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  1. 16, April 1678AY Archipelago, Garuda-Scarab Thursday, 12:00P.M The word had not reached the newly found island yet that a force of evil was coming. That the people would not be prepared and though they would not be, they had something on their side, a Valentina. But they would still be outmatched. Salsa stood outside the city of Archipelago, as she wondered how things were doing for Jack. He had lost his form to a shard, had the legendary sword and shield that was corroding him. Yet, she was wary as to not letting him trick her. Inside the town hall, elder Ridley Vira Nebulous-Ashlyn had been forming a plan. His maps laid out as his grey eyes stared at it still. The thing was that the demons of old resided here at one point. They changed the subjects--people into creatures, or even demons. The oldest elf family of October remained untouched but for how long? "Ser?" The young elf knight, Vanilla June Zenith October asked as she looked at the elder with pink-white eyes. "Still can't figure out a plan?" "Unfortunately not. Even if the Valentina attacked, and even with the other Valentina helping us--we're still outnumbered." Ridley spoke as he looked up. "Gallus, any ideas to figure something out?" "Well, we do have those soldiers trained from Athentha, plus the Valentina and October houses. We have a fair shot at this, as long as we don't lose the mages." Gallus replied. Ridley sighed. It was a long shot indeed.
  2. Nesy would be walking through the wilds of Fracture. He stepped on branches that cracked by his every step since they were on the ground. The sound of the forest engulfed him and it was peaceful; meaning it was quiet and there were no animals around. It may be because of Nesy's precense but maybe they're just more uncommon at his location. Nesy wore a black armor with a matching helmet along with a contraption which was an electromagnetic gun(Railgun) which was capable of firing projectiles at colossal speeds. Overhanging branches on top of the tall trees blocked most of the sun's rays from passing through. It was a dimm forest with many varriations of green plants and just as any other alien planet he had been in there was always something unique about them. How their composition was made up which made him very interested in what elements it could bear as it could prove to be useful in the future. He continued to venture through the strange forest. As any other life-planets he had been in, this planet proved to be one of his interesting findings. He thought about the extra-terrestrial war that went on the wilds of Terrenus or somewhere along that area. He had fought a terrorist apperently but he was mostly calm but very tired after his adventures with other people. He remembered the Preistress and Dauner who were his 2 new companions. Except, she probabaly got ate up by the dragon or kidnapped and Dauner went to chase after it to save her. These were some memories he had which made him smile. They were also funny but grusome as well, being almost destroyed by a dragon was a classic thing that happened to Nesy. Looks like Nesy had been here a lot of times. The thoughts spiraled in his head as he went through the woods of Fracture. His goal was to find more information about this particular planet, to boost his research in the process too. He had been to worse places like lava planets or even celestial bodies that were beyond the size of the largest star he had ever known in the multiverse. Technically, he has never landed on any of the stars because he would obviously be incinirated! The craziest place he had been in was presumingly planet: Aurora which had many aurora borialises scattered across the planet. That was sure a crazy memory. Ohh.. The memories were so satisfying. Nesy, a multiversal member of the Celvestian race. He came here to explore and adventure just like any other curious alien beings that step foot on this planet. Though, he's presumingly the first alien to come here unless if there were other aliens too because he does not know anything else that he was the only living Celvestian on this planet. What will happen now? What will he meet? It'll be the time to find out.
  3. Current Status Read Before Posting Tavern of Legend OOC Thread When you're ready to leave the TOL and explore Valucre, check out these transition suggestions. Note these are suggestions and you are not limited to the options detailed there. The Tavern of Legend is a jumping off point for new members, a sort of sandbox where new members can play with other new members while getting used to the site. This is especially useful for those new to online role-playing in general. Only members registered on the site for 90 days or less can post in the ToL unless otherwise approved (such as select events or mentors). We strongly encourage participating in Tavern quests and activities as a starting point, but this isn't required and a member can leave the ToL at any time. The new member guide can assist you as you go forward. The water cooler is a good place to check out when you're ready. You don't have to read the whole thread. Given the amount of new members that get funneled into the ToL on a regular basis, members aren't expected to read dozens or hundreds of pages. You read this post to get an understanding of the tavern, the last few posts to get a handle on what other members are doing, then you're free to introduce your character in whatever fashion you deem fit. The Tavern of Legend is an RP forum that is quasi-canon; nothing here is canonized as 'world of Valucre' lore, but its internal canon is consistent. Note that the tavern also "heals itself", so things like holes in the wall and accidental fires won't affect the overall aesthetic. What you do in the ToL can be referenced later on in other RP threads within the world of Valucre. Any quests you complete for the Tavern that take place in canon lands can be canonized as well. The Tavern They say the road to the tavern was once a nondescript journey, traveling through nothingness until you happened upon a quiet little hamlet out in the middle of nowhere. Farmers would wave, children following a short distance behind, curious as to your origins and intent. Only, things have changed now. You travel through lands scarred by fires and death, through an atmosphere of despair laden with only the slightest traces of hope. Burned down buildings are as common a sight as are the rats and vultures still searching for morsels. At this time, people still bury their dead- and there is many, while others hurry to get back within the cover of what remains of their home. Eventually, your journey leads you down a dimly lit path, finding that night has come upon you faster than you first expected. You come to a location said to be the corner of all existence, the point between the world of Valucre and all other possibilities. There sits a quaint structure, small and unassuming. It is only one story, hardly more than a shack, and certainly nothing like what was promised by those claiming to have once stayed within its walls. The paint is peeling, the sign is careworn and faded. Perhaps you feel cheated, having come all this way just to find some hole in the wall that gives only a welcome home to drunks too far into their cups to notice the difference. Still, there is an inviting smell coming from inside, a welcome change from the smell of death you left behind. Perhaps you should enter then, and stay for a drink or two. Even if this tavern is not what was promised, a drink and a hot meal would do you some good. And there you find that the Tavern is all that was promised you - and more. It reaches high, higher than you could have even imagined, the ceiling reaching hundreds of feet above. Layers upon layers of rafters fill in the gaps, where some patrons sit, served by a young man who traverses them with ease. Down below, the sprawling layout reveals a tavern with more than a dozen corners (each with its own table), despite the improbability. At the center of establishment is a large stage, where bands of bards play and leave- their lineup and styles as random as anything could be. Along what could be called the back, a long bar stretches out, ending at a doorway leading to the kitchens. Also in the back are stairs leading up to an upstairs that cannot be seen from here, and a door that leads down to the storage basement. Weapons can be checked at the door or brought to the weapons counter, where the character will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it Staff The staff is varied. Some are transient, coming and going within a few days, and others are permanent fixtures of the tavern's setting. Some are from the world of Valucre, and others are wanderers from further off. The only constants in this ever-shifting tapestry are the core staff members who manage the tavern itself, each serving their own special function. Attractions Recurring Wait Staff Young Attractive Barmaid: Early 20’s, Green eyes and chestnut hair, with a noticeably large bust. Her name is Gwen. Young exhausted Barmaid: Just out of her teens, always looks worn out and haggard. Smaller frame on top, but generous hips below. Her name is Beatrice. Young scrawny barmaid: New on the job, looks nervous and eager to please. Often speaks in a rehearsed manner, quite rapidly. Tiny, but looks healthy otherwise. Average looking. Her name is Clair. Young man with dark skin and bare feet: The Rafters server, as nimble and acrobatic as an ape in the jungles, he was hired for his abilities to assist those patrons with difficult logistical seating placements. His name is Tova. Man in his mid-twenties, blond, frequently scruffy. Rather friendly, a bit boisterous at times. He gets along well with anyone, and is known for flirting with the prettier customers who don’t come in with obvious attachment. His name is Fjorn (pronounced Fee-orn). Woman in her late forties, wavy, short grey hair and blue eyes. She has no patience for the workers she thinks are lazy and will be quick to click her tongue and chastise slackers. She is stocky but short, with old battle scars she says she earned from "Fighting in the pits, earning her freedom with blood." She's willing to tell a tale or two about her past fights. Her name is Wentree. [Hired recently] Younger man in his mid twenties, about 5'10 but huge build and a bald head, with nearly black skin. He speaks with a mild accent, but he is happy to repeat himself when required--but you have to make sure he knows you missed it, because he has a tendency to miss those signs, among other things. He seems to zone out a lot, and will trip over objects too. His name is Fendrel. He does not flirt, as his Husband wouldn't like it. [Hired Recently] Young man with long, red braids and grey eyes. He is perhaps 18, and quite talkative. He has his left eyebrow pierced three times and both ears filled with hoops and cuffs on his cartilage. He sometimes gets distracted by the bard, or pretty women. Wentree frequently gets on him about staying about his work. His name is Mism. [Hired Recently] Toilet Scrubber Not all the dragons fell during battle. One so-called "Tom" managed to fall inside the range of Ghallen's protective magic, sparing his life when the Dragon Cultist General decided to hit friends and foes with a blast of necrotic magic designed to drain life from others. Ghallen later found him playing "dead" as he was told to, and could see that the dragon-kin really did feel bad about the whole ordeal--those cultists, they sure can be convincing! So, Ghallen got him patched up, but not all is amended yet. The Tavern expects people to earn their keep, and that those who wish to reform their way should do so through hard labor. Vaddock set the dragon-kin to work as the official toilet-scrubber, keeping the privies clean. So far, he's been doing a pretty good job. His name is Zezzicryt, but most just call him "Z." He is 7' tall, and rather intimidating at first glance, especially for those who fought them. The veterans of the battle eye him suspiciously, but Vaddock feels like he might really mean to turn over a new leaf. Nevertheless, he still has Hand keep a close eye on him.
