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Found 129 results

  1. Darkpine Valley

    The engine of the Pontiac GTO muscle car roared with bubbling menace as it glided through the winding roads framed by nationally-protected forest on either side. The enormous pine trees glistened off the ruby red, well-maintained body of the vintage car. A voice wailed from inside the car, the radio playing 'Immigrant Song' by Led Zeppelin. A pale hand tapped on the driver's wheel, their nails almost like claws, filed to a point and painted with black nail polish. She leant back in her chair and shoved her boot up against the wheel, holding it steady. Reaching into her black jean pocket, she pulled out a black lipstick and re-applied then took the wheel once more. Her amber-coloured eyes glanced at her road map. The town of Darkpine was only another mile into the heart of the national forest. Up until the 1980's, Darkpine had been a mining and logging town. When the surrounding forest became protected land, all industry stopped and Darkpine became focused on conservation, education, and wildlife protection, which brought in tourists and all kinds, but it kept the town afloat. So said the flyer, at least. She wasn't coming to Darkpine for the conservation though, unless that is, it was her own. Her name was Alice, and she had seen a few things. A few things that most people would scarcely believe, even if they saw for themselves. She brushed her medium-length scruffy raven hair out of her face and refocused on the road. She saw a sign approaching but her keen eyes quickly noticed it was so worn that it was illegible. There was a gas station coming up, and from there, several roads going in every which way. She'd have to stop and ask for directions. Alice pulled into the gas station and killed the engine. The music continued to wail until she hit pause and got out of the car. As she did so, two men stepped out of the gas station shop and approached with a wave. "Evenin' miss!" The man called out, "Hang on--" He leaned over and pressed a button, the gas station lit up with an assortment of lights. "Sorry, I know it's already pretty dark but we're savin' energy, gotta be mindful o' the environment, y'know?" Alice smirked, canines gleaming, "Sure." She looked the man up and down. He was tall, balding, wearing denims. Alice glanced behind him and her eyes were met by the second man. This man, she did not like. She recognised in something she knew all too familiar. He was quiet. He was meticulous. He was a predator. When her eyes caught his, he looked away sharp. "So," She turned back to the man in denim, "Which way to Darkpine?" "Darkpine!?" Denim repeated, blinking in surprise, "What'd ya wanna go there for, Miss--?" "Alice. Do people need reasons t'go places these days? What's it to you?" Alice asked, putting a hand on her hip, her tone accusatory. "Oh no, nothing. Just bein' curious is all, sorry, Miss. Take the road to the left there, you'll be on Darkpine in no time." "Thank ye." She nodded to him, then jerked her head at his colleague who was now walking back to the pumps, "What's up with him?" "Oh, don't mind him, Tom's a good kid, wouldn't hurt a fly." He brushed her off, "Name's Jack. I'm the only gas station for miles, well..." He paused, irritably. "Well?" Alice asked, her brow raising. "Besides that one in Darkpine, lord knows how they got the contract to that town when i'm stuck out here on Route 14, but--" Jack took a deep breath and shook his head, "That family's old as this wood, so what's a guy t'do?" He laughed and started back towards the pumps. "Bathrooms over yonder," Jack nodded in their direction, "If you want something to eat, or fuel up or anything just come in the shop, we'll sort you out." And with that, he left. Alice whipped the keys around on her finger a few times, considering her options. Throwing the keys into the air, she snatched them and shoved them into her pocket. The gas station door jingled as it opened. Jack's eyes lit up and he nodded to her, "What'd ya need?" "Wanna fill up the tank for me?" Alice asked, flashing a wad of notes. She paid for the gas upfront and walked outside as both Jack and Tom rushed to service the car. Jack grabbed the gas and started filling it up, while Tom was hoovering the inside. Alice tapped her short-cut leather jacket. She felt the pack of cigarettes inside and reached in, pulling one out and lighting it. She took a deep drag, savouring the flavour for a moment, then exhaled it from her nose like a dragon and wandered into the women's bathroom. To her great surprise, the bathroom was incredibly clean. She figured they didn't get many visitors. She crossed the bathroom and entered the furthest stall. She had time enough to close the door, when she heard the bathroom door open, and a second person walked in. To the average person, it could have been anyone. But Alice knew who it was. She recognised his smell. She felt the weight of his footsteps. And he favoured his right leg. His heart was also beating out of his chest, just as it had been when he first saw her pull up. The old work boots stomped across the slightly damp tiled floor. She heard him pause at the first stall. Alice walked to the back of her stall, put the seat of the toilet down, and sat upon it. A few more steps. The door to the second stall was knocked open. A moment's silence. Then more footsteps. She looked to the bottom of the stall, and saw a shadow cast from the other side. She could feel the heat of his body. Then it happened. Tom kicked the stall door open with a single attempt and took one step towards her. He didn't speak, he didn't even really acknowledge her. He let out a long-held breath, and advanced. "Aww for Christ sake, would you look at all o' this..." Police Chief Andy Marchand growled in disgust. He had just arrived after poor Jack, the owner of the gas station on route 14 had reported an animal attack. Whatever it was had gotten Tom. There was nothing to be done. When Andy stepped under the yellow police tape and walked into the bathroom, he had to steel himself or lose the contents of his stomach. It was bad. Real bad. He almost tripped on something as the front of his foot got caught. He looked down to see a clutched hand and stumbled back, "Aww Christ, geezus!!" He croaked, but he hadn't even seen the worst of it. Blood everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling, still dripping down onto them like it was raining indoors. The body was in several pieces, and it had lost most of the blood. That much was obvious, from the copious amounts splattered on everything in the bathroom, and the grey, wrinkled body. "Fuck." Andy cursed, clenching his fists. "FUCK!!" His yell echoed across the bathroom. A flash brought him back to his senses and he saw a woman taking photographs of the fallout. Another flash from her camera. "Hey!" He called out to her, "You got a sec?" Andy asked. "Sure." She let the camera fall limp around her neck and carefully crossed the room, missing the worst of the blood pools. "What's up, Chief?" "Is this the only body?" He queried. "Yep. Jack said there was a girl came through here not long before the attack, but luckily she left before whatever it was took out poor Tom over there... and there... and there." She pointed at the dismembered arm. "Well i'd like to speak to her, maybe she saw something before she left, or maybe she left quick because it was already there when she left..." Andy rubbed his face, running his hand through his thick moustache as he often did when he found himself thinking. "Did you get a name?!" He yelled out to Jack, who refused to come back inside the bathroom. "WoooOO!" Alice hooted, "Now we're cookin' wit' gas!" Her playful drawl was unmistakably from New Orleans. The Pontiac sped past a sign saying 'Welcome to Darkpine!', as Alice used her long tongue, to lap up the last streaks of blood on her lips. Darkpine was a small town, population of a few thousand. Most everybody knew everybody. Facebook made that all too clear. Alice threw her phone onto the passenger seat and then glanced up in the rearview mirror. "Dang it!" She pursed her lips as she reached back for her lipstick again. She found it and looked at the road ahead. She was coming up on the other side of the town, almost home. One last road, pub on the left. Not a car or person in sight. Alice glanced up, quickly grabbing her lipstick. She rolled it across her lips, pursed and rolled her lips so that it re-applied. Her eyes caught movement in her periphery but by the time she looked, it was too late. A drunk, stumbled out into the middle of the round, and she had been speeding. There was nothing Alice could do. An instant later, she hit the man, her windshield cracked and he flew out ahead of her as she brought her car to a screeching halt. The man hit the concrete, she heard a terrible 'crack' and he tumbled and finally hit a tree on the other side of the street. Alice hesitated behind the wheel. Alice felt the need to bail on this situation looming. Self-preservation. She was very good at that. But now she wasn't sure. Alice hesitated. But then she saw a couple walking towards the body. "Aw SHIT!!" Alice leapt out of her car and sprinted towards the couple, "Sir! Ma'am!!" She yelled out. "Hey is that man--" The man squinted in the darkness, the nearest street lamp was too far away. Alice caught up to them, "Sorry folks, sorry! Don't mind my friend, he's had one too many." "He looks hurt!" The woman gasped. "Hurt?!" Alice whipped her head back to look at the man. He looked, well... he looked dead. His limbs were splayed in all directions and his neck was definitely snapped. But then she realised. It was as though it hadn't registered at first. This man, the one she had hit with her car, was not dead. Well, he was dead. But only as much as she was. Alice looked him up and down, "Well... maybe a little more dead..." She thought aloud. "What--?!" The man yelled in surprise, "Did I hear that right?!" "Bed... BED!!" Alice clicked her fingers at them and laughed, "Sorry. Bed. Maybe he needs a little more bed, y'know. Time to sleep." She ran over to him and picked him up, "See he's fine look, he's helping me carry his weight look, i'm five foot nothin' and half his weight, for sure." The man looked to the woman and she shook her head insistently and the pair darted off. "Right then..." Alice muttered, turning and hoisting the corpse of the man onto her shoulder effortlessly. "Come on, then, best get you home..." With the Pontiac parked, Alice got out of the car and pulled the stranger's corpse with her, shutting the door behind them and locked it. "Welcome to ma maison!" She cooed as she walked up the drive to a modern-looking house with lots of glass - though it was all deeply tinted, nothing could be seen of the house inside. "Just like the estate agent said--" She pulled the house keys from inside the soil of the potted plant beside the door. Opening the door, she pulled the corpse inside and shut the front door behind her and locked it. "Best get ya some fresh clothes or somethin'..." He was mangled. Alice frowned and went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses and three bags of blood. The first bag, she pierced with one of her nails and then emptied the contents down the corpse's throat. Then she stood over him, grabbed his head and with incredible precision - perhaps as though she had done this a great many times before - she snapped his neck back into place. Then she sat back down, and pierced the other two bags and emptied them into the glasses. By the time they were full, she heard moaning. She brought one to her lips and took a sip, then offered the other to the man who still had several bad injuries that required healing. "So..." Alice held the glass out to him, "You're a vampire? Like me, then." She smirked, her canines hanging over her bottom lip.
  2. -----Gregory----- Gregory’s heavy boot smacked on the ground as he took a large step out of the lifted 1980’s era Ford Bronco, modified with offroad tires. The truck was a redneck's dream and a liberal’s gas guzzling nightmare. The truck rattled to and spat as the engine died, letting Gregory fully observe his surroundings. A slight breeze rustled his shaggy black hair. He tugged at the bottom of his thick winter coat--a worn black, it was the coat of a worker, nothing aesthetic about it just sturdy and black, made to last. His rugged blue jeans spoke the same language, blue collar. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking in all the scents around him. They weren’t all too unfamiliar, the country of Kazakhstan isn’t all that dissimilar to certain parts of Russia--his birth nation. He could sense his pack-mates in the nearby area, ready to jump in wanted or unwanted if even the slightest sense of danger presents itself. He also smelt creatures more akin to death, “Vampires,” he spit on the ground, “fucking pieces of trash.” The heavily forested area of Kazakhstan would work in the their favor, however. In a worst case scenario, he doubted the vampires could keep up with even the weakest of his pack in this terrain. “That fucking slut.” Trisha said as she stepped out of the passengers side door, “Dumb whore fairy bitch.” She was smelling, seeing, and listening just as intently as Gregory, this was the first meeting that they’d ever been invited to, and they wouldn’t put it past The Order, the Fae, or any worthless mage or human to set up an elaborate cover to get them to finally lower their guard. “Thinkin’ we can’t handle ourselves out here.” Gregory turned to her, “What? It’s a stroke of luck they chose this place, if a fight breaks out we’d rip out that bastard Erevis’ throat the second we got into those woods.” “You idiot,” Trisha scolded, “this is to spit on us. To tell us that we need this to be on par with everyone. They still don’t take us seriously.” Gregory went quiet for a moment, thinking, “Fucking christ. It’s true when they say those ass fucks only give you the advantage and you can never take it.” “No, Gregory,” Trisha retorted, “You’re just a fucking idiot. Anybody with a brain should have known she didn’t do this by accident.” “Bitch.” Gregory growled but she was the Alpha-female. He wasn’t going to challenge anything she said, he may have been the Beta, but that didn’t mean he was about to challenge her. Logan came around the corner, dressed almost identical to Gregory with the exception of a tan coat as opposed to a black one. He was getting older, but still healthy. His brown hair having streaks of silver in it. He was a brute of a man, easily six foot four and built like brick wall. “Quit bickering, I wanna’ get the fuck outta’ here and onto more important shit.” When Logan received the invitation he had to be convinced by other members to come, initially he was just going to ignore it entirely, “I’ve got a bad fuckin’ feeling about this.” They parked the bronco about a mile out from where they needed to be and set out in a lax walk through the woods; follow the scent of the dead and cursed, angelic and demonic, benign and magical. “Hey, twenty feet ahead a clearing with a building in the center.” They kept to their trek through the woods as opposed to walking on the several different roads leading in. In a car they’re at a complete disadvantage, but on foot they were a force to be reckon. It’d be hard pressed for the strongest of foes to take on three werewolves of their caliber. As they approached clearing, Gregory observed that, there was no other cars or people anywhere in physical site. Logan was at his side a few moments later saying, “Jesus, what the fuck are we walking into.” -----Ryuk----- Ryuk was wearing a long black cloak that dragged as they walked down the disgusting back alley in Beijing. It was mid winter in Beijing at the moment and Ryuk had on a pair of black Nike hiking boots with a pair of tight black leggings on under his shorts. He had on a black turtleneck as well. His cloak completely enveloped his torso and legs, though, dragging slightly on the ground. If he put the hood up, it would cover his whole face too. Ryuk looked like a beggar next to the man he was escorting, Erevis, the strongest vampire alive. Erevis wore a classic black and white suit, custom tailored to his body. Just his shoes costs more than someone’s car, most likely. Erevis’ suit hid it well, but underneath it he was a powerful and muscular man. He was short for his strength, he was at least a foot shorter than Ryuzaki, and he had thick, black hair trimmed expertly at the sides and top. His face was clean shaven and smooth. Ryuk had witnessed on multiple occasions Erevis fight, in less than an instant the man has his shirt ripped from tensing muscles. They approached the location that Rasulka gave them and when Ryuzaki opened the door, Ryuk snapped his eyes open, it was a weird trick of interdimensional-space-time-manipulation that the Winter Queen pulled off, he was thoroughly impressed. They were given directions to a back alley in slums of Beijing. Once their, they were to find the back door to some ambiguous building, which was easy enough. When they walked through it they went from a dark and vermin filled alley to a ritzy and elaborate room. The room was snowing, on the inside, which completely through Ryuk off for a moment. The room was incredibly cold, too cold for it to be able to snow. He just summed it up as fairy bull-shit and kept following Erevis and Ryuzaki. This was literally the last place and the last thing he wanted to be doing. Erevis was a despicable worm of a vampire and Ryuzaki was a hot headed punk, he was getting tired of mopping up the blood when Ryuzaki carelessly let loose. An ornate knight greeted them and escorted them to the meeting chambers. Ryuzaki took careful mental notes of the whole route, already establishing escape plans if things here began to meltdown. When they approached the room that the Queen had decided to use for the gathering, Ryuk was again impressed with its grandeur. Say what you want about the tricksters, He thought to himself, but they’ve got one badass way to present shit. The floor was an elaborate form of white marble that Ryuk had never quite seen before, a massive silk turkish rug, rectangular in shape, was splayed out. On top of that rug was massive, circular, table of dark oak. Eight ornate wooden chairs--each having an iconic carving in the back--surrounded the table. The table was large enough so that there was an easy ten feet to the either side of each chair. The Queen herself sat in one chair, frost nipping at the edges of it, and gestured to one three chairs to the right of her. On the back of the chair was carved a bat. Erevis shook his head, “A bat? Really Rusalka?” Ryuzaki and Ryuk stood in the peripheral vision of Erevis, Ryuzaki to the left and Ryuk to the right. Lisanna sat in her chair, on the back of which was carved a sun, and her very presence radiated warmth, Ryuk, being caught in the direct center between the two, felt thoroughly annoyed at the confliction of temperatures. Behind Rusalka--the Winter Queen--stood her daughter and heir to the Winter Kingdom of Fae, Ezralda. She was young still, and clearly in a bit of a rebellious teenager stage of the fairy adolescence, Rusalka was dressed head to toe in an elaborate dress, ornate jewelry draping off her body. Ezralda had her hair in a ponytail and sweatpants on. Lisanna was clad in a form of lightweight leather armor. Brown in color. She wore no helmet, instead her fiery red hair flowed down. past her shoulders. Her dark green eyes were vivid and glowing, staring at Erevis. Erevis and Lisanna have had an interesting relationship in life, they’ve been allies for some time, and will most likely continue to be so. They’re similar goals and hope to maintain the status quo have led them to find themselves riding the same tide of battle on more than one occasion. It wasn’t so much Lisanna that Ryuk was trying to make heads or tails of, it was the man behind her. He’d never quite seen him before, he could only guess from his limited knowledge of the Fae that he was the Winter Knight, typically the Summer Queen would never get within speaking distance of the Winter Queen, so she sent the Princess and the Queen’s personal warrior, the Summer Knight, as her escort. The man was an intimidating figure. He cleared six feet easily, he was skinny, but completely toned with tight, lean muscle. There wasn’t a muscle on his arms or core that wasn’t completely defined. he wore a pair of heavy dark brown pants and sturdy boots. He was barechested and had a fur cloak carved from some strange looking feline-esque fairy animal. On each hip he wore a small hatchet. He had long, ghost white, hair that ran well past his shoulder. Dark orange streaks went down them. His eyes were completely black with an orange, feline, slit. Something that, Ryuk noticed, matched the young Ezralda’s right eye. Erevis laced his fingers and put his weight on the tip of elbows, leaning forward across the table. Footsteps could be heard as others trickled in. “Rusalka, I do believe myself and your daughter have been formally introduced before,” Erevis smiled, bone chilling gesture, his fangs prominent, “Ezralda--” Erevis cut himself, as it appeared the others had arrived and they were coming through quickly. -----Ezralda----- Ezralda’s arms were folded across her chest, she’d been standing in one spot for nearly an hour now, waiting to get this ridiculous meeting going. The werewolves walked through next and took their seat, an elaborate wolf’s head was carved on the back of their chair. She couldn’t help but appreciate them, the only institute of change she’d seen or heard of in years. She was curious though, How did my mother let them gain such momentum? A collective group of werewolves was something she actively fought against for some time. To change her mind in the course of ten years was unlikely. The man named Logan, the clear Alpha male, took his seat, folding his arms and not letting his eyes leave Erevis. Erevis remained still, staring back. The guards next to each other began to size each other up as well. The man with silver hair and purple eyes, Ryuk if she remembered correctly, seemed to be calculating everything. From the moment he walked through the room she watched him, looking at every window, every door, have a primary plan, a secondary plan, and even a tertiary plan. The man next to him was even more intimidating, tall and powerful he gave off a vibe of danger. The two body guards with Logan were not amused by the situation. They stood in solemn silence, as if Logan had threatened them to stay quiet. He clearly had them on a short leash here. It was evident he wanted to make a good first impression--strong, in control, organized. The Queen was going to provoke everyone here today, that much Ezralda knew. She had already started by making them think they were being patronized in the beginning.
