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  1. Word spread surprisingly fast in Izral, especially considering the disparity of power between the classes and a lack of any true governmental organization at play. That news could even traverse the expanse of the region was miraculous enough, never mind the veracity of the claims. They, being the talkers that ‘They’ were, claimed the slave market of Izral was in ruins. The life blood of several powerful merchant princes was being spilt and the grossly wealthy addressed the issue as only they could...by throwing money at it. With the slave trade on its last legs many merchant Princes were forced to protect their own interests: a mercenary’s wet dream. The call for bounty hunters had never been so loud as it was now. Velleh Ah’bjyd was far from the wealthiest merchant prince, but he was certainly the most vain. Unfortunately, for Ah’bjyd his obsessive need for the finer things in life left him practically destitute. Aside from his lavish estate, the Merchant Prince was virtually penniless and with the slave trade dwindling, necessity saw him parting with some of his more exotic artifacts just to maintain his luxurious lifestyle. Mercenaries and bounty hunters alike flocked to the various merchant princes to offer their services. Whether to fill the ranks of the Prince's personal guard, or to hunt down any fleeing servants who thought to make off with pricey trinkets amidst the turmoil. So it was that Garland found himself welcomed with open arms (so to speak) at the Ah’bjyd estate. In truth, his reasons for being there had little to do with the acquisition of coin and everything to do with sweet, sweet revenge. It took every ounce of Garland's self control to even look at the Ah'bjyd estate without vomiting. Every step he made felt weighed down by the shackles no longer fastened about his limbs. Peering down at scarred wrists, the youth ran an absent minded hand over the white patches of flesh that marred his otherwise tan complexion. It truly was a miraculous happenstance, this thorn in slavery’s side. No one thought the tall broad youth anything more than another sell sword. The heavyset man stationed at the guard house, waved Garland in and gestured for him to stand out of the doorway. "It's protocol..." the large man said, running thick fingers through his patchwork beard. "We get so many of you folks...er...I mean workers...not Izrali...I'm half-Izrali myself, on my mother's side...um...." Garland quirked a brow, uncertain exactly how one addressed a harmless faux pas. Truthfully, there were a great many social cues, the broad youth was rather clueless about. "Is Lord Ah'bjyd at the estate?" Garland asked, struggling to keep an even tone. The guard nodded. "Doesn't leave...um...er...Oh, I need your name...and uh...oh yeah, are you applying for a guard posting or were you um...here for something else." Garland pointed at the man, "The first one...the Guard posting. Yep. I'm a...expert at...keeping people alive," The heavyset man nodded his head and flipped through various forms on the table. "Great! Great! We...ah...we've been a little short staffed as of late...um...what with the um...difficulties with the unpaid laborers departing." Unpaid laborers? Garland had never heard slaves referred to as such, but he supposed it wasn't technically wrong. The heavyset guard rose from his chair and handed Garland a slip of parchment and a pen. "Fill this out and we'll contact you within 48 hours..." Garland did not take the pen. "I was hoping to start immediately." The guard paused and shook his head. "Captain Rothschild will want to do a small background check on you, it's not strenuous...just a cursory thing..." Garland peered down at the pen. It was going to be difficult to fill that form out when he couldn't even read. Already things seemed to be derailing in a monumental fashion. "Ah...I can't really read." Garland explained. "Just never really picked it up." It wasn't unheard of, some children from the Izrali slums never attended a day of school...so long as they assumed Garland to be an Izrali peasant and not an escaped slave... "Oh...um...what did you say your name was again?" The guard asked, turning back towards his desk, a large pudgy hand reaching for his radio." Garland moved without thinking and slammed his hand into the guard's back, using a rush of air to slam the large man against the desk with enough force to drive the wind out of him and send a stream of spittle against safety glass in front of him. "So much for that plan..." Garland muttered to himself, reaching down to snap the guard's neck with practiced ease. The sound and scent of loosening bowels filled the guardhouse, prompting Garland to sigh heavily. "Well...I don't think your pants would have fit me anyway..."
  2. [Recap] In these past events, the Kingdom of Taurus and it's Ruler has seen much change. Seeking answers in regard to his origins and his fathers legacy, Proteus Rauz found himself exiled to the Celestial Realm---Where the Absolute Authority, confines and contains the remaining progenitors of his race. Time stood still there... he was subjected to their test, trials and tribulations and experimentation, meanwhile the kingdom and home he knew would be devoid of his presence for over 1,000 years. Proteus' liberation came at the expense of the captives lives. Destroying the last remnants of his bloodline, retaking prized possessions destined for his ownership and flinging himself back across the planes of existence and back home where he emerged anew. Proteus Rauz had emerged Anew. Changed. Different. Not only was he far older, hardened even, his powers had grown exponentially as did his control over them. His views and outlooks on his path and those of his people had also been altered. Having established a relationship with the powers that be in the lands of Alterion, Proteus, under his own power had moved the entirety of his kingdom from the Lands of Genesaris, to the Spirit Realm of Xaengri-La. Where he would be free from mortal observation. Where his prominence could have neither positive or negative effects on the lands surrounding his kingdom, so that no balances could be tipped or disturbed and that no other governing body could benefit nor suffer. However, even as he established his kingdom, and their outer realm territories, Proteus Rauz' ideals and goals have widened and expanded. He had become somewhat of a Nihilist, embracing what he had discovered what his original intent and reason for being was. TO BRING ABOUT DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, TO ALL. His re-emergence , and return to the throne under this new ideology has put many of his closest ally's and family at an unease, Even the Queen, Priscilla---His birth mother, and the one who worked the hardest to bury the secrets of Bulls origins and true nature, has found herself at her absolute wits end as to how to guide or manager her son, and after his re-emergence, far to under-powered to force anything upon him. So silently she has watched, ever so diligently as Proteus sets about procuring the knowledge needed to accomplish his goal. His one true ideal, his one true intention----TO BECOME DEATH ITSELF. [And now....] His throne room used to bathe light. Every square inch of it, illuminated from the free flowing light from yonder. That has drastically changed. Large metal shutters existed where windows once were. They kept this place devoid of light. It was insulated, sounds were equally scarce save for that of the constant HUM of raw unbridled power flowing through 4 massive umbilical cords that ran beneath the ground up behind his throne and into a custom fitment that affixed into hard points on his back. The ONLY light present within this rume was from the Rune Brands aglow along his body in a blood red hue. It was there that he sat. His body constantly absorbing and harmonizing the seemingly limitless ebb and flow of spatio-temporal-anima present in the limitless expanse of this spiritual realm. Disconnected from his people. Departed from a society that he helped to sculpt and once coveted, but nowadays, feared him as they never have before. The Council had long been killed and disbanded by his own hand save for one who squandered away still within the confines of their prison. In truth there was only one thing that could keep Proteus situated as he was now. He had no intent on moving, nor a desire to do so because simply put he was waiting on something. That something was coveted. Desired and favored above anything at this time and it was the only thing that eluded him these days. It was pure. It was valued by anything and everyone be they Man, King or God. There was