  4. Cold.. bitter cold.. it always reminded him of that night. Space invaded in a heinous portrayal of discrimination against mankind. Gaia’s devotees slaughtered by Unnaturals. It was the definition of ironic. There was naught but bloodshed that night. The winds blew through the Wastelands with a burglary of one’s own heat; the only thing more outright bone-chilling was the sophistication the monstrosities took in eradicating the entire clan’s caravan. There was not much more testing than the destruction of everything one knew in life. It either forged something devastating, or it broke one beyond measure. Who was to say one did not lead to the other — No one could. The cold nights reminded him often of that fate-filled night. Walk like them until they walk like you.. it was something the old wives spoke of when telling stories of heroes and how one might aspire to be more like them in character. That night, Yshmael moved in the way of the Three, as a devout Triaditionalist of the Dead Peaks would hope to. Creation of a world where such tragedies might happen less, The Preservation of his people and their way of life, and the Destruction of those who would do wrong in Gaia’s demesne. His strength and will to survive deemed him worthy of their eye and forever cast his path into the defense of all Natural kind. The Triad had endowed him with an unwavering will and a knack for sniffing out dangers in the world, especially Unnaturals, and he had done nothing but hone these things into something that men and monsters alike paled in comparison of Will and sheer Might when the warrior-priest applied himself and his Faith. His loss had indeed broken him, and in return for giving himself to the Will of Gaia, so too was he given an Indomitable Will. In that time of mantling the Triad, he became a vessel to them as they served mutual purpose in his actions. Nothing could have prepared him in even three lifetimes for that night.. And it was that night that propelled his life into the path he now walked. Leaving the sands he and his people had spent generations on was no small task, subjectively or objectively. The Wasteland was vast and the cold encroached ever so far… so much farther than it had in his time as a child. But that was then, and this was the Now. One must not dwell on things they cannot change; another old wife’s advice for letting go. By the Will of Gaia, Yshmael survived and effectively destroyed all of the transgressors in the vicinity. He was among less than a handful of survivors; those who were unfortunately tasked with sending their dead on to the next chapter in one’s life. Once done, he made sure to deliver them to safety. Neighboring tribes in the region and those among frequented spaces gathered to give condolences in the form of words and material offerings. Someone had even spotted his horse in the near on dunes, but ultimately they had been unable to catch it. This left Him with few things left to do but pursue a state of mind and subsequently satisfy the urges set on him by his Faith. “West..” he said to himself. Directly West from the subtle temple nestled into the Dead Peaks he had been born in, and where his family had begun many lives. It had been decided by those higher than him that he head west in order to snuff out as much corruption within Gaia’s realm ashe could. The sands harbored no love, no warmth anymore; neither would he. Mercy was a liability in most worldly professions, and he had no intentions of offering such things to those that would cross him. With purpose and survival driving him, the man had managed to not only head west, but by some divine grace, his trek was made swifter by his horse finding /Him/! It was one of those little things that one ought to appreciate and take to heart. The horse had been scouted for him on his coming of age, which meant to go be among the sands for what felt like a whole year.. maybe it was longer.. shorter? The sands did not keep track of time outside of bottles, sadly. Nevertheless, his horse was home - with him - and had survived what looked to be a handful of abrasions and run ins with either wire or claw. The wounds were healed and tended to by the good work of the Nomad. His hands had been tasked with much as one of the more mature men within the caravan. With horse - and what seemed like a hefty load for a single man to have been moving across the desert with - they were off! They kept a good pace all the way through the Wasteland’s grueling biomes and into the mountain ranges south of the sands. Little activity found their way by means of Unnaturals or those who would give ill intent.. maybe they knew to stay away? No matter, he was across the sands anyways. His hand for reading common was strengthened by years of trade in the outskirts regions near the border and within the desert; a gracious moment he reminisced about when coming across signs after breaking through the border and slipping through generally without hindrance. Blairville The nearest major settlement. Yshmael had finally arrived in the skirts, much to his delight. “Food and a bit of a rest, old friend..” he uttered, rubbing the neck and mane of the decorated horse as he stood from a position of a kneeling bow against the earth. The companion whinnied in response and dug a hoof into the dirt before traversing a downward path through the foothills and mountains leading to the town. He had elected to keep to the ranges rather than main roads out of comfort’s sake until the walls of the city were upon them. Time had lapsed perfectly to deliver the man to the Market in the early morning, having set upon a main road around dawn. Already, the smells of the market hit his nose. Incense and herbs and the burning of wood. The savory foods and beverages hit his nose with mouth-watering flavors and scents. It had been some time since he walked such a large and diverse market. It was here in the market that the man dismounted and walked with a horse that generally did not bother to stretch the reins thin with distance from the Nomad. Yshmael and the horse seemed bonded.. a touching sentiment and also a helpful one. Where the man did not pay attention, the horse surely would bolster detection and security by means of constant vigilance. On and on, they walked as a pair, hardly a full (Roman) pace apart at any point. They roamed the market to gather what was needed, making small talk and even receiving condolences from merchants hailing from the sands. With Provisions gathered for the journey, as well as knowledge of which he learned upon deeper questioning of merchants regarding the settlements to the west and the procuring of a map, he began to fixate on the now. Water, a bit of food and grain split between the two, and a gear check were all addressed. His robes, bound in silks and leather and plate in various areas about his form. Yshmael’s weapon hung from the hip, with a blade tucked into the breast of his robing. Hunter’s Steel, with blessings and family names etched all over. He kept it close at all times. A sentiment and personal defense that brought him security. A scarf adorned his head to keep the wind off his neck, and it draped from his form a bit and covered a light pelt that wrapped over the back of his form from the shoulder down. Riding boots were knocked against the heel of one another to relieve them of crusted sand and mud. The armaments of his father, passed on through generations, even the very robes he wore, were in his possession. He bound them to the horse and kept a spear with it - also his father’s. The nomad’s fingers were decorated with rings of all the members he could identify and recover, however few. Necklaces and bangles dressed his body, bearing talismans and words of power, or so they had been spoken of. Heirlooms and the surviving pieces of many who fell were all he could hold onto aside from memories. Empowered by his faith and compassion for mankind, the trinkets and accessories he bore served to draw in the energies that Gaia and the earth offered to him. It was all that seemed to warm his heart outside of his horse. The nomad smiled at the graceful steed to his left, taking in a deep breath as he reminisced and relaxed for a moment within the market. It was brief, though. He needed to keep moving. Thoughts and images plagued his mind if he was not remaining aware of his surroundings. Dreams had been invaded by ruins and plagued of monsters and sickness alike. Blight on the land struck fear and motivation into his steely resolve. It was his obligation to see it destroyed and prevented from further corruption. Gypsy Market - West End Two Hours to Mid Day With all he needed wrapped up, Yshmael made way toward the western end of the city, taking a decent stride as he led the horse on rather than ride him. Unless stopped or confronted, he would be on his way out of the market and city itself. Map in tow, he moved along.
  5. A waver, some called it. The beautiful woman whipped upon one between larger vessels, throttling brakes and boosts along her canal like a Mario Kart character through Toad's Turnpike. Water sprayed from the centrifugal force of her scooteresque board over the decks of passenger vehicles who abided by Shrine City's traffic laws, splashing civilians in nice clothes with champagne glasses who expected the typical serene journey down Shrine's winding byways. Where was she headed? Why, none other than the least diviest dive bar near Lion's Square Garden. The beautiful woman walked into a bar and sat at the three-quarters-packed bar in the late afternoon. She got service real fast. "Pour me a double," she said huskily to the 30-some year old behind the counter gilded with taps. "Right away ma'am," he blushed, grabbing her drink. "Make it two," she said before he'd finished pouring the first. "Alright! Comin' right up!" exclaimed the young'un, catching the whiff that the lady could hold her own. Double-fisting and then downing both at the pace of about a gulp each, the beautiful woman's golden eyes flashed something between alcoholism and arousal. The bartender had other customers to tend to, but he would be back soon. Starting this kind of thing at a bar was fun, thought the beautiful woman.
  6. It was a brisk morning, the sun had just began to come up. Rays of sunlight were slowly peaking up from the horizon to bring life unto the city. There was a light gust that brought in a fairly cold wind, winter would be on it's way soon enough. Some flocks of birds could be seen already making their trip to warmer pastures. Few townsfolk were lining the streets, getting ready for a busy weekend. Just on the edge of town, a merchant vessel, loaded down with building supplies, was pulling into the stables. A large hairy ox was pulling the cart, all by its lonesome. At the reigns was a merchant, Lexicus Thoren to be precise, with his short blonde hair beginning to shine as the sun had struck him. It was the day of progress for him. Flyers had been distributed to the local recruiting hubs and job postings for an armed escort job with business opportunities from a start up company that supposedly was a big business. It was time to meet up with whomever was going to show for the position. Considering how the first job posting had started, there wasn't high hopes. It took some time to remove the harness and unhitch the large ox creature from it spot on the cart, grab a satchel of trade bars and a bag full of documents, pay for the spot in the stables, and pay a bit extra trade bars to add security to the cart's contents, not really that it was needed but it kept questions from arising. Lexicus, donning his regular light plate, was starting to shine some as the sun was reflecting off his armor. The walk to the recruiting site was not going to take too long but he wanted to make sure he beat the rush of folk flocking to the streets. That and being punctual was his preferred style. Lexicus had informed the recruiting hubs to direct anyone that was interested to a local tavern so that way the merchant could get to know the folk he would be working with more intimately and in an open and very informal setting. After all, Lexicus was looking for potential long term employees as well as bodyguards and mercs to work with. All anyone had to go on was his name and a brief description of what he looked like. After a good short 'hike' around the town, Lexicus had came to the tavern, had ordered a large table for business meeting, paid up for the inconvenience of having to set up such a table, and had paid for the tavern's time for hosting an event. It would be a little expense that would be paid back after he would finally get set up in his location for the site. For now, Lexicus ordered a light drink of non-alcoholic house special, in this case being a cold mug of some kind of pint, smooth enough, but not very strong in alcohol. It was close enough. The blonde haired merchant took the time to sit back, take a breather, and compose his sales pitch to anyone that was coming to the business opportunity. It was his hope that he'd get a few bites and could have enough people to not have to call in off world talent to get started. Though, he'd already called for a meeting with his other talents, just in case things went sideways at this meeting. It was still fairly early in the morning to really make a call. Lexicus put a lot of hope into this job, he was hoping it would pay off, for now he waited for anyone to answer the posting he set.
  7. Nak’mbu. Valley of the lost. Oasis in the jungle. The location formerly known as: Biazo Swallowtail Geoball Stadium, sponsored by: Sanzang Electronics, home of the Twenty-Second Geoball Reigning Champions, the Biazo Batters. All of these descriptors not quite accurate, each not quite capturing the full extent to which history has left a mark upon the place now called Nak’mbu. Once the widest enclosed space imaginable, formerly torn asunder and exposed to the sun, now encroached upon by vine and undergrowth; concrete once white, formerly blasted black, now colored by damp and darkrot. Once, tens of thousands of cheering mouths. Formerly, the silence of none. Now? A village of some sixty inhabitants, but quiet, still so quiet. The hypothetical visitor finds Nak’mbu only with great difficulty, from the exterior hardly distinguished from the remainder of the jungle. From the east stands of the stadium it is impossible to sight any sign of residence; only on an approach from the north (for the south has long collapsed into a canyon pit) might the first signs of residence resolve to the eye. Leaf-thatched roofs emerge between the trees. Hard-fought clearings grow elephantine yams and cassava. The signs of fire percolate through the foliage. The footpath – note the singular – leads one house to another, all in a chain, for it is easier to tread old roads than to hack new ones from the earth. At the near end of the footpath is the beat-wood clinic of one Isabel Payne. At the far end past the last homes and up the stands is the announcers’ box of the stadium, now one of a handful of vantages from which one may see the sweeping canopy of the jungle and, on lonely nights, glimpse lights flickering from the tops of other towers scattered across the dead city. And one may dream of one day meeting one another across a green-vined eternity of distance. There are other points of note. In the middle of the old freeway to the North has erupted a grand old palm, entirely alone up to an altitude of a hundred feet, on the ground poisoning everything that grows within a hundred yards. Water collects in its roots’ asphalt eaves, attracting the local wildlife and the villagers alike. The animals and villagers do not yet realize it, but palm water is an exceptional abortive, which is why the waters are ever-clear and free of mosquitoes. If our hypothetical visitor should look west, they will see the heart of Bi’le’ah, an emerald glow like some radiant fallout from a weapon long ago. The glow ripples, on dark nights, upwards as a spear thrust from the heart of the world. To the south, a long gash exposes caves from which half-men and unnaturals look upwards, and into which the above-ground visitor may look down. The two worlds are exposed to one another but are not incident, not here, and not now. This hypothetical visitor remains entirely hypothetical. There are, after all, no roads leading into Nak’mbu. It is a lost place, entirely forgotten. Those who find it are just as like to have forgotten what they really came here for, no? Because when they arrive, they will find that they have found exactly that which they remember: Nothing at all.