  3. Demons and Hunters

    Demons and Hunters ~An RP between Ice and TriOctium~ Hunting a demon involved patience, a careful nature, and an observant eye. Demons were the natural predators of humans, which made them unused to being prey themselves. They often left behind trails of their presence - a path of trampled undergrowth, the whiff of smoke, the faintest presence of magic. Firion was a fledgling demon hunter, but he considered himself one of the best of his generation. Tracking demons came as naturally to him as blending into the forest, and he moved through the trees with nary a sound, following the trail he had discovered two weeks ago. A demon named Bruth and his lackeys had pillaged the nearby village of Thum, and the resulting outcry caused the Church to mobilize him in pursuit of Bruth. Firion was close now. He grabbed the pendant hanging around his neck, feeling its slight vibration against his palm. It was an artifact from the Church that would react when in close proximity to a demon. He released it and concentrated on his magical energies within, reducing his weight to a bare minimum as he continued onwards. The grass no longer bent beneath his feet, causing them to feel more like little pinpricks that Firion had to walk over, but his shoes protected him from most of the discomfort. Then, he heard the low murmur of a voice. It was barely audible over the usual noises of the forest. Sounds of conversation could be heard coming from his left, and Firion turned and started to move in that direction. One of his hands unconsciously moved towards the hilt of the shortsword next to him; its comforting grip helped him to concentrate in stressful situations. The sounds were clearer now - it seemed like a heated argument was going on. Then, he arrived at the clearing, and saw his quarry. He counted five demons, with two of them facing off against each other in the middle of the clearing. One of them had shaggy silver hair and was relatively lean in stature, while the other was obviously more bulky and menacing. There were two other demons standing behind the burly one, trying their best to look menacing, and two others trying their best to hide in the shadows of the trees. Their best was not good enough. Firion's arm shifted to his belt, grabbing hold of a throwing dagger before hesitating. He could take out at least two of them at this distance before they would know what was happening, but it looked as though the demons were in some sort of conflict. Perhaps it might be better to sit back and watch the situation unfold before he took any action. With any luck, they would kill each other off, making his job a lot easier.
  4. -----Sookie----- It felt really weird when Sookie stepped back onto the Prideux estate. It was so massive in its grandeur. The way she usually took was through the back--there was at least fifty acres of woodlands in the back of their property that gave way to the rolling hills and vineyards in the front. She doubted that that was a natural occurrence; more than likely they were magically induced. She’d seen these wards in this forest used once before and the sight of seeing tree branches wrap around and rip thirty people apart was extremely disturbing. Sookie was wearing the same thing she always wore, loose fitting clothing that her small frame hardly fit. A black hoody that fell a few inches below her thigh, over a pair of university sweatpants she stole from somebody because--for the thirty fifth time that she would undoubtedly never hear the end of from Elizabeth--she lost her enchanted necklace that let her keep her clothes when she transformed. She had on a pair of grey and pink Nike sneakers with a blue Nike check mark. She’d been trying to get here for nearly six months now. It wasn’t easy for her, especially considering that she was basically on foot the entire time and she started Canada. She was able to trade work for travel on a small trading boat that was crossing the Atlantic. Initially that was going to take her straight from--what was once Hallifax--to what is--and to some extent still is--France where it would have been a simple light jog for several days to the Prideux’s castle. Things, however, always have a way of fucking up for her. Somehow, they ended up in Norway for a quick stop that ended in her being kicked off the ship. Apparently a sarcastic werewolf didn’t sit tight with them. Especially with the lunar cycle approaching a full moon soon. Of course, though, they didn’t understand that she wouldn’t transform into an uncontrollable monster when that happened. The world has become significantly more tolerant of the supernatural, that much is for certain, however there are still stereotypes, like that one, going around. She trekked on foot--or paw more accurately--from Norway to France. The only stroke of good luck she got was when the remnants of the season adjustments caused by the fall and disarray of the fairies caused for the entire Baltic and North sea’s to be frozen over, making it so that she didn’t have to find a boat across and could just walk it. The palpable feeling of generations of power and magic rushed into Sookie as she crossed the threshold of their property--the ancestral wards recognizing her as a dear friend and enveloping her in their protection. The closer she got to the castle, the more anxious she got. “Three fuckin’ years,” She mumbled to herself, “Jesus Christ.” She sighed, “I do not feeling like dealing with her.” Sookie could already smell the familiar scents of the Prideux family. Elizabeth’s stuck out though, she had a strange smell--the smell of the atmosphere just after a serious thunderstorm, wet, calm, relaxing, relieving. -----Elizabeth----- A vapid pounding rapped at the side door, “Gaah,” She said out loud, irritated. She was in the middle of cooking lunch. Eli, who usually did almost all the cooking, was out with Jinkama, something about a new cave in Marseille that Jinkama wanted to go diving in. Now she was stuck with Willow--the most worthless human being in the world, besides when it come to killing--to prepare lunch for all the children. Which meant boxed macaroni, because someone she found a way to burn water. “I’m not playing these games with you deviants anymore! Stop it, I’m trying to cook you guys lunch!” Again the pounding continued and this time Elizabeth slammed the box of macaroni and cheese down and whipped open the door, “What?!” The breath left her body and she was left gasping for words as she saw it was Sookie, “Sookie! Oh my god!” Sookie opened her mouth to say something, but Elizabeth continued, “You’re pregnant?! Like third trimester pregnant!” “No, I’m just fat” Sookie said, walking through the door, bypassing the speechless Elizabeth. “ ‘You’re pregnant?’--”she imitated mockingly--”Yes of course I’m pregnant, dumby.” She paused, “And I’m hungry.” She went to the macaroni and cheese that was already prepared and grabbed a handful, downing it, “Jesus, did you burn the water?” -----Sookie----- It had been about four years since Sookie came back to them. She realized the only logical thing to do would be to mooch off of her rich friends. Which is what she was planning on doing for a long, long while. And, in her defense, there’s literally an unlimited amount bedrooms in the Prideux castle. So she doesn’t consider it mooching, and also they are the ones mooching off her fantastic presence and sense of humour. Her original goal, which was to find her own species of wolf, was a complete failure. She spent two years running through the rural wilderness of Canada with another werewolf clan, fighting and defending their territory from other werewolf clans that were moving in and trying to take over. When she found out she was pregnant, she knew she didn’t have much choice on where to go. The wolf clan that she associated with was in no way a stable home. Raising her children in the supernatural equivalent of a biker-gang isn’t something she was interested in doing, no matter how much she enjoyed the no rules life style. At the end of the day there was only one option, and that was back to France. Sookie had six children. Basically a liter. All six of them were completely out of control. They currently had very little control over their transformations. One minute a happy four year old would end up turning into an angry tiny werewolf because he had to go to bed. It was, needless to say, and extreme headache. The hardest part for Sookie though, wasn’t managing the wild demon-spawn-wolf children she had, it was watching her foul mouth in front of children. Currently, all the children were in their wolf form dashing across the country side with Sookie not far behind. They had to do this almost every day; three hours of heavy physical activity like running or else they’d destroy the house. Whatever omnipotent being mixed the angst, teeth, and claws of a puppy with a young child, clearly had a maid to clean up the messes. This time, though, they were going a little farther out. Sookie instinctively extended her sense and put her guard up a little higher--a life of living on edge and fighting will do that to you. Also, if the tendencies of a young child and a wolf mixed together are bad; it’d be hard to imagine the tendencies of a protective mother wolf with that of a human mother. A fox dashed out and Sookie cringed. All six children dashed after it, throwing caution to the wind. Sookie did as well, a steady jog, she wasn’t in her wolf form but she could still keep up. Her special species of werewolf letting her wolf powers transcend into her human form. As they approached the property line she began to try and calm the kids down but she knew it was no use. They weren’t going to stop until they get the fox. Weird, She thought, That thing's fast as fuck. She focused a little harder and realized that it didn’t have a scent, or a heartbeat, or blood. Ariel must be playing a trick on us or something Even as she said it she knew it didn’t make sense. They crossed the property line, and the wards faded, and her sense could fully expand, and she could fully sense the trap they’d walked into. The fox stopped cold and Arya, her daughter, the fastest of all the kids and with a thick, red coat. was centimeters away from her jaws catching it in the throat. In an instant Sookie switched gears and dashed forward. She lunged and caught Arya, somersaulting with her tucked in her arms. The fake fox exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions. She heard some of her children whimper as the metal shards stuck into them. Fortunately she had caught Arya, even with their healing abilities a blow like that to the head would have killed her. Sookie roared, “Go! Run back home!” Arya stood petrified for a moment, before Sookie threw her in the direction she needed to go, fight or flight taking over, and Arya took off. Getting back into the protection of the wards as quickly as she had left. Fortunately, they had enough werewolf in them to sense danger and react accordingly--to some extent. Sookie took in her surroundings while she ran towards her other kids, she could smell several different scents, nothing familiar, and heard seven different sets of foot steps. They were fast too. Almost before she could get there, there was an armored man with a large, two handed sword--wielding it much more capably than any normal human should be able to. The sword came down in a quick arc to catch one of her retreating kids. Sookie’s bare fist punched the edge of the blade and the metal broke on her knuckles, snapping clean off and stopping his advance. She whipped her hand back, throwing blood on the property line, alerting the wards--and hopefully everyone else--to danger. Three kids left She thought, all the others were back inside the wards. The next men had ropes and chains and scooped up her kids easily. They weren’t just regular chains and nets, they all had some form of silver laced in them--ending any fight they had to try and escape. Silver completely nullifies any healing abilities a werewolf has and essentially immobilises them. To a grown adult it’s torture, but to a child it’s worse. Sookie’s rage was palpable. Her hand began to transform and her fingernails elongated, in an instant she was over to them and her hand grabbed a man by the throat and crushed it, a satisfying crack and flow of blood ensuing. The next man charged her, dropping his silver laced chains and netting and reaching for his sidearm--an exquisite revolver. Sookie closed the distance in an instant and had her clawed hand through his chest and out the other side--ripping his heart to shreds. Two more across the property line, Her heart started beating faster, and her thoughts became muffled into verbalizations, “Joshua. Where’s Joshua?” She scanned quickly and effectively and she saw him running towards the property line, relieved she began to as well. Four arrows sped through the air towards Joshua. Sookie dashed forward, catching three and one digging deep into her thigh. She turned to see how Joshua was doing. He was so close. He had to be across the line now. She was devastated to see him in the hands of some strange man, unconscious. A knife to his throat. She slowly reached down and ripped the arrow out of her leg. In the next few seconds of silence the bleeding slowed and almost stopped. “Damn Sookie,” The man laughed, “We only got one. We were sure we could catch all of you with those guys. To bad I suppose.” The knife dug deeper. “Wait!” Sookie yelled, “Don’t.” She was mad. Extremely so. “What do you--” With a boom and clash of thunder Elizabeth was next to her; enchanted bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready to fly. Ariel a moment later. Most likely Willow would be hiding, waiting for an opportunity to strike. “Damn, we weren’t fast enough.” The man said, “Listen Sookie, you really shouldn’t have pissed off our friends in Canada. Now we have to off you and all your filthy kids.” Sookie didn’t respond. Instead she just shook with anger. -----Elizabeth----- Elizabeth had never seen Sookie like this before. She was in a seemingly uncontrollable fit of rage. Fear was driving her emotions and sending her almost rabid. The most frustrating part was that she was completely conflicted, if she rushed him he would slice Joshua’s throat open and then by the time they handled him, Joshua would surely have bled out. Seeing her speechless from anxiety, seeing her eyes wide with terror, and seeing this wretched filth with his hands on Joshua, made Elizabeth mad irate. Her enchanted bow quivered with power and sent surges of it throughout her arms, down her spine, fueling the already growing fire in her belly. She’d been practicing religiously with her magical weapon and getting to see some real world application was going to be fantastic. Ariel was standing to the left of Elizabeth, offset only a little. Elizabeth spoke to her in a careful and hushed tone, “When this starts I’m jumping back to get distance, about six hundred feet.” The electric bow line hissed with energy, as if anticipating what would happen next, “You won’t see it. Willow is in the shadows somewhere I beli--” -----Ariel----- Fifteen arrows hissed through the air, cutting off Elizabeth. Ariel spoke fast and controlled in an indecipherable gibberish, the arrows stopped halfway, floating in the air. Through her peripheral vision, Ariel saw a brief flash of light--Elizabeth was gone, electricity coursing through her veins and charging her movements to almost untraceable speeds. Three of the goons came out of nowhere and rushed Ariel, one approaching her head on, and two others coming behind him in a V shape, most likely to flank her. She spoke something incoherent to normal ears--this time significantly louder--and the arrows that were frozen in place dashed forward as fast as if they were just shot out of the same bow and skewered all three men--five arrows striking each man direction in the back of the head. She jumped to the side, towards Sookie and Ariel, who didn’t tend to show much emotion, was visibly shocked at to see that Sookie was still slumped over, silently watching her unconscious son. He was caught in an awkward transition halfway between wolf and man. She couldn’t move, her body physically refusing to move as the bastard held her son in iron grip, knife cutting into his throat and a small trickle of blood running down his neck. The man holding Joshua whistled loudly,catching everyone’s attention. “A Namer! Good lord we haven’t seen one of your kind in generations, tens of generations.” The knife cut deeper into Joshua’s throat and he whimpered slightly, semiconscious. “You’re forgetting I’m in control, Bitch. And now here I am with a fuck load of dead men. Our requests weren’t terrible, either, Sookie if we could have had a moment to talk things out. Sad. Now I have to kill your kids, your friends, and drag you ba--” -----Willow----- Willow, as always, was a complete blur of motion. Her tight black leggings, black tank top, and black hair making her a complete blur of darkness that was all but invisible in the shadows of the trees around them. She was behind him, her one small hand digging deep into his thick tricep muscle, emanating a strange purple glow and the other angled upwards at the base of his skull--aimed at his brain stem--hand was completely sheathed in a cold, black aura. “Thank god, our intel was correct, you’re here too.” He spoke, unphased by his seemingly imminent death, “Mommy and Daddy were really mad at you after--” “Shut up.” Willow said, “You’re not in control anymore” Her eyes were distant, cold, “Who are you?” Her questions were simple, concise. She wasn’t one to mince words when fighting, she didn’t really care all that much about her opponent. As soon as she got answers they needed she would waste him and they’d begin a speedy retreat back into the safety of the Prideux castle where they could figure out what exactly is going on. Seeing Sookie this off disturbed even Willow, one of the most callous of the group. Something was definitely off here about this man. During her Hiatus away Sookie became significantly stronger, stronger than her probably, and while Willow didn’t know a lot about wolves, she assumed that Sookie’s wolfish motherly instinct would have her ripping this man to shreds; but for some reason she was petrified. The man laughed. It became abundantly clear to Willow that nothing good was going to come out of this conversation. She was going to end it, quickly, she didn’t have time to torture the man as he deserved. Her hand was positioned in a spear roughly three inches from the base of his brain stem, in less than a second she could close the gap and end his life, then grab the boy, shake some sense into Sookie, and be on their way. Even before she began to contract her muscles to begin the motion to jab her hand into his neck, she became completely enveloped in a sense of extreme vertigo. She couldn’t make sense of the world anymore, she stumbled over and fell to the ground--not from lack of muscle control or anything along those lines, but just from a complete confusion. Everything she told her body to do it did the opposite. Everything she perceived and heard, all her senses, were backwards to what was actually happening in the world. When the equilibrium between the fluid in your ears and what your eyes physically portray aren’t in sync the human body can’t process what’s happening, causing an intense and disturbing motion sickness. She tried to recover and dashed backwards, which ended up being forwards and she completely collapsed, her legs doing the opposite. She laid on the ground, trying to make sense of things, hoping that the others weren’t experiencing the same effects. Three seconds, She concentrated, I need to recover and move in three seconds, if everything is backwards this is but a simple hurdle I have to jump. She gagged and held down her vomit, Push motion sickness aside. You can fight while you're sick, you’ve fought while you’ve been poisoned worse than this before. -----Sookie----- Whatever strange spell came over Willow, it actually ended up helping the situation as a whole. Willow’s purple aura of power creates a complete simulation of pain and, since the man holding Joshua could see willows hand engulfing his left tricep--the arm holding Joshua--he didn’t realize that when Willow moved it would move her hand, thus beginning the effects of her ability. Her purple aura creates the illusion to the body of an injury that doesn’t exist, so it was as if the man had a complete severed tricep and a partially severed bicep--causing him to lose almost all control of left arm. The arm holding Joshua. The only thing stopping Sookie from smashing his face in. The moment that Sookie’s bestial gaze saw him waver, like a wolf sensing the perfect moment to tackle its prey, Sookie had covered the distance in one massive leap--superman punching him square in the face. Her fist dug deep, smashing his nose straight back, flattening the bone and cartilage. Her fist dug deeper and deeper, snapping his head back and breaking his neck. He was dead before he hit the ground. The next moment Sookie was in her wolf-form, flawless white, bigger than a horse and had her son by the nape of his neck. When his instincts sensed Sookie switching forms, and probably the danger of the whole situation, even though he was unconscious he transformed as well. Granted, he was not anywhere the size of Sookie. At the age of four, his wolf-form was merely the size of a small, sixty pound dog. Sookie had his unconscious form by the nape of his neck and in the next instant she had her four legs splayed over Willow, providing a shield while she got her bearings. Willow carefully got up and ungracefully--something not characteristic to her whatsoever--regained her footing. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face pale, she was swaying back and forth, her right arm grabbing a thick handful of Sookie’s fur for support. -----Willow----- The next few things happened very quickly, and it was impossible for Willow in her current state to follow them. Sharp and loud crackles of electricity boomed around them, sound following seconds after flashes. The forest was completely eviscerated--tree’s split in half, lit on fire, and huge craters in the ground. Elizabeth and Sookie were both seeings things she could not focus on, slowly she was regaining her senses, pushing the strange sickness in the back of her mind. As clarity returned Willow read into a pretty disconcerting site. There was certainly a lot of something coming towards them, now what exactly that something was she couldn’t be to sure of. And also, whatever it was, there was a lot of it. A man shaped blob was running through the forest, as it got closer it’s features became more defined. It was a pinkish red, and it looked like a wax, partially melted, figure. Elizabeth’s arrows--which have an incredible destructive power, were simply passing through these things, then exploding into whatever was behind them. Leaving gaping holes in the creatures and then doing the brunt of their damage to the landscape behind them. Willow concentrated when she spoke to Sookie, who was just as confused about the situation as she was, “I’m going to climb on top of you, I can’t run as is. And that thing out there isn’t what did this to me, there’s a lot more going on here than we’re aware of.” The ground quivered and shook, separating in front of them and forming a gaping gash in the earth eight feet wide and ten feet deep. The brow of Ariel’s head had trickled sweat on it and she spoke to them, “Sookie what she said, Elizabeth and I will catch up to you two. Take care of your son. Elijah and Jinkama already have the rest back inside the castle by now. Sookie growled her agreement and under the cover fire of Elizabeth they dashed back towards the Prideux property line--probably about fifteen miles away. As they got closer they could still here the pounding thunder of Elizabeth’s blows. Crossing the property line was a relieving feeling; as soon as they did so the protective wards completely enveloped them with a palpable feeling of safety and security. Willow’s symptoms completely disappeared--balance and proper motor function returning to her in an instant. As they cleared through the forests bordering the property line and came upon the rolling hills and vineyards that were more iconic to the estate, Sookie picked up speed. The wind whistled by them and once Willow was completely sure she whatever curse was put on her had passed she jumped off Sookie and again was a blur--dashing forward faster than her, to the castle, providing an invisible and unnecessary escort. Just in case. -----Sookie----- Sookie Burst through the doors now in human form, sweatpants and a hoody on thanks to Elizabeth’s handy-dandy-form changing charm. Joshua was in her hands, terrified but alive. He had his face burrowed into her shoulder and she tried to remain calm, for his sake, as she looked for her other children. She could sense they were all here--she could smell and hear them. “There all in the west wing of the building, in the wine cellar. Elijah is with them.” Willow was next to Sookie now, walking down the stairs with her as she went towards the sounds of children. “Cern is on the roof, Jinkama is at the main entrance. I’m going to go to the back entrance to watch for Ariel and Elizabeth.” And at that Willow was gone, as silently as she appeared. It never ceased to amaze Sookie how she could evade every one of her sharp senses--even her sense of smell. Sookie came through the doors and tried to smile for her kids, but when she saw them all she wanted to do was cry. She had never felt as much terror as she did right then at that moment. Elijah stood up, “I’m going outside, Sookie, stay here.” Elijah was barely wearing clothes. He had been jerked awake in bed, presumably. He had on a pair of basketball shorts and combat boots that were untied. His well muscled chest and arms completely exposed. He had his sword in hand and in an instant he gated away from her. -----Elijah----- Cern was with Elijah when he appeared next to Jinkama. They were at the main entrance. Elijah spoke, anger in his voice, “They went south, we’re gonna track them down. Elizabeth and Ariel are already back as well.” Jinkama smiled, “Damn right we are! It’s Bull shit that they saw all the fighting and we got none of it!” Cern nodded and then snapped his head. Two figures walked towards them. “What the fuck?” He said, baffled, “How are they not incinerated by the wards.” Elijah’s eyes widened, “They’re nobody we know.” “Well then, they’re going to die,” in an instant a bow and an arrow materialized in his hands and Cern dashed forward, firing off arrows at the figures. Elijah in an instant was behind him his sword sending lances of emerald green energy all around them. Worse yet, more figures approached from the west side of the estate. Nothing familiar to any of them. “How are they getting through the wards?” Jinkama cursed and dashed off.
