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  1. Port Kyros The Docks - Boarding The Peregrine It hadn't been long since the Hyperion Empire expanded within the borders of the Rising West. Though as it had, it made granting favors to close friends that much easier; likewise lucrative. Though he'd never made a habit of it before, one Xartia Pendragon deigned himself worthy of asking the Empress Raveena for such a thing. He request was an easy one to comply with, a vessel. While their were more efficient crafts to be used to get to where they'd be going, Xartia was certain the sea was their best bet. Thanks to the Empire's relations with the Nymerians, they needn't worry about the safety or severity of the oceanic waters. Not only did this maximize their time to prepare, though this was how they best stood the chance of arriving at their location undetected. He had plenty of explaining to do, and considering his own thoughts and feelings, it wouldn't surprise him if those he asked to assist him in investigation a mere hunch decided to change their minds. Failure was a last resort, though being discovered was the highest risk. Enslavement, death...Either way, one had to be willing to risk their life to embark on this journey with this Magician. There he was, pacing back and forth; His feet clapping dully across the planks of wood, his face the result of his racing mind. He'd already come to terms with the risk her was taking, and decided that the risk was well worth it. It was a confusing time for him, accepting something that wasn't necessarily to benefit himself. To risk it all for a none necessity, but for somebody important....For something he considered important. His underlying purpose mattered not though, all that mattered was that he wished to find an incredibly rare artifact; The value of which was infinitely priceless. Via the likes of scrying and divination, the Cambion had narrowed down the location of one of those infamous Cornerstones. He hypothesized that one was either in Stonehaven, or most likely Antigone. That one most likely either being the Time Stone, or the Reality Stone. Either way, it's value was limitless. There was no doubt in his mind that these Stones were potentially the most powerful items in Genesaris. Even if they weren't the most powerful, he was willing to wager that they were powerful enough to wish none of the stones ended up in the wrong hands. At least this adventure would prove as a proper and thorough testing of the usefulness and the integrity of his suits. Any day now he'd get over his nervousness and formally open his shop to the public. This trip may or may not reassure his stance on his suits and their usefulness. So long as they decided to travel with him, Xartia had taken the liberty of designing a suit for each member of the team. Something neutrally compatible, and universally useful. Despite the additional perk of each suit which varied, they all shared the common trait of suppressing the signature of one's aura. Though it couldn't suppress the signature of a cast spell or the likes there off, it was fully capable of masking their magical ability to the likes of machines or fellow arcane sensitive persons. Where they were going they would need it, and once they were all finished, they could keep the suits should they decide to. The one he wore didn't seem like anything special, even with the sunset on the horizon. A White shirt, half buttoned with its tail tucked into his black slacks. A matching black jacket, and freshly polished black dress shows. A closer inspection would prove more beneficial, the most noticeable accessory on his person being the polished gemstones that had been cut into the buttons that made up his jacket and shirt in the least. @Voldemort @Malintzin @The Courier
  2. Outside, the roars of machinery and thrumming magic mingled among each other, fusing together in a perfect union of mystical power and might. Spellcycles rumbled down the concrete streets as guards patrolled the streets in search of outlaws and criminals alike. Men and women, young and old, scurried like mice through the city, small as ants when viewed from the Laboratory Arcanist. They looked like subjects in a great maze constructed by towering buildings of architectural magnificence… and Aaron Calvas marveled at the perfect utopia. A utopia of absolute control and safety made by Antigone Isles. He turned away from the window, leaving behind the industrial sounds for the quite murmurs within the research facility. It was time. He strolled down a hall, whitewashed and plain, passing by rooms where he could vaguely hear the screams, cries and begging of prisoners and patients alike. Once, those screams had disturbed him to no end. He had felt sympathy for the patients and their daily ordeal of tests and injections and their other varying duties. But he became used to it, and was affected no more. It was at most a lingering annoyance as he passed by, stopping in front of the elevator and waiting for the black doors to open. He glanced around, to make sure no one was watching, before stepping in. The doors closed behind him. Aaron turned to the oppsite wall and passed a hand across the bleak surface. The wall flashed, and a panel slid from the smooth marble, a