  8. They had travelled the deep road. Yes, there was the highway. The road that stretched across the land to link their two cities. But the lord Téshuk had insisted against. It was not the way, he had told them, meaning both the literal form of passage, but also the means in which their task was to be done. Their task one that was quite suddenly arranged, at the Governor of Totenborough had realised that 'the time' was upon them, but that his subjects knew nothing of it, nor that they should prepare. But with only weeks to go, they had managed it. Though with all their load to take through the tunnel that led up to the Hydra Scar, and then from there travel westward unto the breach of Lunaris, that was itself another few days of travel. Téshuk had led all the way throughout, clearing by his will any path that could not so easily take the carriages and carts. There was however, a realisation that this was itself part of the tradition - that he and he alone must lead the way. Even when they stopped to rest at nights, measured only by the clock than by sunlight, Téshuk still held himself at the forefront, nor did he slumber; vigilant in his duties as he was able to be. But yes, they had travelled the deep road, and from it emerged, a long caravan that itself stretched for many hundreds of metres, loaded with many goods and decorations. When they arrived at the treetop city, its homes cut from and built into the woodland that surrounded and ran throughout it, there was only one moment of pause, taken by Teshuk to process it all. How the world truly was different and changed from as it had been, however long ago it was that he stood among the living. Still, he willed his entourage on, and they made their way through the streets. The sheer physical stature of Téshuk, along with his presence, and the length of the caravan behind him, drew curious and expectant eyes from all around. Many, sat high within their homes, were content to look down upon and distantly observe the passing, able to follow it for miles with but slight turns of the head. For others, the only way to follow the procession was to do so physically, trailing along behind it. This then only made the crowd grow ever greater, as it became something of novelty and curiosity for those whose days who had become accustomed to outside intrusion representing malice and threat, rather than mystery and fun. They wondered where this giant had come from, and where he was going with all this bounty. The former could answered through whispers that fluttered through the crowd: This was Téshuk, Governor of Totenborough, the esteemed and mysterious Titan himself! But as for the reason of his presence, that remained utterly unknown, and his servants would not share it. That too, was apparently part of the tradition. The procession, caravan and crowd both, swept through the city, heading north west. Téshuk ran his fingers along the vines that raced towards their summit, coating the ancient walls of Cair Loeren. Through them, he made a summons. An act that might have seemed impudent, but it was meant to be bold; in truth as well, he saw little distinction in rank between him and the one he summoned. But as such messages are scarcely hidden in Lunaris, it whipped the crowd into a frenzy. How could he? How DARE he?! Did he not know to whom he spoke?! Yet still, they followed, and Téshuk went. They stopped all at once before withered steps, and before the one who espoused to be lord and master of all the realm. One who had been wounded, yet lived as Téshuk did not. A small being, yet perhaps the only one here who might stand larger than the Titan. The Titan who snapped his fingers, and so beckoned two of his followers to bring up a long chest; from their fingers it lifted, being made of stone, and by Téshuk's will, came to rest at the Regent's feet. The stone that sealed it shut slid away, and revealed within, along a bed of silk, two rings - one of ruby laid in silver, and another of sapphire in gold. Let us be as one. Was the sentiment that came from Téshuk; his will without spoken word. It may have a taken to process, but then, his will clarified that he meant the cities, not him and the Regent as individuals. It would be in the union of cities that they would mark the year anew; the start of new opportunities, and the start of new - or renewed - love. As was tradition. With its confirmation, so would Téshuk's caravan begin their adornment of the city. Shades and filters for the wickblooms that turned their natural light into many colours and shapes. Gifts to the children of the city, a foundation on which they might build new directions and new interests to follow for the year, and perhaps keep with them the rest of their lives. Craftsmen of all arts would share their works, and the skills with which they made them, with the people of the city, gifting these to all - that chose to afford them - rather than just the children. Once each week, for four weeks, as the necessary supplies arrived, there would be a great feast held at the heart of the city, sharing what delicacies and tastes the people of Totenborough had kept from the old world, and what they had discovered in the new. As the people ate then, they would expected to take their loves in hand - whether desired or already held - and dance, promising to each other the prosperity of a new year. Some might have labelled it a festival, but Téshuk did not seem to understand the concept so. Rather to him, this was what this time of year was for. New Beginnings, New Love, and Renewal. Built on the bond of the land, as was tradition. This was, as he spoke audibly but once, with voice like stone grinding upon stone, Wosatnos.
  9. Emergency broadcast KX-end-of-the-world scenario in progress Valucrean containment foundation This message will now be repeated. . . This is OS-01 of the Valucrean Containment Foundation. We... I, have unleashed pandora's box. I hope one day, whatever gods are out there, may show mercy to my soul. The navy has lost nearly half of it's fleet, the air force fell today. There is no hope of stopping this threat. I only can give a way out for those wanting to escape. I arrived from the vortex at the center of this world. If I arrived from that vortex, there may be a chance that we can escape the same way. We have made 3 arks, to carry anyone and anything. It's our last chance at an exodus. Head to the northern tip of alterion within 78 hours, I'm not sure how long we can hold out anymore. Time is of the essence, this is our last hope of survival. Hurry, plea-... . . . This message will now be repeated. . . "-s Doctor Brett, is anyone there? This is Doctor Brett. I am a researcher from the VCF, god someone please be out there. [Large footsteps in the distance] It's already clear, we already lost, but it may not be the end of all hope. I know it's insane, but we have to get to the place where this all started. Site-800, where we opened pandora's box. There is a way to prevent this from happening, to prevent ALL of this from happening. I have this with me, CS-0078, in site-909. This entire site was to protect the existence of this disk, because this object alone may prove pivotal in changing timelines. I propose we use it now. [Large footsteps in the distance] It can't send us back. As far as I'm concerned, I and whoever is hearing this message is as good as dead, but we can prevent this timeline, this present, from ever existing. If we capture pandora's box, we can send it back in time with a warning. This is our last shot. We will cease to exist, but our past selves won't have to die in this hell. We will have a future. I only have 5 men from Beta-04, it's not enough. Site-800 is 100 kilometres away, we have to- [Large footsteps in the distance] If you hear this, I'm in Last Chance. The site 909 entrance is in the black market, pyre's stall for pyrotechnics. Find the trapdoor leading down, the code to the lock is 2309. Hide under the shade and in the walls. There is 1 titan in the town centre, 16 meters tall. You can't outrun it, so be as quiet as you can. If it sees you, pray your death will be quick. I'll have this message repeat, hurry." [Radio static]
  10. Prelude ”You want to do what’s right, don’t you Norman?” A cold and dark voice pierced the still air of a dusty and darkened room. Sitting at a lone wooden table in said dark room with one dull and dimly light lightbulb hanging overhead was a man of some years. Greying features accompanied by a stern but tired face showed the wear and tear of someone who had held a hard career filled with strife and pain. Upon his person he wore the olive green dress uniform of a guard or military personnel, much like the man it too was faded with the passage of time and hardship that came with it. Changing slowly but noticeably the stern look of a hardened professional shifted to a shape of slight fear and anxiety. He looked down at the wooden table for but a moment, and for the first time in his life, an honest man had blinked. It was all the serpent needed to sink its fangs in. ”You see. Your post, it’s simply overrun with villainy and crimes of unspeakable volumes. Murder, arson, assault, and every day it gets worse. You don’t want it to get worse do you Norman?” Words dripped laced with the false concern of one born of evil and hatred. Someone who only said the words necessary to get what they needed. ”N-No... I don’t want it to get worse...” The man known as Norman said with a shaky voice. ”No no no, of course you don’t want that Norman. You want to bring about a change. But you can’t do that by yourself can you?” The fangs sunk deeper into the man’s resolve as it began to crumble beneath their pressure. ”I want to change it... but the crime lords they have too much pow-“ A swift yet gentle coated in black iron and red inlay jutted out from the darkness and slowly placed the backside of it against Norman’s cheek. ”Shhhhh. You let me take care of them and I promise you a good change will come your way. One of great heft and depth.” Slowly the hand retreated back into the darkness and returned to drop a bulbous cloth sack onto the table. Hitting it with a hard clink of loose metal items, the bag spilled open to reveal golden coins that lay on the table and glimmered in Norman’s eyes. It was all but over now, the man had lost. ”And the best part Norman. You don’t even need to do anything. Just secure the gates after curfew, and don’t let your men have anyone go in or out. There’s a chest-load more of that for you and your men as well. Can you do that, Norman? Can you do that for me?” There was a silence after the voice spoke from the shadows. Norman looked at the gold. Thought of his honor, his duty, his post and charge. He then thought about the years of his life being abused, having his job mocked and spat upon by those he was meant to be above. He thought of his wife and his retirement. The house on the coast. College paid off for his grandkids. Something to leave his family besides a mediocre retirement fund upon his death. He thought of all this, and his decision was made. Taking the bag of gold he clutched it to his chest and spoke five words. ”Yes. I can do that.” An honest man died. Wicker Town Blues Wicker Town Entrance 2100 Hours Rain fell from the sky as horse whinnied and came to a stop. With a carriage in tow we got to see within its confines. Luxurious silk lined seats and golden tassels that hung from plush throw pillows. The entire carriage reeked of money and wealth, of people who had built that on acts of cruelty and violence. People that Dredge tended to enjoy, but had to be dealt with all the same. Sitting at the far left seat of the bench was a man known as Salvador “Money” Felix. One of the crime lords who happened to run a network of gangs here in Wicker Town. With him was his wife of fifteen years and their only son. They had been out celebrating Salvador’s won appeal about a parole violation. Not that it really mattered, but the family seemed to be in good spirits with smiles stretched across their bright and beautiful faces. ”I can’t believe they thought William would rat you out.” The woman laughed as she clutched to her husband’s side. ”Nah, William is solid. Couldn’t crack that guy with a hammer. Just like my little man over here.” The crime lord soon picked up his young son and cradled him up onto his lap. The boy smiled and laughed at his father’s grasp and held tight to him in return. ”I couldn’t go back to Reyer City and leave this tough guy right here.” Salvador chuckled as everything started to go somewhat quiet. ”Why are we stopped? That old git Norman knows I don’t like to be held up.” With frustration in her voice her husband opened the carriage door and looked out to where Norman was. Wicker Town was surrounded by walls and barbed wire fences, and the main entrance had a two part gate where people would be let in, searched, then advanced through the second gate. Salvador found himself and his family within the holding area between gates. Looking around he spotted Captain Norman in his uniform and rain coat looking towards him with cold and hollow eyes. The eyes of someone who knew what was about to happen but could do nothing. Ignoring those eyes, Salvador stepped out and seethed with anger. ”Norman you stupid idiot! I told you I don’t need to be held up! How about some of my boys go and visit your kids at their jobs again, huh! Would you like that you son of a bitch!” Salvador yelled at the Captain to no avail with his stone wall of a face. There was simply a pause between them. ”You’re right. Goodbye Mister Felix.” Norman gave the crime lord a gentle nod of the head before retreating into the shadow of the guardhouse. ”Everything okay, dear?!” His wife yelled from the carriage as she poked her head out into the rain. Salvador turned his body slightly to look back at her. ”Yeah babe, everything is fin-“ A gunshot interrupted the man. Pulling his hands up now covered in his own blood, he looked up from it to see standing there five people. One that stood near seven feet tall and shrouded with dark robes, and on either side of him plain clothed men and women with bandanas over their faces carrying automatic magitech rifles. His wife screamed and clutched their son close to her. ”What is it that they say in your profession? It’s not personal.” And with that the order was given. Brief shrieks of horror were quickly snuffed out by the sound of gunfire and thunder as rain poured down heavier upon Wicker Town. After a few extra double tap shots were fired for good measure, the men who had committed this act of violence had removed themselves from the scene and left only a bullet riddled carriage, a dead horse, and a slaughtered family to bleed onto the wet ground. ”Bravo One this is Overlord Actual, Target Blackbird neutralized. Proceed to targets Hippogriff, Bone Devil, and Drider.” Going out on a secure comms line, the operation had begun. Throughout Wicker Town various teams of plainclothes Legion commandos moved through the mud and rain of Wicker Town. Rows upon rows of slum and poverty stricken buildings lined the roads and alleyways of this town. Three targets remained had been designated to be taken care of, codenames Hippogriff, Bone Devil, and Drider. Leaders of the more powerful gangs here in this forsaken place. Once they were removed and a message sent, Dredge would have control of this town and it’s people. A beacon away from the Cold Mountains to conduct his affairs and see to it that the work needing to be done was handled. Where the man found himself now was on the outer layers of the town, in a place where only the worst of the worst were sent. The barbed wire fields. Chained to posts surrounded on all sides by the jagged pieces of twisted metal were the dammed. Those who had broke the rules of this place and were made example of. Walking up to one of the downtrodden, a Orc whose breathes were shallow and eyes weak. Dredge looked to the man from beneath his hood and spoke. ”Do you wish to be free?” The snake bared it’s fangs once again. The operation had begun, and Legion was ready to make their move to expand here in Genesaris. OOC