nothing exempt from it's benefit and there in it lied no TRUE face value for it, but there was also no limit to what would be expended for it. Knowledge. Plain and simple. He needed the means and understanding as to how to go about achieving his goal---which for the most part was thought to be inconceivable and impossible, however, when the Absolute authority. The Omnipotent one. "The Creator" himself, assures you that such is NOT beyond the realm of a being such as himself----You take that notion for what it's worth. There was one individual who had such knowledge, or at least could point him in the direction. This being, is and always will be favored. His most beloved. One to whom he trusted the most. Covets the most. Priscilla...The Queen, and his mother. Despite who she was to him she has also coincidentally been the greatest source of obscurity and deception. The understanding of these facts and the dynamics of them all has left Proteus shifted in stance. Wavered, somewhat unsure. As a child he clung to her every word. She molded his beliefs, directed his ideals and aspirations, All for what?? To lie? To keep the truth away from him? For what purpose? Some selfish ideal of goal of her own? It was to much for him to understand. To much for him to process, and whenever his mother was around the King was nothing short of contrived. However....she held the keys, she knew the ways, and his current goals and aspirations although no favored by her, were goals she could help him achieve. So he sat....and waited. For her.. @Lacernella Rubra
  3. Preface "I don't want to position myself as some guy who knows everything, who has all the answers. I don't know what a hero is, so I can't say that's what I am. I'm just a guy that hurts people that like to hurt people. Like, I could say it's being brave and fighting for what you believe in but what's that got to do with anything at all? "A thief feels braver than you'd think if you've never stolen anything, anything that's really worth something from someone that really wants to keep it that is. There's a fear. Of getting caught, of facing consequences, that goes the same for thieving as it does for killing as it does for, I don't know, orchestrating development loans to rebuild infrastructure after you bomb the living daylights out of it. And overcoming that fear is what makes those bad people bad people as much as it makes the good people good. "So I'm like, so what? So what about being strong? So what about having conviction and, and grit, and so what about being clever, and inspiring, and kind? If I looked deep down I think I could honestly say I'm just being selfish. I can't stand it. I can't stand that slavery is justified for profit, that genocide is legal because an idiot king says so, that these shit-eaters are out here killing people on the basis of 'gimme yours cause god says so'." Jericho was inside of a mobile clean room, what looked like an enclosed trailer, but whose walls were fortified against intrusion and espionage by means both material and arcane. He sat in the single chair and on the single table before him rested an ultrablack gauntlet. All of the above was a little ritual which Jericho enjoyed with items of power. It was something akin to the naming of a sword, but a thousandfold, because Jericho gave it more than a name, he gave it his passion, revealed the glinting and various facets of his manifold truth. He slipped the gauntlet on and took one minute to let his body adjust to the power, masked its presence by means of a resonant feedback loop with the ghost-pouch also on his person. He left the clean room after that, threaded the crowd to get to his transport, and made his way off Terrenus. OOC
  4. Fantas-Menagerie The Menagerie is as its name suggests, a collection of creatures from all over Valucre; known, newly discovered, and engineered. Unlike a regular zoo, one might find in any of the larger cities of the world, this is a mobile outfit that travels the entire globe. Bringing fantastic beasts and myths to the neighborhoods of those daring enough to face them; and possibly their own fears. Everyone knows when Fantas-Menagerie has come to town. Lights, balloons, music, and a very colorfully quaint tent set up on a quarter of an acre of flat land. How does so much fit into such a small space? That's simple...it's magic! Every creature in the Menagerie has a huge habitat that provides it the means in which to thrive comfortably, without fear of harm or endangerment. Although it is a world of wonderment, it is not unusual for people to question the eerie magic or business deals continuously taking place inside the Menagerie. One can only imagine what lies in the shadows of its greatness, constantly pushing against its superficial surface. Ripples, however, are a natural occurrence for any business venture. Despite its partnership with the Daius Industry Conservatory based in Izral, it lies outside the reach of the Alterion government. Managed by a sole Operator and donated funds procured through multiple business agreements.
  5. It is often touted, with no small amount of truth, that idle hands are the devil’s plaything. It is equally true that idle hands beset with eldritch mouths are far more useful, especially to the devilish sort. Makaze’s labors yielded great fruit; a great many things coming to pass since his rousing battle in Lukka’Reccia and Little Busuzhima. For one thing: Entropy could dispatch a full squad once again—a feat thought nigh impossible with its two founders (Makaze’s mentors) absent. Makaze did not fret over his brother’s absence, Itazuki maintaining radio silence was par for the course. The fearsome terrorist was known to lay in wait for years waiting for the perfect time to strike, no doubt a trait he picked up from their sensei, Kaioru. No, the absence that ate at him (though not as ravenously as the gluttonous beast within) was Sekkendou’s. Kataki was Entropy’s co-founder and (in some weird way) Itazuki’s friend, but he was first and foremost Makaze’s squad-mate and team leader. He also happened to be the reason Makaze walked amongst the living again. His absence perplexed Makaze, but did not worry the hot blooded youth. If anyone could take care of themselves it was Kataki. The old hideout, once claimed by Kaioru, now repurposed as their base of operations remained cold despite be sweltering heat of the Izrali desert. One of the perks to being underground, perhaps? Makaze sat perched atop a large column formed in the shape of a large serpent preparing to strike. The rough hands of an artist prodded at his bandaged eye. The implant seemed to be working out. A kesshogan was such a rarity even amongst the Kuten syndicate, Makaze almost didn’t believe it when we found one amongst Kaioru’s specimen jars. With a device to regulate its activation, Makaze could now bear the pride of the Kūten clan and one of the most powerful dojutsu on the planet. There were other treasures of untold worth in Kaioru’s hideout, and more scattered throughout Valucre no doubt. With his body now accustomed to the kesshogan, Makaze could begin the reconstruction of the technique hidden within the sealed scroll. Doing so would require Makaze to employ every bit of his artistic talent, a challenge the brazen youth was prepared for. If it meant being capable of rivaling his brother and Kataki in power, then it was worth its cost. Dropping down from his perch, Makaze peeled away the bandage and affixed the regulator to his eye, its presence kept the Kesshogan in a surprised state to prevent it from sapping every last bit of Makaze’s energy. He’d gotten as far as he could in the scroll without the Kesshogan, but it was necessary to uncover the complex formulae hidden within the cypher. This is how true art unfolded, without ceremony, almost rote. The formula was no different than his clay. Encoded within his DNA was the genius needed to take the building blocks provided, a lump of mass without shape and create something beautiful. As he worked he spoke, his voice carrying throughout the confines of the hideout and to his compatriots. “The Merchant Princes are shitting themselves over this slavery business. Good opportunity for us. Nothing like a little chaos to kick things off...” Slender digits moved over the scroll, ice blue eyes scanning over the parchment. “We’re going to assault the village of Iron Bamboo, Kimpusen-ji. Since Itazuki planted the tree, we’ve barely been keeping it alive, it’s time we changed that. The tree needs energy, and the best way to make that happen is with violence...a lot of it. Kimpusen-ji, is home to some truly powerful individuals...the tree will thrive from their energy and we will too, by extension.”