  5. Night had fallen, and I was alone. The sun’s last rays had long since guttered and died, and the wan, sickly light of the crescent moon did nothing to dispel the darkness all around me. If anything, it only served to accentuate it, the twisted tangle of power lines and ventilation piping above and around me casting long, ragged shadows all around. Somewhere, a ventilation fan ceaselessly droned a mantra of monotony, sporadically interrupted by a dull thump from within a vent or the rustle of a plastic bag borne by a stray breeze. The cloying stench of old garbage assaulted my nostrils, but I pressed on, my footsteps echoing in the enclosed space. This place sure felt a hell lot less foreboding in daylight. Then, I heard the footsteps. The first time I heard it, it was a muffled thumping, near-imperceptible against the background noise – perhaps nothing more than a figment of my imagination, making up boogeymen where there were none to be found. Then, I heard them again, a slow, staccato rhythm of heavy boots hitting asphalt. Goosebumps rose on my neck as a shudder went down my spine, and I redoubled my pace, keeping my gaze locked straight ahead. It wasn’t safe here. I had to get home. I couldn’t let them find me. The footsteps were getting louder. Closer. They were gaining on me. No, I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t hesitate; couldn’t waver. If I looked back, they’d be upon me in an instant. Just keep walking, and don’t turn around. I could hear the footsteps clearly now. They couldn’t be more than ten paces behind. Perhaps with my back turned, they wouldn’t notice it was me, not in this light. Just a little further; I could already see streetlights. Once I made it out into the open, they wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on me. I heard a muted ringing, like a moist finger dragged around the rim of a wineglass, and pain lanced up my leg as my toes crunched against an obdurate wall where there had been nothing but thin air moments before. In the dim light, I could barely make out the transparent, ephemeral veil, its surface iridescent like a sheet of cellophane, but there was no mistaking the two lines of chalk drawn across the ground, the space within glowing with lambent light. I couldn’t read the cursive, flowing script etched in between them, but their message was clear. “You Cannot Escape.” Slowly, I turned, a lump forming in my throat as my gaze fell upon the length of gleaming steel leveled at me. The silhouette of its wielder was indistinct in the gloom – male or female, young or old, I couldn’t tell. All I could clearly make out were their eyes, pinpoints of blazing blue like stars in the void. Then, they spoke. ... “Next station: Matsuura. The doors will be opening on the left.” Erin’s eyes snapped open with a start as she jerked upright, her eyes flitting back and forth nervously. A frigid sensation ran down the nape of her neck, and she reached towards it tentatively, her fingers running along the smooth metal of the plain silver necklace she was wearing. It felt cold, almost icy to the touch. She took in her surroundings, and to her relief, they seemed almost disappointingly banal – just a train carriage, its plastic bucket seats almost all unoccupied, the floor gently shaking and jostling as it sped down the tracks through the countryside. Huh, a dream. Ride must have lulled me to sleep. Then, her brow crinkled as her mouth twisted into a frown. Hold on, Matsuura? That’s, like, three stops east of home. And this is an eastbound train. So… uh… like, carry the two… and… um… damn. I think I missed my stop. And I’d promised I’d be back home on time for dinner, too. Pausing for a moment to stretch, she bent over and picked up the book lying on the floor before her, carelessly dropped when she’d dozed off. I guess I’m just going to have to get off at the next stop. Matsuura, right? Should be there in like five minutes. She flipped open her book, leafing through the pages to find where she’d left off. … “Next station: Matsuura. The doors will be opening on the left.” Erin chuckled, her face reddening a little. “L-lewd,” she murmured, flipping the page again. Despite herself, she let out a little gasp, her blush only intensifying. Then, she froze up, eyes slowly sweeping from side to side, before heaving a sigh of relief. Well. No one saw that. Isn’t this train taking a little long? … “Next station: Matsuura. The doors will be opening on the left.” Erin glanced at the side of her book briefly – there weren’t many unread pages left. She sighed as she glanced back at the page – with so little left, there was no way this volume wasn’t going to end in an unsatisfying cliffhanger. She gazed out of the window for a moment – just the same old monotonous tapestry of fields and little country roads, now bathed golden by the rays of the setting sun. Hold on. Sun’s almost down? I'm supposed to be back by seven! She fished inside her bag, pulling out her phone and prodding at the screen. Seven-thirty. Shit, shit, shit! I’m late for dinner! I’m so dead; I’d made a promise to Sis, too. She frantically swiped at her phone screen, anticipating a deluge of missed calls and reproachful messages – and saw nothing. She glanced at the top of the screen – instead of the usual stack of bars was an icon she didn’t see often. No signal? What the hell, this is Japan! We aren’t even in the mountains! “Next station: Matsuura. The doors will be opening on the left.” And what’s up with you, you piece of junk? Shouldn’t we have passed Matsuura hours ago? And what’s with the lights? It’s practically night already and they still aren’t on! What kind of shoddy train is this? She looked out the windows again; the light outside was already dimming as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon. The ubiquitous forests and hills that dotted the Japanese countryside looked decidedly gnarlier and more shadowy than she remembered, too... Darkness fell as the train rushed into a tunnel with a roar. Erin blinked in confusion as she got to her feet, clutching her bag closer to herself as she stepped towards the doors. Wait. Wait… there isn’t a tunnel before Matsuura… What’s going on? A bead of sweat streamed down her cheek as her gaze slowly swept the darkened train from end to end – it was empty, and the carriage doors on either side had slid shut, their windows dark and opaque. The trundling of the train’s carriage had taken on a sinister cadence, the carriage shaking and rattling in time with its gradually-accelerating staccato rhythm. The PA system screeched a burst of static and Erin winced, her hands clamping over her ears unbidden as it played once again, the sound tinny and crackling. “Next station: Matsuura. This train service terminates… at the next station. Thank you for… riding… with us…” There was a hiss and a rush of frigid air, and Erin slowly raised her head, gazing wide-eyed into the darkness behind the now-opened door between the carriages like a deer caught in headlights. From the darkness, a pair of eyes, its irises pinpoints of electric blue like stars in the void, gazed right back.
  6. It is said that in ancient times our world, Gaia was a harsh and unforgiving place. In this time it was not our kind who ruled, but the beasts. In this time our kind, humans lived among the creatures of Gaia. To survive we had to live from the land, hunting creatures smaller and weaker than ourselves. In time, as our species grew and obtained knowledge, we learned how to manipulate the land. With care we treated the earth with water and seed, so that vegetation would grow just as we intended. We discovered that from nature’s elements we could craft tools to help us hunt, and grow, and build. We began to prosper, no longer merely surviving. Finally we began to live. In time humanity grew to heights beyond our imagination. The more we learned of our world, the more we discovered how to harness it’s power for our own gain. Science became our ideology, and technology our tool. We became so knowledgeable of our world that we learned the replicate the natural occurrences of our world, focusing and harnessing them to our own specifics and standards. Through our knowledge we have become the uncontested rulers of our world, we shape it as we see fit, and not even the sky is beyond our limitations. In time other races followed similar paths, and we were joined by the proud and strong Komoda, the swift and valiant Lepan, the sneaky and resourceful Roden, and the strange and elusive Laxi. With such races joining our society, our culture shifted and blossomed, incorporating the vast talents of diversity. Yet there is a part of our history that has become almost lost to us. For when humanity first began to understand nature, there were those who led the way. People with greater knowledge and understanding of nature, of the elements. Such people understood the intricate foundations of nature, and were able to harness it’s power through sheer will, using a strange and mystical art known as Alchemy. These Alchemists, harnessing the very power of nature as an extension of themselves, paved the way for humanity. Through their understanding humanity established it’s own, baser knowledge of the world’s machinations, and through their tutelage alone were we able to survive as long as we have. And when war inevitably reared it’s ugly head, it was the Alchemist who settled the great battles, using their awesome power to cease all threats. And so the Alchemists became our protectors, our leaders. Yet as our knowledge grew and we gained our own prosperity, the power of the Alchemists became less needed, and soon their numbers dwindled, until their existence almost disappeared into legend. Yet one man lives to prove their existence is more than mere legend. King August Vermillion Rhapsody, ruler of the lands of Velice, residing in the great city of Fortuna. Also known by his other title – The Branded King. King August and his family are the last of the Alchemists, and his power is the greatest of them all. For the needs of Alchemy have dwindled, and even among those able, the desire to learn has faded. Yet the loss of ancient practices is, perhaps not something to be mourned. For science has brought us power beyond that of Alchemists. With technology we not only shape the world, but shape ourselves, becoming faster, stronger, and capable of things that were never thought possible. The time of Alchemy has ended, now that all of humanity can become Gods. The sky above Fortuna was cloudy, but streaks of sunlight cut through in places and provided a comfortable warmth to the city. In the lower districts, where the narrow streets were darkened by tall buildings towering above street level, the people seemed in quite a hurry. All manner of race were out in force, preparing for this very day. It was the annual Reverance Festival, where the city of Forrtuna celebrated the anniversary of its founding. Many had taken the day off work, and others were busy setting up stalls to sell their wares during the event. Sparkling lights littered the streets as old and young all wore crowns and hats decorated with tacky, multi-coloured lights that were always worn during the festival. In the higher reaches of the city, in the various plazas, street performers juggled batons of fire to the audible gasps of the rapidly growing crowds. A parade of floats made its way through the wider streets, led by a smartly dressed troupe, each playing musical instruments, while their leader twirled a baton as he marched ahead. Each float was decorated in a different way. Some were shaped like the various native beasts of Velice, others decorated with beautiful floral arrangements, and yet more were dedicated to various companies, projects and art commissions made specially for the event. The crowd marveled at the life-like spectacle that led the floats. It was a giant stage with three enormous dancers, who were not real, of course, but rather were being projected by a series of bright blue laser-lights, their forms visible even in the light of day. The people roared and cheered as the floats passed them by, and watched intently until they moved out of sight. Then they continued on their way, towards Rhapsody Stadium, where a concert would be held, along with a speech from King Augustus Rhapsody himself. Yet the concert would not begin until nightfall, and King Rhapsody was far from the cheering crowds, up in the highest reaches of Fortuna, in the large palace that stood as the jewel at the top of the city. Augustus was walking the across the sprawling balconies that looked down on the city below, but his attention was focused on the tablet in his hand. He scrolled through streams of text and graphs, sighing to himself in frustration. The King looked to be in his late 50’s but in truth he was significantly older. He was a tan skinned man with a wrinkled, tired face. He had a thick head of jet black hair with thick wisps of silver, and a short goatee shaped to a point. He was dressed in a black and white pinstripe suit, with a red shirt and a black ascot tie with intricate, red floral patterns woven in to the silk. His dull gray-blue eyes scanned the contents of his device and he let out another frustrated sigh. “Sire?” The man next to him was younger, in his late 30’s. He had tidy, blonde hair swept back over his head, and was dressed in an impeccable, white suit, with a black shirt, a thin white tie, and a red rose pinned to his lapel. He wore a pair of thin-framed sunglasses with red lenses, which seemed to occasionally streak with a fuzz of static on occasion. “Speak, Lyude.” The King replied, not looking away from the screen. “Perhaps if you allow me, Sire…” He said, holding out his hand. The King glanced at him for a moment with a frown, and then he let out a resigned sigh and handed the tablet to his younger companion. “Let’s see then.” Lyude said as he ran his gloved hands over the device. He made a few swiping gestures, removing sections he deemed unimportant, and then he made another few taps and smiled, pleased with himself. “I think we should be okay. If you move your meeting with Duke Archibald to after the ceremony then that should free up enough time to take care of your other duties, no?” “Archibald has been requesting a meeting for months.” The King said, shaking his head. “I can’t make him wait any further. He wants to discuss the trade disputes going on with Avara at the moment. You know he has a firm stance on employment, and this dispute is costing jobs.” “Wouldn’t that be the responsibility of the Foreign Trade Council, Sire?” Lyude asked. “Yes, but they keep dodging his requests for talks. He knows they wouldn’t ignore a direct request from me.” The King Replied “Well, that is quite the conundrum. However, the responsibility does lie with the FTC. If he wishes to raise issues he should be taking it up with the Internal Inquiries Division, surely?” “Yes…but he’s an old friend and…” The King sighed. “…it’s fine. Reschedule his meeting until after the ceremony. I have a duty to my people, first and foremost.” “As you say, Sire.” Lyude replied with a smile and a nod, and he went to work tapping away on the tablet again. The King allowed him, glad to have the blasted thing out of his hands for a moment. He looked out at his city from the balcony, and watched as hundreds of balloons rose up over the skyscrapers. He smiled contently. His work had become tiring of late, but he reminded himself that he would always endure, for the sake of his people. He turned back to Lyude. “And what of my son?” He asked “Prince Oranyx remains locked up in his chambers, Sire.” Lyude said with a soft sigh. “I fear he is not in the mood for the festivities today.” “His mood is irrelevant.” The King growled in annoyance. “He has a responsibility. I am tired of his childish attitude.” “Well he is only a boy, Sire.” Lyude commented with a sympathetic smile. “He’s 18, and that’s a man in my eyes.” The King replied. “Does he not answer his summons at all?” “Rather he says nothing, Sire.” Lyude replied. “Probably playing that game I should imagine.” “Blast it!” The King snapped, and he whirled around on the spot, marching back down the balcony and into the palace corridors, with Lyude hurriedly chasing after him. “Sire, we have to-“ “Quiet!” The King snarled. “I am sick and tired of this nonsense! The boy has no respect!” They continued down the corridor and then down two flights of steps, all the while the King’s anger bubbled beneath the surface. Finally they came to the door of the Prince’s bedroom and the King pulled open the door and marched inside. “Oranyx, now you listen to me, I-“ The King stopped. Sat on the edge of his bed, Prince Oranyx sat dressed in a pair of skinny, black jeans, and a plain gray t-shirt. He had a pair of headphones sat over his thick, messy-but-stylish, black hair. Over his eyes was a transluscent laser-light visor with streams of data and imagery flashing over it. The Prince was engrossed in the game he was playing, his thumbs twiddling over the controller he held between them. With a furious growl his father charged towards him, snatching the visor from his face and throwing it against the wall, shattering it. “Wh- Hey!” Prince Oranyx gasped as he blinked, looking at his broken visor with sheer outrage. “What the hell, dad!?” He added. “People have been calling for you for hours!” The King yelled. “And here I find you playing that…that stupid game!” “Only you think it’s stupid!” Oranyx bit back. “I suppose you’d rather I play your stupid game, then?” “Your responsibility to this city is not a game Oranyx.” The King replied. “NYX!” The Prince yelled so loud that it echoed through the corridors outside of his room. “I’ve told you a thousand times to stop calling me that! It’s just Nyx, okay?” “And I’ve told you that Oranyx is your name, like it or not. It was your grandfather’s name.” The King said testily. “Well you should have let him keep it.” Nyx replied, rolling his eyes. “Now get out of my room.” “I think you will find this is my room, young man.” The King replied with a frown. “As is every room in this entire palace.” “Oh here we go again!” Nyx yelled. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all yours dad. That’s great. Well why don’t I just get the hell out of your way then?” “That is not what I meant!” The King snapped back. He sighed, trying to calm himself. “Look, son, today is an important day for Fortuna. I only ask that you get dressed and come with me to the ceremony. The people expect to see you there.” “Yeah?” Nyx replied, scowling. “And what about what I want? I couldn’t care less about about this stupid festival.” “Ora-“ The King stopped himself. “…Nyx. You must understand that, while it can be hard, there are expectations of you as a Prince. You are my only son, and I have know that you have your father’s strength. One day you will lead these people, it’s important that you come to know them.” “I already know them better than you do.” Nyx said, shaking his head. “I’d be down there with them all right now if you’d only let me.” “You know I cannot just let you wander the city on your own like that, we’ve been over this. You are the Prince and-“ “Well maybe I don’t want to be the Prince!” Nyx interrupted. “Did you ever think about that, dad? I don’t want any of this! I just want to be a regular kid, all right?” “Son…” The King said softly, he looked hurt by Nyx’s words. “Please…I know you don’t mean that.” “Yes I do.” Nyx replied, getting off of his bed and pushing past his father. He slipped on a pair of black leather boots lined with three buckles on each calf. Then he opened his wardrobe and pulled out a thin, black jacket, with silver buttons over the lapels, and silver pendant of a lion’s head attached to the front zip. He zipped up the jacket and put on a pair of blue-lensed sunglasses. “I’m out of here.” He said as he went for the door. “Now just stop this right-“ The King began “Leave me alone!” Nyx snarled before quietly adding, “…I hate you.” As he left his room, and his father, who stood frozen by the pain and shock of his words, which had cut him deeper than any sword. Nyx took off down the corridor until he reached the spiral staircase at the end and began to descend them. As he reached the bottom he noticed two of the King’s guards advancing up towards them. They were Laxi. They stood taller than humans, and their flesh was protected by a hard carapace shell that covered their entires bodies. The colour of the shell was a combination of oily black with patches of sickly yellow. Each of their six eyes were entirely black, maing it impossible to tell if they were looking directly at your or not. The moved towards him without words, not unlike them. The Laxi were excellent guards, unquestioning, hard-working and efficient. As they met him on the stairs they reached out to grab them, but Nyx was ready. He leapt on to the railing of the staircase to avoid the first lunge at him, and quickly rebounded off again as the other reached for him. He landed on the stairs behind them and began sprinting hurriedly down the stairs. Unfortunately with their long legs the Laxi were also quite fast. They gained on him in no time as he reached the next floor and sprinted along the corridor. On the long, straight sprint his pursuers held the advantage and managed to grab him by the arms, holding him tight. “Let me go!” He yelled angrily. “Apologies, young Master.” One of the Laxi said, there voice was strange to hear, you could hear a buzzing vibration behind it. “All the guards have been instructed not to let you leave the Palace unattended again.” “I’m not leaving the palace, I was just going to get some food from the kitchens.” Nyx protested “Apologies, young Master, but we will not fall for that one again.” The other Laxi replied. “Ugh…fine.” Nyx said with a sigh. Then a slight smirk spread across his face, a capricious glint in his eyes. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck as he activated his power. From his jeans pocket two thin wires of metal shot out like a snake, and coiled itself around the feet of the two Laxi, wrapping tight and binding them together, until they both stumbled to the floor and let go of him. Nyx let out a mad chuckle and stepped away from them. “Sorry, didn’t want to have to resort to that!” He said with a grin. “Later!” He added with a wave, then he ran off down the corridor once more. By the time he breached the palace doors he had 5 more guards sprinting after him shouting and hollering. He ran past one of the waiting staff who was carrying a metal tray of plates and cups across the garden. As he passed her he grabbed the metal tray, and the woman shrieked as her tray morphed from it’s original state in Nyx’s hands, and by the time he hurled it at the floor behind him, the tray had shattered into a mess of shiny, metal ball bearings that rolled across the ground behind him. The guards tried to stop but they could not in time, and slipped over the ball bearings, crashing in a heap on the ground. Finally Nyx reached the enormous, metal grates that were closed and barred, blocking his way into the city. He gripped the gates in his hand and the metal re-shaped as he willed it to, creating foot holds up the bars for him to climb. As he scrambled up the gate the footholds disappeared behind him, until he reached the top and vaulted over it, landing with a thud on the either side. He quickly picked himself up and dusted off his jeans. With a final smirk he looked back at the guard who were stuck on the other side of the gate. He pulled his headphones over his head and gave them a final, casual salute, before turning and disappearing into the city.