  11. A group of bards local to the village of Modalis are terrorizing the populace. The bards formed a cult called the "Death's Bards", recently trying to spread their ideology violently to the plebians and nobles alike. The attacks have gotten more and more gruesome; however the straw that broke the camel's back was when the bards kidnapped the mayor's daughter and made a public display of using their bardic magic to hang make her hang herself while they danced and sang. The Mayor has put a bounty on their heads with the reward being any piece of land they want in Modalis. Months have passed and nobody who has gone after the cult has come back alive. In fact their bodies were all dropped of at the edge of town with music boxes lodged in their chest cavities, as well as a large smile carved into their faces. The people live in fear of the cult and traders have been avoiding the village more and more as the rumors of the cult spreads. Finally this is where Vivi comes in she heard of these rumors by word of mouth, so in response headed for the town. It took her a week to get their by foot from where she was and by the time she arrived the town was still like all life had been sucked out of it. She couldn't care less about the suffering that these people had gone through, The Mad Bard simply wanted to kill the fuckers responsible for sending people to the afterlife with cheap shitty music. Only she had the right to kill people with music as her music gave people a graceful and beautiful death, but these bards are just sloppy animals... no pests that needed to be eradicated. Although before she could eliminate the pests she had to get a clue as to where they were hiding; therefore, she entered a tavern to question people about what they knew about the whereabouts of the cult. The tavern was just as quiet as it was outside, a depressing town even in the tavern. She sat next to a burly man who seemed to be in his mid 30's and asked him "hello sir, I just arrived in town you see because I heard about this... problem that has been plaguing you people. However I've run into a bit of a problem, I don't even know where to start looking for these bastards." The man looked at her and whispered in a low growl. "Just north of here is where the cult resides, they don't even try to hide. That's how cocky they are." The man then turns away and returns to drowning his sorrows. "I guess I'm going north" OOC
  12. This is the Mil Dot Lunaris: a firearm store that the kind of items that Americans could only dream of, and ammunition types most people don't even think are possible. Outside, there is a switchback staircase in the front leading up to the front covered porch, which continues to the left and right sides beyond the trees. Wooden tables and chairs provide places for people to sit and eat. The front wall is mostly wood-framed windows, surrounded by profiled trim and cedar shakes. Suspended rope walkways also connect to the porch at different places.The windows themselves are triple-pane ballistic polycarbonate, three inches combined, with argon pockets. There is a ramp to a freight elevator on the loading dock for people who can't or won't ascend the stairs, as well as deliveries. A large sign stands on the front roof, with the Mil Dot logo (and name) laid in very white oak with dark ebony. The inside has two areas; the public area, and the private area. The public area takes up 70% of the volume and reaches through the supports all the way up to the underside of the roof decking. The back roof has the same windows as the front wall, and the same density. During most days, the only light needed is in the cases. All of the walls have cedar paneling, all of the lights are warm white LEDs connected to a direct current system, and rock maple covers the floor of the store portion. The eatery is separated only by the line where the maple flooring meets the yellow cedar. The same wooden furniture sits in this area that sits outside, and a wall from floor to ceiling separates the public and private sections. The freight elevator opens up from the "private" area on this wall in a way that does not allow the public free access. Restrooms flank the elevator shaft. The cases that line the back and left sides are heavy, with teak-covered metal frames holding heavy ballistic polycarbonate panes. Rifle racks and heavy cabinets sit behind them, with register terminals between banks of cases. Sharp-eyed observers may even notice the ample tinted camera domes, the Browning M2 and Mark 19 emplacements and firing slots up on the walls and roof sections. The private area is just for people who work here, which includes the kitchen, storage areas, office, utility spaces, and where Thurgood and Aveline live. The only coatings applied to any of the wooden surfaces, inside or out, are clear varnishes and resins, all designed to show the wood's natural beauty. Overall the structure is actually stronger than the trees supporting it. Inside the non-window walls is not just insulation and wiring, but heavy ballistic fiberglass and polycarbonate panels that combined can stop a .50 BMG full-metal jacket round. There is a full inside-outside water deluge system and chemical foam nozzles for fire supression (as well as flame-retardant varnishes and resins), large-scale greensand and DE filters and UV disenfection for water with two cisterns in the "private" area of the roof underside. A 10,000-gallon septic system with integrated grease trap remove waste from drainwater before returning it to the jungle. 80 individual 100-watt solar panels stick above the canopy to charge forklift cells in the utility area (that has ventilation to prevent hydrogen buildup). The forklift cells then power everything else either directly, or through a three-phase pure sine inverter. The Mil Dot accepts lots of different currencies, but the most prominent is this metal exchange: 1 oz of Tin = .25 USD 1 oz of Copper = 2 USD 1 oz of Silver = 10 USD 1 oz of Gold = 50 USD 1 oz of Platinum = 100 USD 1 oz of Rhodium = 500 USD. These do not reflect prices in the real OOC world. Now with Out Of Cartridges (OOC) thread!
  13. I mean, why not really? I kinda wanna steal all the dragons lol
  14. The Year is 18,598 Arcturon, Taen, Terrenus M'yr furrowed his brow, his concentration hidden behind the mask. His breath steamed across his face, dampening the skin that was already so beaded with sweat. His hands were trembling; noticeably so. He clung to the delicate strands before him, gripping them tightly even as the sea rocked the vessel he rested upon, the heavy boards beneath his feet groaning in protest against the sea. Yet, the smell of salt and brine, and the sound of the sea was distant, nowhere close, for now. Steeling himself, he committed to the task; M'yr's hands deftly fixed the knot in the string at long last, and he let go, gasping with relief. The paper lanterns floated upward, but stopped before scraping the roof of the gazebo. He looked up at them, candlelight flickering against the driftwood mask that hid him away from the world. He breathed. The sea receded. "Is that the last of them?" Somebody else asked. M'yr glanced over, and saw her there. Her. Another in a mask. Not his mask, but hers. Pretty and painted and taken care of. But it was from the sea, of that there as no doubt. They all were, tonight. From its ancient slumber, the Serpent continued to provide. The mask affirmed that, the hooks and bangles around his wrists, his neck, and his waist affirmed that. Always there. Always calling. Driving him towards the serpent, and away from the sea. "Yeah." He managed to say. The lanterns bounced about merrily, and he handed them off to her. She accepted them, and she took them away. M'yr stood still, for a moment. The world was still, the sea gone. He breathed, again. Hosting this event was exhausting, and he continued to doubt its efficacy. This festival had blown up, rapidly, their influence over Taen had developed surprisingly quickly, and now M'yr was left to pick up the pieces, and put them together, here, of all places. The Acolytes of the Coiled Beast were not quite as influential as they would have liked, but their hard work, and their dedication to the safety of Taen, had given them a certain amount of intrigue. The people trusted them, and this was a chance to make themselves known. It was, above all else, a chance to unite the people, in the face of the coming tides. Arcturon, in all her beauty, stood in frigid silence that night. As the sun began to fade, and artificial light replaced the natural, the streets came to life with the sound of music and lights. The main streets of Arcturon formed a long, well-lit pathway of carnival games and attractions, as multiple members of the Acolytes roamed about helping set up decor and arrange lanterns and stands for the folk to enjoy. Coaxed out by the smell of cooking shellfish, the sound of tankards being filled, and the harsh percussion of street performers, the citizens and travelers made for the roads, and quickly became swept up in the sensation of Low-Tide. This was a first. For Taen, and for Arcturon, festivals like this weren't common yet. Festivals celebrating the local haul of fresh fish, and returning voyages, however? Those were even more rare, given that Arcturon was landlocked. Most of Taen was landlocked, in fact. There were little to no sources of salt-water fish to be had anywhere. Yet, this didn't stop the celebrating masses. Heading from the Northernmost road down to the Southernmost road, one could experience every attraction and appeal the festival had to offer. Diners, bars and some shops directly along the path stayed open later to accomodate for prospect customers, and some even offered 'happy-hour' discounts. Their wares, though sold on the eve of the festival, lacked any kind of 'seaside' influence, and yet once swept into one such establishment, the sound of the murring crowds might be replaced from time to time with the creaking of timbers, and the roaring of the sea. It made for a fine opportunity to step in for a pint, or a hot meal, or stock up on anything a passerby might covet. Further down the road, things quickly grew peppered with partygoers. Food and drink stands littered the edges of the streets, selling nearly everything one could think of. One particular stand offered saltwater taffy; locally flavored, pulled right before your eyes for a meager 25 credits apiece. Another sold fried pickles, and further along, another offered fried haddock on a stick. Things only grew more flavorful as the road continued onward. Games lined these streets, too. Masked men and women supervised while games of chance and skill were played on quickly-made stands and tables. Men played dead man's hand as if they'd been playing the card game every day of their lives, while others attempted to draw blood in short, visceral bowie-knife fights, while a paramedic looked on. A few simpler, childlike games of chance took place as well along the road. Ring toss and bottle-toppling seemed to be popular. More than a few folk lined up to try their luck at a firing range, where rusted flintlocks took aim at battered ships in bottles. Further along, a massive fish of indiscernable size rested atop a massive hook, a short distance above the passerby's head. Next to it, a hunched, yet tall man that reeked of the sea tried to goad folks into guessing its weight. And, of course, the deeper you went, the better the music became. Street bands and performers dominated the scene, and no sooner could you enter Arcturon before being swept away in a sea of shanties, and a jury of jigs. People danced and drank everywhere you went, and even attempting to pass some of them was grounds for them to try and invite you to join. Perhaps the most exciting event at that point in the evening was a grog-drinking contest, set to being just a short time later that evening. From the sound of things, a few places in the roster were still open.