  6. Moth

    Winds of change.

    “This is your first venture alone, little one.” The deep, calm baritone of her father’s voice echoed in the empty meeting hall. For once, she was thankful the diplomats and politicians had been shuffled out. It was rare she had time alone with him, and before such an exciting—and frightening prospect before her she was grateful she was granted the opportunity. “Yes it will be. Was there anything else you need to tell me? There wasn’t a change in plans was there?” The man chuckled at the question, shaking his head gently at her polite tone and professional questions. He lifted himself from his throne of gold and sparkling rubies, stepping down the short stairs that separated them. She took her duties seriously, and that was expected of her and he always praised her for that. But for right now, the Warlord wanted nothing more than to simply embrace his only child. So, he did. Well-muscled arms reached out only to scoop the lithe girl in his strong embrace. Initially, her muscles tensed in surprise. She knew he loved him, but there was little physical affection between them. Soon, the embrace was returned and she squeezed the man tightly in return. They remained this way, only for a few seconds tbefore he released his hold. “You will come home to me and hopefully with new ways for us and our people to prosper. You have not failed us yet.” His words of comfort came with a light pat to her back and a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Your guide is waiting. Do not disappoint me little one, or do not come home. “ Great. No pressure. She was still unsure how she felt about the man charged with her care. A Yokai? She was fairly certain that was the word she had been looking for. Large, bat ears sat upon his ears to match the large leathery wings that sprouted from his back. He looked close to mortal, but those bestial features made it obvious that they were not. She didn't know much about him, he had shown up at their gates many years ago. His kind was new to their lands, but his friendly demeanor and quick wit quickly one their court and her father over. Not to say that the man wasn't intelligent, he had many stories of places had been, but there was always one he spoke of the most. Taurus. Never first hand accounts, always stories passed from companion to companion. He knew enough to get her there, she had an idea of those she need to speak too and he even was willing to foot the bill himself. Her father would of course compensate him. Their lands were overflowing with precious metals and gems, many of which they used for the alchemist creations that made the oasis famous. He said he would be cold, but she hadn't been prepared for how cold it would be. When she stepped from the gate from their home to this new land, she was hit with a chilling rush. Her hands reached to cross over her chest and clutch at her arms in surprise. The silks and gauze that draped her figure were no match for these chilly winds. "I told you to dress warm." He chided as the gate snapped shut at their backs. A frown set upon her face, her head whipping around to stare at the tan man and his teasing smile. "I did dress warm, Lukas. How do people live here, this is awful." Lukas laughed at her complaints, the girl would be fine but she certainly would not be comfortable. "Once we get to the city, we can get you warmer. I am not sure any place here will be hot enough for your liking though, Madame Noya. " Her nose wrinkled at the title, "Noya. Madame makes me sound so... old. " "-- Then how about Princess, that is likely more accurate isn't it?" Her eyes rolled at the Bat demon, who chuffed softly at her dismay. " We'll go with Miss Noya then. Before we leave, your father asked me to give you something." Lukas stepped closer to the girl as he pulled a small satchel from his pocket from which he pulled a wide, golden bangle. "I've been told that you take great pride in the way you look. So I feel I must apologize for its effects. However, your father insists. " She took the bangle tenderly, taking a moment to inspect the item. The well polished, golden surface held no markings and was broken only by the few large ruby settings it had. She raised an eyebrow in confusion, effects? It wasn't until she peeked along the inside of the bangle did she notice the inscriptions. Old, very, very old. She took her time quietly attempting to decipher them, and Lukas allowed her the time to do it. "Illusion?" "You'll see, please put it on so we may continue. " She pulled her gaze over to the man before finally slipping the bangle over her wrist. Now she understood what he meant. Her skin paled to a soft blue, traditional tattoos twisting over her skin where there have never been any. Dark, shifting hair now snow white and the heavy smell of ozone lingering in her presence. Her clothing changed, but only in color. The rich yellows and oranges she wore now softening to gentle blues and grays of the air district. Fascinating. "He's paranoid, that old man of mine." "He is, however we have no time to dawdle. We are already behind, so please, follow me. " The thick, leathery wings on his back flapped and the man took a short, running start before he took off. She was not long behind him, she took a small run and then jumped knowing the winds would catch her fall. Even with the added weight of her documents, the winds held her aloft as they always did. To Taurus and to hopefully a peaceful welcome.
  7. Jericho was as cautious as a radical vigilante set against a trafficking cartel had every right to be. Izral was a hub for Alterion's slave trade but it was only a spoke in the wheel; the so-called 'chattel' came from all over Alterion, all over Valucre, and required a vast network to keep those wheels turning. He anticipated dozens upon dozens of morally bankrupt, strongarm mercenaries that were good at shooting, slicing, and flinging spells all standing on one side – and opposite them just himself, with his sword Sally, a little knowhow, and too much rabid passion for his body to contain. But, Jericho knew that so as the body fell without the head, the sword was nothing without the arm to move it. And that arm wouldn't do anyone any good if it came apart from his body. So he had to be cautious and careful, right up until the moment when it was just him and them all alone, and he could slit their throats in the dead of night one by one. Fucking slavers. He actually had a pretty sweet setup, as far as those things went. The sensors he had placed in the eyes of the banner, the one he had plastered onto the face of the building opposite the brothel before turning that hellmouth into a mound of rubble, those sensors were a honeypot. The question of 'when did that get there' was meant to draw attention, to not only let them know someone was watching but give them a bug to find so they think they're clean. There were another two like it, each more subtle than the last, and none so subtle as Jericho's capabilities actually went. Even if they found his most sophisticated sensors, Jericho got most of the information he wanted after the first day of the stakeout. Within the first hours actually, when he was meeting with Middy and Will to let them know they had succeeded. Over the course of those three hours his remote sensors caught faces and snippet of conversations of the first people to touch down on the ex-brothel. It was a crew half a dozen strong; one was the capo, and one was the cleaner. So now Jericho knew who to chase and who was chasing him.