  7. Rebuild of Mitsuba Academy

    [Long time no see, everyone. Sir Vey Lance here. After a long period of inactivity on both Mitsuba threads, the four of us consisting of wstfgl, shipspassinthenight, myself and Trioctium have decided to revive our brain child with everyone being in one club this time. Due to a large number of key NPCs and PCs being absent/changed/replaced/reskinned, we have decided the best way to do so would regrettably have to be a full retcon. Here's hoping we can last for a bit longer this time] On the outskirts of Eaglesham, a sleepy old town in the middle of nowhere, was an ancient church dating back to the Victorian era that had seen better days. Pedestrians walking the only road leading into the village from afar could discern with naked eyes the blasted out sections of the church, scars left behind by the aerial bombers after World War II. Vines crept up along the crevasses and forced their way into the gaps, further tearing the shambling structure apart, yet not a single animal chose to make the place its home. Now and again, a large storm would sweep through the region, and people would open their door the next day expecting the church to be demolished by the gale. And against all odds, the structure remained standing. Gossip amongst villagers had it that a frightening ghoul moved between its crumbling hallways and hid behind the pillars, waiting for any man or woman foolish enough to lay foot inside. Being a grotesque creature, he would go green with envy at the sight of the healthy person and proceed to break his limbs, cut his face, and tear away the hair until the person’s appearance was as revolting as the ghoul’s. In reality, this ‘ghoul’ was nothing more than a dehumanization of the homeless vagrants and travelers without money seeking shelter inside. With the recent implementation of the Camden benches, the sidewalk spikes, not to mention the upcoming European Monsoon, it was nothing strange to see these people flocking toward the old church. No, what was disturbing was the fact that ever since one week ago, some of them never made it out. --- The green field in the distance was gone. It had been buried under waves of rolling white mist, as if a patch of fair-weather cloud had fallen down to earth. Pulling her mantle closer for warmth, Constable Faith looked up at the old church. The courtyard was enclosed by a tall iron fence, leaving no way to exit or enter aside from the main cobblestone walk out to the field. The vegetation around the steeple seemed hideously warped somehow, some of them even appeared mummified, yet wet with moisture from the gathering mist. Some sort of poisonous substance seeping into the ground and was absorbed by the plants, she thought, but what kind? Though three years of being in law enforcement had sent her patrolling down every dank nook and cranny Eaglesham had to offer, it was an unspoken agreement that the old church was far enough from the main town to be considered out of the local police’s jurisdiction. This was to be her first time entering the infamous landmark. As a precaution, her fingers inched somewhat closer to the pistol holstered at her side. Faith took a step forward, then turned back to look for her partner. “Willis, stop lollygagging and get over here,†she said, beckoning the tall man with auburn hair who looked as pale as if he had just seen a ghost. Beads of cold sweat formed steadily on his quivering forehead as Constable Willis stammered out a response. “D-Do we really have to go in there, Faith?†“Not this again...Citizens have reported a lot of strange stories about this church. You were there when Mr. Turner came into our office just now, weren’t you? It’s our job to verify the truth behind these rumors.†“That daft old hobo? Faith, dear, do you even know why the fella is homeless in the first place?†“Do enlighten me.†“Because he spent every last penny from his pension on hooch instead of his rent. Trust me you, I got called to see his arse kicked out of a local pub once every fortnight for drinking more than he could possibly pay for. Heck, I’m no lightweight myself and I got tipsy just breathing the same air with him just now.†Faith sighed and readjusted the cap around her bundled up hair. “Just get to the point, Willis.†“Alright, sure. My point is, maybe his wife got straight fed up with him and left. He couldn’t cope with the very thought of it, so he invented this fantasy about how, in the dark of night, a ghoul showed up in the church and kidnapped her. There, case closed.†Silence reigned for a moment. “Willis, are those really the words of a responsible police constable?†she asked in exasperation. He nodded almost sincerely. “My pa always told me to work smarter, not harder.†“Let’s say your theory is true, then there shouldn’t be any ghoul or ghost or monster lurking within the old church. And thus no harm would befall us for investigating it, yes?†“W-well, there’s always the off chance that I’m wrong and the place is home to something freaky…My pa also said it’s better to be safe than -†he answered then paused, finally noticing the determined expression on Faith’s face. “Fine, fine, let’s do it your way.†She smiled and walked ahead to push open the double door. A nasty stench, something like a cross between rotten food and stale air, greeted the pair’s noses as darkness gave way to mountains of dust over box pews, altar, hourglass pulpit, and sounding-board. Ropes of cobweb stretched among the pointed arches of the main hall up in the air, while on the ground various discarded boxes of food could be found lumped together into mounds at the corner. Willis pinched his nose, while Faith squinted at the traces of footsteps and knocked over furniture. Seemed like a mass of people recently rushed out of the church in a panic not too long ago. Sploch….sploch… Something made a continuous dripping noise in the dark. Faith looked around and found herself staring at the source soon after: a small pool of viscous, tar-like black substance on the ground. She gazed up. It seemed to have leaked down to the ground floor following some cracks along the ceiling. “Lots of doors in this place,†commented Willis. “I noticed,†said Faith. “Reckon we should split up: you check all these rooms on the main floor, I will head upstairs and see what I can find. Afterward, we can make a trip to the dock and ask the local hobo community if they could give us some information about this place.†Willis didn’t seem to like the idea of splitting up, though he stayed quiet, nodded and complied. Faith made her way up the flight of creaking stairs and entered through the single door at the top. It opened up to a decrepit room filled with dust-covered books and rotten wooden furniture. Up here, light barely spilled in through the cloudy windows on opposite sides of the room, courtesy of the mist and the lack of sunlight during a rainy day. Yet, some kind of heat wafted in through cracks in the wall and through the floorboards beneath, setting off a vague alarm somewhere in the back of the constable’s mind. “That idiot Willis, now all his crazy ramblings are starting to make me lose my nerves,†she muttered. Turning on her flashlight for a source of illumination, she searched the area methodically, only to be perplexed by the apparent size of the vestry room she was now standing in. It was grand, yes, though going by the dimensions of the floor below and the stairs placement, she was expecting the second floor to be somewhat bigger. This place was built shortly before the war began, and it wasn’t unheard of for churches to offer shelter to civilians and wounded soldiers. I wonder…she thought idly, knocking the walls around the room and along the corridors lightly with the back of her flashlight. The staccato taps broke away the silence reigning over the second floor, dead and dulled and dispersed. Time and again Faith would crack open a small patch on a wall, thinking that she had found something, only to realize that termites had done a serious number on the material beneath. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, she tapped on another wall, this one made out of rocks, and- Hesitated. It didn’t feel as if she had knocked on something completely dense judging by the hollow noise it produced. Eureka. Faith tucked the small flashlight behind her ear for light, then examined the wall more closely, looking for a loose brick or a leverage of some sort. Only she wasn’t finding it. Up and down, left and right, this end of the hallway to the other, nothing seemed to stand out. Frustrated, she gave the wall a little kick at the end of her search, finding it sliding inward a little. Okay, that was anticlimactic… The room within was small, cramped and reeked of something far worse than the stench of garbage that had been lingering in the atmosphere. The room was coated in equal proportion of mold and a patina of that black, sludgy grime she had discovered downstairs. Faith thought she could discern some articles of clothing laying within the pool of dark fluid, and the moment she stepped into the room, she could feel a wave of dizziness and nausea washing over her mind, as if a dozen voices were ringing simultaneously in her head. Some young, some old, some hoarse, some clear… I WANT TO GO HOME! DEAR, WHERE ARE YOU? IT IS SO COLD. SO COLD. SO COLD. SO COLD She stumbled out of the room, her mind struggling to process the massive amount of sepulchral echoes going through it just now. Somehow, just somehow, she knew on an instinctive level what the black sludge was. It was the missing people, all that remained of them. They were reduced to nothing more than a primordial fluid, having lost every shred of humanity that gave them shapes and thoughts. Her stomach churned, and she could feel the acidic taste of digestive juice overflowing out of her throat. Faith struggled to keep her lunch down and hastily reached for the radio strapped to the side of her coat lapel. It let out a squealing buzz of static and fell silent. She cursed. Bootsteps, crunching just around the corner, somewhere further down the hallway. “Dare da? De te kinasai.†A man’s voice called out in a language unbeknownst to her, hushed and harsh. Judging from the noise, he was dragging behind him something massive, the object scraping against the stone tiles with every step he made. Training took over at this point, and Faith quickly drew the .38 Automatic Colt Pistol, aiming down the iron sight as she did. There were so many questions and confusions going through her head as of this point, but in her mind one thing was clear. Whomever, whatever it is that lurks within the old church as of this moment, it can’t be anything good. “Stop, or I will shoot!†she announced, moments before the person came into view. “Move forward and put your hands where I can see them!†He stopped, as if gauging the situation, but eventually stepped up next to one of the windows where the overcast was still providing some light and revealed himself. It was a young man, not a day over 20 if he was even that old, and judging from his dark hair and skin complexion, Faith would place him to be either Chinese or Japanese. He was wearing a vicar’s attire dyed red and white, which strangely enough spotted metallic vambraces and greaves like some sort of protection from the medieval age. A silver cross hung loosely around his neck, the object glowing with a faint hue in the dark. What drew the majority of her attention though, was the massive thing he was dragging behind which, while definitely was in the shape of a greatsword, was more akin to a gargantuan slab of steel attached to a hilt. She doubted the youth could so much as lift the thing above his head, let alone swing it. “This place is not safe Miss, you should leave it as soon as possible,†he spoke calmly in clear, if somewhat stilted English. “I will be the judge of that. Who are you and what are you doing here?†pressed Faith. He clicked his tongue, which annoyed her greatly. “My name isn’t anything of import. And I’m here on a mission.†“A mission,†she repeated dryly. “Yes. A monster had recently taken over this old church as its lair. I have been tasked with its eradication by my Order.†Faith squinted but didn’t lower her firearm. “A likely story. Alright if you don’t feel like telling me your name, I’m Constable Faith. Regardless of your goal here, we have had records of people being kidnapped and possibly assaulted in the surrounding area. I will need you to follow me and my partner to the precinct. Don’t worry, we are not suspecting you for doing anything unlawful as of yet, but you could have witnessed certain events that would provide us wi-“ A bloodcurdling scream coming from somewhere down below interrupted Faith’s speech; shriek of such base, feral intensity that it could only have come from someone being in mortal danger. She spun, recognizing the voice to be that of Willis’, though her gun remained trained on this suspicious individual. “Did you come here with another person, Miss Faith?†the man asked, a flash of genuine worry evident on his face. She didn’t answer his question, which was enough. “Then we have no time,†said the youth. He let go of the blade he was holding on to, but instead of dropping to the ground with a loud thud, the weapon shattered into millions of shimmering particles, which rushed toward the pendant hanging around his neck in a silvery stream. Before she could even process what was happening, let alone react, his arm had already wrapped itself around her waist, and her whole view of the world was disappearing down a spinning tunnel, into a vortex of warped images and those sad, haunting voices filling up the silence saying IT FOUND ITS NEXT MEAL. "Teleportation could be a bit dizzying. Hold on tight." Somewhere between a nanosecond and a day later, Faith opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. She was standing at the entrance to the church, but right now there was one particular thing that she distinctly remembered not seeing when she set foot into this place. Vast, otherworldly and loathsome, she was looking at a screaming, writhing patchwork of a monster: a hideous, warped agglomeration of countless human faces stitched together into one gigantic head, itself twisting and melding into a grotesque parody of a smile. It was not in possession of any feature that could be labeled eyes within its sockets, but spotted two pools of spiraling darkness brimming with the thick, black sludge she had seen earlier. The monster’s grin became unnervingly broader, showing to the rest of the world its grotesque collection of deformed, rotten teeth, like tombstones erected over a graveyard. It turned to look. “What is this?†she muttered, stunned, moments before a gigantic blade crashed through the ceiling and severed the creature from top to bottom. It reacted violently, and from the creature came a piercing sound – a roar that blended the sound of tearing metal and wounded beasts, a chthonic noise that forced into her ears and tore her nerves. More of that sludge started to ooze away from the creature as its body slowly degenerated into a swarm of cockroaches, spiders, beetles and flies. The bugs scurried away in every direction, leaving behind almost no physical trace of the creature that was once there. Faith thought she could hear voices from the black tar beckoning for her to get closer, that she could see and recognize some of the faces that seemed to bubble up to the surface somehow. She reached out with one of her hands. “Stop.†commanded the youth from before, Willis' body draping across his shoulder like a sack of flour. He came closer to Faith before gingerly laying her partner down on the ground. The constable was still breathing, though he seemed to do so with some degree of difficulty. Broken ribs most likely, she thought. “What the hell was that thing?†she asked again while looking over Willis’ wounds. “A Thrall. Slivers of a Demon summoned into our world through twisted rituals and blackest magic. With its master being…indisposed, the only thing left in the creature’s mind right now is an insatiable desire to consume, which it quenches through the flesh of the poor people who have been seeking shelter within this church.†“T-then, this black fluid on the ground is…†“Yes, that is called ectoplasm, all that remains of the Thrall’s victims. Although one have to be somewhat magically gifted to even be able to see such a thing. Please refrain from touching it under any circumstance, Miss. More often than not people who are killed due to supernatural reasons would leave behind psychic echoes. An Altered like you run the risk of being possessed especially.†His calm, composed demeanor sent a chill down her spine. Given any other day, if someone had approached her with so much nonsense, she would have definitely phoned the local asylum to see if they had any escaped patient. But now that she had seen such a creature with her own eyes, had heard the cries of the dead bemoaning their fates, Faith wondered if she was the one going mental instead. A thousand questions swam to the surface of her thoughts. “Did you kill it?†she asked finally. He shook his head. “No, not yet. Just barely grazed the creature’s core with my last throw. It is wounded and thus is trying to escape and reform itself. I can ensure it will not leave this place, but before that I will need you to take your friend and make your escape from here as fast as you can.†He then turned back to regard the church, and his voice took on a different quality. It sounded colder, crueler, more vindictive. “And as for you, demonspawn. Run away, hide away, take your last stand. Nothing you do from this point on will make a difference. In the end, it always comes down to the Knights of the Cross to return filth to where they rightfully belong. Tonight, Raiha joins the hunt.â€
  8. A quick run down of things so far: Four relaxing years have passed since the defeat of Ezralda and subsequently the fall of almost all the Fairy Kingdoms. The world is slowly putting itself back together, complete transparency with the supernatural. A powerful Vampire whispered and known by names such as the Guardian of the Night, the Night Listener, the Savior of the world, has since disappeared. His whereabouts completely unknown to even his closest circle of friends and allies. It appears, however, that the world does not need him or his allies; there are no supernatural threats, Ezralda essentially neutered every powerful organization--good or bad. One thing doesn't add up though, and this one thing is the reason why none of them have rested since their battle with Ezralda. If the world is so seemingly peaceful, then how could the future unfold as disastrously as Arafel told them it would? The biggest worry on everyone's mind is where is Ryuzaki? Is this the start of the strange future that they are not present in? There is only one women and one man who has the answer to that question. Michael and Ariel plan on taking this secret to their graves, which hopefully is later rather than sooner. If Ryuzaki doesn't return, then they have but one future, one timeline to follow, one destiny. Alright so that's just a quick run down of where we'll be starting things off at! I'm trying to get the IC up and then I'll get my character sheets up here and whatnot. Go ahead and post a brief description of your faction and what they are about and stuff too.