simple platform with a slit and a small LED bulb. With practiced confidence, Aaron reached into his lab coat to free his key card, and passed it quickly through the slit. The LED flashed a brief green and the panel slid back into the wall. Aaron turned back to face the opening of the elevator and watched as the sign above flickered to life, digital red letters spelling out each stop as the elevator began its slow descent. ACCESS GRANTED. FLOOR 40 FLOOR 39 FLOOR 38 FLOOR 37 Aaron grimaced as the elevator fell faster and faster. The numbers scrambled as they dipped, chasing each other across the screen. FLOOR 1 The elevator jerked. Aaron waited until it slowly began to move again. Down. Down. Down! The elevator rumbled, as if the entire earth was quaking. Numbers were still flashing on the screen above the doors, but there were shapes too, random and nonsensical, with no pattern or meaning. They scrambled together, merging, separating, merging again. The shaking grew fierce, more violent as the rocky ground swallowed the elevator whole. Aaron closed his eyes as the recordings began, voices born from the records of tapes inserted into the elevator’s special walls. “Please… don’t. They… they hurt you. I don’t know what I did.” “They cut me open… I don’t know where my body is.” “My legs, my arms, where are they? They were there a moment ago.” “Please let me go.” Aaron pursed his lips in displeasure. “Anything new?” he finally said, his alto voice echoing in the confinement of the little elevator room. “No, Doctor,” the mechanical voice responded. “Skip.” “Done.” The numbers jarred above, then the key number flashed F12 The doors slid open. Aaron stepped out and strode quickly down the whitewashed hall. Paintings and pictures of spring gardens, summer houses, beaches, and wartime heroes decorated the walls to either side, things pleasant and inspiring to look at. They said they would help provide a sense of sanity and even meaning to this place. Aaron doubted the sense of that, but it was not his business. He walked until he reached the double steel doors, both with a panel on either side. He placed his palm against one, waiting as a thin needle pricked his skin to scan both his blood and fingerprints. “ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME, DOCTOR.” The doors flung open. There hung the bodies.
  3. Icy blue eyes stared out the open window, observing each little movement of the port that lay before him. The Port Kyros represented a significant foothold for Countess Raveena. There was talk of expansion, talk of shipping, talk of many things. Since her time though, Port Kyros had been reborn. The city was brought back to life, and all facets seemed to be taking off again. Trade, surely, was always stable but it was growing at a long since seen rate. Art, craftsmanship, even construction had taken off with the influx of new life and power. One could say what they might of a woman at the helm in government, but Raveena seemed to be what the port city needed. The people cheered for her, and the economy was flourishing. Hell she had even gotten Grigor to sign on for a spell. He was not one for all the fluff and frill of a renaissance, nor did politics particularly concern him. Currency was the only thing that really held his attentions, and currently Raveena commanded a great deal of currency. However, it would take more than just currency to keep him on retainer. He could not fulfill his duties unless he had samples of technology to study and from which to build. His own notes and research had been lost through the long years, and while a genius in his own right, he could not remember every circuit diagram his company had ever produced. His specialty was biology and as a surgeon. Machinery was easy enough for him to understand, but he could not pull it out of the very ether as he could cellular structure and anatomy. They would need to procure samples, blueprints, diagrams. This was one of the few times Grigor had to bow out; it was not a type of 'hands on' with which he was at all familiar. However, Raveena had assured him that she had a plan already in the works. He merely need wait for word from her. His needs would be taken care of in all due time. He let his arms uncross from behind his back as he turned away from the beautiful scene before him and back into the study he had been calling his 'office.' It was a considerably different space than he was used to, but it was sufficient. The fine woods and renaissance architecture were a bit indulgent for his taste, but it was merely temporary. He would not even start on the artwork... as his eyes scanned the room he noted the time on a nearby clock. It was very nearly that time, or rather, very nearly time that he take his leave. His appointment would have him gathering down port-side. One of the cargo vessels, the Proud Lion, was due to take a load of goods to the isolated Antigone Isle. It was imperative that he make his appointment prior to the ship leaving. Raveena had informed him that each member of this assignment had been informed to meet at the docks prior to sunset. The Proud Lion stood beside. Grigor simply hoped that all would be accounted for and they could be on their way. Should they already strike a hiccup in their plans...