  8. After the ruins a fire still burns. @Mag Mina reborn There was nothing beneath her as she fell, the world looked like hell fire as a burning sensation fired through her limbs and loins. An not for the proper reason oh no; the reoccurring nightmare of the draconian's foolish fire chased her nightly. Mina however would not let this shake her training; she focused herself deeply and directed the emotion else where. A gentle shift in the course of the speedy airship brought her to her senses allowing her optics to illuminate in the darkness. Mana weaved itself across her body like a cocoon of safety. With a gentle exhale the kunoichi rose from the sheets allowing the woven threads to break. The raw energy poured out across the room before flowing back into her pores with ease. Her bronzed skin glistened with sweat against the lights which illuminated the floor as she stepped out of bed. It was time for a shower no doubt the trip was about to begin and she could not afford to be walking the planes of dream land. Or perhaps was she exploring the lines of technology that now surrounded them. Ever since her incident with the cur she had gone in to reclusive training to improve herself. The forge was a dream to come true and like herself the rest of the Empire would benefit from its works. Reaching up she pushed back her long strands of hair with her bandaged left hand. She still had not cut her hair but it did not matter at this point. The once pigment-less strands were dyed black while her once pale optics held an iris unlike before. Contacts which she would use to disguise herself during the future missions. Stepping one foot in front of the other she moved to her own personal bathroom with ease. The wound she had sustained had healed marvelously and of course she practiced to not only return to normal but improve her abilities. Never again would she be made of fool of by a cur child with emotional issues. Keeping the lights off she was comfortable in the darkness as a bare hand turned the nozzle for cold water to wash over her skin. The sensation sent a vibration through her body as she woke up even further her hair standing on end. Mina placed her face beneath the flood then her hair next and began to wash herself hair first body next giving the shampoo time to sink in. The feeling of being clean was something the woman cherished above all else; how could one possibly know this? To start she enjoyed clean places and her clothing was always as white as her hair, unfortunately it would not be so this time. Once her shower was concluded she exited the stain glass cube and stepped out into a towel. Drying herself she then wrapped her hair allowing the remaining dye that did not stick to flush itself out. Opening the closet the woman was not herself anymore; or rather one could say she had changed immensely since her time in recovery. Reaching into the thicket of clothing options the woman chose a black chain fish net body suit. Wearing nothing beneath it she pulled her hair back and up into a pony tail. When she slipped the suit on it hugged her hips and chest tightly before she pulled on a set of thigh high boots designed to look like thigh high socks. A smile cross her lush lips as she looked in the mirror lightly, there was no helping the scar that marred her bronzed face from the public. Looking around she scoped out her backpack and a small box she had brought along with herself. Walking over to the box Mina pulled out a second binding wrap to place around her right hand that matched the one on the left. She would not be calling Bane on this trip, his duty was to guard the treasures of Koji and execute all who bothered the harem. The Arch Elemental would do exactly as instructed for his will was now Mina's own. Keeping the binding firm her expression turned from a gentle smirk to one of slight insanity. A gentle giggle left her throat as she bit her bottom lip gently. The next toy she picked up was a small magic tech orb that began to float beside her. Mina had wasted no time in picking up materials from Samul the tiefling to use for her benefit. Chuckling the toy had a few tricks up its sleeve which she would enjoy using while within the lands of Alterion. Grabbing her backpack the pack was not something so simple either. As she slipped it on the top opened and a flood of shadowed hands popped out looking to grab and stock the nearest thing. The bag was bottomless and allowed for her to store virtually anything at the time. Quick and effective for their current mission at hand. Grabbing her cloak she slipped it around her body and smirked once more, her ample body was no longer clear for all the view. She appeared to have no weapons but that was another trait she had picked up as well. Something to be shown off at a later point. Once she had checked herself and things, Mina hung the towel up lightly and closed the box. Exiting her room her feet made no sound as she strolled down the hall into the main bridge. Looking left and right no doubt she'd find Dove possibly in the divers seat, she was not one who liked her toys on auto pilot. This current shuttle was going to get a remodel once they found items to outfit a better and faster ship that would be the lead for all of their missions and adventures. "So.. Dove.. How long till we are ready to dock?" Her voice remained lush and vibrant with life however her eyes screamed death for all who dared oppose them in the future adventures.
  9. Two men walked into a somewhat upscale bar in Brooklyn, New York. One of them had thought he was seeking audience with a friend. Contacting someone that he could trust in the event that he to come back here, and needed anything. For the most part that was true, but the other had developed an Agenda, and circumstances since that promise was spoken had changed drastically. Man who promised the other, was a far cry from himself, and even further removed from previously stated obligations and directives. A man meeting a friend, instead met with Betrayal, and that Upscale Brooklyn bar had become the stage in which a scene unfolds and escalates, involving a S.H.I.E.L.D grab team, and one lone Superhuman Operative who functioned at street level in this same area. A very well known Man, African American, stout, bald and experienced with quite the reputation in these parts as one of the greatest Hero's of his time. S.H.I.E.L.D currently employs this man under the enhanced Superhuman Imperative, tasking him as an agent for their cause in regulating and policing superhuman/Inhuman activity. Unfortunately for S.H.I.E.L.D and New Avenger Luke Cage, their current objective was no light catch, and wouldn't be so easily subdued. THOOOOOM!!!!!!! The south side wall of this establishment would be blown open as Luke's body passed through it and slammed into a Parked Bmw 528xi, the latter hit with enough force to slide across the street, roll onto driver side and slam into the south side wall of the establishment across the street, pinning Cage beneath the car and buildings debris. Clearly whoever, or whatever he was fighting was batting high above his average, and whomever was in fact Protues Rauz, in M-Body/Avatar form, stepping free through the gathered dust veil and out into the street, Clad in street clothes, a simple set of boots, jeans, t shirt and leather jacket, loosely fitted to his 12' Hulking frame. [GT-1 Leader]"This guy put Cage through a fucking wall he is out, Any other assets in the area? What's the status on The Avengers, Overwatch. Wait....we have visual, it's-----" The BMW had rustled some and had been rolled and free'd from his back while Cage emerged from the debris, jostled, and rubbing his jaw. "Cancel that ETA, I got this guy..." A females voice of authority quickly quipped back, "The last time he was here he put down Thor, Banner and Wonder Man back to back, Im not looking for a Martyr. Cage wait for help" Guys got experience. Guys got ego and a sense of honor about him. It drives him and compels him in full sprint back across the street, dead center where he'd lead in with an over-hand right that misses by a mile, in part because of Bull's height advantage. Cage's punch is slipped, and next thing he knows he's got knuckles harder then all get out burying into his right row of ribs, breaking them. Cage sucked in air, winces, His SKINS invulnerable his musculature? Only enhanced. So the pain is real, and his right elbow comes down to cradle those powdered ribs before he's struck right side at his exposed lower jaw, jostled, left, and from that left side another brutal right cross, precedes the fist crashing into his solar plexus, again, with his right knee, again with his left knee---Cages Feet never reaching the ground when he was lifted from the first, and finished with right uppercut that tripples down on the same spot that had been hit twice, previously. His attacker relented... And Cage dropped to his knee's and spat to the ground the contents of his stomach which was mostly Blood, stomach acids and maybe, just maybe....beer. Cage had been downed. Hard, and Coup De Gras'd with a downward overhand right that buried Cage's entire head into the spitting street beneath it, and jostled buildings and cars for a full 1/4 of a square mile. In his finality, Proteus' eyes had locked with the Grab Team Leaders, before Proteus commanded, "I want to speak to Danvers! I didn't come here for this!"..