  9. It had already been more than three weeks since Regalia, running out of resources on her own, went in search of those who might aid her in the search for her lost comrades. As such, she had formed a hodgepodge group of people, the only ones who would even do so much as to humor and join her. Whether for their own goals or not, Regalia didn't care if they were in the group to benefit themselves, or just kill time. Any help was welcomed as long as it brought her closer to her goal. Standing at the edge of a cliff which had they'd been directed to before leaving town, Regalia sighed. She looked about from the vantage point and knew very well there was nothing even remotely close to the Synth in this densely mountainous terrain. One male human, one female healer, and one obligatory man in robs that no one in the group was quite sure about. He didn't say much, aside from the occasional quip for laughs, usually for his own amusement and more than just occasionally. It was just about the only thing he did. With his hooded robe, and a half-face mask, the man was quite the mystery. Any attempt to speak of himself was quickly, and rather skillfully side stepped, though sometimes obvious. Regalia saw through it, but eventually stopped inquiring. It wasn't worth the time doing it herself anymore, especially when the other two prodded enough as it was. Still, the man didn't let on anything, save that his name was Tayel. He claimed to know the lay of the land quite well and, despite his rather shady personage, he was true to his word. Their trip to the peaks of the canyons were made much easier by his keen knowledge. Regalia finally stepped away from the edge, brushing her long silver hair back from where the wind had blown, and sat on a large boulder. Her voice, the resonant lilt softened by the wind, rang out on the harsh terrain as she spoke to her current companions. "Well, I don't believe we will find anything useful here. as far as I can tell, there wouldn't be any way to safely traverse this area even if we there was. That aside, I believe that the other side of these mountains is occupied by the demons. It wouldn't be a fantastic experience running into them during a search," she said, straightening the nomadic cloak idly. "It'd be something all right, having an encounter with them. But hey! If you wanna turn back here, we can always take a trip to Raxtin rather than going to Phaim. This mountain range is the dividing border after all," Tayel said, using his hands as he spoke to hid his knowledge that demons lived close by there as well. Regalia considered this. The names of countries and continents were all new to her, and even if she could see an old map of the area, she probably wouldn't be able to make any kind of real correlation because of the drastic changes. She looked over to the other two and asked, "What do you think? I've no problems if it leads me closer, but you might have conflicting thoughts about going out of the country." (Sorry about the obvious exposition. I didn't work very hard to cover it up or progress the story. Still figuring things out really.)
  10. Fanglor RP idea [Rating Pending]

    Hey guys, I've kinda come back and browsed a bit over the last month and I think I'm ready to start RPing again! So I'm looking for some fine people to write an RP based on my D&D world Fanglor. My aim here is to write something I could both use as part of my backstory for Fanglor as well as provide a nice setting for anybody interested in running it with me. I don't have an actual setting in mind just yet, which is why I am making this post the way I am and would like to discuss the details with people who might want to join in. I would be ok with running this RP with Students or Graduates. I have no preference and think it'd be great to help give anybody new a chance to jump in on the RP. I already have a bit of backstory designed for the world, but nothing too in depth. At the bottom I am including a link to a google document with what information about the world I do have. From there we can decide when, and where the RP will take place and what the plot of the RP will be. The theme is going to be Fantasy, and I want it to include some action, but not revolve around action. Again, the goal here is to help flesh out my world in a way that gets more people involved and creates a more dynamic history. Here is the link to the google document: If you are interested, leave a post in this thread, I will be checking it daily!
  11. Apocalyptic Utopia

    Apocalyptic Zombie Scene: The virus started like any other one you would see in the movies. It was February 2nd, 2016 and a day like no other shitty winter day. The new started to broadcast a nation wide alert, warning people to stay indoors and not to venture out to investigate why tornado sirens were going off and the small shake of bombs moving pictures on the shelves. Of course no dumb ass American will listen to the news because why? We are hard headed Americans that's why. The infection itself as developed by Nelson Trount, an egotistical maniac who listened to no one and wanted to create a war weapon against Germany because he was insane and wanted to begin war just to watch the whole world suffer. Of course he was the first person to be consumed by the virus when one of his lab technicians, Samual Lane- bless his soul for kill Nelson but damn him for killing the world, was showing it to Nelson and found the leg of a table in his way and the virus in his hand on Nelson's face, which turned into Nelson consuming Sameal's face in return. Now, the virus spread by bite first, then the blood in the sewers contaminated most water supplies and finally spread around the world. And from here you can probably guess what happened and how the world turned into a giant shit hole just like the movies. God, why do people not educate themselves with the film industry? "Hey Z! Which way we heading?" Spark radioed from the gas tanker driving behind me. "Yeah, Spark honestly needs to piss." Blaze spoke right after him from the same tanker but from the passenger seat. "Me and Ellie and absolutely craving a shower." Taliea's radio, still static filled entered the channel from the armory truck. "Baby, never say that word again.." Malik laughed his deep barrel laugh, filling my truck with a light vibration from the ambulance and medical truck. "Guys, We are heading west like we have been for two days. The next large city is only 37 miles out and we should hit it by high noon. We can find a hotel and get everything figured out there. and Blaze, quit with your twin mind shit, I do not need to know these things." I called back to the convoy filed behind me as I drove the lead truck towards the city of Lily, Indiana- a small town in the middle of the woods but big enough for all of us and small enough for only 20-30 zombie freaks. My convoy consists of the Twins, tow boys around the age of 19 or so that share some weird brain waves and drive the large tanker that holds the gas we use to fuel the trucks. Their unique names come from where we found them, lighting zombies on fire and watching the burn up. Blaze would douse them in gas and Spark would light the lighter to set them on fire. Taliea is 22 and is our lead weapons expert due to her military background and her love of shooting things. Ellie is a little girl we picked up a while ago in a warehouse filed with electronics an such which she found a way to connect to make a security system. She is brilliant for only being 12 years of age. Malik is our lead man in medical care and such due to him being one of those amazingly attractive black nurses you dream of having if you ever have to be admitted into a hospital, he's around 29 years old. I am the leader of this nice rag tag group due to me being someone who has seen the most horror movies and the one who got every single one of these bastards out of a shit storm of zombies or saved their life in some other way. I am Zoey Redbird, but most of the team just calls me Z for short. I am an expert with a sniper and throwing knives. This is my crew, and they are idiots but I love them I think, and we have been surviving this place for over 2 years together. Let's hope we can survive many more until this fucking world decides to get it's shit together. ( I am giving you free range to create a character of you liking and we can talk about how we can fit him or her into our roleplay. This can be romantic and sexual if preferred due to me liking both men and women. Once you have read everything and you have figured out your character you can share it with me and we can get the roleplay going. All I ask is that you are somewhat literate in english and can provide some type of detail to the posts we have. I am not expecting a novel nor a paragraph but I would like something more than just one word or something like that. If interested please let me know so I can get your info and give you time to develop! I also have reference photos as well. )
  12. The Midnight Court 5:45am The first signs of morning began to creep steadily past the broken window shutters of the hobble home. Marite Magdelinna Lanza lay asleep in her self-made bed of tattered sheets and hay. Her mind drifted through beautiful dreams of flowers and meadows, rivers and valleys. In her mind the sun was setting. Her eyes gazed down; she could almost feel the blades of grass on her feet as she slowly walked. Her hands outstretched on both her sides gently caressing the high blooming flowers all around her. Her vision came up and she glanced at the mysterious and vast meadow she found herself in. The image wasn't crystal clear like in reality. In her dream world it was almost as if she were moving through a painting. Soft lines and blurred colors danced all around her. Her attention moved farther up to the sky as the sun set and the giant other worldly moon took its place. The flowers seemed to melt away into the ground and she was left staring up at the night sky yet surrounded below in darkness. There was a muffled noise from behind her. She didn't understand why, but her mind quickly flooded with fear. It was impossible for her to will her sight to glance behind. The muffled noises grew louder, and more concerning, nearer. As she stood trembling the noises stopped. Mia began to relax until a voice quietly whispered into her ear. "You don't deserve these pretty things, you deserve nothing..." Mia turned around to see her mother standing inches from her and without another word she simply disappeared into fog, drifting up into the night sky. Suddenly she felt a strange sticky sensation on her feet. How had she not noticed this before? Mia looked down to horrifically find her feet and all the area around her drenched in blood. As she began to panic and walk backwards now her white dress was stained red, as well as her hands. She stumbled back and fell down. Her body sank slowly deeper and deeper into the blood soaked ground. Try as she might she could not escape until finally she took her last gasps of air as her face was submerged into the dark red liquid. 6:10am Mia awoke on her sheets slightly damp with sweat. It took her a few moments to get her breathing under control, but once she had she was able to take in the beautiful morning around her. She could hear baby birds chirping outside her window and the smell of fresh baked bread was just starting to waft in from the bakery attached to her home. She stood up quickly with a sigh of relief and examined herself and her 'bed', this would not do. A smile graced her face as Mia walked over to the window on her left. She cast open the shutters and dim morning light flooded into the room. The home was small, just this single room, but that was all Mia needed. She had moved into here recently after the death of her mother three months prior. She was experiencing a new sense of freedom now without her mother's rules to abide by, but also a lot more self reliance. The move had been quite easy for her, her previous home wasn't much bigger than the new room, but it had been a proper home with a small kitchen and fireplace. This new home was a small room attached to the back end of the local bakery. She managed to acquire the room rent free as long as she handled simple morning chores at the bakery such as bringing water from market and sweeping before bed. She even received stale bread for dinner after the bakery closed at night. The arrangement often seemed too good to be true. Mia had her suspicions that the Baker's wife had other reasons for keeping her around. Specifically, possibly, for her son Fernando. He was in his mid twenties and unwed. The man had a very pigish face, large protruding ears, sizable nose, and a double chin from clearly too much bread. The Baker family had been unsuccessful in acquiring any sort of marriage proposal that was advantageous for their status and his mother simply gave up trying to find one. The Baker's wife had set her sights to the future, it didn't matter the status, she simply needed to find her son a beautiful wife to produce beautiful grandchildren, whom then could make a better marriage. Mia fit the bill. Mia stood in front of the window for awhile admiring the new sun. The warm beams made her copper hair glow with fiery gold hues. Her moon-like grey eyes glistened as she viewed the new day with the wonder and excitement you might see in a child's eyes. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath of morning air before turning back around and hurriedly fixing up the place. She tidying some of her few belongings on a rocking chair in the corner and then set out some fresh clothes to wear. She looked back at the window making sure there weren't any on gazers before she let her sleeping dress fall from her shoulders to the ground. Her ivory skin was revealed to the daylight as Mia took a few moments stretching her arms up above her head. She got out an elegant cat like stretch before adorning her lower half with a white frilly, trouser-like garment that came to her knees. Next she threw a large white long sleeves chemise over her top frame. After that came a brown sleeveless dress and finally she loosely secured a dark brown corset with off white flowers around her waist. Mia ran a brush through her long hair quickly before turning abruptly to leave. Just as her hand touched the door knob it swung open all on its own. Staring back at her from across the entry way that lead to the bakery was her lovely landlady, the baker's wife. The short rotund woman looked Mia up and down sternly. Mia gave a sheepish apologetic smile and tried to get a word in, but before she could say anything the baker's wife had put up her hand to silence her. "Mia, my girl, this just will not do." The woman walked around to her back. "tsk tsk tsk. not at all" Mia attempted to turn and face her but the woman shoved her forward into the wall. "Put up your hands." "What?..but.." "You can not go out there in front of my Fernando without this blasted corset drawn properly..." Mia obediently put her hands up on the wall next to the door as the Baker's wife began to re-cinch her corset. As she tightened the garment Mia felt her lungs compress as some air was forced out of her. Her already small waist was made even tinier and her beautifully formed breasts were forced up creating an enticing amount of cleavage. When she was done Mia stood back up properly and turned around for the woman to see. She definitely looked better, her figure very alluring and sensual. The woman nodded at her handiwork. "Much better." her tone was very matter of fact. Mia quietly questioned, "May I go collect the water from market now?" The baker's wife looked up with a small frown as if Mia had rudely interrupted her thinking. She shook her hand shooing her out of the room. "Yes yes silly girl, but make sure you say good morning to my son on your way out." Mia was polite and simply curtsied and nodded. "Of course ma'am" She then quickly turned and dashed out of the room. Mia smiled as she greeted customers in the bakery. A couple people offered her a good morning which she delightfully replied back. She was finally through the shop and at the front door when she saw Fernando standing by the water pails. His eyes were irritated and glazed over; his demeanor could be best described as grumpy. Mia looked him up and down as he was unaware of her presence. It wasn't that she was only un-attracted to him, physical looks were something she could easily get past, but Fernando was also simply dull. She couldn't see a future with him at all. Mia took a little breath in, or at least as much as her corset would allow, and proceeded over. "Good morning Fernando! Isn't it a beautiful day?" Mia's lips curled into a beautiful smile as she approached him elegantly, her hands clasped together in front of her. Fernando scoffed at first, but then he glanced over at her and his eyebrows rose. "The day is bleak, it's much too early to be out of bed...mother insisted though. You are looking quite nice." He stood up a little straighter as if he could look impressive somehow. Mia ignored his comment about the morning and simply continued polite as ever, "I was just about to head out to market and fetch some water." Her eyes darted down to the buckets at his feet and back up as if she were asking for his assistance. At first Fernando appeared to look confused, but as the idea dawned on him, he quickly snatched up the buckets and handed them to her. "Oh. Yes. That... of course." He grumbled. Then as she reached to take them from him he continued, "I could accompany you to the market if you wish." A cheesy grin spread across his face not hiding at all how clever he thought himself. This was not something Mia wanted to deal with this morning so she took the buckets and began to walk backwards. As she walked she hurriedly came up with excuses. " Fernando... I would not dream of troubling you with this. You look exhausted still, get some more rest instead. I will be back in a little while." Mia hurried away down the cobblestone road before Fernando could argue. Instead he simply shrugged his shoulders and headed back inside the bakery. "I should get some more sleep," He mumbled to himself. 8:00am Mia had returned from market with her water pails full. She had happily delivered them to the Baker before running off to her other job across town. When she had begun to understand the baker's wife's intentions she had immediately looked for another job. If she could muster up enough money to pay her landlord's rent, then she wouldn't feel as bad turning down Fernando's proposal. She now stood outside her second job. Carved into the front door of the large home was the name Strozzi. Mia stood outside and looked over the facade of the estate. It was massive to her, the gorgeous architecture was breathtaking. She took a step towards the main door but stopped when she heard someone call her to the right. Mia turned to see a woman poking out of a side door to the estate. "Girl are you crazy? The help does not walk in through the front door! Come here!" Mia looked back at the front entry way and then quickly walked over to the side where the other woman stood. The woman moved so the Mia could walk inside and as she did the door was gently closed behind her. "What is your name child?" " Marite Magdelinna'am..." She gave a little bow, but the woman didn't wait before speaking. "Ah, yes yes. This way, we needed new staff to deal with the sick girl." "Sick?" Mia questioned. "Yes, sick. Miss Aurelia Strozzi has grown quite ill. Poor thing. The Condottiero didn't want to risk any of his trusted staff getting sick so we will be needing your assistance until she passes." This news didn't make Mia feel very well at all. Only a couple months ago she had watched her own mother go through the same thing. At least she knew what to expect. They walked through the tiny hallways and up a couple flights of stairs. Then they passed through doors which lead into a much wider and grand hallway. The woman closed the door behind Mia. Mia now understood that the confined web of hallways and stairs that they had been walking in previously were the servant's chambers. This area must be the actual estate. As they walked down to the far room Mia was entranced by the suits of armor and wonderful paintings that adorned the wall. "This is Miss Aurelia's room." The woman shoved some fresh sheets she had been carrying into Mia's arms. "Change her bed, empty her chamber pot, fix it up nice, and keep the sweet thing company. If you need me I'll be back down in the hidden areas." Mia nodded and squeaked out a meek, "alright" before she was left by herself. She then entered the room. The overall feeling in the air was just depressing. Aurelia lay in bed with the sheets pulled up high. Her skin was tinted a bit green and her lips looked icy. The girls jet black hair was strewn all about untidy and beads of sweat trailed down her forehead. Mia noted how similar she looked to her mother. It wouldn't be long now, only a matter of days. There were two other people in the room, but Mia thought it best to immediately tend to her duties. She placed the clean sheets down and began to clean the room. One was a man, probably in his late forties. Despite his age he appeared to be very strong, tall, and fit. His grey hair only made him appear more respectable. His features were dark and sharp. He glanced over at Mia, but then continued his conversation as if she didn't exist. "As you can see the situation is quite unfortunate." His voice boomed out to the woman who stood by Aurelia's bed. Mia noted her immaculate beauty. She had raven black hair that matched the sick girl beneath her, but her's was pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a gown made of swan's feathers atop her golden skin. Her eyes stared down at her sister drowning in sadness. "Have you contacted the doctor I told you of... the Sicilian?" She questioned and looked back at her father. "Yes, but he won't be able to get here in time. She will be gone by the end of the week." His reply was cold, almost irritated. The woman reached her hand out a few inches from Aurelia's face. "NO!" The Condottiero's voice commanded and the woman retracted her hand quickly looking back at him. "It's already a tragedy that I won't be able to set up a proper suitor for your sister at the Masquerade the Medici's are hosting tonight. I don't need you getting sick as well. You've already proven to be barren to your husband, so many disappointments Octavia." She didn't seem mad or upset by his words, instead she coolly replied, "Perhaps he is the one who is sterile. I haven't heard of any whispers about his whores producing a child." This brought a smile to her father's face. "Yes, well, I assume you would have that taken care of even if you had heard a rumor." Octavia returned the smile. "Father, you presume too much." Octavia then sauntered over to a gorgeous silver gown that was hanging by the dresser. Mia looked up and momentarily stopped cleaning. The Condottiero spoke once again before Octavia had a chance to touch the gown. "Your sister tried it it's most likely infected. Such a shame, it cost me a small fortune." His cold eyes then looked to Mia. "Girl, take this gown to the garbage heap. Have it burned." Mia looked shocked as if he had just asked her to jump out the window. The Condottiero's face looked even more unpleasant than before now. "Can you hear me or are you daft? I said take the gown and leave!" "Yes sir, of course!" Mia replied and grabbed the gown before quickly retreating from of the room.