  4. Those of strong fates never fade It was a single string, rogue and bright, that lured the wandering soul to these water. At first it was easy to ignore, even easy to miss. It was nothing but slight sighting of a fleeting glow in the corner of his eyes. However as time passed on the golden thread became more and more alluring. It started by becoming a distraction, like a fly buzzing around in his peripheral vision. But things got worse. It eventually evolved into a problem; His eyes were focusing on it more and more almost leaving everything else in the background. It was drawing him. Without a single clue of what he was chasing, Roman set himself a goal: To reach the end of this thread. It seemed as if the only time he could ignore its sight was when he was actively working on pursuing it. Like when he learned how to sail and when he laid out his provision and the plan for his adventure. He stood proudly on his single person sailboat which was carrying all of his belongings. He could feel the strong wind pushing him and his boat along his journey which eased his mind. He learned to enjoy the sea almost more than the land, over time. It appealed to his exploring soul, and he could never help but wonder what was swimming under the surface. It was peaceful for him and almost therapeutic... -What do you think she has in mind, drawing him over there? Her of all people should despise this man. -Maybe she is tying to lead him to his doom? One can only hope. -Beings of our power can do more than hope, and I intend to do just so. -Just remember the- -The rules, the rules... I know. Now if only Roman was following them! -You know what happened. It never was his decision. By proxy he is following them, dare I say, more than you. -Hm. We'll see. He had heard from multiple people in Jordan City that the direction he was heading to was most likely going to end up being Umbridge Isle. Most stranger he asked were too busy to reply but most said that it would be very hard to miss...
  5. It was one fine day when the man, of pristine appearance, came upon a magnificent specimen. It was a field of black roses, all frozen in place, holding the dark memories of the past. The gentleman strode past the field, careful not to be plucked by the silent thorns of the roses. The man was blocked by a little boulder; small enough to climb but too large to go around. He scrambled up its stern features, using his cane to lift him up. He sat up at the boulder's ledge, peering down at the nearby cliff. The man sighed. His left leg was hurting him, but he ran out of his pills. He took a quick drink of his water, and set the empty bottle next to him. The gentleman got up, putting his weight on the cane, and put his bottle away. He bent down, and picked a rose. He put it in his shirt's front pocket; a souvenir of his travels. He walked towards the edge, careful not to fall down into the icy water. The man looked at his watch. It was a quarter past 3. He stared at the watch as the ship slowly etched into view. The little wing was gently folded to the side as the craft landed next to the man. The little legs off of the belly of the grey aircraft touched the ground, clawing into the dirt. The door slid open, producing a long hiss. The man climbed into the small craft, and sat down in the back. The interior was a pleasant beige, holding only one light. The door slid closed, pressurizing the cabin. The gentleman sighed as the ship lifted from the ground. "You are late," said he. "Late for the third time in a row! I am going to have to evict you if you keep this nonsense up." A little robot came from the cockpit, beeping and squealing in some robotic gibberish that the common man wouldn't understand. The bot was a little unit that had two arms, seemingly floating with no thrust coming from it. A group of yellow lights and sensors covered half of the round, silver spherical body. It kept up with its nonsensical complaining. "I don't have the bloody time for your excuses. This is your last warning," the man stated. He smacked the bot with his cane, which was enough to get the robot to go back to work. Out the side window, the clouds thickened, placing droplets on the glass. "I expect us to be at the meeting in time. Their population and energy issue will be easily fixed."
  6. It was with no small amount of groaning and scrambling the Cecil unceremoniously dug himself out of his refuse-filled resting place. The harsh morning sun shone down on the hungover captain, causing the man to squint, and shield his eyes with his hands. An itching thirst burned the back of Cecil's throat, and already a dull, throbbing headache was making him regret every choice he'd made in his life so far leading up to this moment. With a groan, he managed to stand, only to fall over again as a wave of nausea overcame him. He managed to avoid throwing up in the pile of trash he currently occupied, barely, and made another attempt, this time slower, and while keeping his hand against a nearby wall. Eventually, he was able to stand without completely losing all sense of balance. The next step was walking. One foot put in front of the other almost sent the captain pitching over again, and only a quick lean against his wall kept him from going on. Realizing he needed a bit more time yet before he could really get moving, Cecil took the opportunity to check out his surroundings. He was in an alley of some kind, that much was easy to figure out even in spite of his clouded head. There was trash littering the ground everywhere, and he couldn't make up the exact contents of the piles. There could be a half dozen other people buried around here, at least, and he'd have no idea. The alley terminated at one end into a tall building, maybe three stories in height, and the other side featured a tight passageway that lead, from the sound of things, into a city street. The general architecture and prevailing smell of salt water assured Cecil that he hadn't left the Cove, but where exactly he was remained unclear. Surroundings accounted for, Cecil next took stock of himself. The captain found everything to be in, rough, condition. The awful hangover aside, he had what appeared to be several bruises, an assortment of aches, and what was beginning to make itself clear as a split lip. His clothes were in disarray, and his jacket nowhere to be found. He was down to one boot, and there were several tears in his trousers. He was still wearing his gun holster, and thankfully the gun was still in it, but a quick check of the magazine revealed that all of the bullets were absent from the magi-tech weapon. He couldn't remember firing it, but he wasn't remembering much of anything right now. The last clear memory he had was downing a mug of spiked coffee, and that was it. He'd been drinking pretty heavily already at that point, they all had, and it didn't really surprise him that he'd ended up blacking out. No, the odd part was that he wasn't back on the ship, carried there by a more sober member of the crew. What exactly had happened last night? And where was everyone else? He distinctly remembered several other members of his crew getting far drunker, far earlier than he did, but he also didn't remember any of them going home. Things may have gotten a little crazy. One more time, Cecil looked around the alley. The trash was piled high enough that he could be standing atop the entire crew for all he knew, but they could just as easily be scattered all over the cove. For all he knew, he was the only one in this kind of shape and this was some kind of bad joke. Still, however he'd gotten here, caution was the order of the day. Something unusual had happened last night, and even if he couldn't remember the details now, best to assume that things could have gotten out of control. His best bet was to make his way back to the docks and and find the Aria. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd find some of the crew along the way. Maybe they could help fill him in on just what had happened last night.