  10. The steamship on which Jericho was brought to Izral pulled into its dock. It belted smoke from its stacks and vibrated with the collective movement of two thousand people running across the deck and down the gangway and onto the firm land of Alterion. Jericho remained in his cabin until the rocking movement faded to a subtle hum, gathered his already packed belongings, and made his way to the tail-end of the crowd. Izral looked exactly as it had been described to him. Opulent. A known retreat for the wealthy and well-off, attracted by the globally recognized culinary talent of its citizens, and rooted in place by the majesty of Izral's natural sights, untarnished by the industrialism known to plague its more advanced sister-cities. From a dock loader hefting a crate from one man in the assembly line to another, Jericho was able to glean which of the city's districts had the least amount of sunshine falling on it; namely, where the shadows laid their claim, so he could find what vile creatures lurked within. He took off with his sword noiselessly dangling from his hip, and a full pack strapped to his shoulders. His odyssey was brief and ended in the red light district with a brothel looming two stories higher than the shopfronts surrounding it – the Gleaming Twilight's star spangled banner flicked through a rainbow of lights which, when red, showed a man and woman pressed against one another in silhouette, when blue showed the man and woman in bed together, and when green showed the woman alone in bed, waving at nothing. Jericho made his way to the Twilight and was stopped at the door by a human-minotaur chimera; he looked mostly like a regular human, but taller, bulging with muscle, and though the horns sprouting from his forehead may have looked like an aesthetic choice, Jericho had no doubt that they were also practical. "Fork over the weapon pally. No swords, guns, runes, hex-bags, wands . . . " Jericho gathered his sword and his pack in one hand and waited for the man-ataur to finish running down the list before handing the stuff over. OOC thread
  11. Tea Key Oasis He awoke to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the general roar of wind rushing over the sea. The warmth of the sun was at his back, but the sand he lay in felt cool, almost refreshing. The sounds of civilization filled his ears, the quite hum of vehicles droning on, feet moving across wooden flooring...maybe a dock? The sound of gulls swooping overhead prompted Char to lift himself off of his sandy bed. Brushing his clothes off, while simultaneously wiping his hands free of any sand, Char peered about at what appeared to be a tropical island paradise. Gingerly rubbing the sand off his face, he wondered just where in the hell he was. The memory of the rift was still fresh in his mind. He’d been in the lab—no, Dojan’s office. Now he stood before a bustling resort? There was none of the vaulted architecture he’d grown to associate with Alterion. The buildings were fairly squat by comparison, but far from dilapidated and wide enough to house several businesses. Char turned to look out over the sea, in some vain hope of gaining his bearings and stared in dumbfounded awe at the horizon. The ocean that churned before him was not composed of water, but energy...that same coalescing radiance he’d seen in the rift. The vast sea of power thrummed in tune with the beat of his heart, only serving to further unnerve the erstwhile youth. Suddenly, he became aware of his hair marring his vision and moved to sweep the blonde locks clear...wait...blonde? For as long as he could remember, Char'd had black hair...pitch black. His journey must have changed him? There was still so much he was trying and failing to understand. His gaze moved to the buildings just beyond the shore and Char resolved to at least figure out where in the shit he was before he absolutely lost his fucking mind. A small sign clung to the dock, simplistic if not adequately carved. It bore three words of varying capitalization: " TeY KeY OaSiS " Shrugging his shoulders, Char felt his pockets searching for the weight of a coin purse and finding little more than some wadded up and rumpled Alterion bills. "Better than nothing, I suppose." With a sigh, Char made his way towards the dock and civilization beyond.
  12. Varga Manor; Isle of Vayne 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; PvP—Dice System Dramatis Personae Feyd Char Status Type | Open Activity | Active; 1-2 posts a day Limit | 24 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS ...there's blood on the horizon. layout credit | paradigm Nov 7-Nov 13 Izrali Skyline 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; PvP—Dice System Dramatis Personae Tall Jack Brass Iron Lord Borrs Feyd Char Status Type | Open Activity | Active; 1-2 posts a day Limit | 24 hrs; subject to change pending # of players* GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations SYNOPSIS Two Izrali orphans, Feyd & Char are in the service of renowned Pirate and rebel Lord, Tall Jack Brass. Brass' fleet of airships has just concluded a raid that saw them in possession of a very powerful and unique item, a Tellus Seed. Iron Lord Borrs a Masonic Justicar and wanted executor of the Crystal's will, appears and engages in an all out war with Brass. Using the confusion to their advantage, the youth's steal an airship, grab the Tellus Seed and try tomake a daring escape. Unfortunately, the pair is shot down by both Borrs and Brass, resulting in their spiraling descent towards blackness. ...there's blood on the horizon. layout credit | paradigm
  13. Was it the break of dawn or was it the eve of the setting sun that his heart plunged into endless grief? Within his bloodshot eyes it all looked the same. One step after another he desperately stomped forward, forcing his dying body to take him no where in-particular. There were many who claimed their blade to be the finest, soaked in the most blood, their penchant for the sword unparalleled by any...but there were none like Evaristus Sicamedes. No...although his tale was one of obscurity, inevitably lost to the endless tomes of history within the constantly growing world of Valucre; those who had met him would know his intensity and magnanimous loyalty to his lord and his blade were unmatched. Since the day he was born he existed for nothing more than to serve as the vestige for which Corvinus Melinsede would attain everything he so rightfully desired. The difference in the blood of true royalty and that of a mere duke was paramount. From the moment he his bare, thin hands were forced around the bejeweled handle of his family's sword he knew that his life would never be his own...never would he have the freedom to dream, the freedom to simply be. Even as he walked the world in search of the one who would end his life, to silence his misery...he remained loyal to his most gracious lord. In return everything he desired was given to him. A personal regime of esquites tailored to be the finest in the kingdom, the construction of his own personal airship, even discovering the woman of his dreams to which much of his soul reincarnated was entranced by... Yet nothing could prepare him for the grief that he would faced when he closed his eyes for but a moment and experienced an emotion he had never felt. Not even the thought of losing Remmington could prepare him for the truth that he would soon face. Everyone he had ever loved in this life was gone. His uncle, his sick mother of whom he had never spoken to in his childhood, everything that attached him to this world. In the fiery ashes of a hellish fire the house burnt true, something that he felt continents away, like a sickly chill that crawled down his spine speaking of the ominous future to come. This was the first time he ever experienced true fear. The fear of losing everything, the fear of being left with nothing. Somewhere inside a soul by the name of Vitrius longed to forever unite with Remmington, but even with all the power this great deity had, Evaristus' will was simply too strong. Almost as if possessed by the terror of possibility he simply vanished from Renovatio amidst festivities, leaving the side of his beloved and his second-in-disciplehood Justis to immediately return to Kadia. Using the divine power of the Soulseeker itself he crossed profound distances quicker than sound itself and when he arrived to the estate of his family's legacy what did he find? Ash, fire, and brimstone. Bones were ground to dust and all that remained in view of their estate disconnected from the metropolitan suburban areas where most royalty lay, was one lone figure. Dark. Menacing. Powerful. He had faced beings that likened themselves to Gods in this world but nothing had ever filled him with dread the way that those sharp eyes, colder than a tundra, layed down upon him. Frozen in place, nothing moved but the twitch of his sword hand. “Are you the one they call Evermore? The strongest swordsman in the world?” his words burned the air as if he spoke at the nape of his neck, yet this enigmatic reaper of sorrow draped in a loose black robe stood yards away. Evaristus said nothing. Instead his hand snapped to the hilt of Missiletainn in the same moment that the robe burst into black shreds and an undisclosed battle of legendary proportions erupted. “This...this isn't how it was supposed to be...” Evaristus cried desperately, yet his words didn't come out quite as eloquently as his mind depicted them. Blood drowned his throat and ran down the sides of his thin lips as he stabbed the sheathed Missletainn into the ground, one step after another walking into the cold tundra of the valley where he had met one disciple in-particular. With a gaping hole in his stomach, chunks of flesh hanging from the sides of his belly, he finally stopped. For years he had prepared for this day, no, since he was born he had readied himself to join those that had now gone ahead of him. Yet... “I...I'm not...I don't want to...” tears began to well up within the eyes of the once beautiful golden haired knight. Now he has atrocious, a mess that now missed teeth and equally missed pieces of his body and soul. Was this Virtrius that longed to live in this world still? Or was this the pitiful life of a man that wasn't ready to go? The sun finally began to rise at the height of the skyline. “I DON'T WANT TO DIEEEE!!!” he begged, collapsing to his knees that were too weak to hold him up. The sword, Missletainn collapsed just beside him, covered in his own blood. Then he saw it...up above, like a black star twinkling in the calm blue sky. It was wicked, but beautiful, and brought with it a moment of clarity that only cemented his longing to live. Why had he never seen anything this beautiful before? Was it because he was about to die? Perhaps it was- SCHRRRRRYYYKKKKK!! The very star he worshiped in his final moments brought streaks of black that ripped through his flesh and drove through his struggling heart for good. Evaristus collapsed where he had fallen, and just like that, he was dead.
