had spent every spare hour sitting by her side, sometimes even skipping school to do so. The mother looked at the bag in her husbands hand and asked, "Are those my pills?" Her husband nodded and opened the bag to hand her a translucent bottle containing a number of oval shaped pills. She took the bottle and frowned at it, shaking it a few times. "Isn't this less than usual?" The husband glanced away, "Yeah, they didn't have a lot. They're waiting on a shipment." His wife gave him a look of gentle disapproval, "How did you run cons so long when you can't even lie to your wife?" He sighed, "Alright. They changed our insurance provider at work. The new guys don't cover your medication. I had to pay out of pocket for those, and that was all I could get." Mal looked up at his father, "But... she needs those pills! They can't do that!" Mal's mother removed her hand from his grip to gently stroke his hair, "It'll be alright. We'll figure something out. Right?" The husband stared down at his shoes for a moment before offering a weak smile, "Of course we will." Mal looked between his parents for a moment before getting to his feet and heading for the door. "Where are you going?" called the father. "I'm late for tutoring," Mal almost snarled. The father moved to go after him, but as he heard the front door slam he knew that he wouldn't catch up to him. So instead he tried to put it out of his mind, and went to go prepare his wife's dinner. (1/3)
  11. Aleksei

    Good Ol' Days

    What a disgusting, revolting, colorful display. There it was, just sitting peacefully in the southwestern part of Cosanastre (the very first city founded, just for your information), glittering like a well polished crystal and singing it's siren's song: the Cathedral. Ah yes, today the bells tolled, beckoning different sorts of worshippers to its freely dusted halls and oiled pews. Today these worshippers find themselves praying to the gods of green and gold; the reverent prayers whispering through the the beating heart of the Cathedral. Serge bunting decorated the outside of the Cathedral turned gambling hall, enticing anyone and everyone to come inside and enjoy the raucous going on. Matching the exuberant decorations, guests were dressed in peacock colors; several of them, all on one body. The women wore reds, purples and greens. There were checks, stripes, brocades, appliques, and lush embroidery. The men matched the women, if anything, they were far more decorated than their counterparts. Clearly they are all extremely excited for The King’s Feast, an event that has recently been reinstated by the ever illustrious, gracious Ocelot Royce, the High Mason and ruler of Alterion. Inside, trestle table after trestle table bowed underneath the sheer weight of food stuffs. There was a roast boar stuffed with rabbits that were stuffed with partridges - sans trees, unfortunately. Pies of every type covered the white tablecloths. The free-flowing wine, ale, beer, and metheglin added to the already high spirits of the guests. One one table was a large white swan, baked and dressed and then reassembled so that it looked almost alive, every feather repositioned perfectly. It didn’t stick out though, because in the most centered table full of all sorts of seafaring creatures is a ginormous tank with a mermaid swimming inside. A Nymerian, to be more specific. Her dark hair was braided with beads and shells and crystals, akin to the black-blue sky sparkling with polished stars; her tail looked like the expanse of a early morning sky with oranges, reds, blues melting together; from waist up she wore nothing, representing the normal Nymerian wear, showing the lace-like tattoo beneath her breasts. The tattoo on her right arm shimmered with her panic, causing the shapes to appear as if they were moving with each swish of her tail as she swam from one end of the tank to the other. She was one of the many prizes offered for the day's events, and to win her you must be betting on either a group, individual, or a monster itself. All those betting will be put into a drawing to receive the Nymerian, no matter their losses or winnings. In the center of the grouping of tables was an open area. Here jesters danced and sang, people conversed, acrobats cavorted; the noise was tremendous, filling the Cathedral to the brim. And outside is absolutely no better! Anyone who can’t fit inside, found themselves a seat just about anywhere that was safe, mostly the rooftops and a few even made their homes in alleyways (out of harm's way of course). Because these sorts of events always bring out everyone's competitive streak, various household games like poker, go-fish, and whatever else kind of games gamblers contrive in the moment, are scattered around for anyone to join in. The heavier hitters were at their chosen tables with handhelds scattered around them; faces of the competitors and the monsters they're working against flicker across illuminated screens. All are welcome to place bets on either the monster hunters or the monsters, just to add some fun into the whole ordeal. Disgusting, colorful display of celebration and the day has only begun. How to bet: Easy! Everyone put your bets down in your posts and I'll keep track of everything. Anything that has monetary value (weapons, armor, jewelry, monsters of your own, etc.) you can use to bet, so have fun with this! Also reasonable, pleaasse. Once there is a list of items gathered from all people betting, I'll use a randomizer to select who gets what item to make it all fair. So Group A is for Participant AB but group B is against them and are for the monsters; Participant AB wins, so group Bs bets are given to Group A. Games: I don't care if you guys want to play a drunk, drug induced game of hide and seek, have fun! I will be introducing a version of Truth or Dare but with drinking, using a system where I think of a number 1-6, the participants pick a number, and the loser has to drink and then pick Truth or Dare. The dare obviously can't be hella disruptive but I want people to have fun with this and put their characters in awkward positions.
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