  13. Another average day had gone by quietly and peacefully for Yang Quan, a convenience shop owner in Fabletown. The place itself was far from paradise. Noisy, corrupt by gangs and organised crime, not to mention that not a single one of the people living there behaved like regular humans. Well, you can take the monster out of the forest, and so on, he guessed. Or maybe that's as much as their glamour could do for them. Luckily for him, he attracted no attention. There was much still left of the length of his existence and he wanted to spend it away from the chaos of the world. After closing up the shop, he retired to the apartment just above it. It was a quaint little place, old and worn out by time but with some care it was home. He logged onto his computer to hopefully lose himself in the internet, when a curious site caught his eye. There was a girl on his desktop, messing with his files and programs. The thought that it might be some kind of advanced virus worried him, as the possibility of one destroying his entire hard drive was not something he wanted to allow. He opened his antivirus to begin a scan, and then, hopefully, a quick purge.
  14. The first rays of dawn spread across The Seer. The sound of waves crashing against her, day and night, never quite faded to the back of the mind, but the inexperienced crew found themselves getting used to it. Most were asleep below deck, leaving only a few to see to the ship's operation: the navigator squinted through the morning sun, a few riggers sat dozing while they awaited orders, and Corine Selwyn climbed to the crow's nest. She leaned against the guard rail and wiped a calloused hand against her brow. The chill of morning did little to cool her from the night's work. It had been her duty to board up leaks, check the integrity of the sails, direct the riggers, make sure the riggers didn't fall, and continually write reports that crewmen lacked the knowledge to write themselves. Still, she smiled as she looked to the horizon; the journey would soon be over, and then the real job would begin. She decided to give the ship one quick, final look over before getting some sleep. She closed her eyes, knelt down and placed both hands palm-down on the boards of the crow's nest. Starting with the bow and working back, she felt with her mind for any areas in need of repair. From her perspective, the world was hazy, colors lacked definition, and she could feel each creaking board and wave against the hull. Finding nothing out of place from her last inspection, she stood and opened her eyes. For a moment, she thought she imagined it. She blinked and held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. There was no mistaking what she saw in the distance; they must have been further ahead of schedule than she thought. A grin crossed her face. “Land ho!†she shouted.
  15. Welcome To The Jungle A Mini-RP Rules of Mini-RPs No character sheets, no indication of interest required. If you like the story, just jump in with any character you wish.There will be no OOC thread for this RP. All OOC chat will be enclosed in square boxes [like this] either before or after your IC post.If your character dies, you may enter with another character at any time.RP posts are limited to a maximum of 400 words for Graduates only. Students can write as long as they wish. This is to encourage shorter and more frequent posts!For Students, posts below 300 words cannot be used as part of your Graduation attempt.Post often and have fun!The Story So Far Contrary to popular belief, the world didn't come to an end at the end of 2012. In fact, that Mayan prophecy hadn't even predicted the end of the world to begin with; quite a few long-dead astronomers must have been spinning in their graves. However, what the prophecy had predicted was the end of an era and a transition to the next. Well, that actually happened. At first, the change was nearly imperceptible. Just a few isolated incidents of animals disappearing, inexplicable tremors, out-of-season weather and the like. However, as the portents increased in frequency and more and more strange things came crawling out of the woodwork, the truth began to emerge -- there was more than just a grain of truth to the tall tales of magic and monsters in mankind's collective memory. Magic and the supernatural were indubitably, sometimes terrifyingly real, something made all too clear when a botched assassination attempt revealed the newly-elected governor of California to be a dragon in disguise. Something had been keeping the influence of the supernatural from influencing human society, but it seems to have failed, giving supernatural beings -- now dubbed the Others -- free rein to enter the world. The world's governments responded swiftly, leading to the establishment of the Thulsson Foundation, an international paramilitary organization dedicated to monitoring, and if need be, eliminating Others. The year is now 2015. The Thulsson Foundation has recently started offering considerable rewards for subduing dangerous Others deemed a threat to humanity, with lethal force if need be. Unbeknownst to the unsuspecting directors of the Foundation, most their new recruits are actually Others as well, and a good portion of the remainder are receiving help from them. Well, takes a crook to catch a crook, I guess. Character Guidelines: - The tech level's around that the present day, but the appearance of the Others has hastened development in many fields of technology, most notably the ones that help kill people better. Fancy sci-fi gizmos like bionics, energy weapons, artificial intelligence and giant self-aware death robots with energy weapons are starting to enter production in limited quantities. - The Others are a catch-all term for any being with a connection to the supernatural – everything from human psychics and wizards to more inhuman creatures like vampires, were-creatures or other otherworldly beings are categorized as Others. Basically, just about anything goes when it comes to characters. Provided you aren't, like, the Corpse-God of All That Is Unholy Made Flesh or something blatantly story-breaking like that. For simplicity, Others based on mythology have most of the strengths and weaknesses associated in them in myth (e.g. Vampires lose their powers in sunlight). Others of non-human stock lived in an alternate magical world until 2012, when the force barring their return was removed. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The skyscraper that housed the regional headquarters of the Thulsson Foundation was a stark modern edifice of steel and glass, an environment that made Luke feel terribly ill at ease. He would have been far happier amidst the rolling hills and pastoral tranquillity of home, far from this ugly, chaotic, cacophonic jungle of soulless concrete, swarming commuters and cold iron; still, a job was a job. You couldn’t fill your stomach on warm, fuzzy nostalgia after all. He approached the door of the Director’s Office and knocked, and unbidden, the doors swung open on their own, beckoning him into the office. “Good afternoon, Mr… O’Brien? Is that how I should address you?†A congenial-looking middle-aged man in an immaculate suit addressed him. Franz Stroheim, the regional director of the Thulsson Foundation, humanity’s best hope against the Others. Kinda shorter than I expected, though. “Luke will do,†he said with a smile as he shook the man’s extended hand; it felt slightly cold to the touch. “Pleased to meet you.†“Have a seat. Let’s get down to business, shall we?†Franz said, gesturing at the chair placed before his desk. “There’s an Other I’d like you to kill. A vampire by the name of Anton Witiezslav. He’s a local crime kingpin, but the police can’t lay a hand on him even if they tried. He’s probably bled dry almost a hundred people by now.†“How refreshingly straightforward,†Luke replied. “Sounds like a tall order even for me. A hundred people, really?†“Which is why you won’t be doing it alone,†Franz said reassuringly, patting him on the shoulder. “A number of other… operators have expressed interest as well; my sources tell me they’re every bit as qualified as you are. They should be arriving at the reception hall downstairs around now.â€
  16. The nights in Anna Mizo are stiflingly hot and its affects are strange on the people here. Babes are restless. The maids spill the milk. The husbands eyes wanders. The wives remain in bed, motionless. Some walk aimless around the small island, bumping into one another in dark, and sudden splashes of crimson permeate the air. Something sounds upon the ground. The birds scream in the trees and the ocean remains quiet. "I have given up on this pathetic human experience," someone calls from the midst of dark, and the birds do not scream, but they weep. The clouds are a blushing gray and ash falls from them — the winds, yes, the winds, lift the dew from grass. They drop blood into the sea. It is a clean, empty process, of earth cleaning its children, sweeping them into disuse. Orchids grow from them—spilled ichor, red earth—and spread pollen. The air is always thick and heavy with ocean and cedar musk and vanilla. The wind quietens and the neighbors crumble into hysterics, the walls are bathe in their blood. There are quick successions of suicide rates. The sounds of miniature thunder sounds — and then, the rains come. They come in heavy sounds. I digress: the winds pick up and the rains are swept like music — the husbands, they roam the island with cocks hard with temptation and the maids creamy buttocks are lifted towards their eyes. The wives say nothing and the babies scream with the birds. It seems it is all is inevitable. While they are filled to the brim in abject loneliness and celebrated angst, I become lost in the rushing scenery, of verdant trees washed white from moonlight. Here, in the low dark, in the summer monsoon, there are minutes where a nomad seduces, the linger of finger in the inside shelter of thighs, a savage grunt of satisfaction, there are hours where a man becomes a beast, where soft flesh like cream parts for the red sea of blood, and his prey slumps into a slumber less sweet than their fucking. It has been three years, since a woman, mauled, half-naked, her spine white and gleaming in moonlight, had been found. Who you are is important enough. A detective from the states, transferred to the island hidden in the fog of the Atlantic, to escape the horror of your last case. Whatever haunts you will not find reprieve in this quiet, sea-burdened community; you'll find there are plenty of washed bones of disquieted ghosts. Genre: Mature, Adult, Horror, Preternatural, Realistic, Dark, and Freeform. Other: Any gender requested. Your character: I have no present silhouette of how I expect your character to behave or appear, but they are creative, witty, and erotic. There are many variations available in the plot. I have constructed it without tight confines for the reason I wish for you to have equal input. Though, there are a few givens: the first, there is supernatural element to my character; they are much different from those around. This holds dark overtones as the interaction is physical and extensive. I expect there to be perverse comments, biting commentary, and incongruous collaborations between them. Specifics: Plotwise, set in Anna Mizo, an imaginary island who's flowers, referred to as Blood Orchids, often cause residents to hallucinate. They appear as lillies with soft round ends. You, being new to the island, are suspectible to its effects. Our characters cross paths for the first time, at the edge of the forest. There is something settling about my character to your human senses - a secret, a curse, you will have an unfortunate experience with. Skeleton: (should include the following in detail) Name ☾ Age ☾ Bio ☾Quirks ☾[1 ]Photograph ☾Opening Post ☾Theme Song
  17. gethsemane

    Humans have reached their modernity. Among the billions, some dare to live upon the thesis no superior power exists; your prophets, your patrons, your prayers are all rallied in indignation that you are much too blind to see. The earth is ready to expunge your filth, it’s womb has been gifted and encapsulated enough blackened corpses. Time is coming to close. It beats in the tensile silence of routine, in the rapid building of civilization and its quicker end. For millennium sleep has escaped and I have watched, the comings and goings of souls evaporated to the spectrum drop. Some return to the suffering time and time again, in a perpetual loop unable to atone for transgressions. Your kind believes in forgiveness and divine favor, in the intervention of a holy messiah to deliver you into new Eden, even as you scrounge lives in hypocrisy. But no more. The entire atmosphere is humming. Avatars are awakening and committing acts entrusted by the often twisted Harvesters that seduce them. It is almost inspiring, the complete ruin they have reckless ventured inside, the sheer ecstasy that consumes them in raging bursts of violet and violence. They are each a creation made desiccated in separation and disgustingly wonderful amalgamated. Soon this hum will be a cacophony of drums and sirens. Angels will not descend from heaven agoras to preserve the flawed art that is your world, and demons--even for as envious and wanton as made—will not claw for your husks. They are weeping for their own existence, they are foolish in their naïve hope that will be spared this annihilation. If you listen close, stop the petty squabble over technology warfare and hushed the echo of fire, you can hear the thrum, can feel me at the edge of the veil, filled with hunger and all the desire that has been denied of me. I have watched for millennium, always waiting in some semblance of patience for you to hurry along in your ignorance closer to my reach. Finally you have come and finally you will be undone.​ “And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind†Revelations 6.13​ ​ The details: Apocalypse is now –or rather perched on the edge of becoming reality. Famine is slowly unwinding his influence. The Horsemen have felt the tug of duty to play their part in the final interim—we, however, are only concerned with one. Death, the first glimpsed and the last to deliver. And you, my sweet darling, are a mere human. Oblivious to the melody of destruction strung, until you are touched by his presence. There you will become his vessel, his weapon, his ambrosia, a harbinger to the world you once loved. Specifics: Plotwise, set in Israel in an imaginary city called Yedin-Kaseil–famed for baring a cobble-square said to be stained with blood of the Messiah. Here residents are currently at religious war with two other sects: Christianity and Druzeist. You don’t need to know anything at all about religion, biblical text, or be from the region, but supply a detailed account of how your character arrived here. Skeleton: (should include the following in detail)Name ☾ Age ☾ Bio ☾Quirks ☾Physical Description ☾ [1]Photograph/[1]Realistic Digital Art ☾Opening Post ☾Theme Song
  18. NC-17 Taken

    Taken (Continued) Crystal strained herself to sit up straight and glanced at her body, realizing only now that she’d fallen asleep in full battle armor. For the first time since the war had begun, Crystal smiled and even laughed just a little at how absurd they looked. “I guess you’re right. Maybe we should take a shower…â€Crystal paused, unsure of what Storm would think of that suggestion. He didn’t like water, even if it was her water. She’d also thought before that moment that she would be comfortable with it. After losing Storm though, she knew that he was the only one for her. She didn’t want to leave his side for even a moment right now either. She couldn’t help but feel a tightness in her chest at the thought that he was almost lost forever though, and it was only with deep breaths and self-control that she managed to hold back more tears.