  14. Few things in Tekwell were as old as Roscoe, RSC-0827-W-96, Universal Attendant. Why, if he had to count, eighty-year-old Francis Norton was the only living soul in town to remember a time without him. Everyone else either grew up with Roscoe or met him when they settled down, and apart from a few rumours and pretentious assumptions, none of them really knew where he came from. As far as robots went, Roscoe was a real standup guy. When he wasn’t busy running his pawn shop, it was common to see him walking around town, fixing roofs or picking fruit. Sometimes he even went out of his way to help merchants with their heavier cargo, despite the obvious wear he’d suffered over the years. With rusted limbs that creaked at each bend, flickering light bulbs for eyes, a voice box that grew worse by the day - it was a wonder he hadn’t powered down yet. It was an even bigger wonder why he wouldn’t let anyone fix him. Truth is, Roscoe didn’t want people to see what was inside him. To see that tarnished serial plate with Daius stamped on it in big, capital letters. For all anyone knew, Aprico or Enigmotors were the ones to roll him off the factory lines. If they found out the Masons put him there all those years ago (for a job not unlike this one), well, he suspected the rebels would get to him before old age did. And that just wouldn’t do. “C’mon, let me have a look at you." Behind the counter, Roscoe was fitting a gold necklace into a neat little box. “Oh, oobee doo!” “Just one time-" “I wanna be like yooooouuuuuu!” “No charge-” “I wanna walk like you-“ “Roscoe-“ “Talk like you-“ “Ro-“ “Toooooooooo.” Closing the box, Roscoe dropped it into a brown paper bag alongside a folded receipt. Niles Cook, head mechanic at We Care Auto-Repair, thought the robot might have been smiling. “You know we’re just trying to help, right?” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice as he reached for the bag. “It’s not like we’re going to hurt you or anything." Roscoe’s programmed accent was thick when he answered. “I know that.” “Then why not?” Something hissed inside of Roscoe, and Niles couldn’t tell if that was what passed for a sigh. "Niles, go home. Make Martha a happy woman. You do that, I m-m-m-m-m-m-m-“ Roscoe hammered a fist to his chest, once, twice, before the words finally came out. “-might just consider it.” Niles turned for the door. “Empty words, my friend.” “You’re probably right.” The door swung closed, and suddenly Roscoe was alone. Alone on a Monday afternoon, just shy of three o’ clock, when the Wild Rose Express was expected to arrive. He tilted his head towards the front window, waited, then watched as the mechanical monstrosity eventually rumbled into view, no more than a couple hundred meters away from his store. It was one of the last few trains in Alterion to still use a steam engine, versus the sleek new maglevs powered by fusion cores; a relic from a time long gone when farmers still used oxen to plough their fields. If Roscoe had to guess, the Wild Rose Express outranked him by a good, long century. Passengers were immediately greeted by a great big sign flashing neon red text- WELCOME TO TEKWELL STICK AROUND FOR THE HOMEBREW FESTIVAL -and Roscoe’s eyes flickered in similar fashion as they magnified the first wave to step out of the train. Typically, Tekwell attracted a modest crowd of traders and relatives, being a small merchant town on the edge of the Devla Desert. But this week, you had tourists from all over the place: Elendaron, Renovatio, even Genesaris and Terrenus. The Homebrew Festival was a cult favourite among beer snobs worldwide, and in all of Roscoe’s years, it had never failed to bring in a crowd. After a quiet bout of observation, Roscoe stepped outside and flipped the store sign so it read ‘CLOSED’. He didn’t lock the door on his way back inside, but rather kept a vigilant watch while tourists began to flood the streets. More time passed and nothing happened, and he waited and waited until a familiar hiss broke the silence. Finally, the door opened with its two-tone chime, and in came a tall blonde man dressed in a shirt and vest. Behind him, a rather large reptile had to duck under the door frame to get in; Roscoe was pretty sure those were the floorboards shuddering beneath its weight. Three others followed immediately after, in the shape of a a pretty redhead with the eyes to match, some kid pushing into his mid teens, and another young man with a sword at his hip. “You must be Roscoe.” This came from the tall one, dressed in the shirt and vest. “I am,” Roscoe answered. He lifted a long, stainless steel finger towards the sign. “I’m sorry but we're closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” The man paused to look at his companions, then fished a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Alright, let’s see,” he muttered, lifting the paper to his eyes. “RSC-0827-W-96. Comply.” Whirrs and clicks sounded from Roscoe’s head, then the light in his eyes suddenly died. “I am Roscoe, RSC-0827-W-96, Universal Attendant. Please provide your operator ID.” “Delirious Pebble.” Click! “Password, please.” “ZH519-20…um…8-” “Incorrect password.” “Roxanne, what’s this letter?” “Pretty sure that’s a three, hon.” “ZH519-203-“ “Incorrect password.” “Looks more like a B to me." “ZH519-20B-“ “Incorrect password.” “For fuck’s sake.” “How are you not able to read your own handwriting?” “Seriously." “You sure they gave you the right password?" “Guys, shut u-“ “Operator ID will time out in thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…” “ZH519-20S4-117!” Click! The lights came back on. “Welcome, Delirious Pebble. How may I be of assistance?” A triumphant smile split the man’s face. “You already know what we’re here for.” “That I do.” Roscoe pressed a button underneath the counter, and the front door locked. “If you’ll follow me please.” He led the group to a storage area beyond the sales floor. Junk from all walks of life littered the room's every corner, and the state of it all made it clear he didn’t get many visitors back here. Humming a quiet tune, Roscoe started shifting boxes and various items so they had something to sit on. “So, where do you want me to start?” “How about with what happened to our spy?” “Well, there’s not much to say,” the robot conceded. To Mr. Shirt & Vest, it sounded like, Weh, they’s nawt mawch t’sayuh. “Louis came in about a month and a half ago. Did the same password bit and I told him all about the alteria crystals. How the rebels snuck them through the odd sell, inside of things like clocks and speakers, before having someone pick them up a few days later. We didn’t see much of each other after that - didn’t want to blow our cover and all - but he did his best to keep me in the loop.” “And what’s in the loop?” “Not a whole lot.” “What do you mean? “All of our meetings revolved around dead ends and hunches. If he found anything solid when the rebels got him, I wouldn’t know.” “Any idea where he might be?” “No.” This seemed to annoy the man. “Best I can do is tell you what I told him.” And so Roscoe rambled on about a select few names, including those of Francis Norton and Niles Cook; all people who had smuggled counterfeit Alteria crystals into his shop, knowingly or not. How they were tied to rebels, Roscoe didn’t know, but he did his best to give the visitors any useful background information they might’ve needed. “Also, as a note,” Roscoe stood up, as if to usher them out. “They might be onto me. I’ve checked every item brought to the store within the last two weeks, and nothing’s turned up. I don’t think think Louis gave me up, but they know there’s a rat, so they’re probably cutting off supplies until they catch their culprit. If I disappear sometime soon, try to act surprised.” “We’ll keep that in mind.” The man and his company followed the store owner’s example. “Anything else?” “Yes, actually.” Roscoe fetched various items off his shelves, including five different cattleman hats. “Make it look like you bought something.”