  15. Burning Bright There was never really any hope of escaping it. The beast that lurks in the animal brain we are all brought into this world with. Some of us are just better at keeping it in check while others simply embrace and relish in its simplicity. Everything becomes easy and straightforward. Hungry? Eat. Tired? Sleep. A group of warrior monks are harassing and killing some of the people you are meant to protect? The answer was simple. Kill them all along with the innocents that they too love and protect. The Gordoian Knot that was Genesaris’ political scene of different empires and kingdoms was something that Dredge’s animal brain cared very little for, and the best solution when faced with said knot was always the simplest. Cut it in half. Which was exactly what Dredge was doing to the village that lay beneath the steps of the Hoaxin Monastery. Acrid and noxious smoke blinded the eyes and blackened the lungs of those who dare breath it in. Screams of the innocent wailed and lamented deafening the ears that listened. The scent of blood slicked iron and fire could be smelt for over a mile. Death had come to this place. The small village known simply was Hoaxin Village had took its name after the ancient monastery that hover above within the mountains, and soon it wouldn’t be known as anything but as a pile of ash and charred corpses where life once thrived. They had first appeared from the eastern path that lead to the small community. Men dressed in barbaric mismatched armor and covered in the furs of slain beasts. Men with the crazed look and want of bloodlust within their eyes, driven mad by the desire to destroy and burn everything that lay in their path. They came without warning and without any sense or understanding of the words mercy and morality. With the sun beginning to set they descended upon the village with their torches and blades and began to do what they craved so badly. So here we are now. A village beginning to burn from an assault that had begun only but ten minutes ago. Families run through the streets attempting to seek shelter or flee from the attacking horde. Some successfully and others cut down by the jagged blades of wicked men. Yet if one were perceptive enough, they could see something within all the chaos. A seasoned eye for combat would notice that these bandits and barbarians did not move with the mindless rabble that they often did when attacking a settlement. No, it seemed that they moved with the skill and precision of trained soldiers. Teams surgically moved through the streets to corral civilians into a kill zone while others went from house to house clearing them before methodically setting them ablaze. None of it looked like it should, and if they were extra perceptive they could see something deep within the darkness of the mountain’s shadow. Cloaked in dark robes and shrouded in an obstructing ethereal mist, a massive figure standing near seven feet tall in its darkened cloth watched the carnage with deep red eyes that pierced the veil of its abyss like hood. Suppressing his magical energy and hiding his distinctive look, Dredge looked on at the carnage that he had set forth. By his side an elite group of pact-wraiths watched with their emotionless bleak and dead eyes. Shining brightly through his hood, Dredge sported a massive Cheshire grin. There were villains out there with more nuance than Dredge, those who killed and committed evil for the sake of the greater good or some righteous cause. But not Dredge, he could put forth some call to arms about his oppressed people, but when it came down to it he was a monster who enjoyed the death and violence. It created a story, a narrative of good vs evil and life and death! The things that we all come here to see and partake in! It was all so much fun! And if you don’t have fun, then what’s the point? ”Inform the men to leave no survivors and to place their heads and bodies on pikes. I want those monks to see what they have brought on themselves before I end them. When the village is ash I will deal with them myself.” His dark eminence spoke not only with a sense of joy in his voice, but with the matter of fact tone that these Monks and people were already dead and were just walking corpses doomed to meet their end at his hand. ”Let it burn. Let it all burn...” Dredge then just watched the carnage from the shadows and waited patiently for this village to end by his orders.
  16. There was a forgotten time within Bairville, where a beautiful performance was once held. A time when a desert flower opened her heart through music and dance, blossoming pedals of joyous freedom and mythical talent. Gold streamed from the hypnotic bends of her caramel fingers, rhythm surreally rolled from a body possessed by the ocean. Her rolling hips were waves, slithering and gliding with marvelous grandeur, and the bending arch of her back cascaded her tresses like falls of great water. In this forgotten moment where mystical dreams manifested into reality before a mesmerized audience, this nameless flower was permeated in ecstasy. She crossed the ties of the mundane and extraordinary. broke the barriers between heaven and earth. And as the melody embraced and made love to her soul, she felt the true purity of freedom through dance. But as with the fate of all purity, wickedness cast its chains and shattered the music. It ensnared her dance and purloined her freedom. The flower was shut away, into darkness. With time, the precious existence was forgotten. The sun of the Velhatein Desert settled behind ascending mounds of drought laden earth. Its licentious fingers extended across the sky and made the clouds blush. Beyond and below the vaporous display, there was naught but shadows thickening into black. The ebony shrouded the shapes of the landscape, cursing the daylight colors into ambiguous contours that broke the horizon like broken backs of fallen soldiers. Truly they were broken skeletons of prehistoric creatures. Within this aphotic landscape, the twinkle of a lone campfire dared to take a stand. Sitting within its rebellious orbs of amber, was the forgotten desert flower. Reflection of the embers licked up her endless raven streaks, shimmering off the silk textures whilst teasing her desert toned skin with whimsical light. Rusted chains rattled from her bound minuscule wrists, slithering to the rims of her ankles. Her face was down, forehead nestled into the curve of her folded knees, and through that curtain of locks, piercing blue eyes stared aimlessly. Her nude lips were agape and breathed soundlessly, her breasts heaved and compressed into the cushion of her thighs, and beneath its cavity, a heart pumped. Yet her eyes, the lack of luster and vibrancy, revealed nothing but death. Three men heavily clothed in Saharan attire also rested around the flames, their dirty hands breaking off pieces of stale bread and shoving it into their mouths. They were quiet, most of their faces covered in scarves with slits of food and sight. Their eyes were cold and irritated, burdened by lights wrinkles suggesting their middle age and chaffed from desert winds. “This is the last of our provisions, we will not be able to stay in the mountain for long,” said one of them as he finished his bread his voice as gruff and scratched as his fingers. “We are also low on gold, how much longer before our contact returns with word of the rebellion?” “It was supposed to be three days ago, something must have happened.” A silence fell over the men again, the diminutive rattling of chains suggesting the imprisoned woman had moved. “The king only has another week before we punish his lack of compliance. It's been two weeks now, and we’ve had her for a month now." “He’s being a stubborn old fool, he will respond. We just have to wait.” “We have to find a way to make a coin if we are to survive another week. If we steal too much, it will draw unnecessary attention from law enforcers.” “Perhaps there is another way,” one of the men turned slowly towards the woman, eyeing her for a long moment. “The people of Genesaris are unlikely to recognize her. Perhaps we can use her to our advantage…” The chains rattled again, the forgotten woman lifted her head. Deep hues shifted to gaze at the men through descending bangs, a spark of life twinkling distantly within her once dead sea. When dawn broke over the world the following morning, flyers floated around the Yum Janus tavern near the outskirts of Joran City. They found their ways into people’s things, under their bags and pillows, and even tucked within their pockets. Upon the parchment were words of golden ink, cursive with living streams of light within the letters. Come witness the spectacle of a woman enchanted by a grace and beauty you have never seen. Witness the rare advent of people from the Velhaltein Desert. Her mesmerizing movements will seduce your dreams to reality. She will purloin the tribulations that haunt your mind for a single night. Come, and be blessed at midnight, by The Dance of the Desert Flower. The word spread rapidly. Mere mystery of how the parchment found its way into the most protected of spots allured people to the tavern. It was in the rear of the edifice, a circle of torches scattered through the empty plain. Their glows shed delicate light upon what appeared to be an unremarkable platform of an reflective ebony mineral. The full moon was out, its virgin glows eerily shimmering in streaks across the silvery sheen, intermingling with the flashing quips of the reflected flames.
  17. In Dougton, there was once an orphanage. It was capable of housing 24 children - quite the feat for a single headmistress. It was a gorgeous home with an inviting layout. Though it's headmistress had long ago disappeared, and various schemes had been planned behind it's walls, it had finally been given hope once more. Rebirth through the war, an opportunity to help. Those children displaced by the current civil war are most welcomed, with open (though slightly green) arms. The orphanage runs off of self-sustainability, a small farmyard behind the house, and lanterns to light their way. Children who come to this place are taught all the basic skills, as well as how to defend themselves to some minor degree. This is to hope that they will never become victims to tyranny, or will choose to stand against what they know is wrong. A strong sense of moral Justice is offered to those willing to learn it. For the moment, the orphanage only houses several children. While scared and distrustful, they have come to think of the orphanage as a second home where they will be protected and safe. Dhizzandra watches over them with pleased determination. The Dryad is simply happy to have a place to belong in this world - and she is pleased to help others, as well. Children 5 Adults 18 Completion of necessary buildings 50% Important threads/children acquisition: Home of the Brave. Children currently available for adoption: Blairville children: Peter – Age 12 – Blonde and amber eyed. He is a cautious, but brave young man who dislikes bullying. Lucy – Age 8 – Shy and slow to trust, a little bit bossy, as well. Lucy is definitely a kid who requires patience. Ruby – Age 6. Sweet and all too trusting, she’s got a sweet tooth like no other, however. Adopted by Rabbit. Izral Children: Susan – Age 14 – An older, jaded girl who was rescued by Jericho from a brothel in Izral. She doesn’t have much hope for the world, but she’s learning that not everyone is bad. Adopted by Danzilla3 Brinley – Age 8 – Young and cheerful, she takes joy in simple things. Jessica – Age 6 – Another young and cheerful child. She likes butterflies and flowers, but we aren’t into the flavor red this week. William – age 4. – This young boy loves to run in mud puddles and play with worms, as young boys tend to do. Caitlyn – 6 months – Often influenced by William regarding bugs and mud. She particularly dislikes nap-time. Derrick – Age 10 – Idolizes Peter and wants to protect the others from ever being treated poorly again. He’s often defensive on first meetings. Jonathan – Age 1 – Babbles with attitude. Hates diapers. Andromeda – Age 6 months – Sleeps a lot, when not screaming. Daniella – Age 10 – Sullen and moody, prone to dramatics. Kendra – Age 12 – Preteen. No more need be said. Adopted by Rabbit.