  19. Lionel hit the ground running. Above him, lightning arced across the night sky, causing the air to crackle with energy in the aftermath of the spell. Lionel cursed, ducking into another abandoned alleyway as he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps across the brick rooftops behind him. Lightning magic was a very efficient way to kill someone - fast, lethal and nearly undodgeable. So far, he had gotten off from the fact that the man had terrible aiming, especially under the cover of darkness, but he doubted that fate would be so kind to him for much longer. Since when has fate been kind to you? Nala'hedriel scoffed. He discarded the staff he'd been carrying around - his disguise had been blown anyway. Peeking out of his corner, Lionel took a moment to make sure that the road was clear before dashing out once again, heading towards one of the many safehouses he had arranged in this town... But once again he felt a familiar tingling sensation across his skin, allowing him to narrowly avoid the bolt of lightning that shot past his right elbow. His hunter stood behind him as he spun around, fingers extended out in a handgun-esque gesture as a grin extended from his grizzled face. "Checkmate, Zero." The spell-hunter fired another bolt of lightning. Darkness leapt from the shadows around Lionel, throwing themselves in front of him, attracted by the sudden burst of magical energy. The lightning bolt hit the wall of darkness squarely in the middle, striking with all the force needed to smash straight through a concrete wall - and vanished in a burst of blue light. The shadows fell away, revealing Lionel's grim expression as he stared back at his assailant. "Yes, checkmate," he replied. "For you." Lionel crossed the distance between them in an instant, but the spell-hunter was skilled. He drew his sword, swinging it with swift, expert strikes directed at Lionel's neck. He must have been some sort of fencing master, Lionel decided, barely moving out of the way each time the sword came darting forwards, while the spell-hunter moved back, maintaining arms-length distance between them. Lunge, step, slash, step. It was all like a carefully choreographed dance between the two of them, but the uncertainty soon began to show on the spell-hunter's face. Obviously, he wasn't used to having his prey put up so much resistance at close range. It's the superspeed, Nala'hedriel drawled. It always gets them, every time. His defense faltered for a split second, but it was enough. Lionel sent a punch into his gut, causing him to flinch and recoil backwards. He grabbed the man's sword arm and gave it a sharp twist; the weapon fell to the ground after a cry of pain. A punch to the face, a strike in the chest, and the man was sent reeling onto the ground. Three ribs broken, Lionel noted. He'll have difficulty breathing. He bent down, grabbing the spell-hunter by his collar as he lifted the man up face to face. "Who sent you?" Lionel snarled. "How do you know the name Zero?" The spell-hunter laughed, a hearty laugh that caused him to cough up a bubble of blood. "Your past haunts you, homunculus. You will never be free of it." Something shifted within the man as he continued laughing, his head lolling back at the sky. Lionel threw him onto the ground by reflex, shadows flying to his arms... But no magical assault came. The man continued his hysterical laughter as his flesh began to melt away, sizzling under the influence of his own spell until there was nothing left of the man except his skeleton. And the sinister black pendant that lay inside. The Circle of Dead. Lionel Descartes woke up with a gasp. Dancing with Death A private RP between TriOctium and Ice. Cold sweat rolled down Lionel's forehead as he pushed himself out of bed, groaning. A bowl of water with a towel had been prepared on the table, and he gratefully used it to wipe his face as last night's dream continued to play over and over in his head. Dreams are a privilege, he reminded himself, remembering the days when he had spent each night in utter silence, his body resting yet not fully asleep. Even so, being haunted by events that happened months ago was nothing to scoff about, and it took Lionel a few moments to calm his nerves down. What's the matter, chuckles? Nala'hedriel asked. Had a bad night? "Nothing for you to be concerned about," he muttered in response. For all their mind-reading abilities, Lionel had learned early on that T'Skarin were notably unable to share dreams with their hosts. It was one of the many strange things about his 'symbiotic' relationship with Nala'hedriel, the T'Skarin Prince of Shadows. Judging by the sunlight, it was time for him to set off. He threw on a cloak and his pair of sandals, grabbed his cane lying by the bedside and left the room for breakfast. The Dancing Sword Inn was a quiet place in the mornings, a sharp contrast with the noisy scene it had been last night. One of the tables was still lying on the floor in the far corner, broken glass all around it. Lionel ignored that scene, taking his seat near the bar instead as Zoraida came out with a hunk of bread and a flagon of wine. "You don' look too well, son," the middle-aged barmaid commented. "You feelin' alright?" "I'm alright. Thanks for asking." Lionel took a large bite out of the bread, then winced at the stale taste. "Well, if you say so." Zoraida took a look around the mostly empty inn before leaning closer to his ear. "Did you hear? The Baron's been killed. In his own castle, too!" Lionel choked slightly on his beer, putting down the flagon slowly. "Last night?" Zoraida nodded with a serious expression on her face. "There's been a big hassle in the morning. Mageknights coming here from the capital an' everything. I was quite surprised when you didn't wake up from all the ruckus!" Lionel's stomach turned. He hadn't had many good experiences with mageknights, the so-called defenders of the common folk. But a Baron being assassinated... that was big news. And perhaps too much of a coincidence. Satisfied that she had shared the news, Zoraida glided back into the kitchen, leaving Lionel alone with his thoughts. ... A small crowd had already gathered before the Baron's castle, though none dared to attempt to push past the line of mageknights that had been formed around the main entrance. Their efforts were mostly futile; at this distance there was absolutely nothing to look at, except perhaps the castle's wonderfully kept garden of flowers. Lionel made his way around the boundary, passing by several more mageknights stationed along the west wall before he reached a more secluded spot. The only reason why no guards were positioned here was because a humongous wall, towering nearly three metres in height, blocked the way into the castle. Lionel knelt down, feeling around at the base of the wall. Within seconds he located the alarm spell that would have triggered should anyone actually succeed in vaulting over the wall, and sent the tiniest bit of his own shadow into the magic circuitry as it fizzled and died out. Not enough to cancel the spell permanently, but enough to stop it for a minute or two. Stepping back, he took a deep breath before performing a running jump - soaring just high enough to land feet-first on top of the wall. And with that, he was in. His landing was softened by the grass underfoot, and he quickly moved into one of the side doors as he made his way deeper into the castle. Voices echoed across the empty hallways, its premises having been vacated because of its owner's death. Lionel moved past a large dining hall, ducking out just in time as a clanking mageknight in white armor marched past, then slipping behind him and continuing towards the Baron's bedroom. He'd only been here once before, through the same way. But the layout of the castle was easy to remember, and Lionel found himself tracing the same steps he had made all those weeks ago. Just as he got into one of the waiting rooms, he felt cold steel press against his neck. "Don't move, Lionel." The voice was very familiar. Lionel put up his hands in surrender, allowing himself to be pushed against the wall and turned around to face the newcomer: a messy-haired Inquisitor with a sharp nose and a blade in each hand. "Fancy meeting you here, Jarrod," Lionel greeted with a nervous laugh. "I knew they were going to put an Inquisitor on the case. But I didn't expect them to send you." Jarrod didn't have the optimistic smile Lionel remembered from five years ago. His face looked grizzled, more hardened by recent events. "You shouldn't have come here, Lionel. I was hoping it wasn't you... but you being here is only going to implicate you in matters further." Lionel raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I was the one who killed the Baron?" Jarrod didn't answer, simply staring straight at him for a moment. Then, with a great sigh, he lowered his sword from his neck, sheathing it slowly. "No, you don't have any reason to go around killing Barons. At least, not that I've discovered," the Inquisitor explained, slowly pacing around the room. "But that still isn't enough to stop you from being my prime suspect." "Why? Why am I the prime suspect?" "Because the assassin canceled the Baron's magic."
  20. The town was ablaze. The epicenter, the place where the old temple had once stood, was a scene of pandemonium -- rather apropos, considering what had started the mess in the first place. Though it was a moonless night, the overcast sky glowed a dull red like embers in a dying flame, the clouds reflecting the light of the fires blazing down below. Smoke trails spiraled skywards, filling the air with choking soot and ash, and the ground was treacherous, rent apart by scores of yawning fissures and strewn with piles of rubble and the occasional charred corpse. Despite this, three figures continued forging their way down the street, unperturbed by the carnage that surrounded them. They would have seemed out of place anywhere else -- they weren't so much humans as they were heroes of myth and legend somehow transplanted into the modern world. Leading them was a knight in gleaming armor, an imposing figure encased from head to toe in burnished pearl-white plates of steel. Following closely behind was a tall, lanky man in a billowing duster, a heavy battleaxe resting upon one shoulder. And finally, bringing up the rear from several paces away was a woman with a rifle, her gear rustling near-inaudibly as she picked her way through the rubble with measured strides. Finally, the trio came to a halt below the ruined gate of the temple, gazing across the scorched flagstones at the figure awaiting them. She was alone and unarmed, though the mass of swirling darkness behind her could have concealed any number of unseen enemies. After a quick exchange of gestures and words, they readied themselves for battle -- then, the world around them erupted into chaos. The sniper was the first to fall, her rifle arm blown clean off by a crackling lance of blindingly-white light. As she fell to her knees, her eyes wide with shock, the shadows around her abruptly shifted, and she was dragged off screaming into the darkness by dozens of wickedly sharp talons. The lanky man surged forwards with a shout, cutting down each shadowy creature that surged forwards to face him with a single blow of his battleaxe. However, as he got closer, the hordes of demonspawn pouring forth from the darkness only seemed to grow in number, and finally, just meters from the witch standing before him, one of the creatures' claws tore through his back, and immediately, he vanished within a growing pile of jet-black bodies. He had bought enough time, however. Even as he fell, his last surviving companion advanced forwards, the witch's energy bolts glancing off the armor plate. Then, a shot slammed into the knight's helmet, tearing it off and revealing the face of a young woman below it. The woman grimaced briefly, then charged forward with renewed vigor, slamming into the witch as she drove the tactical knife in her mail-clad hand through her opponent's rib cage. "This ends here, witch," she spat, putting her weight behind the knife and slamming her enemy to the ground. Then, her free hand wrapped around the other woman's head as her fingertips began to glow with a pale light. "Checkmate." The witch merely laughed hoarsely through blood-speckled lips. "Yes... it's checkmate, alright." she rasped as the light in her eyes slowly faded. "Milord... The final sacrifice is here." With those parting words, the witch was no more. Slowly, the knight turned her head upwards to look into the mass of roiling darkness before her -- and a dozen eyes the color of molten iron gazed back. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Erin Lafayette's eyes abruptly snapped open as she choked back a gasp. Slowly, her eyes panned across her surroundings, and she let out a sigh of relief -- her surroundings were reassuringly familiar. She was still in bed, surrounded by the organized chaos of her room -- a large, goofy-looking teddy bear on one side of her bed missing one of its beady button eyes, a jumbled pile of magazines with far too many shirtless men on the covers, the morning sunlight filtering through the Venetian blinds on the window, a red plastic alarm clock reading '7.11' on its luminous analogue dial and other assorted detritus. Phew. Looks like it was just a dream, then- Her gaze slowly swiveled back to the alarm clock. 7.11. There's no mistaking it. It says 7.11. No, wait. 7.12 now. There was a sudden, awful moment of clarity. Oh shit, I might be late for school. ... "Coming up after the break: an exclusive interview with Kagutsuchi-san, owner of the 'genius cat' who passed the Turing Test-" *click* Erin, now fully dressed and ready for school, sighed as she put the remote control down. Father really was irresponsible -- he'd not only left the TV on when he'd left, he'd left all the breakfast dishes in the sink with a little Post-It note saying "I trust that any child of mine will do their share of the family chores!" on the fridge. He even drew a smiley face on it. He leaves me this note, and completely neglects to... well, actually wake me up before he leaves? Dad... you're kind of a dick. She shrugged, stepping out of the door and locking it behind her. Never mind that; it was her first day in high school, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to be late. ... It didn't take long for her to reach school, and thankfully, she'd managed to make it with a minute or two to spare. Then again, running the whole distance wasn't even that hard; even when her Demon Reaper was dematerialized, its invigorating effects seemed to linger on her. She strode purposefully onward, following the crowd of students towards the hall. Then, she felt a touch on her shoulder. Almost instinctively, she snapped to attention, a faint flicker of bluish light passing between the fingertips of her left hand as she readied her Demon Reaper for summoning. Who'd attack in broad daylight like that?! "My, my! Your tie's crooked," a tall, serious-looking girl with straight, waist-length black hair remarked to Erin, leaning in a little too close for her liking. "Thanks. I'll go fix it," she muttered and continued walking at the same brisk pace, fumbling clumsily with her tie and leaving the other girl in the dust. "S-she didn't even call me senpai..." the heartbroken girl nearly sobbed, staring at the rapidly receding silhouette of the girl who had shattered her romantic illusions. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ After dozing off through the interminable enrollment speeches that marked the start of the school year, Erin headed down to the classroom she'd been assigned to -- Class 1-C, a room on the third floor overlooking the track. She strolled over to the back of the class and slumped onto one of the chairs, idly glancing at the other students as they took their seats and settled. Is it just me, or does that other blonde girl next to me look a little unhinged? She idly thought as she reached into her bag, pulling out and stuffing a few books under her table. "GOOD MORNING~" A voice boomed out from the door as a distressingly familiar face practically pranced in. Oh, for the love of... why does the homeroom teacher have to be him? Her adoptive father, known to everyone as Mr. Lavalley, was... eccentric-looking, to say the least. He spent a frankly unwarranted amount of time every morning making sure his mustache was trimmed to micrometer precision, perpetually wore a pressed white suit (paired with a truly ghastly bow tie for whatever reason) with a blithe disregard of climate and fashion, and was seemingly never seen without his checkered top hat. When she'd asked why he kept dressing like that, he unfailingly replied that it was okay, since he was a foreigner. Erin found that frankly unlikely -- like her adoptive father, she had partially foreign blood too; she was pretty damn sure dressing like a period drama reject was not okay. "Salutations to you, Class 1-C! I am Giles Lavalley, the school's one and only foreign languages teacher, and I'll be your homeroom teacher this year!" he announced, scribbling his name upon the chalkboard in katakana. "Since I don't know most of you, I'd like you all to give a short introduction about yourselves in initiative... I mean, in alphabetical order. First up, Akagi!" There was a brief pause, and then a mousy-looking brown-haired girl at the front stood up, introducing herself with some trepidation. ... "Ibuki!" A short, bespectacled girl stood up, frantically yelped out her name and something about liking dogs before sitting back down. "Katsuragi!" A boy with a pompadour stood up, declaring that he wanted to become a banker someday. "Kurosawa!" No response. Looks like they were absent. "Lafayette!" With a little trepidation, Erin stood up, cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She began, "Hello, I'm Erin-" "- Lafayette, my very own adorable adoptive daughter!" Mr. Lavalley abruptly declared; Erin froze, her gaze focusing onto a particularly interesting part of the floor. "She likes Italian food, long walks in the countryside and drawing stuff that she refuses to show anyone! Also, just a heads up to all of you boys here...and girls, I guess... she's totally, perfectly eligible!" Immediately, the class broke out into tittering and guffaws, and Erin groaned, putting a palm to her forehead. This is going to be a long, long year.
  21. CLOSED Gods Among Us

    It was meant to be a lazy day. Lana had planned to make this one Sunday in Spring a very relaxing and easy day. She had no work from anyone and was happy about it. Rather than her usual 8:00 A.M. wake up call, Lana slept in until 10:00. Instead of a rushed morning to get her schedule together and make sure everything was laid out, she moved form her bedroom to the kitchen, fixed a bowl of cereal, the to the living room where she clicked on the TV. Clad in her Pajamas and curled up on the couch, she began her day just the way she wanted. No responsibility and no worries. Around eleven Lana finally crawled from the comfort of her plaid couch and shuffled to the bathroom. Stripping down, she hopped in the shower and let the water run over her bare skin. Onto her neck, cascading down her breasts and back, and rushing down her legs to meet the bottom of the shower the water went. She shampoo and conditioned her hair, then washed her body, getting all the places one might miss while not paying attention. After that, she just let the water wash over her until she could feel her hands getting too prune'y for her liking. Lana turned the water off and the silence that followed was ever soothing. After grabbing a towel and drying her hair and body as best she could, Lana wrapped it around her to cover her body then waltzed lazily to her closet where her outfits awaited use from day to day. Rather than something suited for a party or maybe business affairs, Lana chose a pair of khaki shorts that stopped just short of the knees, and a V-neck colored red with the words I'm not lazy, I simply enjoy doing nothing printed across the front. Next came socks and shoes, which had clearly been worn down from use. "All right! I'm finally gunna enjoy a nice Spring day with no destination for once," she stated aloud, daring anyone to object. Double checking everything was turned off and her door was locked, Lana left her apartment with a spring in her step and a body of vigor. She went off down the street of the city and, without destination, walked endlessly under the warmth of the sun that burned in the cloudless sky. Everything was going much better than she'd thought on her day off. No one had even dialed her cell to ask her to come for work or even to just hangout. It was a lovely day up until noon of course. Lana had stepped into one of the largest shopping centers in the city of Konell for lunch. It was one of those multistory shopping malls that have way more shops that any one other place. Standing in line to order Chinese food, the whole of the building shook as an explosion rocked through it. With the food courts on and upper floor and being full of people, it was the perfect target for an attack. Masked groups rushed, a motley bunch of people, and with the aid of Celestians they took control of the building. Those who tried to escape were captured and thrown back into being hostages, and any who stood to fight were met with vicious assault by the various beasts that aided the enemy. Lana's day went from being perfect to a tragedy in a matter of minutes. After the chaos of the explosion and attacks subsided it was obvious who held control, and they wasted no time either. "Listen here. You are all hostages now. Don't talk, don't cry, don't shout. Just shut the fuck up and do whatever we command. If you try to escape we'll catch you and make and example of your body. If you try to attack us we'll kill you. Simple as that. Now just sit tight and hope your military is willing to cooperate," the man who seemed to have the most authority stated. Lana noted that, while most of them had Celestians at their beck and call, the enemy also held automatic rifles and likely explosives based on their display from before. Why did my day have to turn out like this. Even if I wanted to save everyone it'd be a hassle to get through so many of them. Damn all you bastards! While thinking to herself, sirens from far below could be heard as the first appearance of help was made. Lana sighed heavily and chose to sit tight for time being. If push comes to shove she could at least escape herself. That much wasn't a grand feat, but maybe the military would be able to play it out smoother than she could alone. Next time I have a day off I'm just staying in and ordering take out she told herself while leaning against the wall they'd been pushed against for easy holding.