  7. Date: Winter's Day the 6th in the Month of the Crow/Turtle, WTA 596. Ref. First month is Genesaren standard, second month is Terren standard. This convention maintained throughout. Date is read as follows: Day of the week--date--month--year Time: 6:39 PM Place: Galley aboard the skyship Aria. This setting is maintained throughout. Today's events: Hull is laden with goods after a successful raid on a Genesaren trader. Ship is en route back to Cutpurse Cove to offload this plundered cargo and refuel for the crew's next endeavor. Fighting was fierce, and several crew members were injured during the battle. The Aria herself was damaged as well, and several hours were spent patching holes in the ship. The hull is secure, but some things are still rattling alarmingly, and engineers can be heard banging away at the problems. Current galley occupants: Acorn, Eli, possibly others (let me know if you want your character to start in the galley and I'll add you). The ice-pack sat cool over Cecil's eye as he leaned back in his chair. He was going to have a real shiner in the morning, of that he was sure. Not for the first time, he considered putting a harness into the captain's chair. It would stop him from flying out of the seat and slamming his head into bridge equipment, but it would also add time to extricating himself from the bridge in case of emergency. There were pros and cons, and the pirate captain sat considering them as he waited for food to be served. He was on shift to eat this hour, as were many of his crew members, but it was hard to say who would show up with the ship in it's current shape. Between injuries among the crew and repair work to be done on the ship, everyone's schedule was out of wack. Still, for all that, Cecil couldn't keep a grin off his face. They'd made off well today, no fatalities on their side and a small fortune in stolen cargo. Not to mention minimal death among their prey. Exactly the kind of result they worked so hard for. The Genesaren trader's day was ruined, true, but they probably had insurance. And if they didn't, well, their stupidity. Gingerly, Cecil took the ice away from his swelling eye for a moment and inspected his injury in a pocket-mirror. Sunny had given him the ice-pack and shoved him out of the way in short-order, she was busy with others who had more grievous wounds, but it'd been some time since he'd been hit before he could get the ice on it, and it was showing. The discoloration hadn't really started yet, but already he could barely see out of it. Claire was going to spend all day tomorrow making fun of him, he just knew it. At least Lydia had looked concerned, before shooing him down to the medical bay. She was running the bridge for now, but it was possible someone else was scheduled to take over soon. The captain put the ice-pack back over his eye, and thought back to the earlier battle. He'd have to commend Eli later for some excellent shooting, landing the crucial disabling shot on their opponent's engines. Chad too. The burly marine had brought back practically his own weight in plunder, and judging by what he'd heard from the other fighters, done plenty else beside. Eventually, the captain looked up from his musings, curious about how dinner was coming along. Acorn was a relatively new hire, but already the man's quick hands and breezy ability to pick up skills had earned him some popularity with the rest of the crew. He'd have to check in with the engineers soon, and make sure they were fit to make it back to the cove. Maybe he'd go to Bellediere today? The new mechanic was a tinkerer with an almost insatiable curiosity. If anyone had figured out the ship's airworthiness by now, it'd be her. He wanted to get his meal in quick so he could take care of business, but it was looking like any food was a bit of a way off yet. Sighing, Cecil deepened his leaning in his chair. So much to do. So little time. Yo-ho a pirate's life for me.
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