  18. The evening sun's ever reaching light laid upon the span of the Moonwood giving it a beautiful view of it's lush wilds, and it's great people: the Fae, or for better lack of knowledge Fairies. However within the lush wilds remains a roaring river, filled with sharp rocks and dangerous currents that lead out to the ocean. The river itself is big, maybe not the size to add to the map but just big enough to be avoided by careful travelers and merchants should they stray from main roads. The rivers wicked push is followed by many twists and turns, however, a divide created another smaller stream, still as fast as ever. This divide if not the main river lead to many deaths as treasure hunters and explorers trying to reach an all but forgotten place of old. No one knew it's true name, no one knew if any inhabitants still lived there, but tales spanned of an old kingdom hidden beyond the river that once held great power. Whatever happened to it left it but a fairytale amongst children, who's parents grew up with the same tale. Many searched for it and for many years the old kingdom remained a mystery. Only one map was found in an old ruins of Terrenus and the bidder sold it for a high price, skeptical if the fools who bought it would disappear. No one's ever made through that river. And even if they did there was said to be a demon lurking within the kingdom, but archeologists, explorers, and cartographers of all kinds searched for it despite the warnings. And where were they now? The divided river traveled to a large lake, hidden by tall trees and thick brush and at it's end were a cave. Within it, a massive cavern housed a huddled bunch of houses, all leading to a large temple. Above, tree branches covered an open top of the cage, but sunlight still shone through allowing the area illumination. Many birds chirps above, this place perfect for their homes as predators can't catch them. The old kingdom did in fact exist, but much of it was either drowned or crumbled to rubble. The old streets were but cracked stone with much of the flora covered, old buildings either falling apart or barely intact were invaded by vines and weeds. Beyond this sorry state was a large temple, a hundred stairs crawling to it's entrance, and inside through the dark halls is a room. Skeletons of humans and unknown creatures littered it's entirety, a smooth black granite sarcophagus in the center. A purple hue, much like a slow fog, surrounded the sarcophagus as runes at the bottom glowed brilliantly. But they faded in color before disappearing entirely leaving a simple carving. The entire object moved, vibrating just lightly before shaking, slowly the lid cracked and then exploded outward. From it quickly raised a large body of black, the dust and fading purple hue helping its obscurity. A beast of a roar escaped the dust as it cleared up, revealing a tall humanoid wolf. Followed by it's roar, it weild two silver longswords, and followed by it's roar it leapt from the sarcophagus. The beast looked about, it's rage as it looked more around the he entire room. It breathed heavily, and dropping the swords it began to step forward inspecting the surroundings. Confusion began to take root, there was no battle, no one around to hear it's war cry, nothing that would spark a fight. It walked out of the room and into the long dark halls, and as it walked it stepped into a large puddle. It knelt down above it, looking at its own features. Rain Dark was a prophet of the Old Ones, old gods they worshipped and even fought alongside. Prophets weren't meant for combat though, they were shepard's that lead others into their religion, that were much like rulers in a way but still followed orders under the one sovereign. Rain Dark however was different, as he was built more as a warrior than anything. As much of a prophet he was, he led many to war and every time they won. Almost every time. In his own reflection of the puddle, Rain Dark saw the grievous wounds from combat were gone, while he didn't feel it, he was certainly healed to a bare extent. Scars spanned his torso, neck, and arms, no doubt leading up his shoulders and across his back. Bit blocking parts of his chest were rusted chains, heavy and tight, he remembered the reason why they were on but kept them instead of tossing them away, an old tale for another day. The wolf looked lower, remembering the brass plated leather leggings he wore but beared no footwear. He didn't need any boots, too uncomfortable. The prophet then looked into his own eyes, pitch black the orbs were but his irises were a glowing blue. The prophet then continued his way until outside the temple, shocked to see his home, the very thing he fought for ruined and shambled. The realization struck him hard, he wasn't simply pushed into that tomb to knock off his balance, purposefully he was put under some spell. And if correct that the town below was nothing but ruins, skeletons of the once proud people present, even the armor and weapons rusted and missing chunks of their once glorious blades missing. Rain Dark knew he'd been put to rest, had he not, he would have ended like the others. A fluster of emotions swelled, anger, sorrow, grief, and confusion all clouded his mind. How long was the once proud prophet asleep for? We're the humans, orcs, and dwarves gone as well? Rain Dark collapsed to one knee and slammed a fist into the stone beneath, a solid crunch gave way as the ground cracked under the force. Tears began to build as Rain Dark knew the lives that were in his grasp were all gone. Whoever did this were long gone, and whoever did this couldn't pay which only angered him even more but nothing could be done about it. The damage was done, long ago it seems. He stood, wiping away tears looking at everything from above in the cavern. He could still see a time when everyone was walking these streets, where the water was once were massive bridges and a city below. Lupus Sanctauii. A dominant city in its day that rivaled the dwarves advanced smithing and architecture, their might rivaled the orcs, and their numbers silently threatened the oh-so-weak humans. However the day came when an old enemy since the beginning. The Liminias Empire. When Lycarias were brought to the world there came Lycanthropy, which affected the race itself as well, much like rabies. But another race came to be, when Liminias arrived they felt threatened that Lycarias were successful in the world, whereas their violent acts inflicted to their banishment underground by the Old Ones. Since then, they loathed the Lycarias and promised a day when Liminias would wipe out Lycarias. And they held it up well. Rain Dark breathed slowly, trying to get his composure before he could do anything else. After minutes of standing, he walked back into the temple and traveled down a fleet of stairs. The more he looked the more decrepit and ruined the place was. It must have been a hundred years at least, but that never explained the lake in the cave. There are many explanations that could solve that problem, the old bridges that led out were either destroyed or submerged in the lake, and beyond that there was a dim light of a hole. He could only assume that was the entrance to the cave, all the way across the lake. Sighing, Rain Dark reached a circular door at the end of a hall. The door was a solid silver and rusted brown, rust however ruled it's once smooth surface and in its center a shape of a wolf's skull, no bigger than a hand. He was glad the vault was still closed, only he had the key to it around the neck. If anyone was here and they stole whatever was inside Rain Dark would have hunted them down. Eventually. He made his way back up to the main rooms and began to wonder about, investigating the entire temple in its ruin.
  19. Welcome to King Milorian’s coronation masquerade ball! OOC: Things to Note: A Council of Dryads from the Free Marches are holding a meeting in the garden to discuss the current state of nature of Ursa Madeum. They are open to inquiries and are partial to acorns. The Lounge has been occupied by a group of dwarves who are far into their cups for the night. They are holding an arm-wrestling competition; the winner gets a prize. Participants: Open How-to: Dice Rolling Thread - Look at the result for the D2. If a 1 is rolled, you won! If a 2 is rolled, then you lose that round. There will be 3 rounds per-participant. You need a 2/3 win to get the prize. A mourning fairy has taken advantage of the famous festivities. Its victims experience sudden feelings of grief, and if the fairy is not caught, the grief can turn one mad. Catch the fairy and receive a reward. A witch is dropping elemental rune stones around the castle! These stones can be used to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself; only two stones per participant, please. Stones: wind, water, fire, earth Layout: Red is off limits; Green is open Milorian felt extremely uncomfortable; Milorian looked extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what his attitude should be towards the gathered individuals, and it left him feeling adrift among the large crowd. To his right was Primera all dazzling in her glamour and dress; to his left was an emptiness he felt right down to his very core. Birdy was not there to accompany him during this rather momentous - strange - moment in their lives. When he was made King, she was made his Queen; he hates to think what her absence will cause. On the other hand, he was pleased that she was hidden somewhere, safe and comfortable. He was not going to burden her with superficial gestures that could risk her comfort and health. Comfortably married for a short time, the two had maintained a sense of privacy from the moment they took vows in silence. It worried him that there may be a demand they marry in front of the entirety of Ursa Madeum, just to ensure that neither were manipulating their position and power by lying to their fellow citizens. The elf prayed they'd leave Birdy alone. At least he can speak of his wife; there had been a few compliments towards his attire. Birdy, Primera, and Odelia had ambushed him with options of different suits that would fit his newly acquired position, though he doesn't know why. Whatever opinion he had about the attire was quickly swept aside by one of the women. It took them four days to decide on a simple black suit void of any embellishments - four. days. When it was time for the masquerade, they threw a cape over his right shoulder that carried the Mythal wolf and pinned the fabric with a variety of golden chains that now hung from his shoulder. He hated it, but he had no opinion. Primera was rude enough to point out he was blind, so it didn't matter what he thought since he can't see. "You're a rather quiet host, my King." Primera dragged the sour-faced elf to the dance floor that was overly crowded with excitable company. He had to right himself when she manipulated him to hold her irresponsibly close, but the lack of space on the dance floor made it impossible to be appropriate. Without much choice, he was forced into a quickstep that shook a few laughs from his dry lungs and drew a smile across his usually tight features. "There you are! Such a handsome King should smile, it'll make the ladies weak." Milo rolled his sapphire eyes, not sure if he should feel complimented or not. He didn't care if the people should find him handsome or not, what mattered was what they thought of his behavior and his actions. Though he understood the small spread of truth behind her evaluation; a kind and thoughtful individual on the throne could sway the uneasiest of hearts, as first impressions do matter. Being an elf sitting on a somewhat changeable throne, a smile and some kindness could do him some good. "I suppose I can smile every now and then," he said begrudgingly. The two made it out alive and took refuge on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Unable to hide it, there were flecks of pride in his blind gaze as he "watched" the elves of his land mingle with the rest of the crowd. The normality of the sight was endearing, he never really expected such a thing to happen yet always yearned for it. Such an amazing view was exemplified by the laughter, the teasing, and the general conversation coming from differing individuals. Even if it's just for now, even if it's just for show, he can take these small triumphs and covet them when needed. Primera looked up at the elf who was clearly lost in the moment. Teasingly, she elbowed the gentleman, knocking him down back to earth. "You are a regal sort, you know. Seeing you as you are, in all your kingly glory, it's a marvel." "You keep feeding me these compliments, and I'll become fat on pride." "Oh? Is that why your belt is cinched extra tight?" The Grand Kommadant reached down and pulled at his elaborate belt all shiny in gold and jewels. Aghast, the elf slapped her hand away - a handsy woman! "I beg your pardon, my lady, but it's not very ... lady-like to just grab at a man's belt." "I beg your pardon my King, but that all depends on the gentleman." They were in a public place with eyes already drawn to their playfulness, the last thing he needs is this pompous woman speaking far too candidly for her own good. Damn her! He could see a few individuals hiding their smiles behind sips of wine and the flush of fans; they were going to talk, and it's all her fault. He certainly did not help the situation by laughing behind his gloved hand, the terrible attempt only exasperated the crude comment. The masquerade was to introduce him to the rest of society and open the doors for conversation. He did not want to talk politics, he barely wanted to acknowledge his newly acquired title, but he understood that parties as these are opportunities to get your foot in the door. With the party currently gliding towards its peak, Milorian has spoken to many people who have all welcomed him and nothing more. He was grateful that, at least for a moment, his people can enjoy a single night of celebration without any underhandedness. "I hate you," he finally said. He couldn't see it, but he certainly could tell that she was beaming. Which she was, from ear to ear, her smile reached; opal hues glittered and glowed with amusement behind the elaborate mask she wore.