  15. two months prior to: aboard the Saint George. @danzilla3
  16. Here on this day, the tiefling known as Ember of Hate had an interesting opportunity in her hands. A position of power was open, and she could definitely use it to her advantage, but her guards would have to be played correctly. Lots of things could go wrong, but fortunately for Ember she was a certified badass when it came to making a plan come together. At least in her own mind that is. Since they had to move out of the subway station on account of an asshole sword boy discovering them, the Orphans have been a little bit nomadic. Mostly that meant Ember and Jackson crashing at different motels around the city, nearly all of them a varying level of disgusting. Until they found a new place to set up shop however, it was best to stay one step ahead of the law, or else it was their heads on the chopping block. With Ember always hiding behind a new face (illusion magic is very useful for outlaws) in order to check in, she prayed for the day they could find a new space that didn't require her sneaking Jackson in like she was banging some hooker. (not that Jackson wouldn't make a good hooker, he certainly has the ass for it if it wasn't for the whole...face thing.) Now though, they would have a chance to fix everything, and possibly get a new playhouse with it. All she had to do was rig an election, nothing too insane. Through the combined efforts of herself and her right hand man Jackson, they were able to piece together something of a plan. All it took was a proper meeting place and to get the word out to the right people, all of which had Ember feeling a bit stressed out. Staying on the move was fine when she was on her own, but doing it with a man like Jackson, it made things...more than a little awkward at times. It was safe to say she was feeling frustrated on a lot of fronts, and part of her was extra motivated to get herself her own room for once. "All right, its showtime." She said, the usual flavor in her voice replaced through the tiredness she felt in her voice. All last night she was tossing and turning, feeling frustrated because the book she read last night had a protagonist who was muscle bound and shirtless nearly half of the entire plot. Normally she would uh...take care of that herself, but its not exactly something you do when your partner was sleeping in a bed right across from you! "Let's get this going before I lose my mind." They would be taking the bus over to the meeting spot, for one because it was less conspicuous than driving and two because it was cheaper than a taxi. Ember was most certainly not looking her best right now, as she had sunglasses hiding her bloodshot eyes, a leather jacket with a stain on the sleeve she doesn't remember getting but hasn't had the time to clean it up. Ten to one odds said it was man juice but that wasn't a can of worms she wanted to open right at this moment. Her hair was an absolute mess, with strands going every which way as she could no longer tame the mane through a morning ritual regularly interrupted by landlords pounding on the door for checkout, leaving her usually painted horns dull and blank. A tank top stained with mustard and an old pair of sweatpants were all she had for the rest of her clothes that were remotely clean. "Oh thank god it stopped." Ember said, finding the smell of the bus to be extremely disturbing to her senses. Depositing themselves out of the bus and in front of a local café, Ember ran in to order herself a drink. "I need a vanilla latte large and with whipped cream. You do not want to test my patience today by not putting whipped cream on my latte, okay Kathy?!" The terrified barista nodded her head as she went to make Ember's drink. Once she had paid for that and a strawberry scone, she would rejoin Jackson at an outside table. "Okay, we have had a rough couple of weeks now, Jackson, but we aren't going to let it show. They are going to show up in the next ten minutes, so we have to put our game face on. We are gangsters, tough, do not fuck with gangsters that have completely not been spending the last three weeks hopping from roach motel to roach motel and hasn't even had a single or...original idea for a birthday party theme in that time..." Ember knew immediately it was going to be a bitch of a day. @danzilla3 @ODSTDRAGON @Hani@Aves
  17. The divine wind tugged at Kiyoko’s black hair as she made her way through the gates of Kitashiobara, and she tightened her cloak around her shoulders with deft fingers. She could smell delicious food on the wind, and she could see that the town's inhabitants were clearly celebrating, each of them at various levels of inebriation. A festival, really, is this what they had been up to? She knew she had been gone for a long time, but she didn’t realize it had been long enough for them to start throwing parties. She could perhaps see Kaede doing this as some sort of publicity stunt, but certainly not Rin - she knew the white-haired kunoichi never dabbled in this sort of thing. This was not at all how she had pictured her return to this place, but if they were celebrating, then her homecoming may as well be part of it. Hordes of drunken people danced and mingled around her as she navigated the town’s inner streets, her black cloak never once touching anyone. The crossing into this world had left its mark on each of them, but the effects it had on Kiyoko had been...lasting. There had been numerous mutations, some of which were just emerging, and others that she had spent time honing during her time in the village to the east. Most of these mutations had been advantageous to her, augmenting the unique abilities she already possessed, but others had been more difficult to master. With her bloodline, Kiyoko had always been able to communicate with her spider counterparts, but she had previously been unsuccessful at learning their language - the universal language of vibrations. Vibrations exist outside of the scope of one's chakra; they functioned as an indicator of one's very existence. No matter the object, inanimate or not, living or dead, if it exists in this plane, it gives off vibrations. Understanding those vibrations was the first step to understanding a language that no other shinobi had deciphered before. Doing so would solidify her claim as their Queen, and would lead to her ultimate success. Unfortunately, in large cities like this where everything had its own unique vibrations, the power gave her a fucking headache. She felt a dull pounding begin to build in her temples, and she quickly ducked to the side streets, where there were fewer people. Dusk had fallen and the shadows were lengthening; she felt more at peace here. There were fewer people, and she could begin to tell the difference between the vibrations that resonated through the ground they walked on. In an attempt to more quickly locate Kaede and Rin, she tuned into the grid beneath her feet, listening to the earth below her. She knew they were somewhere near the center of town, but she was not yet close enough to determine exactly what their position was. Her pace was brisk and focused, much like a predator honing in on its prey. She turned onto a street that would lead her into the depths of the city, and was pleased to find it completely empty. It was only after a minute of walking that she felt something...off. An odd presence, not necessarily threatening, but ominous nonetheless. How long had it been there, and how had she missed it to begin with? Who did it belong to? Somewhat irritated with herself, she stopped, each of her four hands already clasped around a weapon under her cloak. She didn't want trouble, as she had somewhere to be, but her curiosity had already been piqued.