  22. I really liked Fuyukaba Academy: Demon Hunters. Apparently, enough of you agreed with this sentiment to make it the last winner of the RP Awards. Unfortunately, it's... well, dead. Unfortunately, since not all the original members are still interested, it’s going to stay that way, so a challenger emerges! Or something like that; I’m not quite sure how you challenge an incumbent who’s already dead. MITSUBA ACADEMY: DEMON HUNTERS 2 An RP about school life, having fun and punching demons until they explode Mitsuba is almost the model of a stereotypical anime town. A medium-sized town of leafy, picturesque neighbourhoods set among rolling green hills, Mitsuba has one elementary, middle and high school that almost every kid in town attends, a quaint shopping district, a large department store that draws the ire of proprietors from said shopping district, a temple staffed solely by inexplicably teenage mikos, a river bank whose only purpose seems to be for students to loaf around and even a bunch of wind turbines that seem to be there just to set the mood. Mitsuba No.1 High School (there is no No.2. It’s a long story) is an average-sized high school, generally seen as a safe and conducive place for learning. The school offers a variety of clubs and societies catering interests ranging from the usual sports like baseball, kendo and basketball to pursuits like cooking or light music (a club that’s always on the verge of closing down, for some reason.) Among these clubs is the Literature Club… a club that never tries to recruit new members (they just sort of pop up), doesn’t seem to do any activities of note and is generally seen as a group of oddballs. Naturally, the student body swirls with rumours about what the club members and their advisor, the foreign languages teacher Mr. Lavalley, are up to – the fact that some previous members seem to have vanished without a trace doesn’t help either. All the rumours are wrong. Except for the theories of that one crazy third-year who always wears a hat for some reason, and no one listens to him anyway. The Literature Club’s true purpose is far more outlandish – and far more important than most might think. Mitsuba was founded atop a Hellmouth, a place where the boundaries between this world and another are more like ‘polite suggestions’. There are several scattered around the world, but Mitsuba’s one is particularly active – local old wives’ tales tell of evil spirits and strange happenings, and in this case, there’s truth to them. Creatures from beyond this realm – what the legends refer to as demons and devils – seek to pierce the boundary and enter reality, using mortal cats’ paws and summoned thralls to set the stage for their arrival. Even a single Demon’s arrival upon this planet could spell untold destruction, as their very presence distorts reality itself, leaving entire regions uninhabitable for decades. Mr. Lavalley knows this all too well, and has gathered and trained the Literature Club’s students, a select few privy to the town’s secrets and capable of wielding the magical forces capable of taking Demons down, for a single mission. They are to find the things man was never meant to know. And they are to kill them. Yeah, so this is an anime-style urban fantasy RP set at a high school. You go to school, you do student things, you have fun, you laugh, you cry, and after hours, you go into abandoned lots and beat demon cultists until they stop trying to end the world. You get the picture. So here's what you probably need to know: Mitsuba: Obviously fictional. Is a medium-sized Japanese town on the outskirts of Tokyo --think Inaba from Persona 4 or DUWANG Morioh from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. You get the idea. Mitsuba No. 1 High School: There is no Mitsuba No.2 High School. There never was a Mitsuba No.2 High School. Students have to be in uniform -- dark blue blazer, shirt with tie and long pants for the boys, dark blue blazer, shirt with tie and skirt for the girls. The dress code no longer applies when you are knee-deep in demon-spawn guts. The Literature Club: Supervised by Mr. Lavalley, a fabulously haired foreign man who teaches French, the club consists of a small handful of students -- i.e. you guys. The RP's starting off at the start of the school year, so you'll probably join up shortly after the story's beginning if you're a freshman or transfer student, and you're already in the club and basking in the adoration of your adorable kohais if you're a second or third-year student. You could be from middle school (or elementary school, God forbid) if you really wanted to, though. Magic: There are few sources of magic in this world. Most of them stem from artifacts known as Demon Reapers, rare and powerful items that grant magical powers to the few people that can wield them. The method of making them has been essentially lost to the ages, and most of them are passed down Demon hunter clans for generations, and others are sacred treasures owned by temples or churches, only loaned out to people who they can trust. They can take on pretty much any form, and can grant almost any power within reason -- you know, no obliterating the entire town, bringing back the dead or reversing time, that kind of thing. You could defeat mortal servants and demon-spawn with conventional weapons (though it's difficult), but a true Demon can only be destroyed by magical weaponry. If you don't want to start off owning a Demon Reaper, Lavalley-sensei happens to have a few that need new users. The presence of magic or demonic activity often causes disruption of electronics and recording equipment, nausea, short-term memory loss in people who can't use magic and in more serious cases, unconsciousness. (And death if you, say, get hit by a fireball.) Some humans can manifest magic on their own. These humans, normally formed due to the extended exposure to a Hellmouth when they were babies, are known as Transcendents. Unfortunately, most Transcendents cannot properly control their powers, and either end up killing themselves or everyone around them when their abilities go out of control. However, in some rare cases, they learn to manage their unusual abilities, and end up mastering them for the sake of combating the demons that crawl out of the very Hellmouth that granted them their powers. Demons: No, you can't be a Demon. That's like going into a D&D game and saying "I'd like to play as Cthulhu". In fact, no one's seen a Demon fully manifest for the last 15 years, fortunately. Most Demons are immortal, incredibly powerful and usually have the accumulated knowledge of centuries behind them, but thankfully can't enter our reality under normal circumstances. They use their influence to enlist mortal cats' paws, granting them some measure of their dark powers in exchange for setting the stage to summon the Demon directly into the world. Those working for Demons are known as Warlocks, and possess twisted mirrors of the Reapers' powers, in addition to being able to summon mindless demon-like servants called Thralls to serve them. Some Reapers are of Demonic origin, and using them leaves oneself open to the influence of the Demon that created it. Eventually, such cursed weapons will subvert the wielder's will to the Demon's cause. How About Half-Demons? They exist, and inherit some of their parent's powers. There's a catch, too -- Just as a person wielding a demonic Reaper is open to suggestion from the Demon which created them, half-demons, also known as Scions, perpetually hear the whispers of their Demonic forebear within their heads. This usually drives them insane, though the most strong-willed of them can withstand the voices... for a while. If there's more than one of them in the RP, I demand that they fight and kill each other. They're supposed to be incredibly rare. Killing a Demon: They're pretty much immortal -- however, a Demon's body can be destroyed before it has has fully crossed over to this world. This banishes the Demon and weakens them, preventing them from returning... for a while. If a Demon fully crosses over to the material plane, it can be killed for good by destroying the core at the center of its body -- however, seeing that a fully manifested Demon could shrug off a nuclear blast and fully regenerate within hours, this is an unlikely event, to say the least. Well, if there's any questions, feel free to post em here. All this is kinda flexible and can be changed if you bother me enough. This RP's open to everybody. If you drop off the face of the forum, however, don't blame me if your character is abducted by cultists and used as a tentacle monster's drinking cup. Character Sheet!
  23. Gods Among Us Long long ago, man dominated the planet. By fire, by tool, by knowledge, by wisdom, by intelligence. They built structures to protect and created tools to kill and survive. By using these means, man thrived off of other species. They ruled over them, hunted them, and often times lived in harmony with them. That is until the beasts appeared. A celestial body plunged through earths atmosphere and into the ocean. Many people saw this astonishing sight and marveled at it. It was something very rare, but after the commotion died down, it was nearly forgotten. That is until a terrifying beast emerged from the water one day and slaughtered many people out fishing. It was only the first of many to come. No one knows how they breed, where exactly they come from, or why they chose earth, but that one meteor brought them and they covered the globe. Man was no longer the dominant race. They had no means to fight these being of death and after failing many times to conquer, they lived in fear and dubbed the beasts Celestians. After living in hiding for an extended period, one man had doubt about how evil the Celestians were. He sought one out and, whether by luck or fate, found one who didn't try to kill him. Rather, they began communicating in an awkward manner and together they formed a contract. At the expense of the Celestian's freedom, it gained increased power and a better understanding of the man. Together, they became a beacon of hope for humanity and a long period of back and forths between the Celestians, humans, and now Contractors began. All until they were swept away in the sands of time. Presently, after many years of writing off the myths, man has found Contractors who may summon Celestians via their bond. Since this event, society has moved forward with these people. Contractors have become a symbol of power among the countries and war has begun with these new weapons several times. However, they are viewed by many as nothing more than tools, or just evil, anti-social beasts. This has create massive fractions all along the world. Now, there are Contractors who want freedom from the government, and those who are content with whatever lives they have, and those who side with the government and fight against the rebels. There are humans who advocate freedom for Contractors, those who couldn't care less, and those who think all are just beasts that should be locked away or used as tools simply to die in battle. Where does this leave us? Who is right in this global battle for freedom and power? Where do you belong? This RP is open for anyone who wants to join right now. It was originally started for Yajuu, Rippernik, and me. Now it seems it's just Yajuu and me, but feel free to join in the merry making. Things to Know Celestians are beasts of any nature you want. they don't have to be based in reality, though they can be if you so choose. You do not have to RP as a contractor, or you can RP as more than just one character. There is a certain system behind Celestians when you create them. They are ranked by stars 1-7 based on the deepness of their bond with their Contractor. As the bond deepens and the stars increase, so does the Celestians power and their appearance may change. They are also categorized based on what they do, called Type. For instance, a flying one would be Type: Flying. Or a big armored one might be Type: Shielding. The other category is Class. This is in two parts. The class is in a sense their alignment. Chaotic, Neutral, Lawful. For instance Class:Seraph Lawful or maybe Class:Reaper Chaotic I think that covers everything, so anyone else interested in this? ^.^
  24. Incursion A Mini-RP hosted by Wstfgl Rules of Mini-RPs No character sheets, no indication of interest required. If you like the story, just jump in with any character you wish.There will be no OOC thread for this RP. All OOC chat will be enclosed in square boxes [like this] either before or after your IC post.If your character dies, you may enter with another character at any time.RP posts are limited to a maximum of 300 words for Graduates only. Students can write as long as they wish. This is to encourage shorter and more frequent posts!For Students, posts below 300 words cannot be used as part of your Graduation attempt.The plot of the story will be unraveled by the host of the mini-RP, who will be directing NPCs and enemies according to the scenario.Post often and have fun!The Story So Far Hamsdale, Population 500,000. A moderately-sized American city with a pleasant temperate climate set amid a landscape of gently rolling hills. It accommodates a wide mix of ethnicities and cultures that would leave no social justice warrior unsatisfied, has a woefully underperforming baseball team, and is home to Starr University, a private college mostly known for its faculty's laissez-faire attitude towards student antics -- but otherwise, it's a completely unremarkable city indistinguishable from the many others dotting the US west coast. Well, until now. Or there won't be a plot, you see. Several people across the city have acquired a strange ability -- they have summoned a being from another realm -- otherwise known as a Knight -- and have gained the ability to magically compel these Knights to do their bidding, willing or otherwise. However, these "lucky" few have more to worry about than figuring out how to share the house with a spiky-haired, angsty dude with a sword twice as heavy as he is -- a strange fog has started spreading across the city at nightfall, and tales abound of strange noises and movement within the dense fog... tl;dr You summon an RP character of choice and fight scary monsters. Explosions might ensue. Character Guidelines: - The so-called Summoners are ordinary people, nothing special about them. Think of 'em as yourself, basically. They lack special abilities besides commanding their Knights to follow their orders. - The Knights themselves can be basically anyone (or anything). Basically grab any RP character of yours you like, regardless of genre. Go wild. - You could write from the point of view of a Summoner or the Knight themselves, or both if you're feeling up for it. (Or you could write from the point of view of someone completely unrelated to the conflict, but why the hell would you even do such a thing) - If your Knight dies, you can summon a new Knight (after the obligatory grieving for your new friend, most likely). If you, the Summoner, die... uh, try not to let that happen, okay? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "This is Weston Finagle, reporting to you live from Main Street," the garishly-dressed man with a greasy pompadour narrates over the TV screen, the image faded-looking and flickering irregularly. "The recent spate of unusually foggy nights has gone on for almost a week now, and while the fog seems harmless, no one knows where it comes from, how it came to be, or whether it's got anything to do with the phone and internet connectivity issues everyone's been plagued with for the last few days. Our weatherman's been completely baffled by it; Hamsdale hasn't seen a day of fog since it was founded- what was that?" Suddenly, the image on the TV distorts and abruptly dies -- and the very last thing those tuning in see on their screens is a human-looking silhouette looming behind the reporter, its eyes points of luminescent green in the darkness. "Hey, you. What the hell's that thing?" The bespectacled, nerdy-looking young man mutters, staring at the static-filled TV screen as though expecting the program to resume. A mechanical click resounds from somewhere behind him. "A man of your station ought to address me as 'sir'. Know your place," a formally-dressed man with an impeccably-trimmed mustache declares as he hefts the crossbow in his hands. "And to answer your question... that's exactly what I came here to deal with." "You mean, you didn't just come here to mooch off me and be an all-around pain in the ass... sir?" "Ah, I finally get the respect befitting a gentleman such as myself. At least you're learning," the man replies as he pulls on his great coat and struts out of the door of the little apartment and down onto the street.
  25. "Come on Pete, just let me read it," she pleaded. "Just relax Sam, it'll be finished soon," he responded quietly, pen poised upon his lips. She shook her head at him but a faint smile played across her features as she ran a hand over the small bulge in her stomach. "Have you thought of any names yet?" He scribbled a few words upon the notebook and responded with a shake of his head, framed eyes stealing a glance at the tiny baby bump his wife was massaging. "I'll give it some thought," he offered lightly, before returning to his own little world. Samantha ran her fingers through his hair and reclined her head upon a pillow, still smiling at the prospect of motherhood. ----- Peter lifted his head from the pillow, fingers blindly scrambling upon the bedside table in search of his glasses; finally seizing them, he hastily donned them and clicked his lamp on. With a quick glance at his watch, he shuffled out of bed and began murmuring to himself as he strode across the mostly darkened bedroom, pale moonlight failing to penetrate the many windows that adorned the walls. Down the hallway he roamed, his hands gesturing at the invisible ideas flowing from his lips; on cue, his right hand found a brass doorknob, and he lifted the slightly tilted door upward to prevent it from squeaking as he opened it. He peeked inside of his daughter's room, which was awash in a soft pink glow emitted from a night light; he monitored her for a moment, watching her chest and the teddy bear she clutched to it in her sleep rise and fall without effort. Sophie is safe Peter, now get to the typewriter. He closed the door with a cautiously slow deliberance before proceeding further down the hallway, eyes on his watch once again. His bare feet met the familiar cool metal of a slender spiral staircase, the muscle memory of the repetitive action kicking in; within moments, he found himself within his office, a spacious third floor of the house that housed his writing materials and more importantly, his creative space. "Ok, 3:23 in the morning," he mumbled softly as he approached his desk. His slender fingers were punching keys upon the typewriter before he had seated himself, or even had turned the desk lamp on; he eventually treated himself to the lamp's light after fifteen minutes of writing, and only because he had stopped to remove his cumbersome watch. His new novel was, sadly, coming along at a snail's pace; Peter was plagued by a nasty case of writer's block, but only because the characters of the story just weren't cooperating with him. His male lead, for example, refused to translate onto paper the way he visualized him inside his mind, which was infinitely frustrating. "Come on Michael," he uttered platonically, his fingers flying across the well-worn keys. It was going to be a long night. ----- The mug of forgotten coffee had long ago turned stone cold, but Peter was far too gone to even realize the rising sun eagerly awaiting his attention. He massaged his stubble and peered up at the ceiling, his fingertips aching; he hadn't accomplished much and that was a disappointing omen. His middle of the night writing sessions had proved fruitful for many years, but lately, they had caused him more frustration than anything. But why? His head tilted and the dull gleam of sunlight filtering in through the window behind him reflected off his wedding ring, catching his sore eyes. He studied the ring for a few moments, the symbolism not lost upon him; even though he was extremely tired, he could easily recognize the connection between the ring and his faltering storytelling ability. Somewhere outside, he heard birds chirping, their announcement of a new day causing him to flip over the watch on his desk. It read 6:26. Sophie will be awake soon and you need to get breakfast ready--it's a school day, after all. Heeding his mind's advice, he stood to his feet and scooped up the watch before switching off the lamp, leaving behind his workspace of turmoil in search of a more positive environment. ----- One of Peter's hidden talents was his ability to cook, and exceptionally well at that; it was a very therapeutic procedure for him, and sometimes Sophie would help him out in the kitchen. On most nights, he would let her choose what they would eat for dinner and he would set out to make sure the food knocked her socks off; he had gotten pretty good at it too, because she was even eating her vegetables now, which was a milestone victory in any parent's life. On this particular morning, he was putting together sausages, eggs and cheese on English muffins with silver dollar sized blueberry pancakes; he surprisingly found that he was ravenous this morning, which was uncharacteristic of him, seeing as how he wasn't a breakfast man. He set the table with care, plates and silverware for them both, though their beverages differed at orange juice for her, slightly-nauseating-reheated-burnt coffee for him. Peter patted his hands dry on his pajama pants and walked briskly over to the intercom; he had a system installed throughout the house, mostly because Sophie was sometimes afraid to venture to his room or office when she woke up in the middle of the night--the intercom eliminated that problem. "Sophie," he called through the intercom, hearing his own voice within her room up on the second floor, "time to wake up sleepyhead."