  20. For all its splendor the Masonic temple was hidden on an island off the Golden Coast. In truth, the Temple was the island, considering the monolithic citadel was built into the surrounding landscape and took up a majority of the landmass. If fairy tales and legends were to be believed, the Masons built this temple after putting down the cult of some sea deity. The story went that some of Riva’s earliest followers destroyed the cult’s entire civilization and built this temple as a reminder of the Masons devotion to their messiah and the cost of denying her. Regardless of its beginnings, the location currently operated as something of a black site for any and all illicit religious dealings that required the sanctity of the Crystal’s light absent its judgement. One such fell bargain played out before Oz’s very eyes. Though late to the ceremony proper, Ozymandias was by no means the last person trailing in. With its base built into the surrounding island, the epicenter of the temple housed a large body of water that fed numerous streams in all directions. Stone bridges and walkways served as a testament to the founding Mason’s ingenuity and determination to celebrate the Island’s ecosystem whilst also conquering it. The waterways were wide enough for several boats to pass through and ferried the ships to the epicenter where the large body of water served as a raised dais, allowing the ships to sail around the large pool or navigate into one of any number of manmade docks that were then sealed and permitted to enter the dais by flooding the chamber with water. Gargantuan stained glass windows stretched upwards to the vaulted ceilings. Their depiction of the Masonic triumph over the fish man cult, culminated in a mural unfolding across the ceiling, a mirror of the cult’s temple descending into the depths. Illuminated by a vast number of alchemy lamps, the interior of the expansive temple emanated a bright radiant glow; its wonder only magnified by the fact that its splendor was a man-made fabrication. Garbed in a finery that belied the remoteness of the location and bathed in the faux sunlight, the temple’s guests continued to trail in via walk and waterway. Some stood along the stone pathways peering up at the elevated pool, but far more sailed in on small skiffs, perfect for maneuvering the narrow and rapid currents. Whether by walkway or waterway, the people all gathered around the pool and the figures standing upon a small barge that operated as a floating dais. Three figures stood upon the dais, two men and a woman. Thin, with a fading salt and pepper hairline and a decidedly pinched face the first man wore the raiment of a Masonic priest. His watery eyes passed over the crowd in silent judgement before returning to the man and woman before him. Bearing the white and blue of a traditional Masonic wedding dress, the woman was a picture of perfection. Pristine golden hair was pulled back and braided, save for a few strands strategically placed to frame her soft angelic face. Radiant blue eyes peered at the man kneeling before her. The groom was young, but tall for his age, even on his knees his head brushed the bottom of his brides breasts, but there was a decided lack of fullness to his features that marked him even younger than he appeared. He wore a fine suit, but it’s disheveled state suggested that he did not dress himself and the shackles upon his wrist and binding about his mouth made it abundantly the youth was here under duress. Oz blinked rapidly, giving the silent commas for his bionic ocular implant to zoom in. Comparing the young man to the image of the boy in his heads up display, Ozymandias grunted. No mistaking it, that was Wells Harrison XI, but he was at least a decade older than his six years of age. Oz closed his left, right and left eyelid again in quick succession altering the eyes vision. Judging from the strange aura surrounding the groom, it stood to reason that something had been done to increase the youth’s age, if only in appearance. The sporadic pulse of the aura seemed to indicate that the transformation was most likely temporary. Long enough to wed and bed, Oz thought. He wondered if the bride knew her groom’s true age or if the priest and her family were keeping her in the dark in order to speed the nuptials along. Not for the first time, Oz scanned the citadel. There were plenty of hired guns, mostly black fire raiders judging from the black flame emblazoned on their gear; a few Poor Sons, no doubt making money on the side ( and work for a Masonic priest was part of their day job, right?); and the odd wandering Mercenary scattered about. Ozymandias moved atop the citadel’s upper ramparts. At one point these sections were for spectators unworthy or unable to attend the services below, but given that the Masons had all but abandoned this site, it was uncommon for this citadel to have more than whatever gathering the Masonic Priest using he black site demanded. Judging from the looks of things, this particular priest had called in half the nobles from the Zompac region to witness the illegal wedding. Far more witnesses than Oz liked, but that couldn’t be helped. The Harrison family was a decent name in the Setroth province and that meant they could pay...a hell of a lot. Oz moved into position directly over the dais and waited. A team member was expected to cause a distraction, allowing Oz to swoop in, grab the kid and get out before blood had to be shed. {In position.} He said, over the private comms.
  21. On Far Away Shores They drifted for a while. Between space. Between time and existence itself. Within that vast expanse of nothing and everything where Great Old Ones slept for aeons and universes were birthed from the smallest and most nanoscopic events. They drifted through that void for what the mortal mind could not truly perceive, for there was no time, there was no sense of self, no sense of what was and was not. Only the inky black rift where they did not belong, and within those final moments within the primordial cauldron of creation. A bright flash of light expanded outwards and once again consumed those few either forever blessed or cursed to of gazed upon that which made and unmade the multiverse of worlds and lives that for the briefest moment was creation experiencing itself one life at a time. Light soon gave way to sound and the first to be heard would be the snap and shock of lungs filling with air. The waves of the ocean gently ebbed and flowed onto our travelers to return their slowly awaking senses back to them. Scents of salt and the warm touch of the white sands under the morning sun aided in breathing life into them. What they had experienced in Sigil, the blood and fire had almost seemed insignificant to a few of them. But for others, gazing into the abyss came second to what drove them forward in life. It came second to her. Black leather glove covered hands sluggishly gripped the white sands, the fine grains slipped between her fingers. Gradually the pain and soreness of her body flooded back to her brain and a slow groan exited her lips when the warm ocean waters pushed against her small frame. Within a few minutes she began to stand, a futile effort at first. Falling to the ground on more than one occasion, her wobbly legs found their strength and there she stood. Miss Blonde. Her eyes opened and what she saw was the fruit of her labors come to pass. Her men lay scattered across a beautiful beach. Some in worse shapes than others. What caught her eye afterwards was the Air Ship the Cardinal marooned on it’s side, damage heavy to its outer layers and more than likely unable to fly anymore. Most likely this beach and the ocean it lay partially in would be it’s final resting place. A cool tropical breeze whistled past them and the palm trees rustled with each gentle gust. It was a familiar sound, one that she had heard a million times before. With one final look forward, she was once again brought to her knees. Not because of the exhaustion that set deep into her bones. She fell due to sight of it. A mansion that had been left to rot unattended to be beaten by tropical storms months without any care or upkeep. But it wasn’t any abandoned seaside manner. It was a home. It was her home. Normally with a sharp wit and a silver tongue. Words had failed Miss Blonde. She wanted to scream, to cry, to celebrate, to weep and jump for joy. But rather a soft exhale of air left her lungs as she stared it for a short length of time. Blonde needed to compartmentalize those emotions right now. She was here to do a job, she was here to save her children from the enemies she had made in her rise to infamy in this galaxy. So her mind got to work, and the first thing was that Wynona was going to be very very pissed. Perhaps to the point of violence. Blonde knew the woman was smart enough to realize that she was probably Wynona’s only ticket back to Sigil, but after what they had just experienced you couldn’t be too safe. Therefore she armed herself with the weapon at her side. The next bit of business was triage. Evaluate who could keep going and who needed medical attention immediately. Checking her watch, they had little more than fourteen hours until the spell linking their bodies back to Valucre faded and they would either be stuck here forever or have to find another way back that could take years. But Blonde was not cruel, she would not keep pushing these people after what had just happened. Approaching a downed man from her team of operators, she filled his body with a bit of healing energy that caused him to perk up. Slowly he came around and she put a hand gently on his shoulder. ”White, it’s ok. We’re home now, but I need you to get the others on their feet. Any one who is wounded get them to the backyard and call the medical droids to examine them. Everyone else bring them up to the house and tell them they have two hours to sleep, eat, and rest. I’ll go see if the MREs and rations are still good. When you find Jack tell him to meet me inside. I’m sure he’ll be up in a few moments.” Giving the man a hug afterwards, she once again rose up and stumbled her way towards her home. There was work to be done and before they moved forward with this operation. They needed to focus on troop welfare. Two hours wasn’t a long time, but it was what they had given the circumstances they were in. They had arrived, and now the real battle would begin. @danzilla3 @The North Wind @vielle @Djinn&Juice @Trigger2Red @Turquoisie @Fierach @Thotification @notmuch_23 @SteamWarden @Metty
  22. After a humiliating defeat in Valinde, Shanna determines that it is best to avoid the Banshee laden city for some time – instead turning her sights upon rumors of a mysterious plant that prospers within the deep center of Vintel. As with any of these forgotten treasures, however, the risk is equal the reward. Shanna is familiar with the risks, and yet that does not stop her from beginning the trek forward into the jungle depths that may or may not harbor her success or her death. Shanna considers her options as she drops onto a pile of vines, leaving the rope ladder of her airship down. After considerable time, she tugs on it twice – allowing it to roll back up into the depths of the ship. Leaving it to hover, Shanna produces a small journal, as notes are of equal importance to success. Moving through the foilage, she finds herself considering what to do with the berries that give life. Surely a few would be sent to Raphael – in the hopes that the King would find himself never bereft of those he loved again. As the mage pauses, her hands quickly tie her hair into a thick plait so that it may not tangle amongst the brush and winding vines. There were whispers that the forest folk did not invite visitors, and Shanna had no desire to incur their wrath, or give them weapon against her. Pen in hand, she continued, pausing every so often to peer at plants and the like, quickly jotting notes and sketching their likeness in the journal. Those poisonous are easily found, for their permeate a foul scent from their dark red pistils. The flower itself is a beautiful, rich gold, stark in contrast to the poisonous sticky goo that drips form their petals. Carefully, Shanna pulls from her pack a jar, and with calculated movements, removes a flower from it's stem and places it within. Sealing the container, it is put back within the pack, which rattles slightly. Hoisting it upon her back, Shanna continues forward with purpose. "Sure is quiet here." A gentle murmur to no one but herself. After a moment, she pauses once more to bow her head and take in the lack of sound that comes from this place. Not even animals dare venture here. There is nary even a birds cry as she listens. Clasping her hands together, Shanna bows her head to pray briefly. "O' God of Blood, To you I pray for safety in this place. O' God of mine, Should I fall - grant me serenity." Shanna lets her hands fall to her sides as a sigh escapes her lips. "And onward we go."