  18. Moth


    Would her cousins be pleased, or embarrassed by how quickly she had adapted to her new living arrangements? A better question-- did it actually matter? Decades spent thinking over every word, who she would interact with next... It was exhausting. She was much more than a seat of power, especially one criticized by those who did not have it thrust upon them. The forest had no questions, no paperwork, nor did it offer criticism born of ignorance. She was certain that there was more to this new world than stretches of heavy forces and mossy outcroppings, but.. why rush into the unknown when there are still improvements to make? A loud, lazy yawn broke the stillness of her rocky home. Just hours ago the sun had set, yet the sleeping maiden was just starting her day. A thin, pale form slowly lifted from her throne of furs her arms lifting so that her fingers could reach to the ceiling in a lazy stretch. Lazily, obsidian-colored eyes blinked as she took in familiar surroundings. As expected, nothing had changed. The bones of her fire still lay near the mouth of the cave, her tools still laid out from the cleaning the night before. No unwanted visitors, or unexpected puddles. Unwillingly, she pulled herself up from her nest of trophies to set about her ' morning '. A routine that would have taken hours in the safety of Konoha's walls now took a quarter of that time. Sleep tangle hair was carefully combed through using a gift from home-- one of the few she still possessed. With the task complete, she could move onto dressing. The silk she draped over her form was a ghost of its former glory. Its length cut short not long after her arrival, leaving ivory legs and thighs exposed to the elements. Overexposure had left its colors pale and sad, the garment was certainly a ghost of its former glory. However, its worn state did not stop it from keeping her figure hidden from curious eyes. As her tired fingers worked a knot into her belt, her eyes wandered once more. Her companions were gone but this wasn't an issue. It wasn't unusual for them to disappear for a few hours, only to return with a pleasant attitude and lumps in their bellies. She would do the same if she was actually hungry. How long had it been? Five days... A week? Her head tilted some at the thought, and a small, pleased smile settled on her lips. When she arrived she could only go a few days before needing to feast once more. It was difficult to abstain at home, beautifully cooked meals every night just begging to be eaten. Now, she had to hunt down her food, a task she had grown to love. There was something incredibly satisfying about skinning a creature you had tracked and killed yourself. Years ago she would have paled at hunting willingly, now she wished she had started sooner. A heavy, bored sigh finally left full lips and she took her third look around the cavern. There was nothing to really straight or clean, her weapons having received their maintenance the night before. A frown tugged at full, but no complained was vocalized. Instead, she returned to her little nest she had vacated not long ago. She sat herself down carefully, wiggling left and right just to get comfortable before her eyes settled shut not in sleep, but meditation. She might as well do something relaxing while she waited-- it might be awhile before their return.
  19. It begins now.. Conquest - —Item Title: Radiant Mantel—Item Alias: Celarion’s Prayer—Item Creator: Soap MacTavish—Item Class: Class II @paradigm @Syncopy @Armada Character: Dominic | Dead Apostle Dammit of all things he was doing, Dominic was out sauntering the lands of Izral looking for a rather dope artifact that Soap had made. A few things puzzled the man really, the first was how Soap found some much down to to produce so many bad ass works, and the next was when the hell was he gonna tell them about the next one before the world knew of it's existence. Adjusting the gauntlets upon his hands the Nelrosis peered out through the drunken dark city that sulked beneath the crying clouds above. This place was somewhat hideous in his honest opinion, yet he would find himself a means to obtain what he sought. The Radiant Mantel which if done right would greatly aid himself and his companions in combat. The thought of being able to keep and maintain a combat steady made him feel was little bit cozy inside his dead beat chest. No soul kindled the hopes or desire for survival just an uncanny knowledge that he would not die until Sarandriel prompted him to do. Thus he remained completely mortal but immortal at the same time. Resurrection was not so far away for the most part. Heavy foot steps coupled with the pattering of rain melded together as Dominic walked along the side walks of the city. God he hated the city so much, especially at the magic tech that zipped around his horns making him rather paranoid with the sound. The vibrations that rolled off of his horns made him all the more irritated with the process of navigation. While his eyes were great at sight he did not often walk with them open as a sort of training. Thus he kept one eye opened and one eye closed for the time being. In the plains or else where he could happily navigate his foot steps without even cracking a lid open. "So now.. Find the seller.. If my broker is correct then.." Looking to his left and right he found an alley to his right with a large skull painted in gray ink on the wall. Beneath it were man graffitied signs defaming the true artists name and hard work; puddles formed against the grey steel buildings and stones. The information stated such a place would be the marker of his meeting. Stepping into the alley way Dominic was cloaked in a thick water repellent material that was rather warm on the inside. Beneath all of that he wore his usual black armor set which he recently obtained. Legion hung upon his back firmly with a moogle that slept within the confines of his hood around his neck. Knocking on the door gently he patiently waited before the door was opened to let him inside. "Greetings.. I am here for the Ghost.." Dominic said looking the short man over lightly. His horns slightly poked out from the hood that covered his head. The man made a symbol to which Dom responded in kind, a simple nod passed between them both before he was led down the steps into the belly of the building. Post - 1 /20
  20. Now that her Orphans were up and operational, it was time to get to work. If they were going to be the top crime syndicate in Izral, they would have to take down whoever would get in their way. This is how Ember went back to her bounty hunting days, and how she heard of a bounty put on a Mason Justiciar by the rebels nearby. Unlike the time she took down that Poor Sons commander, Ember was going to need some help. From what she heard this particular bounty was not going to be a pushover. The Tiefling wasn't so prideful that she wouldn't ask for help, but she needed to choose carefully. Things could go south in an instant, and her choice of companion could be in serious risk of harm. Ember didn't want to think about what would happen if they weren't ready for that kind of pressure. Sitting in her chair, the leader of the Orphans absentmindedly played with a bullet in one hand. Wearing her usual black leather jacket, black tank top, black denim jeans and combat boots, she figured it might be better to put on something more practical. It had been a while since she had put on her combat gear, but there was no way she was going to take a chance with this. One stray bullet was all it took to end everything she had worked for, and that didn't jive well with her. Calling in the person she believed would be the most helpful to her mission, Ember of Hate went to the corner of her office. It was here she had a privacy curtain, the kind made of wood and paper that folded to better adjust to the dimensions of the room. Opening the closet, she would begin to strip down when the door opened. "Take a seat, I got a job for you, something we're gonna do together. There's a bounty that needs doing, and we need the money plus the notoriety it gives, ya dig?" Her office was one of administration rooms in the subway, the large window in the left side covered in posters of gang graffiti she was tinkering with. If everything went well, one of those lucky designs was going to adorn the spot where the Orphans snatched a Mason Justiciar named Bedge. @danzilla3
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