  23. After the colosal war that happened in a isolated forest in Terrenus, Nesy was simply wandering around the wilds of Terrenus in a forest somewhere. He simply walked along a path entierly tired. His railgun on his back was seen bumping around on his back. Appearently he was armed with a suit along with a visor helmet. Appearently Nesy sighed as he walked along the path and his armour was dirty. That's what happens when a war is engaged. This tired alien soilder wandered aimlessly along the dirt path. "Aggh..." Nesy would fall to his knees and roll onto the dirt ground and into the sky. He would be crawling his way to a big rock to the left and he simply sat in a upright position. Well, Nesy was simply very tired and he was exauhsted. "Man.. Oh man.." The Alien soilder rested on a very big rock that was appearently very mossy. He was breathing a little heavy altough he looked like he walked through a desert. His armor was covered in moss and metal splinters. "....Man.." He said to himself as he cracked his back and he seemed to be rather exauhsted after the war and the 2.5KM walk away from the warzone.
  24. Legacy of Requiem - The New Leaguers Prologue On this Earth, many things have happened, to the World's first Superhero, called Captain Shad, to an Arrogant Billionaire Assassin turned a Hero Bruce Morgan and to a Mighty Being called Magnus and his extraterrestrial homeworld, which was far away from Earth. One could say that this one has experienced quite enough, to the discovery of the Cosmic Twelve Beings called the Vestals and the Mad Vestal called Darkseid with his Kaethrani as an army and that other life forms exist on different planets. It would seem that Earth was no longer alone in the Universe so from that discovery, everything changed... These powered individuals would form a group called, the Destiny League. Which was once an idea to see if the world could bring powerful individuals into a team, so that they could fight the dangerous battles, that the humans never could. It was indeed a success but these Heroes did not know that they would cause other powerful beings to take an interest on the planet Earth, for Darkseid, the true enemy of Life, wanted to wipe out the entire Universe off of its life. He almost succeeded, for the half human and half vestal called Scar, the apparently chosen champion of the Vestals would stop him, which would only cause for the life in the universe to be only half wiped out. As the three long years would pass, the heroes would grief over their total failure and the ones that they have lost. But they were not without hope, because of Bruce's intellect they would discover the ability to travel through back in time, to collect the powerful Crystals, which was a device which gave the Vestals incredible power, they would collect them and come back in the present to undo what Darkseid did. But Darkseid was no fool, for he discovered the attempt to undo what he has done, because of Scar using the Crystals undoing what Darkseid did, they would then have the longest battle in history. The battle was indeed a long one and hard fought one at that, but the heroes would win, because Scar sacrificed himself and used the Crystals and kill Darkseid and unfortunately because not even Scar could use the unlimited and limitless power twice, which created the Universe, only Darkseid could have but that extracted a very heavy toll. Scar would die a noble death, his sacrifice would not be in vain, the same would go for the rest of the other fallen heroes....this was the story of Infinity Requiem but now a new one beginnings... Rules -No killing/seriously maiming other characters without player consent. -No metagaming or godmoding. -No auto-hitting; no auto-dodging, keep it real to some extent. -Please keep characters balanced, and avoid creating any Mary Sues. You can have a strong/powerful character, but they still need limits, flaws, and weaknesses. -While Players are not limited at how many characters one can have. I prefer if you have two-three characters and can play them well, instead of having five of them and are not fully fleshed out, so please keep in mind Quality over Quantity. -Please try to keep your character sheets up-to-date over the course of the game. While the Character Sheets on here are not a must, I prefer if you at least did a quick one so that I can get the feeling to see what the character is, what can it do and so on. It can be also very detailed but it doesn't need to, just tell the important stuff if you don't want to take your time. -While Superheroes are needed in this setting, I don't force you to make them be paragons of virtue and morality, but some good hero characters are needed for this story as well, so please keep the balance between Villains and Heroes, I don't want to see that there are too many Villains and no Heroes to combat them or wise versa. You can play as Hero, Anti-Hero, Villain, Anti-Villain and other affiliations. -OOC discussion will be kept civil and respectful, both in the RP and in the PM. I will not tolerate name-calling, insults, harassment, or anything else of the kind. -While it does not have to be totally PG-13, please keep it clean, no explicit content and excessive Adult themes, while your characters can swear, don't make it too excessive, keep it balanced and please keep it clean. If you want to have a romance, again doesn't need to follow the PG-13 Rule but it does not have to be explicit content like we are in a Pornographic Setting, so keep it to some extent clean and viewer friendly. -Please refrain from making OOC-only posts in the RP. -Other standard Valucre Rules. -Failure to abide by these rules can result in your removal from Legacy of Requiem - The New Leaguers. Information Now there are some things, I want to mention before we can get started. This RP tells a story, while you are free to roam around and create some side plots which can also be significant to the plot which drives this story. You can't just do whatever you want, kill my characters or something like that. You are free to roam around, but you wouldn't get to destroy planets or something on a planetary level, you must first talk with me to see if I agree with you and to see if it does fit in my story...which I can already say it won't happen, this Earth will not live another big fight which could possibly end the universe, because the world now needs to grow accustomed with the new heroes, which is you, the player so till then, there wouldn't be that kind of scale of battle, for the time being. Also, there are some races in my universe, for example, the Cosmic Beings which are the Vestals and live in a different reality called Vestalia, but sadly you won't get to play them because they are freaking powerful, you can interact with them but battling against them won't bring you anywhere because they are powerful and basically they have plot armor, and there will never be another Mad Vestal, Darkseid was the only one and now he is dead, thankfully. The Kaethrani, are energy beings with control over energy manipulation, so it means that they are killable but it is really hard to do so and they have no home planet they roam the galaxy and when they grow tired they go in their pocket dimension which is a place for them to rest. So I don't recommend doing one of them if so maybe a downgraded version of the real thing because these dudes can destroy solar systems if they want to. And they are basically viewed as evil monsters so yeah not good to get things started. There are also Devine Beings, which are practically what the Asgardians are, that's what Magnus is. The differences are that they can have wings, interact with humans, live on planet earth and do not have a shady past. I don't have anything on you doing a Devine Being character, also known: Angel, Angelic Being. But I'd like if you would talk with me first to come to an agreement and see where this might lead because there is this Homeworld called Zuerus, which is a huge planet, it's earth 15 times the size so yeah. And there is this king called Allbeing Omen who is the father of Magnus. There are also meta-humans, of course, you can play them since they are not that powerful but I do recommend to keep them balanced and not too op. There is also a bit of John Wick/Assassin's Creed references around here, but I am not looking for that, for if I would have, I wouldn't call this a Superhero RP, but if you want to play as one, let me firstly know and we'll see what we can figure out. So you have a lot of room to experiment with, create any character you want, except for the Vestals and Kaethrani, because come on, no one likes battling against powerful beings which can take supernovas any day of the week. So you are free to experiment just let me know what kind of character that is, send me the link of the character sheet, again it does not need to be overly detailed but the most important stuff must be there so I know what characters you are playing and so that the other players will know too. Also, I have my share bit of characters, so I'll be sure to do my character sheets so that you may get the idea who they are, what have they done, what can they do, personal stuff about them and so on. And if you have any questions about the Homeworld called Zuerus and anything really, ask me in the OOC Thread and I'll gladly to respond to you. Also, the story takes place in America, and some heroes may live in different cities but their DL Tower would be located in New York. If you want to sign up your characters with a link to your sheets, here it is the link where you can tag me and post them so that I may take a look at them: The Story It is the year 2040, for the past decade the world has changed, technology has evolved beyond our expectations but the Cities still remain normal, there are no over the top cities, it mainly remained the same over the years but technology has improved significantly, it surely did not stay the same after the Cataclysm which wiped out half of the Universe's life because of Darkseid, but because of his death alongside Earth's Greatest Protector Scar, everything returned to normal. At least, so it would seem because some of the heroes have fallen in battle and died and others have retired and now the people of Earth are still trying to recover after the past three years since they won the battle against Darkseid, the World was not in chaos but it was in dire need of new heroes, to protect them and save them when need be. The Fallen Leaguers are: Scar, Bambu, Voltex, and Logan. The Retired Leaguers are: Shad, Reyes, Jade, Katrina, Falcon, Mike, Vience, James and John. The Remaining Leaguers: are: Bruce, Magnus, Spider-Man, Jack, Nathan, and Doctor Mercy Earth has lost some of its protectors, be it retired or by death. But fear not, because Bruce now the leader of the Destiny League and the others would guide you the player through this story. They will be there for you and serve as a mentor figure, it was time for the New Leaguers to appear to take the place of the old ones so that they one day could rest on a grateful planet, but the real question is, are you ready to take that kind of responsibility? what are you prepared to do? will you be a Villain? Hero? something in between? one which only fights for himself? it was time to figure those questions out...
  25. The west of Genesaris past the Cold Mountains was truly beautiful. Lush green fields underneath a bright blue sky that seemed to go on forever. Forests so green and gorgeous that they seemed as if they were always there, planted by the gods themselves to make the world just little bit brighter. All of it sickened a part of Dredge. The Dark Lord of Legion stared down at its splendor from atop a descending mountain pass. He had been growing soft, enjoying the sight of beaches, caring about the people he had taken under his protection and leadership. In the back of his mind, everything he had, every instinct, urge, and impulse told him to reduce it to ash and slay its inhabitants until they were nothing but steaming and rotting meat under the sun. And honestly? The mere thought of such acts made Dredge smile under his darkened helmet. Just how easy it would all be, a snap of his fingers and the slaughter would commence. However, Dredge had given his word to not act in such a way. The Dark Lord was many things. A murderer, a butcher, a monster, and a fiend who delighted in the suffering of others. But if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a liar. If he didn’t have his integrity, then he was no better than the trash this world churned up on a daily basis. The so called heroes and privileged who never had to climb their way off of planet’s made of garbage and filth. Who lied and cheated at every turn to get ahead in their pathetic rat race. No, he was more than that. He would keep his word to Lady Akako. ”Me Lord.” A rather lanky yet lean blue troll with an orange Mohawk bowed behind his unholy visage. ”We be approachin da settlement Alverton. Orders?” The Troll said with his head and eyes staring firmly into the earth. A soft chuckle left Dredge’s lips. A chuckle that built into a small but steady laugh. Truly this situation was absurd to him. With the clapping of his iron covered hands he let out a soft sigh when the laughter began to die down. ”Oh how I miss you Michael. You’re laughing at me right now, aren’t you?” Dredge said as he stared up at the sky. ”Me Lord?” The now rather confused troll lieutenant said in a befuddled tone. Turning back his head his still face was replaced with a malicious smile that gleamed through the darkness of his helmet. Somewhat taken back by the expression the Troll kept his head to the floor. Dredge had a few ideas and if he couldn’t spill blood and have this settlement’s compliance through said violence. Well he’d still do this his way. ”The shamans. Bring them forward with me, we have some persuading to do.” Dredge said with another chuckle. Coming down from the mountain pass was not the hordes of violent troops Legion was accustomed to sending but rather the Dark Lord followed by a posse of twenty or so troll shamans, all decked out with their various trinkets and totems. An ethereal green and red energy wafted from their aura with a faint hint of malevolence. Following behind them were a few ogres that pulled massive carts filled with gifts, informational pamphlets, and other presents for this farming community. If you couldn’t kill them in the traditional way, well Dredge would just have to kill them with kindness.
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